Page 3 of Love Among the Shadows
“Oh, Mr Bennet!” Mrs Bennet scolded, her voice tinged with reproach. “You cannot be so unkind as to jest about the death of your own children.”
“Certainly not, my dear. But I wonder how one can deem a man deserving of death simply because he enjoyed a glass too many.”
“That isn’t exactly what I meant…” Mrs Bennet began, but her husband interrupted her smoothly.
“Edwin Harper was a young man—not yet forty, I believe. Alcohol may do harm, but I doubt it acts so decisively.Did you not say last night that he stood his ground when Mr Darcy confronted him?”
The Bennet family had returned from the assembly with a lively account of Mr Harper’s ill-advised attempt to engage Mr Darcy in conversation and the latter’s curt response. The conversation had also included the tale of Mr Darcy’s slight against Elizabeth, which, to her family’s surprise, Mr Bennet had later tempered by remarking that anyone who failed to see Elizabeth’s handsomeness must be blind. Mr Bennet had, however, remarked that Mr Darcy seemed a man unsuited to society, much like himself.
“Yes, Papa,” Mary said. “He appeared quite well last night, though I must confess he drank too much.”
“I couldn’t tell who drank more,” Kitty giggled, “Mr Harper or Mr Hurst.”
“Kitty!” Jane frowned, her disapproval evident. “You ought not to speak of such matters.”
When the chatter subsided, Mr Bennet turned his attention to the girls. “Since you appear so well-informed, did your aunt expressly state that drunkenness was the cause of his death?”
Lydia, clearly relishing her moment of importance, wiggled her shoulders. “They are saying it was alcohol poisoning.”
Mrs Bennet gasped audibly. “Oh, how dreadful!”
Lydia continued, unfazed by the interruption. “Mr Jones, the apothecary, was called when Mr Harper’s servants found his body. He examined him and declared that he was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Mrs Bennet exclaimed. “Who would do such a thing?”
“It could have been himself,” Mary suggested, like she was the voice of reason. “He lived alone, after all. Perhaps it was accidental.”
“Did you even know Mr Harper?” Kitty countered, her tone sceptical. “He wasn’t rich, but he enjoyed his life with wine and women. I doubt he would have done such a thing intentionally.”
Elizabeth, who had been listening quietly, suddenly sat upright, a spark of realisation lighting her face. “Then someone did it to him.”
Lydia, sensing her sister’s growing conviction, scoffed. “Don’t be so clever, Lizzy. That’s hardly news. The rumours are already circulating that it might have been Mr Harper’s servants, or Mr Darcy.”
“Mr Darcy?” Jane whispered, startled.
“Yes,” Lydia confirmed confidently. “He is the only one who had a disagreement with Mr Harper recently. Aunt said the magistrate has asked the parish constables to question him.”
“Isn’t that a bit severe?” Jane asked. “To question a man merely because of an argument?”
Elizabeth shook her head thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. It makes sense for them to think of Mr Darcy. Consider this—when was the last time someone in Meryton died of poisoning? Before September, no such thing had occurred. It stands to reason that it might have been one of the new tenants, and of them, who had a quarrel with Mr Harper, except Mr Darcy?”
“Very clever, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet remarked, his tone wry. “But we must not rush to conclusions. Coincidences do happen, after all. And it is not our place to decide guilt or innocence. Whatever the magistrate determines, I am confident that, with Kitty and Lydia in this house, we shall hear the news soon enough.”
Elizabeth nodded, though her mind remained fixed on her theory. The conversation shifted to the subject of Mr Harper’s life and character, with speculations on whether Mr Darcy could truly be implicated in such a crime. Later, Kitty and Lydia eagerly launched into a new discussion about the regiment of militia that, according to their aunt, had arrived in Meryton only two days prior. Though the conversation moved on, Elizabeth couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that something unsettling lingered in the air, its presence impossible to ignore.
Three
Fitzwilliam Darcy could scarcely believe the absurdity of what had just transpired. Tobias Hatch, the parish constable, had only moments ago departed Netherfield after a lengthy interrogation concerning Darcy’s acquaintance with Mr Edwin Harper, their brief but public scuffle at the Meryton Assembly, and Darcy’s movements following the event. If not for Bingley, his sisters, Mr Hurst, and even the household staff corroborating Darcy’s presence at the house until he retired for the evening, Darcy shuddered to think what conclusions the constable might have drawn. As it was, Hatch had left with a stern admonishment that Darcy should not leave town, as further inquiries might yet require his cooperation.
Darcy remained in the drawing room, where he had received the constable, seated with Bingley in stoic contemplation.
“This is utterly nonsensical,” Darcy said at last, his tone tight with frustration. “Not only am I unable to leave this infernal town, but I am now considered a suspect in a murder!”
Miss Bingley, who had entered with her sister during the constable’s questioning to confirm Darcy’s alibi, scoffed with undisguised disdain. “I cannot imagine, Charles, why you chose to settle in such a place.”
“What do you mean, Caroline?” Bingley asked, his brows furrowing.
“It has been less than three weeks since our arrival, and already they are implicating Mr Darcy in a murder. What tales shall they invent if we remain three months?”
