Page 2 of Love Among the Shadows
Also present was Mr Samuel Reed, an apothecary assistant recently settled under Mr Jones’s employ, and Captain Thomas Wentham, recently retired from the navy, whose tales of maritime adventure were as bold as the man himself.
Of all the new arrivals in Meryton, none were spoken of more than Mr Bingley and his distinguished circle. Mr Bingley himself was all affability and good humour, and he was soon declared the most agreeable gentleman in the room. So captivating was his manner that the matrons of Hertfordshire could not help but direct their well-dressed daughters toward him, in the hopes of securing his favour. To Mrs Bennet’s delight, it seemed her prayers were answered, for Mr Bingley was immediately struck by Jane’s beauty and danced two of the five sets that night with her.
Mr Bingley’s party consisted of his two sisters, his brother-in-law, and his intimate friend, Mr Darcy. Mrs Hurst, the elder of the two sisters, was married to a Mr Hurst—a man whose chief interests appeared to be the supper table and a well-furnished card game. Mrs Hurst herself was grand in demeanour and spoke with an air of condescension that,though tempered by the occasion, did little to endear her to the company. Her younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, was even more formidable in her disdain, carrying herself with such hauteur that she seemed offended by her very presence at the assembly.
Yet, neither of the Bingley sisters inspired as much ire as their companion, Mr Darcy. Handsome in appearance, with the noble bearing of a man accustomed to command, Mr Darcy was initially the subject of great admiration. Whispers of his ten thousand a year quickly spread, and when it was learned that he owned a considerable estate in Derbyshire, the room fairly buzzed with anticipation. Here was a gentleman for whom any mother might sacrifice her dearest ambition. However, such hopes were quickly dashed, for Mr Darcy’s behaviour was as disagreeable as his income was impressive.
He was aloof, speaking only to those in his own party, and twice displayed a rudeness that sealed his reputation as the least amiable man in Hertfordshire. The first instance occurred when Mr Edwin Harper, a local merchant, attempted to engage Mr Darcy in conversation. Though Mr Darcy at first ignored him, Mr Harper persisted, determined, it seemed, to prove the gentleman no better than the society in which he found himself. At last, emboldened by his resolve, Mr Harper laid a hand on Mr Darcy’s shoulder, only for Mr Darcy to shrug it off with evident disdain.
“Sir,” said Mr Harper, his voice rising above the hum of the room, “your behaviour is most ungentlemanlike!”
Mr Darcy regarded him coldly. “I am not accustomed to exchanging words with men who do not know their place.”
At this, Mr Bingley, fresh from the dance floor, intervened, pulling his friend aside before the matter could escalate further. Elizabeth, seated nearby due to the want of gentlemen to dance with, caught the conversation that followed.
“Come now, Darcy,” said Mr Bingley, his tone light yet imploring. “There is no need for this. Perhaps a turnabout the floor will ease your spirits.”
“I have danced with Miss Bingley already,” Darcy replied curtly. “I see no other partner worth the trouble.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Mr Bingley laughed. “Sitting by yourself is why you nearly got into a quarrel. Look around—there are many charming ladies to choose from.”
Mr Darcy cast a brief glance across the room, his expression unmoved. “The only lady worth dancing with is the one you are partnered with.” His eyes flicked toward Jane.
Mr Bingley smiled at this but did not let the matter rest. “Then look just beyond her. Her sister sits not far from you, and I daresay she is fair to look upon as well.”
Mr Darcy turned his head, his gaze landing on Elizabeth Bennet. His brow furrowed slightly before he replied, his voice clipped. “She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. Now, go back to your partner, Bingley. I would not be persuaded otherwise to dance.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush at the remark. Though she pretended not to hear, her expression betrayed her mortification. The words carried far enough for several nearby guests to hear, and a chorus of “Oh!” and “Ah!” rippled through the room. By the evening’s end, Mr Harper was still brooding over Mr Darcy’s insult, and the assembly was united in its disapproval of the man from Derbyshire.
Mr Bingley, by contrast, was universally admired. His engaging manner and evident admiration for Jane Bennet left the room in no doubt of his character. As for Elizabeth, her feelings were unequivocal. She thought only of Mr Bingley’s attentions to her sister, finding him wholly charming and wishing him every happiness. The rest of his company, however,she regarded with indifference—save for Mr Darcy, whom she disliked as heartily as any person in Meryton that night.
Two
Mr Edwin Harper had but three great indulgences in life: counting money, ingratiating himself with those who possessed it, and imbibing copious quantities of rum. That night, as he departed the Meryton Assembly, Sir William Lucas, ever the obliging neighbour, assisted him in mounting his horse and could not resist commenting, with good-natured amusement, on the enormous quantity of drink Mr Harper had evidently consumed that evening. But Mr Harper was not a man to brook such observations lightly, particularly when they implied restraint. He prided himself on being the master of his own whims—or so he fancied.
Thus, upon arriving home, the very first thing Mr Harper did was reach for one of his private reserves of rum. Unmarried by choice, as he often jested, and committed to "sowing his wild oats" for as long as the mood struck him, he lived alone and answered to no one. This solitude, however, left him entirely unaware of the shadowy figure concealed behind the heavy curtains of his parlour. Perhaps if he had noticed the intruder, he might have questioned his presence, or at the very least refrained from indulging so freely in his usual vice.
Settling into his chair with a glass of rum in hand, Mr Harper allowed his thoughts to drift back to the events of the assembly. Mr Darcy had proven a difficult conversationalist, but Harper was undeterred. He resolved to adopt a more forthright manner at the next ball and to press the gentleman toward a friendship—one that might, in due course, lead to Darcy’s investment in his business ventures. Pouring himself a secondglass, he raised it to his lips, only to pause as an unpleasant tightness in his throat interrupted his thoughts.
He coughed, once, then again, his chest heaving as if struggling against an invisible weight. His breath grew ragged, his attempts to clear his throat futile. Alarmed, he reached for the table to steady himself, but his trembling hand sent the glass tumbling, its contents spilling across the floor. Panic mounting, he staggered toward the curtains, his mind grasping for the illogical hope that fresh air might relieve his suffocation.
He yanked the fabric aside—and froze. Two cold, unblinking eyes stared back at him from the shadows. His own eyes widened in shock as his legs buckled beneath him, sending him collapsing to the floor. He tried to speak, to cry out for help, but no sound emerged save for a choking gasp. No one was around—not his cook nor the servant—both of whom were day servants and had already departed for the evening.
His vision dimmed, but not before he registered the detached expression of the man before him—if it could even be called an expression. The stranger stood motionless, watching, as though counting the seconds until Harper’s breath finally ceased.
Desperate for one last gasp of air, Harper’s mind raced. He had seen those eyes before—of that, he was certain. Tonight, perhaps? Yes, surely it had been this very evening. Or maybe he was mistaking. He couldn’t tell which it was. But before he could summon the strength to recall where or when he had seen those eyes, his thoughts splintered into darkness. And so it was that Edwin Harper, a man who had lived for his appetites, met his untimely end in his own parlour, the empty glass lying shattered at his side.
***
It was not yet noon when the shocking news of Mr Edwin Harper’s untimely demise spread through Meryton and its environs. Elizabeth and her family were gathered in the parlour when Kitty and Lydia burst in, breathless from their morning visit to their aunt, Mrs Philips, eager to share the tidings.
Mrs Philips, a sister to their mother, resided conveniently close to the militia's quarters and was well-regarded as an inexhaustible fountain of gossip, particularly concerning the regiment and its activities. It was from her that Kitty and Lydia had gleaned the startling information, and they relayed it with all the fervour of messengers carrying royal decrees.
“He was a man given more to the bottle than anything else,” Mrs Bennet remarked dismissively once the girls had finished their tale. “No surprise that he met his end because of it.”
Mr Bennet grimaced at her pronouncement. “If people perished from indulging their vices, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kitty and Lydia succumbed during a particularly vigorous gossip session.”
Elizabeth swallowed a laugh threatening to escape her lips, while Kitty and Lydia pouted indignantly. Jane and Mary exchanged glances, struggling to keep their amusement at bay.
