Page 11 of Love Among the Shadows
Still, Darcy could not wholly dismiss the thought. The pattern of deaths was too precise, the timing too deliberate for mere coincidence to provide any satisfactory explanation. He walked on, his mind consumed by this troubling thought for nearly half an hour, his footsteps steady upon the dirt-covered path. As he turned yet another corner, he resolved to proceed with caution. The weight of suspicion pressed upon him like an oppressive cloud, but he was keenly aware that to act impulsively would be a folly he could ill afford. For now, one certainty stood out amongst the confusion: death had cast its long shadow over Meryton, and Darcy found himself undeniably at its centre.
As this grim thought settled over him, a sudden clarity struck like a bolt of lightning. His eyes widened as an idea took hold, forming with startling precision. There was one person he could summon to aid him in this matter—someone capable, methodical, and entirely trustworthy. The local constable, Mr Tobias Hatch, seemed unlikely to yield significant results, and the doctors, if Mr Edwin Harper’s case served as precedent, would likely prove equally inconclusive.
I can call Richard.
The thought filled Darcy with resolve. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, his cousin, possessed not only the training of a seasoned officer but also a natural aptitude for interrogation and the pursuit of justice. More importantly, his familial ties to Darcy would ensure an unwavering allegiance, allowing them to work together to uncover the truth. Darcy did not doubt that Wickham—or whoever conspired in this sinister affair—had an endgame. He would not stand idly by and allow them to see it fulfilled.
His determination was abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps ahead. Darcy’s gaze snapped upward, hisstride halting as his breath caught in his chest. A figure emerged on the path, and for a moment, time seemed to suspend itself.
It was her.
***
Only Mr Bennet observed Elizabeth leave the house that morning, her bonnet tied neatly beneath her chin and her shawl clasped securely around her shoulders. Mrs. Bennet had given strict admonitions regarding the perils of venturing out alone, particularly with the death around, yet Elizabeth had resolved to take her walk regardless. Her father, seated comfortably in his study with a cup of tea and his book, glanced up as she passed the door.
He adjusted his spectacles with a practiced motion, the bridge resting firmly upon his nose. “Off again, Lizzy?” he inquired, his tone a blend of amusement and mild concern.
Elizabeth nodded, offering a warm smile. “The air does one good, Papa.”
“Perhaps, but the town abounds with gossip of death and danger,” he said, his expression briefly darkening. “Take care not to encounter any spectres, human or otherwise.”
Elizabeth laughed softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I shall be vigilant.”
He waved her on, his focus returning to the book in hand, and Elizabeth stepped out into the morning with brisk determination. Yet, as she walked, her mind lingered not on her father’s gentle teasing but on the troubling musings that had occupied her through the night. Mr Darcy loomed large in her thoughts.
The brisk air brushed against her cheeks, refreshing her yet failing to dispel the disquiet that weighed upon her. She followed the familiar path winding through the woodlands, her steps firm upon the frost-hardened earth.
Elizabeth’s thoughts lingered on Mr Wickham’s revelations concerning Mr Darcy, weaving themselves into her reflections on the recent, troubling events. Two deaths in so short a time, each man tied by some grievance to Mr Darcy, presented a pattern that she could not ignore. Her mind circled back to the same conclusion: there could be no other explanation. Mr Darcy’s conduct, his demeanour, and his quarrels with the deceased pointed inexorably to his guilt.
Yet, in the quiet hours of the night, reason whispered its caution. She was no investigator, as Jane had so sensibly reminded her. To reach a definitive conclusion without evidence would be reckless. And still, the thought persisted, rising unbidden to the forefront of her mind: what if proof could be found? If such a thing existed, she resolved she would uncover it. To expose Mr Darcy for the fraud and fiend she believed him to be—a man who wielded his power and standing to escape justice for heinous crimes—was a duty she could not ignore.
Her steps carried her far, her usual brisk pace slowing as she grew lost in the labyrinth of her thoughts. Time seemed to slip past unnoticed, until the figure before her on the path startled her into the present. She halted abruptly, her breath catching as she recognised him.
Mr Darcy.
He stood as though transfixed, his tall form unnaturally still. His expression was unreadable save for a flicker of something—was it surprise, or something darker? Elizabeth’s heart quickened. For a moment, the woodland seemed unnaturally quiet, the air heavy with the unspoken.
What is he doing here, so far from ober?
A chill swept over her, the unease settling deep into her bones. She shuddered, her gaze fixed upon him, even as her mind whispered its warnings. She could be standing face to face with a murderer, a man whose adversaries met untimely endsas though by some design. His piercing gaze rested upon her, searching, as if contemplating thoughts too dangerous to utter aloud.
Elizabeth’s fingers twitched at her sides. Should she run? The question thrummed in her mind, her body taut with the urge to flee. But no—Mr Darcy would not harm her, would he? She had never insulted him, never wronged him in any way to provoke enmity. And yet, there was that first meeting, the disdainful look he had cast upon her. Was that enough for a man so terrible as to kill?
Before she could act, he stirred. Slowly, deliberately, he adjusted his posture, his expression smoothing into one of practiced composure. His voice, when it came, startled her with its measured calm.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice low and hesitant, yet retaining an edge of authority. “This is… an unexpected meeting.”
“Indeed, sir,” Elizabeth replied, regaining her composure and lifting her chin. “The morning often holds its surprises.”
He inclined his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her as though trying to gauge her thoughts. “You are out alone?” he asked, his tone more inquisitive than reproachful.
Elizabeth bristled slightly. “I am accustomed to walking alone, Mr Darcy, and see no reason to alter my habits.”
He frowned, his features shadowed by concern. “The recent events in Meryton are no ordinary occurrences, Miss Bennet. I should not wish for you to encounter unnecessary peril.”
“I thank you for your concern,” she said evenly. “But I assure you, I do not fear shadows or rumours.”
Darcy’s expression darkened. “Rumours often carry less weight than truth. You, of all people, must understand that caution is not unwarranted.”
