Page 32 of Love Among the Shadows
The parlour erupted at once.
“Mr Darcy again!” Mrs. Bennet shrieked, fanning herself. “He brings soldiers to our very door! I shall faint! I shall be ruined!”
Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken, though her countenance remained composed. Mr Bennet cast a glance about the room, noting the eagerness written plainly on the faces of his wife and daughters. He shook his head. Better not to indulge their curiosity, lest they carry fresh gossip to every corner of Meryton.
“Show them in,” he said at last.
The two gentlemen entered and, after the usual civilities were exchanged, Mr Bennet motioned them toward his study. The men rose, but before her father could lead them from the room, Elizabeth cleared her throat. The sound compelled all three men to look back.
“Papa,” she said with quiet firmness, “I believe I ought to be present. Last night, I might have been the victim as easily as Mr Wickham. Mr Darcy knows it, as well as I.”
Mr Bennet regarded her closely, then gave a grave nod. “Come, Lizzy. The rest of you remain here.”
Mrs. Bennet uttered a cry of protest, but the study door closed upon father and daughter before she could frame another word.
Within the office, the fire burned low, casting long shadows across the shelves and chairs. Mr Bennet remained standing as the gentlemen entered.
Darcy bowed, grave and formal. “Mr Bennet, may I present my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, once again. As I said yesterday, he came to Meryton at my request, to aid in clearing my name from suspicion. It was he who followed Wickham yesterday.”
The colonel inclined his head. “It is an honour to be received, sir, though I regret the occasion of our meeting.”
Mr Bennet’s eyes turned to his daughter. “Now, Lizzy, you ought not to be here. Yet I cannot deny your claim. You are right. The killer might as easily have chosen you as a victim.”
Elizabeth swallowed, her composure strained by the weight of Darcy’s gaze, which seemed fixed upon her.
“Whatever you hear within these walls is given in confidence,” Mr Bennet went on. “You must be cautious in what you repeat to your sisters and mother. One whispered tale too many, and Longbourn will be the source of new gossip across the town.”
Elizabeth inclined her head solemnly.
“Very well,” said her father. “Pray, be seated.”
The gentlemen took their chairs, while Elizabeth stood near the window, her hand resting on the back of her father’s seat.
The colonel drew a breath, his clasped hands betraying the tension of his tale. “Sir, last night I was present when George Wickham was attacked. As you may have heard, he was struck down in his lodgings—stabbed through the chest. I entered moments after, but too late to prevent the blow.”
Elizabeth felt her throat tighten, her breath caught between grief and dread.
“I saw a man fleeing,” the colonel continued, his voice weighted with regret. “A fleeting glimpse only. Enough to know he was no common thief, but not enough to see his face. I confess I hesitated. Wickham still breathed, and I chose to aid him rather than give chase.”
Darcy spoke then, his tone calm yet firm. “It was the only honourable choice. No man could be faulted for it.”
The colonel inclined his head, though guilt still shadowed his eyes. “We were joined by Mr Tobias Hatch, the parish constable, who had been trailing Wickham. Together we bore him to Mr Jones, the apothecary. A horse was dispatched to summon a surgeon from St. Albans, but Wickham’s wounds were mortal. He died soon after our arrival.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened on the leather of her father’s chair. Her mind turned to Wickham’s easy smile, his persuasive tones, the lies she had once believed so readily. Shame burned within her at her credulity, yet the news of his death weighed heavily upon her heart. Deceitful though he had been, to hear him brought to such an end was a sobering fate.
Mr Bennet broke the silence. “So then, we have a murderer still at large, one who chooses his victims with care and strikes without warning.”
“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam answered gravely. “And the militia grows restless. There is anger, suspicion, and fear. If not curbed, it may turn to violence. The only thing we could achieve was to prove to a few that Darcy isn’t the killer since he was here last night. Many still think otherwise, I must add. And if anything, we know the killer has a vendetta against Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s voice, low but steady, broke in. “And you are certain you saw him, Colonel? The man who did this?”
The colonel met her eyes. “Certain only that I saw his form, his speed, his purpose. But not his face. Not enough to identify him.”
Darcy leaned forward, his eyes upon Elizabeth. “You see, Miss Bennet, why I pressed you last night to caution. Wickham’s fate proves the danger is not yet ended. Another may yet be struck down. Perhaps—” his voice softened, “perhaps one less able to defend themselves.”
Her breath caught, for the truth was plain: it could have been her. She inclined her head. “I do understand. And I thank you, Mr Darcy, for your care.”
The colonel’s expression gentled. “We will not rest until he is found. That you have my word.”
