Page 57 of Love Among the Shadows
Darcy’s gaze moved swiftly between them, but he offered no question—only a grave inclination of the head as he invited them into the library. The others remained behind, even Mr Bingley, whose look of curiosity followed them to the door.
When they were seated, and the door secured, Darcy spoke. “Mr Bennet, Miss Elizabeth. This visit, at such an hour, must mean something pressing. Has more ill news arrived beyond the Tradesman’s murder?”
Elizabeth’s hands clasped tightly together, though she forced composure. “Not ill news precisely, sir, but a circumstance that may bear upon what has already happened.” She glanced at her father, who gave a slight nod, silently giving her leave to proceed.
Darcy’s eyes fixed upon her, steady and intent. She felt the weight of them as she continued. “Yesterday afternoon, when my sisters were in the marketplace, Lydia heard the toy-seller—the poor man who was killed last night—speak a word. He saidRamsgate.”
Darcy’s countenance changed at once. The usual reserve broke, giving way to something sharp, pained, quickly hidden again. “Ramsgate,” he repeated, low and deliberate, as though testing its sound.
Elizabeth’s heart quickened. “Lydia could not tell whether he spoke it to another, or merely aloud, as though to himself. Yet the word struck her, for the man’s voice was singular. He approached them soon after to offer his wares, so the incident remained clear in her recollection. When she repeated it at home this morning, after the news of his murder reached us, I could not help but remember what you once confided to me. I thought—it may mean nothing. Yet perhaps you ought to know.”
A heavy silence followed. At length, Darcy spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “You were right to come, Miss Elizabeth. Ramsgate is no idle word to me. If it was upon that man’s lips, then his death was unlikely to have been robbery alone.”
Mr Bennet, who had until now been silent, frowned thoughtfully. “You think, then, the fellow’s murder was of design—and not mere chance?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I cannot say for certain, yet I believe chance has little part in it. Whoever killed him may have been moved by more than the desire for his purse or his wares.”
Elizabeth caught her breath, but before she could speak again, the door opened and Colonel Fitzwilliam walked in, his expression grave.
“Mr Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing. “Forgive my intrusion. Bingley told me you were with Darcy, yet I could not delay. I wanted to tell him at once that the magistrate believes the murder of the toy-seller to be robbery.”
“So we have heard,” Mr Bennet said.
“Darcy has been uneasy since the news arrived,” Fitzwilliam explained. “He fears it may be the work of the same killer who has plagued Meryton. With such cares ever upon his mind, I began to fear the anxiety might prey upon his health. For that reason, I sought out the magistrate and came directly hither to reassure him.”
Elizabeth looked from Fitzwilliam to Darcy. The Colonel was not wrong; there were new lines etched upon Darcy’s brow, and a darkness beneath his eyes that bespoke lost sleep. She could not recall if they had been there when last she saw him.
“Fitzwilliam,” Darcy said, lifting a hand, “your kindness is noted, but Mr Bennet and Miss Elizabeth hurried here with a matter of consequence.”
He then recounted, with precision, the detail Elizabeth had given. When he had finished, the Colonel rubbed at his temple.
“Ramsgate,” he echoed. “Could it be that the man was from Ramsgate? Or that his wares were manufactured there?”
Darcy shook his head. “It may be coincidence, yet I cannot believe it so.”
“If I may,” Mr Bennet interjected, “I seem to be the only one lost to the importance of Ramsgate. Lizzy said it was something you told her in confidence, but I fail to see any relevance here.”
Darcy hesitated, then lifted his hand as though in surrender. His voice, when it came, was grave. “Two summers past, my sister was nearly persuaded into an elopement at Ramsgate. Wickham contrived it. He had recommended a governess for Georgiana, Mrs. Younge. At the time, I trusted him; he was, after all, a childhood companion, almost a brother. I entrusted him with Georgiana. But Wickham and Mrs. Youngehad conspired together. She lent her aid to his plot for profit, and he sought to secure my sister’s dowry.
“I arrived in time to prevent the marriage. From that hour Wickham was banished from my presence, from my sister’s, and from Pemberley. Mrs. Younge was dismissed. For Georgiana’s sake, I kept the affair as quiet as possible, for the smallest whisper of such a scheme might have destroyed her reputation forever. Yet I took care that Mrs. Younge should never again find employment in that neighbourhood, or anywhere of consequence so far as my influence could reach.”
Mr Bennet, who had listened with unusual sobriety, pressed his lips together before replying. “Mr Darcy, I am sincerely grieved. No lady, least of all one so young, should have been subjected to such danger. That she was spared is a mercy, but the attempt itself is abominable.” He shook his head, his habitual levity wholly absent. “And where is she now, this Mrs. Younge?”
“The last I heard,” Darcy replied, “was when an acquaintance wrote to enquire into her character, not long after the affair, she having sought another post. I did not spare words in describing her conduct. She is, in truth, a female version of Wickham. All she knows is schemes, debts, and deceit.”
“Ramsgate,” the Colonel repeated, more to himself than to them. “Five deaths, and two of them connected in a way to that place. The first three murders were contrived to frame you, Darcy, and you are also connected to Ramsgate.” He looked up then, his brow furrowed. “It is beginning to appear more than mere coincidence.”
Elizabeth found her voice. “What do you think it all means, Colonel?”
“I am not certain,” he admitted. “But we may need to go to Ramsgate. There is something in that town which lies at the heart of this.”
Darcy’s expression hardened. “You do not imagine this the doing of Mrs. Younge?”
“At this point,” Fitzwilliam said gravely, “we are grasping at straws. Yet what if we have been looking at this amiss? What if the hand behind these crimes is not a man, but a woman? Someone like Mrs. Younge. You yourself described her as full of schemes and deceits. She may feel herself as wronged as Wickham ever did, for by your letters you destroyed her reputation whenever an enquiry was made. Who can say to what lengths she might go in pursuit of revenge?”
A silence followed. Elizabeth’s thoughts raced, her pulse quickened. Mr Bennet, grave for once, looked from Darcy to his daughter. Darcy himself sat motionless, yet Elizabeth saw the muscle work along his jaw.
At last, Mr Bennet rose. “Come, Lizzy. We have given Mr Darcy much to consider.” He looked at Darcy with quiet gravity. “I hope this small piece of information may prove of use to you, sir. If there is aught in it that helps uncover the truth, then our errand will not have been in vain.”
