Page 41 of Love Among the Shadows
With no further objection to raise, and after a stern caution from Mr Bennet that she should remain watchful and prudent, Elizabeth donned her cloak and hood, fastening the ties securely beneath her chin. Kitty and Lydia offered to accompany her as far as Meryton market, but their mother forbade it most emphatically.
The air outside was crisp with the freshness of rain-washed earth, the fields glistening with droplets. The lane to Netherfield was thoroughly sodden, forcing Elizabeth tonavigate carefully around the deeper puddles and step nimbly over the smaller ones. Mud clung persistently to her shoes and splashed against her stockings as she pressed forward, the hem of her gown growing ever darker and heavier with each step.
The events of the past two months weighed heavily upon her thoughts. A killer still roamed free, though three weeks had passed since the constable’s death and no fresh outrage had occurred. No word had come from the militia, and Mr Darcy had not been seen at Longbourn since that sombre day when he and Mr Bingley had brought the news. Mr Bingley had called twice in the interval, but always without his friend.
Now, as she made her way to Netherfield, Elizabeth could not help but wonder if she might see him there. Perhaps he would share some intelligence on what progress had been made toward discovering the murderer. Miss Bingley’s letter had mentioned that the gentlemen had gone to consult Colonel Forster—surely their business had concerned this very matter.
The hedgerows stirred in the wind, a branch cracked beneath her tread, and each small sound seemed laden with menace. Elizabeth flinched in spite of herself, yet her purpose did not waver. For Jane’s sake, she would not turn back.
As she climbed the gentle rise that afforded a prospect of the fields toward Netherfield, the great house stood majestically against the pale morning sky, its numerous windows glinting weakly in what little sunlight penetrated the lingering clouds. Elizabeth drew her cloak more closely about her and quickened her pace.
By the time she reached the imposing front entrance, her gown was thoroughly spattered with mud, her cheeks flushed from exertion and the crisp air, and her spirits admirably braced for whatever reception awaited her. She was conducted into the entrance hall, her unexpected arrival metwith evident surprise and a certain reserve by the household servants, though they dared not refuse her admittance.
Caroline Bingley appeared a moment later, all astonishment thinly veiled by politeness. “Why, Miss Elizabeth! How very unexpected. You have walked? In such weather?”
Elizabeth met her with composure, though she could scarcely conceal her impatience. “I came to be with my sister.”
Caroline’s smile did not touch her eyes. “But of course. She is in the best of care, I assure you.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Nevertheless, I would see her.”
Caroline faltered for a heartbeat, then inclined her head with forced graciousness. “As you wish. Pray, follow me.”
Elizabeth stepped forward, her shoes leaving damp prints upon the polished floor, her mind set as firmly as her tread.
***
Jane was far more unwell than her note had suggested. When Elizabeth was shown into her chamber, she found her sister struggling even to open her eyes. The poor girl had slept ill and now lay flushed with a burning fever.
At the sight, Elizabeth forgot her earlier wonderings as to the rest of the household—for she had indeed been struck by the absence of all but Miss Bingley when she arrived. Those thoughts were driven from her mind in the instant she took Jane’s hand.
She had just seated herself beside the bed when Miss Bingley, as though in answer to the unspoken question, said lightly, “The apothecary will be here soon, I am sure. Charles insists upon his coming before the household returns from Barnet. I remained only to make the necessary preparations, toreceive the apothecary when he arrives, and to keep an eye upon dear Jane.”
Elizabeth looked up with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Miss Bingley. You have been most kind.”
Miss Bingley inclined her head with practised sweetness and excused herself, leaving the sisters in privacy.
Jane murmured only a few words of welcome, expressing her happiness at Elizabeth’s presence before she drifted once more into feverish sleep. Elizabeth smoothed the coverlet, watching until her sister’s breathing steadied, and then at last allowed her own mind to wander back to Miss Bingley’s remark.
“Barnet,” she repeated softly. If the whole household had gone to the principal coaching stop outside Meryton, then surely they had gone to receive someone. But whom? She could not guess. A visitor of consequence, perhaps—yet in these unsettled times, when suspicion still lingered over every corner of Hertfordshire, she could not help but wonder whether the matter bore some connection to the unknown killer still abroad. Whoever it was, she told herself, she would know soon enough.
Twenty Three
The past three weeks had been a weary trial for Darcy. True, the louder voices that once branded him a murderer had softened somewhat, but suspicion still dogged his steps. Some spoke behind cupped hands as he passed; others let their whispers fall scarcely above a murmur, yet with eyes fixed upon him. Worst of all, there was no word of progress. The killer remained free.
Colonel Forster, despite the magistrate’s reluctance, had permitted Darcy to attend with Fitzwilliam when Tobias Hatch’s small house was searched. The only item of note had been a red-bound book, wherein Hatch had written in his precise hand:Mr Doughty — three o’clock. Purpose of ether? Alibi night of Granger?
Fitzwilliam recognised the name at once: Richard Doughty, one of the men upon the colonel’s shortlist of potential suspects. Yet the meaning puzzled them. Why ether? And what alibi was Hatch set upon testing?
Richard Doughty had been summoned and questioned. He denied all knowledge of ether, and when pressed regarding the night of Tom Granger’s death, his alibi at the public house held firm. The landlord confirmed it; two others vouched the same. Fitzwilliam even asked after his movements on the day of Hatch’s own murder. Again, the man produced witnesses to account for his hours. There was nothing more to be gained.
Darcy bore the disappointment heavily. Each dead end seemed to tighten the snare about his own reputation. As if this were not enough, Lady Catherine had written in a hand sharp with indignation, commanding him to quit Hertfordshireat once, warning that if he did not obey, she would come and fetch him herself. Evidently, Mr Collins had furnished her with a dramatic report of events. Darcy had allowed himself a grim smile at her presumption. Did she truly imagine he had not strength of his own to manage his affairs? He was master of Pemberley, of the Darcy name and fortune; Lady Catherine’s commands were nothing more than the noise of an overzealous aunt.
And now, here he stood at the coaching stop outside Barnet, awaiting his sister’s arrival. He had resolved, after long thought, to bring Georgiana into Hertfordshire. The risk was undeniable, yet leaving her in London seemed greater still. If the killer’s quarrel was with him, better she be where he could guard her. Silence for three weeks did not persuade him to relax; rather, it persuaded him that the killer lay in wait.
Mrs. Hurst, wrapped in her fine shawl, gave a nervous glance about the coaching yard. “Should she truly be here at such a time? I cannot feel at ease, not with this dreadful murderer still abroad.”
Bingley’s countenance darkened. “Louisa, I have already asked you not to speak of the affair so freely. You do no good by raising alarm where there is none.”
