Page 103 of Ashes and Understanding
“No promises.” Wickham gave them a jaunty salute and slipped through the side door with theatrical stealth.
Darcy waited until the door closed before turning to his cousin. “Do you think it will work?”
Fitzwilliam’s face was solemn. “It had better.
∞∞∞
As soon as a note arrived from Netherfield informing Elizabeth that Wickham had consented to be a false suspect, Elizabeth began her part in the process. As she paid the usual calls with her mother, she dropped little tidbits of information meant to throw suspicion on Wickham. She could only hope that when everything was resolved, the neighborhood would forgive him.
“Lieutenant Wickham seemed quite unsettled at the card party,” she remarked to Lady Lucas. “He said Mr. Darcy’s and his cousinhas long harbored resentment toward him. Some childhood grievance, I believe.”
To Mrs. Long, she added in a quiet aside, “It is odd, is it not? Mr. Smithson said he was here about insurance, and Mr. Wickham told me that the reason he had to take a position in the militia was because the property insurance company was delaying repayment at his place of employee. I wonder if there is a connection…” Her voice trailed off and she gave the elder woman a knowing look.
And when Mrs. Goulding tutted over rumors of misbehavior among the officers, Elizabeth nodded solemnly. “It is all so unsettling. I suppose we must take care whom we trust—charming men in red coats are not always what they seem. Mr. Wickham, for example, is almost too good to be true.”
At home, she made sure that Benjamin was never left unattended. If he was not in her arms, he was with the nurse and an additional maid. She spoke with the servants and told them that between the murder and the increase in strangers from London, she was worried about all of their safety and asked them to increase their vigilance. She also asked them to be in pairs at all times; no one was to be left alone.
And always, Elizabeth listened—at the milliner’s, at the butcher’s, in the drawing room when the ladies gathered for tea. She took every scrap of gossip, every whispered tale of debts and odd behavior, and filed it away for Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
∞∞∞
As Elizabeth sowed her seeds of doubt, the colonel began the painstaking process of interviewing each soldier under the guise of assisting the magistrate. He wore his uniform for these visits—neat, unadorned, and unmistakably authoritative. It granted him instant deference, and even the most unruly recruits stood at attention beneath his cool, appraising gaze.
Darcy assisted his cousin, writing down what each man said as they answered Fitzwilliam’s questions. They began with the newest arrivals to the regiment, calling them in one by one under pretense of helping the local magistrate sort out conflicting accounts of the morning in question. His questions were delivered with calm precision: “Where were you posted? Who saw you? Did you notice anyone acting strangely, either that morning or since then?”
Most of the men, unnerved by his rank and clipped manner, answered promptly. Captain Carter had been leading drills. Lieutenant Denny had been supervising several new recruits in their morning run.
A few stammered. Poor Chamberlayne could scarcely speak from nerves.
One, a soldier nearly as handsome as Wickham, attempted to lie about being asleep in his tent, though he had really been with the blacksmith’s daughter.
And one tried to flirt.
The last earned him such a withering stare from Darcy that he nearly saluted the gentleman twice out of confusion.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam recorded every inconsistency, every hesitation. They asked after friendships, petty grievances, even debts. When a few men began to mention they had heard Wickham quarrel with Mr. Smithson in the weeks prior, the colonel merely raised a brow and nodded, making note—but gave no indication of whether it was new information or something long confirmed. Darcy would make a sour face at each mention of Wickham’s name, helping further along any suspicions.
It was clear that the rumors Elizabeth had begun were making their way through the ranks, but the process of eliminating suspects was much slower than Darcy and Fitzwilliam would have wished. After three days of being no closer to Le Corbeau than before, they accompanied Bingley to Longbourn, discouraged.
The only one who had given Colonel Fitzwilliam any feeling of true unease had been Captain Carter. The man had greeted them with a small smirk, as if he knew of some private joke. But as the officer had been witnessed by dozens of men running drills all morning, Fitzwilliam had not choice but to cross him off the list of suspects.
Mrs. Bennet greeted them with unusual restraint—though her eyes sparkled when she mentioned the approaching ball, which was only a few days away—as the gentlemen were ushered into the drawing room. The three elder Bennet girls were sitting with their mother, each holding a piece of mending.
Elizabeth rose at once, and Darcy’s heart lightened at the sight of her. She glanced meaningfully towards the window and said,“Would any of you gentlemen care for a walk? The weather is unusually fine today.”
The three men accepted with alacrity, and Mrs. Bennet ushered Jane and Elizabeth out to accompany them. Mary was told to go as well, but she was obviously reluctant to go out in the cold weather. As they left the drawing room, Darcy saw Elizabeth whisper something to her middle sister, who gave her a grateful hug and dashed up the stairs.
“I told Mary she could hide in her room instead of coming out with us,” Elizabeth explained as they made their way out the door and into the side garden. The chilly winter breeze tugged at her shawl, and the dying sunlight cast long shadows across the grass. “She would usually give me a lecture on honoring our parents, but she has the headache today and was grateful for the reprieve.”
“It is quite in our favor,” Darcy replied, “as it will allow us to speak openly.”
Elizabeth tugged her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “How are things progressing with the soldiers? Has your batman gained any usual information from any of the servants?”
“We were able to confirm that your uncle was indeed home all morning of the murder,” Darcy said, “but other than that, I am afraid our efforts have yielded little fruit.”
“We are running out of time,” Fitzwilliam said flatly. “I have questioned nearly one hundred soldiers and officers, and I cannot swear to a single one’s innocence—nor can I say which man, if any, is our target.”
“Is there a deadline?” Elizabeth asked.
