Chapter 1

The 26th of November was certain to be memorable for the gentle populace of that particular corner of Hertfordshire.

After a succession of rain, the day of the ball at Netherfield Hall dawned clear and bright. The sun and the unseasonably warm late autumn weather served to dry the mud in the lanes throughout the day to such an extent that the carriages converging on the great house in the evening had little trouble on their journey.

When Elizabeth Bennet stepped from her family's carriage, aided by one of the great house’s footmen, it was onto carpets laid out on paving stones free of mud and washed clean of dust. Pulling her wrap more closely around her against the faint chill of night, she looked up into the ebon sky, which showed few stars against the combined radiance of a full moon and the blazing light shining forth from every window of Netherfield’s public rooms.

“A fine night for frivolity, my dear, is it not?” said her father, who had come to stand beside her.

As she turned her head to reply, Elizabeth caught sight of a man’s silhouette against an upper window, his tall frame blocking out much of the light as he held aside a gauzy curtain. She paused for a moment, her mind deducing the likelihood of the man’s identity -- most decidedly not the person she most wanted to see tonight -- and in that very breath he released the drape and stepped back into the room.

“For most, I should think,” Elizabeth said to Mr. Bennet. Then thinking of that very man she suspected had just spied upon them: “And those who feel inclined toward silence and reserve must accept that Nature herself has crafted this night especial for the purpose, and either enter into her joy or retire early.”

“Indeed,” her father said, “but as I have already come, I suppose I have no choice but to enter.”

The two shared a smile before Mr. Bennet, brought to attention by the shrill tones of his wife, offered his arm to that lady and preceded his five daughters up the stairs to the house. In the drawing-room, greetings were shared with the host and hostess of the event: Mr. Bingley showed his absolute delight at the sight of Miss Bennet and her family, while his sister Miss Bingley succeeded in displaying none at all. Mrs. Hurst, Bingley's eldest sister, stood with them, but barely acknowledged the Bennets before returning her attention to the crowded hall behind her. Of her husband there was no sign -- likely, he was already at cards, Elizabeth thought.

The rooms open to guests were awash with light and filled with people, a veritable crush of the finer members of local society. And until that very moment, as she searched in vain among the clusters of red coats for a particular gentleman, Elizabeth never had a doubt that Mr. George Wickham would be one of them. She had greatly enjoyed the handsome militia officer’s acquaintance thus far and had dressed with unusual care that night with the hope, left unspoken even to herself, that she might enjoy his attentions for the course of the evening and end it having conquered what was left unsubdued of his heart.

But in the instant she recognized the absence of his form and face in the crowd, a suspicion entered her mind that there was a more sinister reason for his failure to appear: that he might have been omitted from the invitation by Mr. Bingley under the influence of his more determined friend. That Mr. Darcy should have denied Mr. Wickham the pleasure of a dance was the least of his offenses against the gentleman, but it was the more vexing to Elizabeth as it had a more direct impact upon her own pleasure.

Her suspicion was amended slightly in the confirmation of Wickham’s absence by a somewhat forward query put to his fellow officer Mr. Denny by Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia: “He was obliged to go to Town on business yesterday,” the lieutenant replied before adding, with a lift of his brow and a significant smile, “though I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

The latter part of his intelligence went unheard by Lydia, who like a butterfly in a riotous garden had already fluttered away to her friends Maria Lucas and Sarah Long and another group of officers. To Elizabeth, however, it served as a source of great frustration. While she must, perforce, clear Mr. Darcy of her first surmise, her displeasure with that gentleman remained sharpened by her disappointment at the suggestion that he was yet indirectly responsible. As Mr. Denny excused himself, Elizabeth simmered in her ire.

“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth stiffened as she turned to acknowledge the greeting of the tall, handsome man from Derbyshire who had approached her so unexpectedly. It took all of her will to offer a sufficiently courteous salute and not to snatch her hand back too quickly as Mr. Darcy bowed over it. Her powers of speech, however, were not likewise under regulation and she deemed it more prudent to remain mute than to give utterance to the sentiments she so strongly felt toward him.

They stood in an uncomfortable silence for some moments, during which Mr. Darcy continued to stare at her in the fashion to which she had nearly become accustomed over the course of their acquaintance. Unintimidated and spurred by her passionate emotions, she returned his gaze frankly until he withdrew his own.

“Your family is well?” he asked as he adjusted and readjusted the signet ring on his smallest finger.

With some effort, she drew her fascinated gaze away from this indication of an agitation she could not comprehend and looked to the receiving line, where Mrs. Bennet still held forth on some topic with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, the latter straining to conceal her impatience. Mr. Bennet stood to one side in patent amusement, while Mary blended in with the tapestries beside him. “As you see.”

“Ah. Yes,” he said, “And your journey was pleasant?”

With much forbearance, Elizabeth answered this and similar pleasantries that followed until she was rescued by the approach of Mr. Bingley with Elizabeth’s elder sister on his arm. To that gentleman she was able to provide more enthusiastic politeness, though her feelings towards his friend at that moment prevented her at first from her usual equanimity with him. As Jane’s unacknowledged suiter, however, and as one of the most pleasing gentlemen she knew, it was difficult to remain in any state of complete disaffection with Mr. Bingley. After returning his smile and query as to her health, they engaged in conversation about their expectations for the night ahead. Mr. Darcy stood silently, fidgeting with his diamond-studded cufflinks, until he was approached by a servant who whispered to him and he then excused himself.

Elizabeth breathed more easily when he had withdrawn, and she felt yet more fully liberated as she removed herself from the love-struck pair and went to greet familiar fellow guests before the opening of the ball.

All too soon, however, it was time for dances of mortification, as her cousin Mr. Collins arrived to claim her. The two numbers could not be gotten through quickly enough, for that tall and ponderous young clergyman was a poor dancer and offensive. He moved wrong and spent more time apologizing than attending, leaning towards her as they passed, and stepping on her toes or gown or, worse, those of the other dancers! For Elizabeth could bear the humiliation on her own account, but to have his display injure others was too much. She had never wished for the end of a set more than she did now.

But at last it was over, and Elizabeth found herself claimed by other young men eager to have a pretty and pleasant partner. She danced with one of the neighborhood gentlemen, as well as one of the officers. It was particularly enjoyable for her to engage with the latter, as she was able to hear word of Mr. Wickham and his doings.

Between dances, she sought out Jane or her friend and neighbor Charlotte Lucas. It was as she stood in discussion with that latter young lady after the third set that she was again approached by Mr. Darcy, who requested a dance. In her surprise, and unable to think of a reasonable excuse, she accepted. No sooner had he walked away, though, than she lamented her absence of mind to Charlotte, who chided her for her preference of Wickham over a man ten times his consequence.

Nevertheless, when Mr. Darcy returned to claim her for the dance, Elizabeth went with him still harboring a grudge for his clear determination to ruin her entire evening. Thus their conversation, when it did begin, was less civil than otherwise prudent.

To her pert statements he answered with such equanimity and wit that even Elizabeth, though grudgingly, perforce had to acknowledge his cleverness and patience. It did not prevent her from continuing her barbs, however, and from answering him, when he made a query on how often she and her sisters walked into Meryton, with an allusion to the very man he, by all accounts, disliked and had wronged so greatly.

“When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

Mr. Darcy reacted immediately to her speech, his features stiffening granite and cold, and he said not a word. Elizabeth, though wishing she could continue, knew not how, and the silence stretched between them. At last Darcy spoke, his manner constrained: “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends -- whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.”

“He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,” Elizabeth replied with some passion, “and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

Mr. Darcy made no reply to this, and, indeed, had not any opportunity, for at that moment Sir William Lucas collided with him as he crossed the floor. With such an opportunity for demonstrating his courtesy, the elder gentleman spoke in praise of the younger’s skill and grace and waxed poetically on the good fortune of seeing the two dance so well together. Mr. Darcy suffered his attentions with patience, though his stoic mein was belied by his eyes darting around the crowded floor.

At last, Sir William was just closing his remarks with his wish to see a repetition of the event of their coupling in the dance some time soon in the future, when his words were cut short by a scream so chilling that it slew through the music and stopped every dancer in his tracks. Instruments screeched to a halt and voices stilled as heads turned towards the sound that issued from the direction of the doors leading to the gardens. Elizabeth, her heart leaping to her throat, stepped from the line. Strange as it was, she knew that voice.

The scream cut off, and then, before even the first murmur could swell as the guests turned to each other in confusion, it arose again with renewed hysteria.

Sir William, standing beside Elizabeth, murmured something indistinct and helpless, and she turned toward him. He looked pale and agitated, but her attention was drawn beyond him to Darcy, who stood still and silent, his gaze above the crowd and fixed on the balcony doors, his face impassive. An odd expression lit his eyes, and when he met her gaze she tried to decipher it, but failed.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice firm with command, “remain here.”

“But that is my sister,” she said, grasping his arm when he would have gone around her. “Something is horribly wrong.” When he cocked his head in question, she closed her eyes and shook her head, helpless in her confusion. “With four sisters, you cannot find it surprising we should know each other’s shrieks and screams. It is Lydia. Something is very wrong.”

He peered keenly at her for a moment, but as he opened his mouth to speak the screaming stopped, replaced by the sound of a woman’s sobs and men’s cries for help. With a distracted air, Mr. Darcy excused himself from her, bestowing a kiss to her fingers as he removed her hand from his arm, and then disappeared into the crowd. She watched him be enveloped by the sea of people with a tight feeling in her chest, the tips of her fingers unnaturally tingling, and she frowned at the confusing emotions that suddenly roiled her heart. She knew not how long she stared after him, when she became aware of growing murmurs around her, and then suddenly chaos erupted. Word of the happenings began to spread, and a wave of fainting ladies and frightened voices swept the ballroom.

Horror!

Murder!

Mr. Denny was dead!

Yes, the 26th of November was certain to be very memorable, indeed.

Chapter 2

Despite its relative unimportance in the world at large and its teetering solvency every few generations, Longbourn was one of the larger estates in the district, and as such its owner had long been considered among the principal landowners. As a man of such prominence, Mr. Bennet had once been presented to the king as a candidate for the position of acting as sheriff and, by the pricking, the wicked winds of fate had sealed him as such. The post ought more rightly to have gone to various other men of higher consequence and have been only a year in length, but there was hardly any contest for a position of so little credit in such a place. Indeed, it might be suspected that what money and consequence existed in Hertfordshire might have been applied to effect a lack of contention in the decision, rather than the reverse -- or so Mr. Bennet occasionally was heard to grumble.

But whatever the reason might be, the honor had devolved upon Mr. Bennet and there it remained. Due to that gentleman’s sense of patriotism, responsibility, or unwillingness to stir himself enough to find a method of refusal, it would be his lot until the king might feel compelled to lift it.

This had not happened for more than a decade, and quite nearly two; if the king failed to recall the need for a new sheriff in Hertfordshire, it was to no one's interest to remind him. Thus Mr. Bennet had become fully resigned to his duties. With several justices of the peace and constables working under him, few writs from the king, and only periodic assizes, it was truly not a heavy burden, and took in general very little of his time when he could manage it so. While in some counties rioting or poaching or petty theft or drunkenness were a common thing in need of punishment, this corner of the world was either relatively free of such menaces to the public order or such summary offenses were relatively more tolerated. And with such little sins so well in order, was it likely there should be the greater inconveniences of murder and treason?

In either case, Mr. Bennet was very conscientious about his responsibilities, ensuring that correspondence was eventually attended to and that his records were kept up regularly by his daughter Elizabeth, who, nearly since the time she could properly scratch figures on a slate, had been assisting him with the onerous task. To further broaden her education, he had also allowed her to sit in on a growing number of decisions and interviews so that she could expand her understanding of civics and practice her note-taking.

So it was that on the morning after the Netherfield Ball, Elizabeth sat with her father in his library as the latter went over the details of the night before. Despite having kept her from the scene of the crime due to her tender sensibilities, he felt no compunction sharing the details as she now wrote them down in his log.

“The blade -- his own, one might suppose, as his scabbard was empty -- went cleanly through the heart, Lizzy,” he said, steepling his fingers and gazing off into the middle distance. “Very neatly done -- which is why, of course, I couldn’t possibly suspect for long that your sister had done it. She probably wouldn’t even know where that organ was located.”

“Did you?” Elizabeth asked, looking up.

“Know where Mr. Denny’s heart was? I would not have been so bold as to conjecture whilst the man was alive that it was still in his possession or that he even had one, but as he is dead by its failure I can safely say he did, and that it was in the proper place in his body.”

Elizabeth laughed and then clarified: “I meant, did you suspect Lydia of having murdered the lieutenant?”

Now he shook his head disapprovingly at her. “Of course I did, my child. One must always suspect everyone. I even suspected myself for some few minutes, just to cover all possibilities. That young man was altogether too friendly with my daughters for my taste.”

Elizabeth could not prevent her eyes from rolling, but her father only chuckled.

“How does Lydia, by the by? Is she still abed?”

Elizabeth nodded. “And considering the dosing of laudanum Mr. Jones suggested to calm her overwrought nerves, I doubt she will arise any time before Tuesday next.”

“So much the better. In fact, I may consult with our apothecary on finding something to calm your mother’s nerves, as well, and we may progress with the investigation in peace.”

“Papa, that is quite unfair,” she chided. “Nearly all of the ladies at the ball, and some half the gentlemen, too, were overset by the happenings. Mrs. Hurst was so hysterical she had to be carried to her rooms. I sincerely doubt even one of the guests had a wink of sleep last night, and none of them were the one to quite literally trip over the dead body.”

“I am reproved,” Mr. Bennet replied congenially. “I should doubtless be thankful merely that she stopped shrieking enough to wake the dead. Or nearly. It certainly didn’t help poor Mr. Denny.”

Elizabeth sent him a quelling glance, even as she struggled to contain her smile.

Mr. Bennet tapped his lip with a finger thoughtfully. “There is some question, though, how long he had been there. Until Lydia, for what reason I dread to know, walked outside and stumbled upon him, had he been lying there for a great amount of time? Of the gentlemen present last night and sensible enough for me to query, there were none who could remember seeing Mr. Denny for quite a while. Even the great Mr. Darcy, who had impressed me with his level head in keeping the scene clear and relatively undisturbed, admitted to knowing nothing, which quite disappointed me. And then, of course, Mr. Denny’s blood had not yet pooled sufficiently, but the body was cold to the touch by the time I was summoned from the card room -- though that was hardly a surprise, given the temperature last night.”

“It was a warm night,” Elizabeth interposed.

“For November, perhaps; certainly for November 26th, but enough to keep him from growing cold and stiff? I know not how long that would take, and that frustrates me. Make a note for me to look up some authorities on such things. Perhaps my Vesalius. I should not wish Mr. Fletcher to hear I had been negligent.”

Elizabeth dutifully made a note.

“We did send word to our favorite coroner?”

She nodded. “You sent Murray with the message last night, Papa.”

“That would account for his absence this morning, I suppose. How is it that my under-sheriff is never underfoot when I need him?”

“Perhaps because he’s about your business?”

“How very industrious of him,” Mr. Bennet replied with a smile.

“That is why you employ him, I believe.”

“Well, then it must be either you or I who ought to see to having a list of the guests at the ball written up for us,” he said, and she conscientiously made a reminder for herself to accomplish such a task. “I have a mind to perhaps question a few of them more thoroughly. With Mr. Bingley inviting me to share his coach on the morrow, I thought I might look up those of his London guests who oddly chose neither to stay for supper nor spend the night in a house where a man was murdered on the steps outside.”

“Mr. Bingley is going to town?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Bennet replied. “He has business, or so he tells me. Given Mr. Denny’s status, I thought a personal visit to the soon-to-be-grieving parents might not come amiss. I understand from Colonel Forster that the young man had recently mentioned their presence in town.”

“Mr. Denny’s status?” Elizabeth echoed, mystified. “You mean, that he is dead?”

Mr. Bennet laughed. “No, though I suppose that factors into it, as well. I meant rather that he was the youngest son of a baronet. Irish, I believe, though of course our deceased Mr. Francis Denny was brought up primarily in England, educated at Cambridge and had an insignificant estate he inherited from some uncle somewhere in the north.” He gestured at her paper and pen, which had stilled in her confusion and surprise. “You should be writing this down.”

Elizabeth quickly caught up and he continued: “From what the colonel confided in me, Sir Edmund Denny arranged a position for his son in the militia recently after he had fallen in among some unsavory friends either in or shortly after university. They had hoped it would straighten the young man out. And it seemed to have worked, as Colonel Forster had nothing but the highest praise for him. Naturally, though, I shall have to take such praise with a grain of salt, as we were standing over the body when he said it. It takes something more to speak ill of the dead when they are physically present.”

“He seemed well liked amongst his peers, I believe, and certainly so among the ladies of the neighborhood,” Elizabeth replied with only the slightest of blushes. “But I fear I did not know him so well as Kitty and Lydia. I could speak with my Aunt Phillips. She would have knowledge of his character and reputation.”

Mr. Bennet grudgingly acknowledged the woman might have some usefulness at last.

“Were there any other details of the body that you would like written in the log?” Elizabeth asked.

“We found him only three strides from the balcony steps, shielded from view of the ballroom by some shrubbery,” Mr. Bennet said, closing his eyes in recall. “He was lying supine, his eyes yet open, both arms spread out at odd angles -- his left bent backwards and closer to his body, his right at 70 degrees -- and his legs stretched out and nearest the house. His gloves were still on, but his coat was half opened and his scabbard empty. There was blood on his shirtfront, and some underneath him, as the blade -- which was left, bloodied, on the far side of him -- had run him full through. Entry wound on his chest, exit the back. And we can be certain the sabre was the murder weapon, as it matches the wound exactly. However, I do not believe that was the position in which he had died, as there was a second, somewhat larger pool of blood not a foot away from him. My conjecture is that he was stabbed by his assailant, facing him and at close range, and fell forward and thence prostrate, at which point the murderer rolled him over, for what purpose we can surmise.”

“Looking for something?”

“Likely, yes. His clothing appeared in some slight disarray, which could indicate a search. Perhaps for this, which I found under his body.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a small object onto Elizabeth’s lap.

The item in question was revealed to be a single cufflink, small and silver, with an enamelled “D" surrounded by what appeared to be diamonds. “Good craftsmanship,” she murmured. It appeared vaguely familiar, but she supposed she must have seen it the night before when they were speaking briefly at Netherfield. “D for Denny?”

“That is a natural assumption. Quite possibly the match to this one is in the murderer’s possession -- should we conclude that it was the murderer who was the scavenger.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “It would be quite cold-blooded to find a dead man, roll him over, and search him for valuables.”

Mr. Bennet shrugged. “Not all men are disturbed by the sight, and more practical-minded than is no doubt good for the soul. I consider it much more likely, however, that we will, indeed, find it was the murderer who took the other sleeve button.”

“So it was a robbery?”

To this question, Mr. Bennet had no answer ready. He thought for a while, his brow furrowed. “I believe there was robbery involved, yes, but I do not think it was the primary motive. There was some other grievance between the dead man and his assailant. They knew each other, for certain, as the murderer could not otherwise have gotten close enough to have drawn the other man’s blade and stabbed him with it. Very unusual, and to be honest I cannot quite see the mechanics of it, given the length of the weapon. Surprise, then, must have been essential.

“So what, then, the motive? I have none at present,” Mr. Bennet acknowledged. “It is an apparently purposeless crime, in a very risky location just beyond where nearly a hundred people were present. Why there? Why then? I have no answers yet.”

“Then where do we start?” Elizabeth asked.

“In Meryton,” her father replied decisively. “Let us learn more about the unknown quantity that was Mr. Denny.”

Chapter 3

Mrs. Sanders, a widow of indeterminate age who had lived in Meryton for as many years as her husband had been deceased, had let several of her upstairs rooms to officers from the militia quartered in Meryton. Among the officers billeted there for winter had numbered the late Mr. Denny, who had occupied the small room on the east end of the house.

His quarters were cozy, if minimal: a small bed, a table with a wash basin and a vase of wilting flowers, a rickety writing desk, and some pegs on the wall for his things. At the end of the bed sat a weathered trunk.

It was at the trunk Mr. Bennet now stood, methodically removing items and examining them for any significance before tossing them haphazardly on the bed. Elizabeth remained at the door, listening to Mrs. Sanders bemoan the loss of her boarder.

“He was a fine young gentleman,” she sniffed into her handkerchief. “Not like Mr. Chamberlayne, who can give some queer starts at times, or Mr. Saunderson, who is quite the most untidy person I have ever encountered. Just a perfectly normal, well-mannered young man. I don’t know what the world is coming to, that a gentleman in the fit of his prime can up and get murdered at a fancy party like that. A body isn’t safe anywhere these days.”

Elizabeth murmured something comforting, and Mrs. Sanders continued on about the Ratcliffe Highway murders and highwaymen and her brother’s occasioning to having caught a thief once and the chicken thief that had troubled the area five years previous until it was found out to be a neighborhood dog… until Mr. Bennet, with some asperity, asked if she might be so kind as to bring them a pot of tea. With a curtsey, Mrs. Sanders went on her errand, closing the door sharply behind her.

“It is not as if she had anything of use to tell us,” Mr. Bennet said to Elizabeth’s chastening look.

“Well, we shall now have no occasion to find that out, as you have ostracized us from her goodwill,” she replied, taking over his place at the bed after Mr. Bennet snorted and went to the little writing desk to try his luck there. “Or perhaps I shall merit her pity, having a father so insensible to the concerns of us poor womenfolk.”

“I wish you well in it,” the aforementioned father replied. He picked up some correspondence and set to scanning it.

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, pulled out her notebook and pencil, and began inventorying the items spread out on the coverlet, dropping each possession into the trunk again after it made its appearance in her list. For a while they worked in silence until Mr. Bennet, with a noise indicating some interest, sat down on the little chair. He stood up again quickly to adjust the leg that had nearly fallen off of it, but then reseated himself gingerly and laid the little book he was reading on the desk. He drew his finger over several lines, his brow furrowed, began to sit back in the chair, and then thought better of it and turned instead to his daughter. “Do you happen to know the income of a lieutenant of the militia, my dear?”

She was forced to declare her ignorance on such a matter.

“From all I had understood, it did not run in the hundreds each year, much less be so irregular as this passbook seems to indicate. While the military of this fine nation may have problems with its supply line that make it difficult to pay its soldiers or with its bureaucracy to pay their widows, the wilds of Hertfordshire should have no such dangers.”

Elizabeth watched her father think for a while, and then said, “You mentioned his father was a baronet, presumably of some wealth. Could it be an allowance from his parents?”

Mr. Bennet tapped his lips thoughtfully. “It is a possibility, as is rents from his estate, but the irregularity of deposits would belie that. As well, the notations here, which may be initials or perhaps another form of code, would lead one’s thoughts in a different direction.”

They fell into silence, and before long Elizabeth returned to her inventory. It was a relatively small collection of items: a few books, clothes, a miniature of a handsome woman from an earlier time, a bundle of yellowed letters. She was surprised, however, when, upon opening a little velvet box, she discovered a finely crafted silver ring with a large sapphire stone.

At her exclamation, Mr. Bennet put Mr. Denny’s little black book in his coat pocket and came over to examine her find. “My goodness,” he murmured, holding it up to the light streaming through the small window. Then he peered closer. “Paste, I think, but the setting is very fine. Mr. Denny did have quite a collection of jewelry I would not have expected of a bachelor, and a younger son. But with such a ring in his possession, perhaps he was not intending to be a bachelor much longer?”

Elizabeth cast her mind back over everything she had ever heard of Mr. Denny, but could not recall any news of entanglements. She also could not name a young lady of the neighborhood to whom he had been paying any particular attention. “Again, I think that might be a question for my Aunt Phillips.”

“I should hate for this pattern to continue and be forced to amend my impression of your aunt to think her indispensable,” Mr. Bennet said, “but I agree with your plan.”

He then returned to the desk, where he opted to stand rather than risk the chair, and continued to sort through the paperwork. Elizabeth watched him for a few moments, cogitating on all of these new pieces of the puzzle of Mr. Denny, before returning to her list. It was not long before she was down to the last item on the bed, and she wondered idly if Mrs. Sanders had forgotten about them and their request for a pot of tea.

She was just about to mention this to her father when the door suddenly opened. She looked up, expecting to see Mrs. Sanders with the tea tray as if she had summoned her with her thoughts, but was instead surprised to see a tall man in the garb of an officer of the militia slip lightly into the room. His face was averted as he peered down the hall, cautiously closing the door with as little sound as possible. It was only when he turned the handle and the lock sprang that he turned to the rest of the room, only to step back and bump into the door, shocked, as he spotted the other occupants.

“Miss Bennet!” he said in squeaky surprise. He cleared his throat and tried again, a bit more smoothly, even as his eyes darted in curiosity to the other man in the room: “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, how very surprising to encounter you here. I hope you are well?”

Elizabeth, who had a little more time to accustom herself to the confusion of his appearance, merely raised a brow and replied, “Very well, thank you. Father, may I present to you Mr. George Wickham, lieutenant of the --- Militia and late of Derbyshire? I believe I have mentioned him to you before.”

Mr. Bennet did not say a word, but accepted the introduction with a nod to the lieutenant, who swallowed hard and seemed for a moment to struggle for words.

Elizabeth could not fathom the reason for his appearance here. She remembered, now, that Mr. Denny had been Mr. Wickham’s introduction to the militia, that they were together when they’d first met in the streets of Meryton. Exactly how close friends were they, that Mr. Wickham felt secure in coming into his friend’s room only the morning after his death? And for what purpose? It seemed very suspicious, but given what Elizabeth had believed of his overall character, she could only hope there must be a reasonable explanation.

“My father is the magistrate for the region, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth explained. “We are looking into Mr. Denny’s things in the hopes of learning more about him and finding a motive for his death. You did hear, I assume, of his unfortunate passing last evening?”

Mr. Wickham bowed his head sorrowfully. “Indeed, I did. There was little else anyone was talking about when I returned from my errand in London this morning.”

“And so you rushed to his rooms to seek the truth?” Mr. Bennet asked with scarcely a note of sarcasm.

Something flashed in Mr. Wickham’s eyes, but he merely crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head casually to the side. “On the contrary. I did not doubt the truth of my fellow officers' words, and have been commiserating with them this hour past, at least. Mr. Denny and I had known each other for some years and we were good friends. It was he who recommended me to this position.”

Mr. Bennet narrowed his eyes for a moment, but then shrugged and directed his attention back to the things on the desk, dismissing Mr. Wickham from his notice. The latter cleared his throat awkwardly, shifted his weight, and then turned his attention to Elizabeth. “I hear your sister was the one who discovered the... ah, that is, found ... my friend. Outside the ballroom. Dare I hope that she has recovered from the shock?”

“Indeed, sir,” Elizabeth said with a nod, closing her notebook in her lap and stroking it sadly. “Lydia was inconsolable last night when it happened, but she is resting now under the direction of our local apothecary. I believe she will need time to come to terms with what she encountered there.”

“Indeed. So she has not talked of it to anyone? As those of us who are soldiers know, often speaking of a terror can lessen its hold upon us.”

“I daresay you are correct, and perhaps some day she will be brave enough to speak of it, but I am sure she will need much time to recover first. As bold and unafraid as she can sometimes seem, she is still barely fifteen years of age. She is young yet and such a horror cannot but affect her deeply. It is good of you to think of her, sir.”

Mr. Wickham nodded reflectively. After a moment he appeared ready to ask something more, but Mr. Bennet interrupted him with impatience at all this chatter, asking for his purpose in coming to his friend’s rooms.

“Well, you see,” Mr. Wickham replied, “the truth is that some weeks ago I had lent Denny a book, and I was concerned it might be tossed together with his things and not be returned to me. It has a particular sentimentality for me, and I should be very disappointed with its loss.”

“Ah,” Mr. Bennet said, nodding. “Someone who appreciates literature. We quite possibly have come across it; what book is it?”

“A book of some poetry,” Mr. Wickham answered carelessly. “It’s a small book, fairly thin, with a dark leather cover and embossed with a crest.”

Elizabeth looked at her father in question, but he merely shook his head slowly. “I have not seen a book of poetry. My dear, have you come across such a book in Mr. Denny’s chest?”

“I have not, father,” she replied. “There were several books, and one of them the poetry of Wordsworth, but it had a blue cover.”

Mr. Wickham seemed dismayed. “Alas, I hoped he had not lost it or lent it to someone else. Perhaps I might check his desk?” He moved forward, then stopped and retreated as he realized he’d overstepped. “No, I suppose you have already looked there.”

“I am afraid I have gone through everything here,” Mr. Bennet acknowledged. “It’s a pity we could not find the book you describe. But perhaps Mr. Denny might have had something else you sought?” Without looking over at Wickham, whose face had turned a dull red, he casually slid a few slips of paper out from beneath the stack of correspondence and fanned them out in front of him. He ran his finger across them until he came to one and removed it, holding it up between thumb and forefinger. Over it, he met Wickham’s eye. “Perhaps, a particular item that might have your name on it and a surprisingly large number of pounds for a mere lieutenant to possess -- or, as it were, not possess?”

The flush that had stolen into Mr. Wickham’s cheeks retreated as quickly as it had come, his face taking on a slightly ashen hue in its wake, but he said not a word. His eyes cast a quick glance in Elizabeth’s direction, but she purposefully looked down at her inventory.

“Most gentlemen, I think, would not pursue the gambling debits or credits of a dead man,” Mr. Bennet said musingly. “Of course, were there a widow or children, it would be expected of a gentleman to pay the debt so as to give support to the unfortunate dependents -- but that is not, I understand, something of importance in this matter, as Mr. Denny appeared to be a bachelor. And yet it is still good form to pay off your vowels. It is certainly not good form to try to conceal that there were debts at all. It would almost make one draw the conclusion that one did not have the money to pay them.” He lifted a single eyebrow at the younger man. “But that is not the case here, is it?”

The other man pursed his lips and replied haughtily, “Indeed, it is not. As I said earlier, I only stopped by to see if Denny still had the book I had lent him. As he did not leave it with his things, I can only hope he returned it to my rooms and neglected to tell me, perhaps whilst I was in town. I shall go and check there.”

Mr. Bennet nodded sagely. “Your plan is a good one,” he said, and waved the younger man out of the room. Having dismissed Mr. Wickham, he turned again to bundle the papers together on the desk, and then dumped them atop the rest of Mr. Denny’s other things in the trunk. Elizabeth grimaced at this disregard for her organization, but said not a word as she closed the lid and secured the straps.

Mr. Wickham cast one last longing glance at the trunk, then bowed tightly, made his farewells to Elizabeth, and left the room, closing the door behind him with an angry snap.

It was several minutes before either Bennet said a word.

“I am disappointed in him,” Elizabeth said.

“That he gambles, my dear?”

“That he lies,” she replied.

Mr. Bennet shrugged. “It’s a little of the same thing. The only difference is in the stakes. But the question we must ask ourselves is what, precisely, was he gambling on the truth about? Now, let us have Thomas up to fetch this trunk, and I shall take it with me to London on the morrow. No sense leaving it lying about so that just anyone can find whatever book they like in it. Ready, Lizzy?”

She acknowledged that she was, and they left the room in time to run into Mrs. Sanders, coming up the stairs at last with a tray for tea.

“By the by, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said as they were in the carriage some time later on the return to Longbourn, “how is your sister Jane’s handwriting? Do you think it might be sufficient for taking notes tomorrow?”

Elizabeth laughed as she caught the thread of his thoughts. “You wouldn’t, by chance, be considering taking not myself but rather Jane with you to London to interview Mr. Denny’s parents and the other guests from the ball, would you? I suppose I should not take affront and instead ascribe the reason to your mode of transport.”

Mr. Bennet looked innocent. “I only thought you might be better employed here, speaking with your aunt and her cronies. It certainly has nothing to do with my dreading finding anything at all to speak of to that young cub for the length of a journey to Town. Or, more accurately, that he might find nothing else to do but talk to me .”

“And you don’t think Mr. Bingley might object to another passenger?”

“Quite the reverse,” Mr. Bennet demurred with a twinkle in his eye. “In fact, I had barely expressed the thought last night that I might have to travel to Town with one of my daughters before he offered me the use of his carriage. I do believe he was quite eager to be of service.”

“Oh, Papa,” Elizabeth sighed. “Do be cautious with Jane. She does feel deeply, you know, and she has not my familiarity with your teasing.”

Mr. Bennet patted his daughter’s hand. “There, there, my dear. You can trust your father to wade those tricky waters of unspoken courtship. I shall not tease them about it above twice.”

Chapter 4

Barely after dawn, Mr. Bingley’s carriage called for Mr. Bennet and his blushing daughter Jane, and Elizabeth saw them all off with some satisfaction and a conviction that she would probably not see her sister again unengaged.

Little did she know that, in the eyes of at least two other people, it was herself that had been marked as the young lady soon to be married.

Mr. William Collins, cousin of the Bennets and heir presumptive to Longbourn, was, despite all other faults, a very patient man. Once he had decided on the correct path, he plodded along until it came to fruition and nothing would sway him from the goal.

Truly it may be said that throughout his life he had had little to require any proof of this aspect of persistence in his character, for his paths were not as rocky as some might encounter. And, indeed, rarely did he have to put much effort into making the decisions that laid him on his course. His miserly father had directed him early in life, and when at school he had been under the guidance of his instructors; after graduation he had merely transferred allegiance to his superiors in the Church. Now that he had the great counsel of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, he rarely even needed to think before taking action.

Thus it was that, the benevolent Lady Catherine having become acquainted with the circumstances of Mr. Collins’ prospects and the relation of five unmarried ladies, the young cleric was advised to seek a wife among said ladies and settle the matter of the succession as immediately as possible. This advice he followed without question, descending upon Longbourn shortly thereafter and selecting, as suggested by his patroness, the eldest of the daughters for his future wife. On consultation with Mrs. Bennet, however, he discovered Miss Bennet to be unavailable to his purpose and thus had to adjust his course slightly. However, it was a mere side-step and, with the blessing of the lady's mother, everything soon was as it should be. Miss Elizabeth Bennet as second eldest would become Mrs. Collins.

Mr. Collins bided his time. He had heard that ladies preferred to be wooed, and he thus engaged in a campaign of attendance upon the delightful Miss Elizabeth. She was naturally modest in response to his attentions, as any young lady might be in the face of determined pursuit by an eligible gentleman, but he did not allow that to sway him from giving her all due consideration. After a week of his ministrations and compliments, he felt assured he had given her enough notice of his intentions so as to pursue the object of his quest: her hand in marriage.

Then, however, came the unfortunate events at the ball, and after such an upheaval he thought it prudent to allow the emotions attendant upon such a happening to settle for a day before presenting his suit. He was, after all, a patient man. He also considered himself a clever one: he had been aware that Miss Elizabeth had been so overset she had spent all hours in the protective presence of her father, even going so far as to attend him to Meryton. With that in mind, he would frame his offer in such a way as to assure her that she would have no concerns that he might prove wanting as the protector of his own family.

“My dearest cousin Elizabeth,” he began ponderously when she was shown into the morning room by her mother and then abandoned there to accept his passionate avowals. “And dearest you indeed are, for it was very soon after I entered this house that I singled you out as the companion of my future life.”

Elizabeth, though half expecting this outcome when her mother had maneuvered her, protesting, into the room to discover Mr. Collins waiting with a queer grin on his face, sat in quiet indignation at such a way of spending her morning, when the clear skies beyond the window were calling to her. Her mild annoyance, however, turned to diversion as he elaborated upon his reasons for marrying in general and the advice of his patroness, the generous Lady Catherine de Bourgh, in selecting a wife. And then he described his purpose in selecting her, in particular, painting the picture of a young lady who, to her ears, seemed absolutely nothing like her.

Seeing him pause to take a breath, she would have objected to his proposal, but she was startled into silence when he suddenly rushed forward and grasped her hands in his, declaring, “The events of the night before last have demonstrated to me how essential it is that I speak now in taking you into my protection. Be not ashamed of the weakness of your sex, in having been frightened by the horrors of such a loss of life as we witnessed. For are not all men urged by St. Paul to lay down their life for their wives? I assure you, my dear cousin, I have shown my dedication to this admonition in defending the honor of your sex and will only continue to do so after we are married.”

“You are too hasty, sir!” she cried, attempting to pull free from his clammy grip. “You forget that I have made no answer. Let me…” she trailed off as something in his words tickled her thoughts. “Did you say you had defended the honor of my sex? How do you mean?”

Mr. Collins seemed to recall something, for he started and, for the first time since Elizabeth had entered the room, began to look uncomfortable. “Well, it is simply that... rather, before the unpleasantness at the end of the ball... that is, I reproved that young man for his language regarding the young ladies.”

This did not elucidate. “Which young man?” Elizabeth persisted. “Do you mean Mr. Denny?”

Mr. Collin’s neckcloth appeared to be strangling him. “Yes, I believe that may have been his name.”

Elizabeth looked at him thoughtfully, and he withered under her gaze. “When did this happen?”

“Two dances after our own,” he answered.

“And what did you say to him?”

At her question, he pursed his lips. After a moment, he seemed to regain his courage and crossed his arms, looking down upon her fiercely. “I shall say no more on this subject, Cousin Elizabeth. Far be it from me to besmirch the good name of others, especially those who, like this Mr. Denny, may his soul rest in the perpetual light, have passed beyond this plane unto the next. We are all the adopted sons and daughters of a most benevolent God, it is true, but yet he is a just God, and our sins will be held for our final trial. It is not for me to call down wrath upon anyone who has repented. Most particularly in this case, where such a violent end was met only steps from where he confessed his sins, we must remember to judge not, lest we be judged. I assure you, my dear cousin, that I have forgiven this Mr. Denny of his transgressions against you and your sisters, and he declared before us, fully and without reservation, his remorse for the slander and his commitment to a conversion of heart.”

Elizabeth merely blinked at him, unsure what to say.

Mr. Collins once again claimed Elizabeth’s hands in his own. “But rest easy, my dear, and do not let these words of wrath and transgressions trouble you. You are all that is good and noble, and I shall have no reason to reproach you, I am sure, when we are married.”

“Mr. Collins!” Elizabeth exclaimed, realizing suddenly that her insensibility had allowed his imagination to run more freely than she had intended. She struggled to pull her hands free from his and when she had succeeded she backed away several steps. “Forgive me -- I should have stopped you long ere now. Please accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me with your proposals. I am very sensible of the honor you bestow upon me, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline.”

A look of baffled anger crossed Mr. Collins face, but he quickly recovered himself and chuckled in a knowing fashion. “I am not now to learn that it is usual for young ladies to reject the first addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Indeed, I understand that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or third time. I am by no means discouraged, my dear, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.”

His response flummoxed Elizabeth, and she did her utmost to explain to him that her rejection was, in truth, the first and last and only one she hoped to give to him and that no other response would be forthcoming. He persisted, however, in his conclusion that she was giving him encouragement that his addresses would be eventually accepted.

His reasons for his disbelief in her sincerity was predicated primarily upon his worth in his own eyes: his living, his relation to her, and his future inheritance claimed the majority of his attractions. But he was no less generous in ascribing her lack of position, portion, or available suitors as advantages to the match.

“And, indeed,” he concluded, “you can be no more assured by my behavior that I should not be deficient in my position as head of our household. When you forsake your father’s protection, you shall have no fear that any evil should ever befall your person or that of our children. To that end, knowing that your father is not a young man and that he holds a position that entails some manner of danger with regard to the criminal classes, I do caution you that you should not persist long in your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.”

Though aghast at this reference to her father’s mortality during a proposal of marriage, Elizabeth overcame her horror and made one last attempt to repudiate any claim to such a practice and make plain her feelings on the matter, but to no avail.

“You are uniformly charming!” Mr. Collins cried, with an air of awkward gallantry; “and I am persuaded that, when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable.”

Her parents! Elizabeth stared at Mr. Collins, suddenly realizing the full import of her situation. With her father not in residence, and her mother fully in support of their union, there was no one present who could depress his aspirations for her hand. With a stifled cry of alarm at her helplessness, she fled.

Chapter 5

Charlotte Lucas, the eldest unmarried daughter of Longbourn’s nearest neighbor, was just approaching the house as Elizabeth was fleeing. Given the newsworthiness of the recent ball and its even more scandalous conclusion, Miss Lucas had been on her way to have a long coze with her good friend and perhaps by chance pick up some interesting gossip to satiate the curiosity of her mother and father.

Elizabeth, however, redirected her from her course by slipping an arm through hers and setting off down the path she had just trod. “Eliza Bennet! You have only a spencer and bonnet,” Charlotte chided with laughing severity as she was willingly dragged away from her intended destination. “I know you enjoy your walks, but surely this is too cool for even you.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “They were all I could quickly locate. And surely it is far better to freeze out here than to stay in the house, where it has become too hot for even me, Charlotte. I dare not stay any longer, or I may find I have no say at all in the matter.”

“The matter?” Charlotte echoed. “What matter? What on earth are you talking about, Eliza?”

With patience and some measure of returning good humor, Elizabeth detailed the events of the morning: of Mr. Collins’ proposal and her attempted refusal, and of Mrs. Bennet’s succeeding ire when she came to understand that her daughter had not accepted the offer of, to her eyes, the most eminently eligible suitor for said daughter’s hand and the person who would otherwise cast them out of the house when Mr. Bennet at last shuffled off this mortal coil.

“And now it is becoming even more dire, as Mr. Collins is vowing to 'prove his valor' to me, and my mother is desperately trying to convince him to wait until my father returns, that he will force me to marry him, without dueling or whatever Mr. Collins has in mind.” Elizabeth sighed. "I had noticed that poor Mary seemed to have actually made an effort with her appearance today, and thought perhaps I might turn his attention to her, but the suggestion did not sit well with either of them, and I am thoroughly out of ideas. With neither Papa nor Jane in the house, I had no refuge and thus you find me in escape for my life and my sanity.”

Charlotte cast a doubtful glance over her shoulder. “Do you think I ought to invite Mr. Collins to dinner at our house? It might ease the tension somewhat.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “While it might serve to remove one of the actors in this farce, it would also require a return to the house -- and I have no intention of doing that for quite some time, at least. No, I think it a much more comforting thought that you take me to your house that I might borrow a pair of gloves and perhaps a scarf. There is a greater chill in the air today than I expected, given our weather of late. The more distance between myself and Longbourn is my only object right now, and you are my captive for the nonce.”

Charlotte laughingly obliged, and they continued on their way to Lucas Lodge.

When they arrived, Charlotte found her friend some winter clothing and brought them to her in the parlor, where Elizabeth was installed with a warming pot of tea the housekeeper had obligingly brought. Sir William and Lady Lucas, having heard of their visitor, joined them after a small while. They greeted each other with pleasantries and then talked generally about the Netherfield Ball for five minutes, at least, before obliquely referencing the events that had closed the festivities.

Elizabeth shared as little and as much knowledge about the occurrence she felt was acceptable before saying, “Apropos of Mr. Denny, though, I was wondering: Had you heard that he was courting a young lady?”

There was an unexpected pause, and Elizabeth looked up from stirring her second cup of tea. Sir William and Lady Lucas were staring at each other and seemed to be having a silent argument. Sir William’s eyes were wide, but Lady Lucas’ were narrowed and she was shaking her head tightly in the negative. As Elizabeth watched, they continued to gesture mutely, and she glanced in bemusement at Charlotte, who refused to meet her eyes.

After longer than Elizabeth thought possible, she cleared her throat slightly, which recalled the older couple to their surroundings. “Why, no!” Lady Lucas replied in a tone a little too high, picking up the conversation where it had paused, as if it had not. She modulated her voice as she smoothed her expression: “How very extraordinary. And very unfortunate for her, losing her suitor in such a way. Who was she? Someone in the neighborhood? Would you like some more tea?”

“Mama!” Charlotte said out of the side of her mouth.

“Ah, no,” Elizabeth replied, looking down at her completely full cup. “Thank you?”

“Ho-Hum. I daresay, perhaps he wasn’t courting anyone at all,” Sir William said with a forced laugh. “These rumors are started so easily. A young man asks a young lady once to dance, and suddenly congratulations are flowing all around. If one were to ask me, I should say I doubt the lady in question even exists.”

“Precisely what we are trying to discover, Sir William,” Elizabeth said with a smile of reassurance. She looked at Charlotte with a raised brow, but her friend refused to see it.

“I should hardly think it matters,” Lady Lucas said. “Even if he had gone so far as to propose to the young lady, which I have heard nothing of, and I should think I would, there is no obligation there, now that he is... er, what I mean is that there may have been hopes, now disappointed, and whoever it is we should have the kindness to leave off questioning and allow the poor thing to mourn silently in peace.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “My father delights in his puzzles. If he discovers a loose thread such as this, he shall pursue its length until he is satisfied there is no knot to unravel. It animates him, to solve these little mysteries. And I do not believe he has had one of this scope for quite some time.”

“I should imagine not,” Charlotte agreed. “People are not murdered by unknown persons every day. And one might say that is a very good thing.”

“Given how much my father is enjoying this, I am unsure he would entirely agree with you,” Elizabeth replied.

At this point, Charlotte's younger sister Maria came into the room and greeted Elizabeth, asking her how she enjoyed the ball the night before and saying how thrilling she had thought it had been. Sir William and Lady Lucas then engaged in another silent dialog of facial expressions while Charlotte hid her eyes in shame. Miss Maria appeared to be confused by it all, so Elizabeth did her best to ignore the oddities and reply that she had, indeed, found the ball to be quite the interesting experience.

"Well!" she said brightly and set down her cup of tea, drawing the room's attention. “I do thank you, Sir William and Lady Lucas, for your hospitality. I had best be on my way, as I have something of a busy morning.”

Lady Lucas smiled a bit thinly. “It is always a pleasure, my dear Miss Eliza.”

Charlotte stood up. “I will see Elizabeth out,” she said, casting a speaking look on her parents.

Out in the hall, as the maid handed Elizabeth her borrowed outerwear, she tried to discover the reason for the recent strange behavior, but Charlotte was having none of it. “I think perhaps I shall send over a note to Longbourn,” she said, overriding Elizabeth’s question, “and invite your cousin, Mr. Collins, to dinner. It would be a most neighborly thing to do.”

“Charlotte...”

“Or perhaps we will invite him tomorrow, and I can walk to Longbourn to deliver it. I have not forgotten your dance with Mr. Darcy, and I would like to know more about that.”

“Charlotte...”

“And do not forget that on Tuesday we were to visit Mrs. Robinson together; she mentioned it to me at the ball, though there is some chance she has already forgotten.” Then, just as Elizabeth once again opened her mouth to say her name again, Charlotte sighed and said, “Lizzy, please . I cannot talk about it, because I know so very little, but I assure you it has absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Denny’s murder. It is merely a minor family crisis.”

Elizabeth gazed at her in compassion, with only a touch of doubt in her expression. “If you discover it does have anything to do with it, even obliquely, you will tell me, will you not? It is not as though you would be confiding in my mother; both my father and I know how to keep such things as a private matter. And even if it had anything to do with yourself (or, may I say, I think it more likely to be Maria),” she added, with a raised brow and a significant look at her friend, “we can more easily conceal it if we don’t blunder about trying to uncover it.”

Charlotte’s lips pursed in a frown and she looked away. “You are a strange creature by way of a friend, Eliza Bennet. I will consider what you say, and perhaps speak with my parents.”

With a brief embrace and one more searching gaze, Elizabeth bid goodbye to her friend and set off down the path. When she arrived at the end of the lane to Lucas Lodge, however, she thought twice about returning home. It was nearly the same distance into Meryton from here as from Longbourn, though by a different route, and she could quite easily stop at her Aunt Phillip’s house in town before returning to her mother’s wrath. She had questions about Mr. Denny to ask her aunt, and there was no time like the present. With a decisive nod, she struck out for Meryton.

A bit of a breeze had kicked up whilst she was taking tea with the Lucases, and she was glad she had procured the outerwear to keep her warm, for if the walk into town did not chill her, the walk back doubtless would have. Even then, her fingers and cheeks were feeling the cold by the time she had reached the edge of Meryton.

She arrived at her Aunt Phillips’ house ere long, however, and was ushered into a warm salon and sat next to the fire. After a few moments of fussing, Elizabeth’s aunt thrust a cup of tea into her hands and a plate with a sandwich on it into her lap and then turned again to her other guest, who had sat patiently during the interruption.

“And you say his father had threatened to disown him for it?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Merryweather said. “Nearly threw him off without a ha’penny to his name, except his mother pleaded for him to be given a chance to reform.” She turned to Elizabeth and said, “We were talking on Mr. Denny, as he was, and some of the news we had of his past. Mrs. Forster told me all about why he’d joined the militia. He himself had told her something of it not a few days ago, after she’d recalled a little rumor about it all.”

“And it’s quite scandalous,” Mrs. Phillips added.

Elizabeth raised one brow in interrogation, and it was more than enough for them, alternating the narration, to tell her the story as they knew it.

Mr. Denny, a younger son, had been out of university some years without employment. He had spent most of his time on the town and, as a bachelor of good family with a modest inheritance, had been accepted everywhere but in the homes of the highest sticklers. He’d attended balls and routs and the theatre and all manner of house parties.

But it was the last which was his downfall: at a hunting party at a rural estate, he and another gentleman were engaged in a contretemps that had nearly ended in a duel, but was broken up by the host and Mr. Denny was sent away.

According to rumor, the gentleman had suspected his wife of an affair, and Mr. Denny and the gentleman’s wife had been seen together on several occasions over the course of the party in quite intimate circumstances.

"Are you sure it was his wife?" Mrs. Phillips interjected. "I thought you had said his sister."

Mrs. Merryweather looked doubtful. "No, I'm quite sure I said 'wife.' But I suppose it doesn't matter. His lady, we'll say."

In either case, when the gentleman had discovered some of his lady’s jewels to be missing, he had a search conducted and the rather expensive pair of earrings was found in a drawer next to the bed in the room where Mr. Denny was staying. (Mrs. Merryweather here laid a finger aside her nose with a significant glance to her friend.) Both the lady and Mr. Denny had declared their innocence, but for naught. It was only through the persuasion of friends that a duel was averted.

“It was all hushed up, of course,” Mrs. Merryweather said. “Mrs. Forster might not have even heard of it but that her sister had married the parson in the village near where the house was situated, and had a prodigious correspondence with her. When she married the colonel and was introduced around to her husband’s officers, she recognized the name Denny and quizzed him on it.”

“Who was the lady?” Elizabeth asked.

Mrs. Phillips shook her head. “We don’t know, and Mrs. Foster said Mr. Denny refused to reveal it. But it happened at the estate of an earl, and the gentleman whose sister--" ("Wife!" said Mrs. Merryweather.) "--was caught out was one of the earl’s cousins.”

Some speculation ensued on which of the many gentlemen of means and rank they had never met might fit the bill, and Elizabeth was left to think for a little time. At last, at the most convenient opening, she asked, “Do you think that Mr. Denny was seriously interested in this lady? That he might have had honorable intentions?”

Mrs. Merryweather and Mrs. Phillips exchanged an amused glance at such a question. “I shouldn’t think it very likely,” her aunt said gently.

“She was married, you recall," Mrs. Merryweather added, to Mrs. Phillips' scowl. The latter muttered that they didn't much know the lady’s marital state, since she was only his sister.

“But perhaps she is not married, or even since has gotten--" Elizabeth paused and then whispered, "-- divorced . Would he perhaps pursue her to make an honest woman of her?”

“Oh, Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Merryweather said with a coarse laugh. “When you know something more of men, you will understand what we mean when we say that’s not what he was interested in at all.”

“Though it has happened before,” Mrs. Phillips interposed with an amused tilt to her eyebrows.

The two ladies tittered, but Elizabeth persisted in her line of questioning: “Was Mr. Denny involved romantically with anyone else, do you know?”

“None I know of,” Mrs. Merryweather said slowly. “All the ladies loved him, of course, but I don’t think I know of one in particular he favored. Unless there was someone in London… he did seem to have need of going up to town frequently.”

“That’s a common enough failing of men, my dear,” Mrs. Phillips reminded her. “And there isn’t much of that around here.”

“Except Mrs.--”

“Oh, hush, Hetty! Maidenly ears.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and did her best not to sigh aloud. She’d already heard about Mrs. Simmons and Miss Smith years ago from her Aunt Phillips, when her mother had sent her out of the room to “find the maid about more spoons,” but didn’t wait until the door had closed enough. When her father had finally teased the reason for her horrified looks from her, he merely laughed and said he’d not met either lady, but that if his wife would like to meet them he could find someone to arrange an introduction. It was her Aunt Gardiner, as usual, who set a few things straight for her during the next visit and calmed her fears about the relations between men and women.

All that aside, none of this was putting her any nearer her goal of gaining information. As the two gossips continued talking on unrelated topics, however, Elizabeth considered her options. If she pursued her ends, even someone as slow as her aunt might catch a whiff of her purpose and the fat would be in the fire. She had no intention of spreading a new rumor, or all subsequent information on Mr. Denny’s romantic interests would be suspect.

And given the lack of quality in the information so far and the unlikelihood of turning up a name at this point, was there a reason to press for more?

With a glance at the clock and a brief consideration of the graying sky visible through the curtains, Elizabeth decided retreat was the wiser choice and said that she had regretfully spent as long as she could for a courtesy call and had to hurry back home. Her aunt and Mrs. Merryweather declared their disconsolation and concerns about the weather and then, once she had reassured them, returned to their discussion on the advisability of the hat Mrs. Chester was recently seen wearing.

On a happy note, she thought, her father would be relieved to know he was right. Her aunt continued to be useless.

Chapter 6

Elizabeth retrieved her outerwear from Mrs. Phillip’s maid at the door and soon was breathing in the chill of the afternoon. The streets of Meryton remained quiet: a horse nearby stood in a fog of frozen breath as his owner filled the cart; the publican swept the steps of the inn; a cluster of redcoats congregated at the far corner of the street, too distant to determine their identities; a farmer clattered past in a haywagon, with a hog in the back, no doubt destined for the butcher.

Tightening her borrowed muffler, Elizabeth set off towards Longbourn. She hardly glanced in the shop windows as she passed, her steps hastening her onward. She regretted anew not bringing her fur-lined spencer when she had left the house, as Charlotte’s threadbare old cloak, the only one she had had that wouldn't have dragged on the ground, barely served its purpose. Hill had told her only last night that his knees ached -- as they always did when the weather was turning -- and so she should have known how cold it would grow.

Elizabeth once again cursed the ill luck of having caught the eye of a cousin as obtuse and pig-headed as Mr. Collins. And her mother for encouraging such a connection. And her father for being absent today, of all days. And Mr. Denny, for having gotten himself murdered. She couldn’t quite curse the good-natured Mr. Bingley for hosting a ball, but she was highly tempted, given her mood.

It was not quite the proper frame of mind to be passing another group of redcoats entering the village, and she barely managed a civil nod to them, especially after distinguishing Mr. Wickham as being one of the group. It was only fair, though: he refused to meet her eyes, as well, even as he touched his hat with the others. She mentally added him to her list of people to curse for a liar and a gambler.

Elizabeth had never been made for melancholy or ill temper, however, so it only took her a few hundred yards more for her to laugh at herself and reflect that it really was a beautiful, if frigid, day, and a walk now was likely the best she could hope for, with the coming of more inclement winter weather. Indeed, the nip of the wind on her cheeks and the briskness of the exercise was renewing her spirits admirably. She could forgive Mr. Collins for being a toad; she could forgive her mother for being nervous and irritable; she could forgive her father for going off to London and taking Jane with him; she could even forgive Mr. Denny for dying, something he probably couldn’t have helped.

Mr. Wickham, though, she thought frowningly, was another matter entirely. She hadn’t fully decided what she’d thought about the revelation of his character the previous day. To have blatantly and so smoothly lied, and been unrepentant, was the mark of a man who thought little of the sin. Add to that the suspicions of other character flaws, and it was damning.

But, as her father had said, knowing he lied indicated nothing of what he said was truth and what deceit. After all, she argued, even a liar told the truth sometimes.

He had told her many things over the course of their relationship: of his past, of the past life of another -- here she grimaced, as she considered that she might have to revise her opinions of another particular man -- and some very flattering things about herself. That last was perhaps the most distressing thought, that his compliments were simply another lie, and that she had been too blinded by vanity to discern the truth.

In some measure, she wanted him to have been genuine. His aspect was pleasing, his attentions to her gratifying. Though she treated the idea of giving her own love to him lightly, she couldn’t deny that her pride had thrilled at the idea that she had conquered his. The thought of owning that power over him was intoxicating. But the possibility that he had been insincere humbled her and made her reflect on her own behaviour. Had she been lying, as well, in her own reception of his attentions? She could not have truly considered him as a husband, for she knew very well he could not support a wife on his pay, and he had been clear in his lack of inheritance. He had gained entrance to the militia through his gentleman’s education, not through his purse.

So, then, what was her goal? To have him in love with her? For what purpose?

If his flirtations, then, were a lie, she thought unsteadily, she was no less complicit than he. She was, as she had often feared her youngest sisters to be, a flirt. The realization made her stop in her tracks, and she took in a deep breath of chill air.

But, no, she was being too severe on herself. She had never gone beyond the edge of propriety, never considered exposing herself to ridicule by stretching the bounds of what was right. She had favored his attentions, certainly, when they were at events together, but her accomplice was willing, and they neither of them conversed to the exclusion of others; they had simply shown a preference for the presence of the other.

She had been foolish, she could acknowledge, but not more than any young girl with a fancy for a man. She could now only be grateful for this disclosure of his character, that she was able to recognize her own behavior and vow to hereby regulate it better.

Elizabeth smiled bitterly and gave a great sigh, and was about to begin walking again when she became aware of the sound of hoofbeats behind her -- at some distance yet, but growing closer. She turned, curious who might be on the road at this time of day, and was startled to see a lone rider on a dark horse round the corner. When he had cleared the trees and drew in sight of her, he stopped, as well, and she cursed fate as she recognized him.

“Miss Bennet!”

Even with so many lengths between them, she could hear the shock and anger in his voice. She girded herself as he urged his horse into motion and closed the space between them quickly. He dismounted and strode towards her, every step indicating his agitation. Despite herself, she was somewhat intrigued at the never-before-seen amount of emotion displayed on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyebrows rose at such a peremptory question, and she straightened her spine. “Walking, Mr. Darcy.”

His own brows drew together. “Alone? Are you out of your senses?”

“I was alone,” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “But the defect can be remedied quite easily.”

He made as if to say something, but caught himself and looked skywards for a moment, then regarded her again. “I can only imagine it was because of your father’s absence that you were allowed to go abroad with no one beside you, but I had thought you more sensible than that, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth flushed at the rebuke and answered, more sharply than she had intended, “I am no more alone than you, Mr. Darcy, unless you consider your horse to be adequate chaperon.”

He pursed his lips in clear anger at her tone. “Not my horse, madam,” he said, striding over to unstrap the rifle from the back of his saddle and then turning to face her. “But I do consider this to be safeguard.”

At this rather stark reminder of the very present danger and violence of recent events and thus how foolish she had been to walk alone to the town and back without protection, Elizabeth could say nothing. Her wide eyes gazed with horror upon the weapon, then on Darcy’s furious expression.

“Did you forget so easily that a man was murdered not two days ago, and the perpetrator of the violence yet to be identified, much less taken into custody? Do you have so little care for your own safety or for the feelings of others who might be concerned for you? What was so very important that you need go abroad and risk death or worse?”

Abashed, she closed her eyes and looked away, her shoulders deflating. Mr. Darcy was right. Jane would certainly be horrified and, while he admired and encouraged her independence, even her father would look askance at her disregard for her welfare. Yes, he had asked her to speak with her aunt, but he could not have expected her to do so under such circumstances, and alone. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “Nothing important at all.”

She sensed Mr. Darcy move towards her slightly, and she looked up to see him step forward, a hand reached out to her. At her startled look, however, he seemed to think twice and instead let his hand fall to his side. “I know it is not my place to chastise you, Miss Elizabeth, but with your father away, I -- that is, you must have a greater care for yourself,” he said, his voice softer and somewhat apologetic. She had never heard his voice so warm as it was now -- except, she recalled, the time he had spoken at Netherfield of his sister. “The countryside is not a safe place at present, when there is quite probably someone in the area who has killed once -- and with such a disregard for life would hardly hesitate to do so again, were it to his advantage. We don’t know the motive for the attack on Mr. Denny, and we don’t know who it was committed such a violent act. He might not even be a stranger to you, but someone you know.”

Elizabeth felt a stirring of appreciation for Mr. Darcy’s concern for her and, after a few steadying breaths, such lightness of feeling allowed her more teasing nature to reassert itself. “Someone such as yourself, Mr. Darcy?” she asked with a flick of her eyebrow. “Am I in any danger from you?”

He was surprised, that was certain, but he recovered himself quickly and frowned. But then, nearly as rapidly as his countenance had cooled, it now changed into something she could not identify -- again, as when Mr. Denny had been discovered at the ball, a strange expression lit his eyes and he leaned towards her slightly, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. “Perhaps you are, Miss Elizabeth. Do you consider me dangerous?”

She laughed delightedly at such a metamorphosis. “I don’t quite rightly know what you are, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, and gazed at him thoughtfully. “Each time I think I have sketched your character, you do something or say something that casts a new light and throws all of my work into relief. Add to that the many varying accounts I have heard of you, which puzzle me exceedingly, and I fear I shall never have a portrait of which I am satisfied.”

Her listener’s expression had tightened during her speech, and when she had finished, the haughtiness she had grown accustomed to had returned. “I can readily believe that report may vary greatly with respect to me; I would wish you not to give too much credit to some, and perhaps even less to others when illustrating my character."

Though it might not have been the pointed reference to Mr. Wickham that Elizabeth thought it was, she felt the reproach and her cheeks flushed. She suddenly felt it safer to speak on another topic. “Were you for Longbourn, then?” she asked, gesturing in the direction she, and he, had been traveling on the path.

He paused and stepped back, increasing the distance between them. “I was,” he responded, returning his rifle to his saddle. “I had an express from Bingley with a note from your father to deliver to Mrs. Bennet.”

“My father!” she cried. “Did something happen?”

At her alarm, Mr. Darcy turned back to her quickly, reaching out to take the hand she had extended towards him and covering it comfortingly with his own. “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth. I did not intend to concern you; I believe everyone to be well. It is simply that the business Bingley had in London could not be accomplished in one day, as I had warned him, and he had need to remain until the morrow.”

Elizabeth let out a breath, relieved, and then grimaced as she quickly realized that in vain was her unreasonable hope Mr. Bennet would return to quash the matrimonial ambitions of Mr. Collins before nightfall. “I suppose my father and sister are remaining the night at my aunt and uncle’s house in town, as he expected might happen. Papa had been sceptical of Mr. Bingley’s optimism, as well.”

His expression amused, Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I know nothing of the arrangements,” he replied.

As silence fell for a moment between them, Elizabeth suddenly became aware that her hand was yet encased in his. With a slight blush, she extracted it in order to gesture in the direction of Longbourn in silent invitation to walk. With a nod, Mr. Darcy retrieved his horse’s reins and they were soon on the way. He resumed their conversation: “Truly, the most I could decipher of Bingley’s message was what I told you. Had your father’s enclosed note not fallen out as I opened the missive, I am unsure I should have known to relay the information of their delay to your mother. I believe my friend was more interested in sending the letter than he was in ensuring its legibility.”

She laughed, remembering a conversation at Netherfield while her sister was there ill. “Yes, I suppose that where haste is paramount, it trumps such trivial things as grammar and spelling and keeping blots from obliterating all one’s words. I recall Mr. Bingley himself declaring that his letters of an occasion convey no ideas at all to his correspondents; surely, it must be a triumph that you were able to extract the one.”

“But you forget that I have a long familiarity with his writing,” he replied, smiling slightly. “And our friendship gives me the patience to decipher it. He would not be Bingley so much if he took more care in his correspondence.”

“And I daresay you would not be quite so forgiving of his lack of care in writing were you not so proud of being able to decipher it,” Elizabeth said, laughing when he acknowledged the accuracy of such an observation with a half-hearted wave.

From here Mr. Darcy steered the conversation to less personal matters, and for the rest of the journey they spoke of books and the disparate and sometimes similar opinions they had on them. Elizabeth found her perception of Mr. Darcy again changing to the better, the more they conversed and she explored to a greater depth the cleverness of his mind and opinions.

Upon stepping through the front doors of Longbourn, however, and leaving the comfort of their tete-a-tete, the haughtiness soon returned to Mr. Darcy’s expression. From an open door down the hall issued the sound of Mrs. Bennet’s conversation, and Elizabeth cringed as she realized the topic.

“...when I think of everything I have done for that girl! That she should have rejected him, without thought to her family, and our concerns. It isn’t as if she has any other offers, and I should think it highly unlikely she should ever have another, given the way she treats her suitors. You should think of that, too, Mary, if you should ever be so fortunate.”

Another voice, softer than her mother’s answered, and Elizabeth quickly turned to Mr. Hill, who was taking Mr. Darcy’ coat and hat, and requested he make her mother aware of her return.

“Precisely,” Mrs. Bennet continued, as loudly as before. “And then off she goes on some lark with no thought to her mother and abandons poor Mr. Collins here without so much as a by-your-leave, and now he is gone, as well. What could he possibly have been doing these past few hours?”

Again, Mary must have replied, but Elizabeth was more concerned in preventing any more conversation to continue in this vein than to discovering what her sister had to say on the matter. She turned to Mr. Darcy, who was gazing with rapt attention in that direction, and offered to take the gloves being turned over thoughtlessly in his hands. At her voice, he shook himself free of his thoughts and thanked her, but gave her such a speculative look as to make her blush. The color deepened as she then heard her mother cry out: “Mr. Darcy! Hateful man. Why should he have come here, of all places?”

With face fully aflame, Elizabeth turned and preceded Mr. Darcy to the parlor. There she introduced him to her perfectly unconscious mother and uninterested sister Mary, who sat with her, as having come with a message from Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet. The next few minutes followed as expected, with Mrs. Bennet making ungracious comments to both her guest and her daughter, Elizabeth attempting to deflect them, and Mr. Darcy delivering stiff replies to both. Elizabeth could hardly be surprised at the emergence of the gentleman’s more taciturn nature in the face of her mother’s stubborn antipathy, but did marvel a little at the rapidity of his transformation with respect to herself.

The visit was as brief as could be expected, though perhaps shorter than conventionally polite. Nearly at the moment Mr. Bennet’s note was delivered into its intended recipient’s hands, Mr. Darcy begged off remaining any longer due to the uncertain nature of the countryside and the coming darkness, as well as the need to return home to dine with the remaining guests at Netherfield. Mrs. Bennet did not proffer an invitation to stay.

No sooner had he gone than the lady turned her displeasure fully upon her wayward daughter. Elizabeth listened with the usual patience she had for her mother’s megrims, and then excused herself to wash the dust of the road from herself before dinner.

But the reprieve was brief, as her mother returned again to her topic du jour throughout the dismal dinner that followed. Mr. Collins had not returned by then, nor had he sent a note, which fueled Mrs. Bennet’s ire at her second daughter. Elizabeth suffered the complaints of her mother stoically, with an occasional overture to her sisters Mary or Kitty to engage them in conversation. Neither were inclined to risk drawing their mother’s attention, and Elizabeth soon gave up the attempt and ate her meal silently.

Soon after removing from the dining room, Mrs. Bennet, overwrought by the events of the day, retired for the evening to the attentions of her maid; Kitty went upstairs to see how Lydia was faring, and Mary claimed the need to finish a letter in her room. Elizabeth, feeling like a pariah, sat for a moment in the drawing room with her embroidery laying idle in her lap. For perhaps the fiftieth time that evening, she mourned the absence of her father and Jane.

She would have appreciated having her sisterly confidante with her that night, for a good coze before sleep, to lay to rest all of the troubled thoughts she had from the day: of Mr. Collins’ proposal, of the strange behavior of the Lucases, of her failure to discover anything useful from her aunt, of her realization of Mr. Wickham’s perfidy and her own foolishness in abetting it, of Mr. Darcy’s mercurial temperament and of Elizabeth’s apprehension that she may have unjustly harbored accusations against him on the word of a suspected liar.

They might not have slept much for talking, had Jane been there, but it certainly would have been more sleep than Elizabeth got without her.

The following morning saw grey skies, a chill wind, and a faint mizzle, and Elizabeth, uninclined to brave the outdoors, spent the early hours in her father’s bookroom, with its angled view of the drive. She had been the only one to breakfast; her mother and sisters were still abed, Mrs. Hill informed her, and Mr. Collins’ room had not appeared slept in. Elizabeth supposed she would soon have to inform her father that their guest had taken French leave of them and explain exactly why she suspected he had done so, as well.

As she paced once again around the room, counting the minutes until it were even possible Mr. Bingley’s carriage would return with the sojourners, she caught sight of a rider coming towards the house. His scarlet coat stood out brightly in the misty light, and she worried somewhat unreasonably that it was Mr. Wickham come to Longbourn, though she could not say exactly why she was worried. The rider advanced at a heightened pace, and a strange presentiment led her to quit the library and go to meet him at the door.

It was, indeed, Mr. Wickham, and Elizabeth frowned to see him. What could his purpose here be? He had just leapt from his horse and was approaching with hurried breath when he recognized her and stopped dead. He shifted uncomfortably for a moment as they eyed each other. “Is Mr. Bennet available?” he asked after a moment. “We have need of him.”

Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide at the serious statement but informed him of the delayed return from London.

The lieutenant seemed dismayed by the news, and shook his head slowly. “It is your cousin, Miss Elizabeth. We have found him.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or grieved when Mr. Wickham explained.

“I’m afraid Mr. Collins was too much like his father,” Mr. Bennet sighed after he returned in the early evening and had been told what happened, “inclined to disoblige me at every turn. I shall now, perforce, be required to make new search for an heir at some expense.

“But there is good news,” he said more brightly, turning to regard his daughter with a twinkle. “Even your mother must admit the impossibility of you marrying a dead man.”

Chapter 7

Despite the likelihood that the coroner was already on his way to Longbourn, an express was sent on its way to Mr. Fletcher to inform him of the second suspicious death. Mr. Bennet, however, felt no inclination to stay at home and wait for the man to arrive at his leisure, and thus set off to Netherfield the following morning so as to interview “a person of interest.”

“Apparently,” Mr. Bennet said to Elizabeth as they trundled their way to that estate in the family carriage, “a farmer discovered Mr. Collins’ body when his dog sniffed it out in some shrubbery to the side of the road between Longbourn and Meryton. He shortly thereafter came across a small contingent of the militia on their rounds, and they, in turn, came to inform me. There is not much to be said about it. When I saw the corpse, it was fairly clear that he had been there some time, perhaps as many as 24 hours, and the cause of death was bludgeoning by a sizeable rock that was left, bloodied, by his side. I should say that it was brought down on his head by force from behind -- but I am sure Mr. Fletcher would have pleasure in proving me wrong, so I may tell him that I suspect it was thrown.”

Elizabeth replied that it was very good of him to consider the coroner’s interests, so for the next goodly portion of the ride Mr. Bennet maintained that he half believed the theory, and even amused himself by conjecturing on the trajectory of the launch and the distance the assailant must have been at for the projectile to have made such an impact. Or was the rock a ruse, and the actual weapon something different entirely? It truly was a puzzle.

When Elizabeth judged her father to have expended enough time on his absurdity, she asked him about his trip to London and whether he had any pertinent information to relate. Mr. Bennet shrugged dismissively and explained he had met with Mr. Denny’s family and a few of the Bingley guests who had already returned, but none had had any information of real interest. He had interviewed Mr. Bingley on the ride up to town and learned even less of interest, and had stopped at several inns on the post road on their way down. The rest of the trip he had busied himself getting as much sleep as he could. Her aunt and uncle Gardiner sent their regards.

Mr. Bennet then asked Elizabeth what she had done in his absence, aside from casting young men into such despair they went out into the hedgerows and got themselves killed, and she took some effort to describe to him the rest of the events of the previous day. When Mr. Bennet had returned from London and was immediately called away to the scene of the crime, there had only been time to fill him in on the most pertinent details of Mr. Collins’ morning. As he now listened to her describe her subsequent visits at Lucas Lodge and her Aunt Phillips’ house, he sat silently frowning.

“This does present a new wrinkle,” he said when Elizabeth had finished. “I had heard much of the story of Mr. Denny’s entrance into the militia from his parents, but not the nature of the incident that Sir Edmund described as a ‘bit of mischief.’ It opens up several intriguing possibilities. Sir William and Lady Lucas, however -- that is very interesting. I shall have to consider what it may mean, if anything.”

He then added cheerfully: “But it does not affect what we do today.”

“And what is it, precisely, we do today at Netherfield?” Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Bennet smiled mysteriously as they approached the house. “That, my dear, you shall see. But I promise you will enjoy it.”

They were shown by the butler into a parlor that contained neither of the ladies of the house, but all three of the gentlemen. Mr. Bingley was pleased to see them, but showed some disappointment at there being only two members of the Bennet family present and neither of them named Jane. Mr. Darcy, sitting in a chair by the fireplace, rose upon their entrance and laid aside his book, but then only acknowledged them with a bow and left the engagement to his host. Mr. Hurst, unusually active from Elizabeth’s recollection of her time at Netherfield, greeted them with reserve and then approached the sideboard and poured himself a drink, only afterward thinking to offer to the rest of the room. No one else appeared inclined to partake, so he poured another and remained at his designated station.

Mr. Bennet opened proceedings with a query of the state of the household in the wake of the tragedy.

“It has not been overly affected, I understand,” Mr. Bingley said. “My housekeeper tells me there have been some incidents with servants either being a little too curious to attend properly to their duties or, conversely, outright refusing to go anywhere near the location where it happened. And there have been very few visitors to appeal to the gardeners to see the scene of the crime, as it were, unlike how I hear it is sometimes in Town. I suppose I can be grateful that we are so very remote here, and that it did not occur in the house, or we might have had more intrusions upon our notice. The colder weather, I suppose, can also be credited.”

Mr. Bennet agreed that they were, indeed, fortunate in the convenience of the murder’s location and timing, and then asked about the health of the two ladies. Mrs. Hurst, he learned, stayed yet abed with her sister in attendance.

“How very distressing,” he said in reply, “that she should have been so overthrown by the incident at the ball. She must have felt great responsibility for her brother’s ball, that the stress of having the event disturbed in such a way was too much, and she felt it much in the general sense; I cannot imagine she should know Mr. Denny personally.”

“I do not believe so,” Mr. Bingley said with a thoughtful frown that soon gave way to a shrug. “Though I suppose they might have met at some event or other; the Dennys were not in our particular circle of acquaintance, however.”

Mr. Hurst, who had been finishing off the last of his glass of spirits, here fell into a coughing fit that interrupted the conversation, but he waved away their inquiries of concern. The room fell silent for a few minutes, until Mr. Bingley inquired after Miss Lydia.

“Oh, she’ll do well enough at some point,” Mr. Bennet replied lightly, but Elizabeth felt inclined to add, from politeness: “Like your sister, I do not think she has recovered fully from the fright. I understand that quite a few of the guests were overcome by the horror of such a thing happening so near to them.”

“But not yourself,” Mr. Darcy said, startling her. When Elizabeth raised a curious brow, he explained, “You seem to me capable of withstanding a good deal of distress without succumbing to a fit of the vapors.”

She smiled. “You make me sound quite the forbidding Amazon, Mr. Darcy, but it is true that working alongside my father has made me inured to some of what might intimidate others. My courage always rises in moments of great tension.”

“A very useful characteristic,” Mr. Bennet observed. “You, as well, Mr. Darcy, seemed little inclined to hysteria in the face of Mr. Denny’s death. As I recall, though you were not among the very first to respond to my daughter’s cries, you quickly took control of the threatening chaos to clear the scene and call for the nearest magistrate. I am grateful for your presence of mind in preserving what clues were present. I am certain the coroner shall thank you, as well.”

Mr. Darcy dismissed the need for any gratitude and Mr. Bennet obliged him readily, then asked if they might speak in private. Somewhat startled by the request, Mr. Darcy narrowed his eyes, assessing the older man before requesting from his friend the use of his study.

“Of course,” Mr. Bingley granted with a laugh. “I should have known when I had your note that it was your position as sheriff, and not a social call, that drew you hither. I recall Miss Bennet saying once that you preferred your bookroom to any ballroom or drawing room.”

Mr. Bennet smiled slightly and would have answered but for Mr. Darcy, who had startled during Bingley’s speech, echoing, “Sheriff?” Both he and Mr. Hurst were gazing at Mr. Bennet with shock. “Of Hertfordshire?”

“That is the county we currently reside in,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “It would be difficult for me to be sheriff of Cornwall.”

The other gentlemen stared at Mr. Bennet, though Mr. Darcy soon after turned his eyes towards Elizabeth and frowned thoughtfully. Mr. Bingley appeared perplexed by the confusion. “Did you not know, Darcy?” Bingley asked with a laugh. “You were the one who called for him when Mr. Denny was found.”

“I merely requested a magistrate,” Darcy replied stiffly to his friend. He bowed low to Mr. Bennet. “I apologize for my misunderstanding, sir, and my lack of the proper courtesies, with respect to your stature as an agent of the king. I assumed you to be the local justice of the peace.”

Mr. Bennet looked at him shrewdly. “Because I don’t puff myself up with airs befitting my station, you mean? We are a country society, Mr. Darcy. I have no need to be the highest ranked personage in the shire. Besides, I think it would likely go to my wife’s head if she had any idea. Do you know, she actually avoids discussing it, as she thinks my having to work is a sign of indigence.” He laughed mirthlessly and added bitterly, “And really, given how much my expenses regularly outstrip any income, it may truly be so.”

Elizabeth, nettled by the look of haughty disbelief on Mr. Darcy’s face, said: “Do tell the gentlemen of your brush with knighthood, papa.”

Mr. Bennet smiled. “Ah, yes; I daresay it was a narrow escape. To be brief, some years ago on one of the king’s travels through this county, his cavalcade stopped in Meryton in order for me to make my obeisance. It had been a few years since my name had first been pricked and the king had appointed me durante bene placito , and I had not been to see him since. The mayor of the town, however, was gracious enough to do the honors, and of course for such a civic matter I ceded precedence. Pleased by the reception and quite misunderstanding who Lucas was, his majesty declared then and there before the crowds that he would be knighted for his service to the crown. When, later, the king’s private secretary unraveled the identity confusion and approached me, I assured him it was quite irrelevant and I was happy at Sir William’s good fortune. I had no need for a title.” He paused and reflected, “Besides, it really was a good speech, that.”

Mr. Bingley looked politely interested and Mr. Darcy frowned, but Mr. Hurst was the one to exclaim, “You turned down a knighthood?"

Mr. Bennet merely shrugged a shoulder insouciantly and said, "I have been to London. I have seen the lions."

The other man spluttered indignantly. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Have you no pride, man?”

But Mr. Bennet merely sat back and folded his hands over his stomach. “Ah, pride. A tricky thing, that. As the poet and many of the learned figures of our past would have it, pride is the most deadly of all sins, that which caused even God’s favored angel to fall, but to my mind it is not always so dire. To be sure, it inflicts no damage to one’s character to take pride in the things for which we can take no credit: to be proud of our king, of our country, of our ancestors. Rather, it is the danger we face when we take undue pride in what we feel we merit, for we may believe that we alone are responsible for our wealth or our position -- or even, what is perhaps more noble than money or power: our intellect.”

A slight flush colored high on Mr. Darcy’s cheeks as he caught Mr. Bennet’s sly glance in his direction. He, in turn, looked at Elizabeth, and she recalled their previous discussion of pride in this very room, the first night Jane had been able to come downstairs during her stay of illness here: “Vanity,” he had said, “is a weakness indeed. But pride -- where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.” She had not mentioned this conversation to her father, and she wondered if Mr. Darcy’s expression indicated he thought that she had.

“That is undoubtedly true, Mr. Bennet,” he said now, his baritone rumbling slightly. “But I think it equally true that its reverse, humility, can carry its own danger if it is false, that of being merely a mask for a pride that glories in the appearance of a lack of vanity. Occasionally it can be born of something even worse: a negligence and withdrawal from engagement with the world that speaks of a character of sloth, misanthropy, or acedia.”

“You speak knowledgeably of the nature of men for someone so young,” Mr. Bennet murmured, narrowing his eyes.

Mr. Darcy drew himself up. “I have traveled abroad and have been master of my own estate for more than five years. I have seen both the good of man’s heart and the depths of his perfidy. The world of men holds no mysteries for me.”

“Twould be a pity if I thought the same,” Mr. Bennet said, “for there is nothing like mystery to make a man recognize his limitations. A mystery is no more than a check to our pride: a reminder that we do not know all there is to know and that there are reaches to which our intellect cannot strive and conquer.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Bingley eagerly, recognizing an argument and seeking to defuse it. “And this is quite a mystery you have to solve here in Hertfordshire, Mr. Bennet. I do not suppose there are often multiple murders in these parts? Or should I reconsider my lease of this fine estate? I would hate for the neighborhood to be quite so violent.”

Mr. Bennet smiled benevolently. “Never fear, Mr. Bingley. We do not usually see such goings-on as this, more’s the pity. Our coroner is far oftener called to deaths by natural causes than those by which he must exert his mental capabilities. He shall undoubtedly be cross that I have gotten a start on him in this case, and would be most disappointed should I present him with its solution upon his arrival.”

“I do not doubt your capabilities, Mr. Bennet,” the younger man said, adding to his friend: “I have already been the recipient of one of his interviews. Quite terrifying.”

“I am not afraid,” Mr. Darcy replied with a small smile.

“Oh! You say that now, but beware, Darcy, it is quite the trial. I am thankful I had done nothing of which to feel guilty when it was my turn whilst we were in the carriage to London, or I might have admitted to anything under Mr. Bennet’s penetrating gaze. And probably did," he admitted with a slight blush.

“A clean conscience is an honest man’s guarantee,” Mr. Bennet drawled. “Shall we, Mr. Darcy?”

When they entered the study, Mr. Darcy gestured to the two wingback chairs before the imposing desk. Only after Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet had been seated did he circle the desk and sit behind it, resting his clasped hands casually upon its surface. He said not a word but, after some minutes of silence, raised a brow in inquiry.

With a small smile at this gesture of defiance, Mr. Bennet fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a pipe. With a questioning tilt of his eyebrow, to which Mr. Darcy replied with a nod, the elder man went to the fireplace, pulled a pouch from another pocket, and slowly filled the bowl, tamping it down thrice before taking a small tongs from the pouch and extracting a small ember from the fire. “Do you smoke a pipe?” Mr. Bennet asked without looking up as he carefully touched the borrowed ember to the tobacco and took a draw.

“I do not,” Mr. Darcy replied, with a quick glance at Elizabeth, who had begun to write in the notebook she had pulled from her reticule. “I will occasionally smoke a cigar among friends, but I am not overly fond of tobacco. I do not object to others’ indulgence, however."

Mr. Bennet nodded as he puffed carefully on his pipe. “I am glad,” he said after a moment. “A man should be permitted some small vice, if for no other reason than it allows him to forgo indulging in another less innocent. I understand that you are a Cambridge man. Did you play much cricket?”

“Some; I was more inclined to rowing and fencing.”

“Pity,” Mr. Bennet said as he tamped down the ash in his bowl and again moved to light it with the ember. “We could have had a discussion on the finer points of bowling. I, myself, was never much of a batsman but as a drinks man I was unparalleled. Did you spend much time at the Red Lion, when you were at school?”

“It was not a favored haunt,” Mr. Darcy said slowly. “But I had … acquaintances who had a greater appreciation for the atmosphere.”

Mr. Bennet nodded and blew a smoke ring. “I believe you did. Wickham, was it?”

To his credit, Mr. Darcy did not betray any reaction to the question other than a brief drumming of his fingers on the desk. After a moment he inclined his head and said, “I knew Mr. Wickham in my youth, but by university our paths had diverged. To your question, however, yes, he was fond of the gambling and … other attractions there.”

Elizabeth had her head bowed over her notebook and missed the sidelong glance Mr. Darcy had thrown her. Mr. Bennet had, though, and smirked slightly. He drew on his pipe a few more times before asking, “How long have you known Mr. Denny?”

“I was not well acquainted with the lieutenant; I believe I met him first and briefly at a dinner with the officers some weeks ago.”

“I did not refer to the deceased,” replied Mr. Bennet, “though I appreciate the clarity of your response. I understand that particular Mr. Denny was a few years younger than yourself, and you would have likely been in your final year when he came to Cambridge. I believe, rather, you knew his elder brother, the heir to the baronetcy, during his time at university. He was present during my interview with Sir Edmund Denny and recognized both your name and Mr. Bingley’s. He sends his regards, by the by.”

Mr. Darcy’s brow had cleared, and he nodded his head. “I was not aware that the lieutenant was Thomas Denny’s younger brother. I had never met him, only heard of him from things Denny mentioned. I did not realize the connection. Thomas and I met at school, became close in the usual fashion of university mates. We attend the same club in town.”

“The family is neither exceedingly wealthy nor influential, I understand?”

A frown of distaste at the subject pulled at Mr. Darcy’s mouth before he nodded. “They are not one of the more pre-eminent families, though by no means do they appear to be in any financial distress, as some are. The family has some property in Derbyshire, but more westerly than my own.” He thought for a moment before adding, “In fact, I believe I recall Denny once bemoaning that his brother -- who I now presume to be the deceased -- had inherited a small estate in the neighborhood from some relative, but refused to take charge of it properly, and so it drew no more than a few hundred pounds a year, if it did not operate at a loss. He had sought my advice, but I have not any experience with encouraging interest in estate management in younger brothers.”

“I understand the young Mr. Denny lived well, despite the lack of income from a well-run estate. I suppose he might have also frequented the Red Lion during his time at university?”

“I have no knowledge of any habits, unsavory or not, the younger Mr. Denny had,” the other man replied. “If you are implying he was a gambler to maintain a high standard of living, I believe it is a rather unreliable source of income. Unless he was unusually lucky, he would not likely have had a steady stream of funds from the activity. His older brother never mentioned any concerns in that area, nor do I believe he would have confided such a thing to me.”

“What did you know of the incident that had resulted in Francis Denny being sent to join the militia?”

“I do not trade in society gossip, sir.”

Mr. Bennet’s lip twitched upwards and he returned to sit in his chair. “Your uncle is the Earl of ---?” Mr. Darcy acknowledged this with a nod of his head. “But you are not married, I understand?”

“I am free of any entanglements of a matrimonial nature.”

“I had heard from my cousin that you were engaged to your cousin, Miss de Bourgh.”

Mr. Darcy’s expression grew cold. “I am aware that my aunt is in favor of the match, but there has been no official betrothal, nor is there likely to be. But I fear we are going astray. To what, sir, do these questions tend? How could these personal matters have any import on the murder of a man of mere acquaintance?”

In answer, Mr. Bennet took something from the inner pocket of his coat and tossed it on the desk. It flashed in the light as it danced across the mahogany and came to rest against Mr. Darcy’s clasped hands. With careful deliberation, the latter picked up the small silver object and examined it, his countenance revealing nothing. After several minutes of silence, he looked up at the older man, his eyes piercing, assessing.

“When did you lose it, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet asked softly.

The gentleman laid the diamond-studded cufflink on the desk and sat back in his chair. “Where is its mate?” he asked.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Of what do you suspect me?”

“Of nothing more than carelessness with your jewelry.”

Mr. Darcy did not answer this, evidently thinking, his eyes fixed on the sleeve button. When he did move, it was with economy and suddenness that he stood and in three strides was at the bell-pull. The butler appeared before the cord ceased its movement, and he spoke quietly and briefly to him; the servant disappeared as quickly as he had come, and they waited again in the silence of the study. His tall frame stiff as the door beside him, Mr. Darcy gazed steadily on Elizabeth, who found herself growing unaccountably nervous under such attention. She glanced over at her father, who had a small smile on his face as he watched the proceedings, unconcernedly smoking his pipe.

"You have a sister, I believe, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth said, breaking the silence determinedly. When Mr. Darcy's brow furrowed, she added, "I recall that on one evening that I stayed here you were writing her. Are you very close?"

His expression softened. "Yes, my sister and I are close. Though we have some difference in age, we have lost both of our parents. I, along with my cousin, have, since my father's death five years ago, been her guardian.”

“You say she is much younger than yourself. How old is she, if I may ask?”

“You may. She is your youngest sister’s age, I believe. Just sixteen.”

Elizabeth blushed slightly at this reference to Lydia, whose behavior often embarrassed her. She could not read his expression, but she could not think that he would believe their sisters to have anything in common other than age, and even that… “My sister Lydia is but fifteen,” she said shortly.

“A difficult age,” Mr. Bennet said then, startling the other two. “Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage. With five daughters, I am afraid I have had much experience in this, though perhaps not as much as some might say I ought.”

There was a stillness to Mr. Darcy’s frame that was curious to Elizabeth, and she wondered if her father had somehow hit with accuracy a point of concern. When he did not reply, she broke the stillness by saying, “Miss Bingley assures me, Papa, that Miss Darcy is a very accomplished young lady, which by her definition indicates the young lady to be supremely proficient in music, singing, drawing, languages, and dancing, as well as to possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address, expressions, and I am sure not what else. With so much excellence at her fingertips, it would surely be impossible for her to be as silly as some young ladies.”

“But you forget, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said with a small smile, “to be truly accomplished she must also have improved her mind by the practice of extensive reading.”

Elizabeth laughed delightedly. “And that surely would occupy much of her time, indeed. Too much time to get into any sort of mischief.”

“It never stopped you, my dear,” he father said to her, and then shot a sharp look at the other gentleman. “My Elizabeth is quite an extensive reader, herself. I do not know if you had noted it.”

Mr. Darcy gave him a short bow and returned his gaze to Elizabeth. “I had, sir.”

Mr. Bennet’s lips pinched slightly, but whatever more might have been said on the subject was put to an end. At that moment the door opened and a tall, well-dressed gentleman’s gentleman entered. “You called, sir?” he said to his master.

With a nod, Mr. Darcy tore his gaze from Elizabeth and returned to the desk. “Yes, Perkins. This is the sheriff, here to interview us about the events on the night of the 26th. I would like you to tell him particularly,” he said, holding up the cufflink, “about this item.”

The valet stepped closer and peered at the object. “Ah! You found them, sir!”

“Just the one, Perkins.”

“Tell us what you recall of its disappearance,” interposed Mr. Bennet, his tone businesslike.

The valet turned to Mr. Bennet and performed a deep bow before beginning his story, which was as follows:

Most of the morning and afternoon of November 26 were occupied in preparing for the upcoming ball. Perkins had engaged in his usual tasks and had pressed his master’s clothes and laid them arranged in the dressing room, with his jewelry on the dressing table. Mr. Darcy had been about the estate and the house during the day, and returned to his rooms to change before dinner. Throughout his bath and shave, they were interrupted several times by Mr. Bingley’s man, by Mr. Hurst’s man, and even by Mr. Bingley himself, looking for items they had lost or wished to borrow, as well as several servants who entered with fresh water and other necessaries. The room had not been secured in the least, nor had there been reason for it to be so. Thus, when putting the finishing touches to Mr. Darcy’s evening wear, Perkins was surprised but by no means shocked to find that the sleeve buttons he had chosen earlier had gone missing. Thinking they had been merely set aside or returned to the jewelry box, he had instigated a search, but Mr. Darcy, impatient to be downstairs, had requested another pair fitted at once.

“I should never have chosen these cufflinks ordinarily, Mr. Bennet, sir,” Perkins said scornfully as he gestured to the elegant sleeve button on the desk. “They are quite dear and are a matched set handed down from Mr. Darcy’s father, a family heirloom. But they are not something the master commonly wears, as they are quite a bit weighty, and they most certainly did not suit the ensemble I had chosen for that night. To wear diamonds and silver, when the waistcoat was threaded quite clearly with red and gold, and his coat a French blue? Unthinkable! I was so ashamed, and especially so after the master had asked me particularly to be sure he appeared at his best.”

Mr. Darcy, blushing slightly at his valet’s impassioned speech, here confirmed that he had worn the diamond cufflinks to dinner, and then in the drawing-room as guests began to arrive shortly before eight. However, he said, he had soon received a message recalling him to his rooms.

Perkins confirmed this. Shortly after he had finished his own dinner, and as he was tidying up his master’s rooms in preparation for retiring for the night, Mr. Bingley’s man returned with the ruby cufflinks, revealing that his master had borrowed them but chose not to wear them. He therefore had a footman dispatched to relay a message to Mr. Darcy. The cufflinks were switched, the ruby set on Mr. Darcy’s sleeves and the diamond set most certainly in the jewelry box in the top drawer in his dressing table, and both master and valet left the rooms soon after.

“And that, I am afraid, is the last I saw of them until now,” Perkins said. “The master had told me not to wait up for him, but rather to leave his night things in place and wait for him to ring in the morning. Even then, there had been no reason to go into the drawer the following morning, nor later in the day, as Mr. Darcy does not usually require jewels when dining en famille. Thus, it was a full day after the ball that I discovered their loss.”

“But they were not the only pieces missing?” Mr. Bennet pressed. “Other jewelry had been removed from the box?”

Perkins bowed slightly and agreed. “Not only were the aforementioned cufflinks gone, but two stickpins, a ring, and a watch were also not in their usual place. I informed Mr. Darcy of their disappearance yesterday, as soon as it was noticed.”

Mr. Bennet switched his gaze to the gentleman behind the desk. “And you brought this to Mr. Bingley’s attention?”

“I’m afraid there has not been an opportunity, as of yet,” Mr. Darcy replied with some hesitance. “Bingley departed, as you know, early that morning for London and did not return until last night.”

“And Mr. Bingley’s relations had nothing taken?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head slowly. “I did think to ask Mr. Hurst, but he indicated that he kept a careful eye on his and his wife’s jewelry -- he implied he had had trouble before -- and that only the pieces they had worn that night were removed from Bingley’s safe and were returned there the following morning. I know nothing about Miss Bingley or her brother. You shall have to ask him.”

“Then presumably the thief had a smaller haul from his night’s work than he expected,” Mr. Bennet mused softly. He nodded slowly to himself, then looked up at the valet. “One more question, and then you may go: there would have been no servants about in the wing where Mr. Darcy and the rest of the family’s rooms are located during the ball, correct?”

“I should imagine none, sir,” Perkins replied. “I believe Mr. Bingley’s and Mr. Hurst’s men also had been relieved of their duties for the night, and both of the ladies’ maids had been requested to be available in the ladies’ withdrawing room. All of the rest of the servants would have been at various tasks for the ball.”

Satisfied with the answer, Mr. Bennet dismissed the rest of them from his notice and began to smoke in earnest. Mr. Darcy gave his own nod to the valet, who bowed and retreated from the room, and then he and Elizabeth sat patiently in the silence.

Uncomfortable with his stare, Elizabeth again thought some conversation necessary: “I understand from a note Miss Bingley sent around to Jane this morning that the family will be returning to town shortly. Will you be departing as well?”

“I do have business to conduct that should be better done in person,” Mr. Darcy replied. “But I cannot say it is an immediate need. Mr. Bingley has not mentioned any plans, at any rate, and I am here at his invitation.”

“They would have to be canceled, if you did have plans,” Mr. Bennet said now, moving to the fireplace to discard the contents of his pipe. “I cannot have any more persons of interest in this case running off or being murdered. Not until Mr. Fletcher has had the opportunity to hold the inquest. Then I daresay you may do as you please.”

“So then I am a person of interest? May I ask why?”

“You may ask, certainly, but I may not choose to reply.”

“I should think you were long accustomed to being a person of great interest, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said with a touch of irony. “I cannot think you need my father to spell out the reasons.”

A look of startled affront crossed Mr. Darcy’s face, but Elizabeth hardly had the time to ponder why he would be so affected by her opinion of him before he turned back to her father, who said, “I merely request that you remain in Hertfordshire, sir, or where you may be readily summoned. I shall accept your word as a gentleman.”

Though he had only just declared his intention of remaining at Netherfield for the present, it was clearly to Mr. Darcy’s displeasure to be at anyone’s convenience except his own. However, with precise courtesy he gave his grudging parole and promised to relay the information to the other gentlemen of the house. He then politely offered to show them out. The interview was at an end.

“It was great fun while it lasted,” Mr. Bennet reminisced as they returned home in the carriage. “I daresay Mr. Darcy is not often laughed at and even less often told he cannot do as he will.”

“Miss Bingley once declared him a man without fault,” Elizabeth said. “And it is difficult to laugh at a man with no faults.”

“As long as he is a man without a penchant for murder, I shall be satisfied,” her father replied. “Though I suppose it matters not a whit what I think, as Mr. Fletcher will undoubtedly take charge once he has arrived. Whenever that shall be.”

Chapter 8

As it happened, Mr. Fletcher had already arrived at Longbourn when Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet returned from Netherfield. There they found him comfortably ensconced in the parlor, taking tea with Mrs. Bennet and the other ladies of the house. Lydia yet stayed in her room.

The coroner of that half of Hertfordshire was a man of five and thirty years and of short stature, but with a lean frame that gave him a somewhat gaunt and striking appearance. His hawk-like features, however, were currently softened by the expression on his face as he gazed at a demure and blushing Mary Bennet seated on the sofa beside him. The lady of the house was glowing as she served him another sandwich, giving him such subtle encouragement as only she were capable.

“It must be very difficult to be always travelling without having a warm, inviting home to return to, where a loving wife awaits you,” she said now. “Why, I know that when Mr. Bennet returns from the Assizes he is so very tired and would probably retreat to his lonely bookroom if not for the welcome we afford him. My Mary, especially, is so very considerate that she always has a new piece to perform for him upon his return and would read to him for his enjoyment all night, if he didn’t fall asleep so quickly, lulled by her soft tones.”

“Fordyce is so very soporific, my dear, that you must excuse me my weakness,” Mr. Bennet said, announcing his arrival and crossing the room to insert himself into the very narrow space in the center of the sofa. He reached out to take a cake from the tea tray as Mr. Fletcher and Mary adjusted their seats to make room for him. “Particularly following a rousing three-part concerto or the setting of a requiem Mass, I am afraid that my will to remain attentive is often simply powerless to resist. I never sleep so well as directly I return home from a journey.”

“You see, Mr. Fletcher,” Mrs. Bennet said with a smile, “how very much Mr. Bennet appreciates his daughter’s consideration for him. A man would do very well to have a young wife who can provide such a service.”

“Indeed, I do see,” Mr. Fletcher returned, his eyes narrowing on the man beside him. “And I quite agree. I often miss the companionship of my late wife, and with my son at school the house seems so very empty at times.”

Elizabeth, who had taken a seat beside Jane, saw that her father was preparing to say something cutting and quickly inserted a query about the school Mr. Fletcher’s son attended. The conversation returned apace until at last Mr. Bennet, bored with tea, asked the coroner to attend him in his study. Elizabeth accompanied them, taking a seat near her father’s desk with her notebook on her lap. Mr. Fletcher glared at her as he sat down. “It is shameful that you would expose a young lady’s sensitivities to the ghastly and grotesque of a murder investigation, Mr. Bennet. Though, having known you these past three years, I do not know why I am any longer surprised by your complete disregard for the responsibility of safeguarding the purity and innocence of womanhood.”

The gentleman so addressed merely laughed. “I do greatly appreciate how you must have seen the mourning wreath on our door and, realizing the void that had opened up in our lives, ably stepped forward to provide a spot of moralizing. I thank you. Mr. Collins could not have done a better job himself, though he might have peppered his speech with a few references to the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Do you know her?”

Mr. Fletcher frowned. “I do not.”

“A pity. My cousin would have been able to tell you a great deal. She was his patroness, you see, and something of an important figure in his life. By coincidence, she is also the aunt of another person my daughter and I have just been to interrogate at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps I should send her a note and have her pop ‘round for an interview some time, as well, as she is so very connected to all of this.”


“You shall do no such thing,” Mr. Fletcher said. “I am hereby taking over this investigation, and if anyone is to do any inviting or interviewing, it shall be myself.”

“You do not wish for the benefit of my observations and deductions?”

The coroner scowled. “I do not wish for anything from you, Sir, but the one thing you have already denied me.”

Mr. Bennet did not refrain from rolling his eyes. “Good Lord -- that did not take very long. Two men dead, and all you can think about is my daughter.”

“Men die all the time,” said Mr. Fletcher.

“That they do, but certainly not of love. She is too young for you.”

“You said that two years ago.”

“And you have grown older since.” Mr. Bennet held up a hand. “We shall not have this discussion in front of Elizabeth. It is even less appropriate than talk of the recently deceased. Speaking of which, they are cooling their heels in the icehouse. You may go and see them. They will certainly be better company for you than myself.”

Elizabeth offered some papers to the coroner. “I have made a copy of the notes regarding the scenes of the crimes and the possessions of the deceased. Mr. Collins’ things have not been searched, but I can show you where those are, should you wish it.”

Mr. Fletcher drew himself up proudly. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I apologize for the impolitic conversation we had before you and for any implication I made that your efforts are not recognized. I appreciate your dedication to your father and the work you do for him, and only regret the circumstances that render it necessary.”

Elizabeth smiled and answered before her father could: “There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Fletcher. You must remember that I was raised to do this work and my sensibilities are not as tender as perhaps some of my other sisters.”

With an accepting nod, Mr. Fletcher took his leave and went to first examine Mr. Collins’ room and then the bodies of the two victims, leaving Elizabeth and her father alone in the bookroom. When the door had closed, she turned and, putting her hands on her hips, said. “What did he mean, he asked you two years ago for whose hand? Mary's? Do you have a death wish? Because I cannot imagine you would live very long should even a whisper of such a refusal reach my mother’s ears.”

Mr. Bennet looked sullen. “Not you, too,” he grumbled. “If this is all the conversation I can expect, I shall have to bar you from my study, as well.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Elizabeth replied equably. “You would then have to do all your own correspondence.”

“Your point is well made.” He sighed, settling back in his chair. “She was not yet seventeen, Lizzy, and the man is more than fifteen years her senior. I would not have granted my permission in such a case, even had I approved of the man. But Fletcher! Good God! I cannot imagine what I have done wrong in my life should I truly deserve such a man as a son-in-law.”

“Now, Papa, he’s not a bad sort. Quite the opposite -- very conscientious to his duty, steady, well established. He is not the most handsome of men,” she said, earning a snort from her father, “but that is hardly a necessary requirement for a husband, if his character is good.”

“He is a pompous, conceited, narrow-minded a--!”

“Papa! Language!” Elizabeth cried, laughing. “And you think he is worse than, say, Mr. Collins? You nearly had him for a son-in-law, remember.”

“Over my dead body,” her father muttered. “And I don’t think I was in so much danger as all that. But Fletcher! The man has a rigid mind, and a mental acuity he thinks much higher than it is.”

“He was first in his class at university,” his daughter reminded him. “And it should hardly matter to you in the least, as you wouldn’t be spending any more time with him than you already do. He has his own estate; you would hardly be forced to put him up at Longbourn. If Mary doesn’t object to his person or his intelligence or his manner, why should you?”

Mr. Bennet would not be moved. “But if he were a relation, I would be forced to put him up at Longbourn when he comes, and not shuffle him off to the inn as we do now.”

Elizabeth conceded he had a valid point, but would not cede the argument. “Is a few days of discomfort each year truly worth your daughter’s happiness?” When her father thought about this for far longer than he ought to have, she changed the topic: “So what now for the investigation? Shall I give Mr. Fletcher the remainder of the notes from our interviews?”

“If he does not wish them, I do not see any reason to go out of our way to provide him with them,” Mr. Bennet said. “He has never approved my methods, and I certainly will not stir myself to assist him. No, he will make his own investigation, hold the inquest and declare the deaths to be murder by person or persons unknown, and then be called away to discover the reason some little old lady fell down some stairs and killed herself. Such a brief interlude shall not disturb my investigation unduly, especially as I already know--”

Here Mr. Bennet was interrupted by a knock on the door, and at his request the butler entered with a calling card. Mr. Bennet studied the card, both the front and the note handwritten on the back, a frown developing between his brows, and then he nodded and told Hill to show the visitor in -- but slowly. “Lizzy,” he said once the servant had closed the door, “third book from the right on the second bottom shelf right of the window, green binding.” When she had fetched the requested volume, he flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted and ran his finger over several lines, making thoughtful noises.

Moments later, a knock preceded the entrance of a gentleman of about thirty, dressed in a colonel’s uniform of The Blues. He came to attention in front of the desk and bowed formally to Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth. Upon being introduced to the latter he offered a genuine smile that made his plain and rugged features more pleasant; Elizabeth liked him immediately.

“I thank you for seeing me, Sir,” he began in the crisp voice of one used to commanding troops. “I understand from Colonel Forster that you are heading the investigation into the death of one of his men, Mr. Francis Denny, late lieutenant of the ---shire Militia. I have been sent to assist you in bringing the culprit to bear for his crime.” He stepped forward, offering a sheaf of folded papers to the man behind the desk. “My credentials and orders from the Commander.”

Mr. Bennet took the papers and laid them on the desk, slowly poring over the contents of each individual page. At last he folded them again, returning them to the man before him. He removed his spectacles, and then folded his hands and rested them against his lips. “I find it very odd that a colonel in the regulars has been sent to deal with a militia matter,” he said after a moment of silence. “Why you?”

The colonel grimaced slightly, but nodded. “A fair question, and one I am afraid I cannot easily answer beyond what you have already read. It should perhaps suffice to say that the deceased’s family has some influence in certain quarters, and favors were owed to certain people. I was chosen through a combination of convenience, immediacy, and some previous experience I have had in investigations of this stripe. Ordinarily matters would not be arranged in such a fashion, but…” he made a gesture to indicate the helplessness of his position, his smile rueful.

“Indeed,” Mr. Bennet said with pursed lips. “It does, however, make this situation somewhat more complicated.”

“I assure you, sir,” the colonel said, “I shall not interfere in the progress of your investigation unless absolutely necessary. My primary function is to facilitate the exchange of information between yourself and the militia, and further to ensure that protocols are being followed from a military standpoint in any situation that might arise with regard to members of the militia.”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bennet replied with irritation. “I can hardly be troubled about that. I rather expected something of the sort. I am more concerned with your particular connections.”

“My connections!” the colonel echoed with surprise. Both he and Elizabeth looked at her father in amazement.

“I do not mean to impugn your honor, but the question must be raised,” Mr. Bennet said: “Would you have a conflict of interest should one of the suspected persons be someone close to you?”

The colonel drew himself up, a frown creasing his brow. “I should think, like yourself, I can conduct an investigation with impartiality. But I am not aware of any acquaintance in this part of the country.”

“You are Colonel Richard James Fitzwilliam, the third son of the Earl of ---?”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped as she made the connection, and she looked with interest at the officer before them, who nodded his head uncomprehendingly. “You are Mr. Darcy’s cousin?” she asked, her eyes seeking and finding some of the similar features they shared.

“Darcy?” the colonel echoed. “Darcy is involved in this mess? I beg your pardon, but to be clear, are you telling me that Darcy -- Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley -- is a suspect in the slaying of Mr. Francis Denny?”

Mr. Bennet smiled slightly. “A circumstantial case could be made against him. Some of my only evidence points directly to him, in fact.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head firmly, saying, “Absurd. It is simply not possible that Darcy killed anyone, let alone an officer of the militia. He is the most honorable gentleman of my acquaintance, and the idea of him committing such violence, and then further not accepting culpability for his actions, is unheard of. I know him, sir, and it cannot be him.”

“And yet you can be impartial, you say?”

A flush rose in the colonel’s cheeks as the implication was made clear. After a moment his shoulders slumped slightly and he placed his head in his hands. Mr. Bennet sat quietly watching, then after a few minutes closed the book on the desk in front of him and pushed it to the side. At the noise, Colonel Fitzwilliam looked up, took a breath, and rose to his feet. Squaring his shoulders, he bowed and said, “I understand, sir, if you wish me to withdraw. My superiors will be displeased with the situation, but I shall assure them that the circumstances--”

“Oh, sit down, Colonel,” Mr. Bennet said testily. “There is no reason I can see for you to recuse yourself. For one thing, your letters of introduction speak highly of your character, your principals, and honor; I trust you can conduct any investigation fairly. Furthermore, I do not truly suspect your cousin of having killed Mr. Denny. And lastly, it is no longer my investigation at the moment, so I have no say in your involvement in the least.”

After a moment, a rueful smile crossed the colonel’s face, replacing the look of bafflement he had worn at Mr. Bennet’s words. He sat down slowly on the chair. “I can see, sir, that you keep your cards close to your vest. May I inquire who is heading the investigation currently?”

“Mr. Fletcher, the coroner. He is currently examining the bodies of the two recently deceased.”

“Two?” the colonel said. “Who else has died?”

“Our cousin, Mr. William Collins, was found murdered yesterday morning,” Elizabeth explained. “He was visiting us from his parish in Hunsford, in Kent. He had been struck on the head, killed and left on the side of the road between here and Meryton.”

“Did you say Hunsford? Near Rosings?”

Mr. Bennet smiled. “Ah, yes. That was another connection I had forgotten. Mr. Collins’ patroness was your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

The colonel’s brow furrowed. “That seems quite a coincidence.”

“And it is possible you know yet someone else,” Elizabeth said, thinking. “The son of Mr. Darcy’s former steward is also here.”

A profound silence fell on the room. Elizabeth was startled by the change that had come over the colonel. “Do you mean to tell me that George Wickham is here?” he said in a voice of restrained rage. When Elizabeth nodded, the colonel stood abruptly and began to pace across the room. He appeared like the lion she had once seen in London, when her aunt and uncle had taken her to the Tower menagerie, and she felt the same thrilling chill run down her spine as she waited for the tawny beast to pounce.

“Where was he when Mr. Denny was killed?”

Elizabeth startled at the sudden question, but responded that Mr. Wickham had been in town; that Mr. Denny himself had told her at the ball of his absence, and they had seen him the following morning when he returned. The colonel swore, then apologized for his language.

“One cannot make a man a villain when the evidence says not that he is,” Mr. Bennet said quietly.

“The man is a villain,” the colonel retorted. “He is a degenerate, scheming, amoral man who was given much in life and repaid it by nearly ruining--” He paused, his eyes flicking from Elizabeth to Mr. Bennet. “A young lady,” he finished lamely.

“Perhaps you can tell us the story,” the latter gentleman said, when the colonel appeared to think better of continuing, “or at least what you are free to reveal. I will never object to furthering my knowledge of the motives that drive people.”

The colonel paused. “Has Darcy said aught of his dealings with Wickham?”

“Barely a word,” Elizabeth said, a little sharply. “Your cousin could hardly be prevailed upon to say any more than that Mr. Wickham made friends easily, but is less than capable of retaining them. And that sounds more of jealousy coming from a man who seemingly has such trouble making friends of any sort at all, much less lost them. And though I suspect its veracity now, I must tell you that Mr. Wickham’s tale of their interactions was quite convincing.”

“And no doubt it would be,” the colonel said, his lip curling. “The man is skilled at using charm and misdirection to inveigle his listeners. He has a talent for discovering the prettiest and wealthiest lady in the neighborhood and convincing her of his gentlemanly ways for reasons you, no doubt, can surmise.”

Elizabeth felt the heat rising to her cheeks. “I am hardly wealthy, sir. We are a very modest household, and I do not have great expectations. Mr. Wickham would not have sought me out for that reason.”

The colonel raised his eyebrows and directed a look at her father while still speaking to her: “Then it was not for marriage, but he sought you out, all the same.”

“My daughter was in no danger,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice more stern than Elizabeth had ever heard it. “Elizabeth is beyond reproach. I understand, though, that you imply Mr. Wickham is something of a seducer of innocents. Do you have proof?”

“Several times over, though I hesitate to reveal names due to the delicate nature of a reputation, sir.”

Mr. Bennet nodded once. “A worthy reason,” he said. “But I regret to inform you that even should you establish him a knave with women, a murderer you have not made. The most despicable man may live out the course of his life without ever once running afoul of the laws, or at least without leaving evidence of his transgressions, and be beyond my reach. If he is no more than a rogue or a hunter of fortune by marriage, he is not worthy of my notice.”

“You have a daughter -- I should think that worthy of your notice.”

“I have five daughters, colonel, and while I thank you for the warning against his character, it is irrespective of my investigations.”

“He is a gambler,” the colonel persisted.

“I am aware of that; but so do half of the officers in the militia share that failing. I can hardly arrest all of them for murdering Mr. Denny, because of it.”

“He is a thorough liar and a cheat.”

“That, too, I know,” Mr. Bennet said, shaking his head. “What say you start at the beginning?”

And so the colonel sat down on the edge of his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and began to describe his acquaintance with Mr. Wickham: how the man had been the son of the steward at Pemberley during Mr. Darcy’s father’s lifetime, and how Wickham and young Darcy, only a few years separated, had played together as children. Old Mr. Darcy had bestowed his kindness liberally on his godson and had supported him at school and later at Cambridge, an education he would not otherwise have had, due in part to the extravagance of Mrs. Wickham. The young man, however, had become discontent with his station in life and envied what he perceived as the freedom of wealth and status enjoyed by his more fortunate companions, young Darcy, especially. Always having been of a more lively and social disposition, he soon took to gambling, drinking, and carousing. Colonel Fitzwilliam knew him to frequent inns with particularly foul reputations with his university mates to engage in less-than-gentlemanly behavior.

This conduct, however, never reached the ears of old Mr. Darcy, or if it had it did not sway him from his intent to provide a living for George Wickham. Until the end of his life, Mr. Darcy at least outwardly considered his godson a young gentleman of good character worthy of his respect and continued support. After his death about five years previous now, however, Wickham flatly denied any desire for the living, requesting instead compensation he felt equal to the position, with the alleged purpose of using that money to pursue the study of law. He and young Darcy at last came to an agreement of three thousand pounds, in addition to the outright bequest old Mr. Darcy had left of one thousand pounds. Such an amount should have supported a gentleman of judicious habits for some time, but less than three years later, upon the living at Kympton falling vacant, Wickham wrote saying he was in desperate straits and asserting his plan of entering the church and his right to the position his godfather had intended him. Darcy refused him, to much abuse, and all correspondence seemed to be at an end.

“And that should have been an end to the acquaintance,” the colonel said, his expression darkening, “but this past summer, he intruded upon our notice in a most painful way. My … a young relation was visiting the seaside, and Wickham followed her there. With the connivance of her companion, he played upon her youth and naivete to convince her to fall in love with him and to consent to elope with him. They were to be away within days, and only a chance meeting stopped the scheme and foiled his plans, which were doubtless both revenge on Darcy and the attraction of Geo-- the young lady’s dowry of thirty thousand pounds. She was only fifteen.”

Silence fell on the room, only broken by the hiccough that tore from Elizabeth’s throat. “Is she -- how is the young lady?” she asked, her heart breaking at the idea of such villainy against an innocent young girl, and the thought that she had taken his part at one time and had felt compassion for such a reprobate.

The colonel looked with sympathy at Elizabeth and nodded. “She is recovering, but there is a depression to her spirits that has not lifted, and her manner has become even more withdrawn and hesitant than it ever had been before. Her brother and I have been unsuccessful in diverting her thoughts from what she perceives as a failure and disappointment.”

“I am sorry for Miss Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said, and then smiled as the colonel began to splutter. “Come, come, Colonel. You cannot think me so stupid as to not put the pieces together. How many fifteen-year-old female relations do both you and Darcy have in common, that would allow for such revenge on him? I should hope you are better at investigations than in concealing secrets, or I fear the army is in grave trouble.”

The colonel had flushed deeply and bowed shortly. “I can trust in your discretion?”

“You have our word,” Elizabeth said. Mr. Bennet waved a hand to indicate his concurrence, clearly bored now he’d had his diversion. A little embarrassed by her father’s behavior, she turned to the colonel and asked him what kind of information they could provide him regarding the murder, and whether he should like to meet with the coroner and see the bodies. He was in the midst of replying that he had rather return to the King George Inn in St. Albans to fetch his things, as the day was growing short this time of year and Colonel Forster had invited him to reside with him and his wife in Meryton, when Mr. Fletcher himself arrived. Elizabeth introduced the two men and, once the explanations concluded, the coroner turned to Mr. Bennet and declared that, with the decaying nature of the bodies and the little he understood of the nature of the case, the more prompt the inquest, the better.

“Unlawful death by person or persons unknown, is it?” Mr. Bennet said dryly, not looking up from his place behind the newspaper.

Mr. Fletcher pursed his lips and said that would be determined by the evidence presented. He would hold the inquest tomorrow.

Chapter 9

"I cannot imagine this should take very long," Mr. Bennet muttered as he disembarked from the gig outside the assembly rooms, where the inquests for the recent deaths would occur. Jane glanced nervously at the cart a few yards away, where Murray and the constable stood guard over the bodies to be presented at the inquest, and determinedly turned her shoulder to conceal her view of it.

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly at her sister and, shifting the reins in her hands, reached down and handed a box of perfumed handkerchiefs to her father. "For the jurors," she said and, after looking to where Mr. Darcy had just dismounted his horse and handed the reins over to a boy outside the inn, added, "or perhaps those witnesses with more refined olfactory senses, as the smell will hardly be tolerable . You would not wish Mr. Fletcher to give consequence to your reaction."

Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes at her, and Elizabeth felt a brief surge of pride at her own cleverness. A glance at Mr. Darcy again, however, revealed him to be far closer than she had thought, and she realized he must have been near enough to hear her. But rather than the hurt or shame she expected, there was amusement in his expression and a smirk that creased his lips. Her own lips curved automatically in response, and in confusion over the emotions that suddenly roiled within her, she dropped her gaze to her lap.

Luckily for her composure, Colonel Fitzwilliam exited the inn at that moment and hailed the Bennets warmly, accepting the introduction to the eldest Bennet daughter with appreciative gallantry. He had barely bowed over her hand with a twinkle in his eye and a smooth smile creasing his lips when Mr. Bingley approached as well and quickly made his own bows, nearly nudging the colonel from his place beside Miss Bennet in order to capture her hand for the proper courtesies.

Mr. Bingley's friend greeted them more sedately, particularly when he noted his cousin in the group. "What do you do here, Fitzwilliam?" Mr. Darcy asked, his eyes narrowed.

The colonel cocked his head. "Same as you, I imagine, Darcy: attending the inquest."

To this, Mr. Darcy seemed to have nothing to say, and Elizabeth teased, "Are you a witness, then, colonel, or have you recently become one of the landed gentlemen of these parts, and been selected juror?"

"Alas, Miss Elizabeth," the colonel replied in the same manner, "as a younger son, we have not often the means to purchase estates on whims in order to examine the bodies of people we hardly know but have died in some undetermined manner. No, contrary to all romantical notions of young ladies, we soldiers are most often called upon to act as mere sentries, dumb and still as posts. I am here merely to observe and report."

"A pity," she replied, "but I have utmost faith that you can perform quite well as a post."

"And you, ladies?" Mr. Bingley said, a trifle doubtfully. "Are you here to observe the inquest?"

Jane quickly decried any interest in the assemblage, and Elizabeth said, "No, indeed. It would be quite unseemly, and we are not witnesses to anything regarding either death, unlike you gentlemen. We are instead bound for Netherfield to call upon your sisters, and then return to Meryton to spend the afternoon with my aunt Phillips."

Both Mr. Bingley and the colonel declared their desolation at the loss of their company in flowery compliments, with Mr. Bingley casting a longing glance at the elder Miss Bennet, but with a laugh Elizabeth declared that it was time for the gentlemen to turn their minds to more weighty matters than handing out Spanish coin and that the ladies should set off at once for Netherfield. She handed her father his logbook before, with a little wave, she set the horses in motion. Behind them, the gentlemen turned and entered the assembly rooms together.

Elizabeth, who had been the only Bennet sister their father had ever taught -- or even trusted -- to so much as hold the ribbons for as docile a steed as Nelly, cautiously tooled the old chaise over the road between Meryton and Netherfield and explained to her sister as they went how she hoped the call would proceed. It was possible, she said, that they might not even be allowed in the house, as word had it that other callers had either seen only Miss Bingley for a short period or been turned away at the door altogether. All worries were for naught, however, for when the Bennet sisters arrived at the hall, they were shown not into a parlour, but rather up the stairs to Mrs. Hurst's sitting room. There they discovered that lady, pale and grief-stricken, laid out upon a chaise lounge with an untouched box of marzipan on the table and multiple vases filled with tribute bouquets of hothouse flowers adorning nearly every other flat surface around her. Her sister sat attending her, reading from the social columns of a week-old newspaper.

The latter looked up upon their entrance with a shocked expression on her face, even as she welcomed them and requested a tea service from the maid. "My word," Miss Bingley said in sugared tones as she set aside the gazette on the chair beside her, "I had thought perhaps the footman had mistaken the names when he announced your visit. We were certain you would be in mourning for your cousin. Why, in London one would not be seen for three weeks at least if a cousin had died, and then only in the deepest black crepe and lace. Or possibly scarlet. I don't suppose you would have seen the fashion for the scarlet mantel in the most recent Belle Assemblee. Do you recall how Miss Grantley had one made up for her aunt's passing, Louisa?"

As Mrs. Hurst murmured something languorously from the chaise, Jane reassured Miss Bingley, "He was my father's second cousin, and we are indeed observing some mourning customs for him, though he was little known to us but for less than a fortnight."

Elizabeth smiled slightly, smoothing the skirts of her gray bombazine gown. "Indeed, and here in the country there is certainly less adherence to the social mores of mourning. We are more apt to recognize the practicalities, and that our lives cannot be brought to an absolute halt for weeks on end to honor someone of bare acquaintance."

"Calling on one's neighbors is hardly a necessary part of daily life," Miss Bingley replied with a thinly concealed sneer.

"Oh, but this is not a social call," Elizabeth replied, her eyes twinkling as she pulled her notepad and pencil from her reticule. "My father asked me to interview the two of you regarding the events at the Netherfield Ball, and Jane was so kind as to accompany me."

What little color had been in Mrs. Hurst's face completely drained from it upon these words, and she opened her eyes to shoot a brief, horrified glance at her sister. Miss Bingley opened her mouth, then closed it, her lips pinching tightly together. After a moment, though, she seemed to recall herself and her brow cleared as her features took on the very picture of innocence. "I cannot imagine what possible use any testimony of mine could be. Why, I was completely taken up with the duties of being hostess for my brother's ball, and I daresay there is little I would have noticed of any one individual guest, least of all the numerous militia officers that littered the hall. In fact, in their red coats I can hardly tell one soldier from the other. I certainly didn't know any one of them from Adam, and even now I am unsure which of them was the one who had been killed."

Jane was nodding with silent commiseration, but Elizabeth merely cocked her head. "You are telling me that neither of you were acquainted with Mr. Denny before the night of the ball?"

"I knew his name, of course," Miss Bingley said with a wave of her hand, "as did my sister. We had both of us engaged in writing all of the invitations. And certainly if he had come through the receiving line, we must have been introduced, but I cannot say that he was anything more than a name and perhaps a face to me."

"And Mrs. Hurst?" Elizabeth asked, making her notes.

"I must defer to my sister," that lady said without opening her eyes or lifting her head from the pillows.

Miss Bingley smiled tightly and paused as a servant came in with a tray, bowed, and left. "As I had said, there is nothing we can contribute to your investigation. I am afraid you came all this way for such little effect. Would you like some tea?"

Jane smiled gratefully and accepted the offer, but Elizabeth persisted in her questioning: "Did you see or hear anything unusual during the ball? Guests or servants where they ought not to have been? Conversations that were out of the ordinary? Any uncommon animosity displayed between individuals?"

"Anything unusual?" Miss Bingley laughed humorlessly as, having distributed the tea to her guests, she filled her own cup and added a lump of sugar. "Miss Eliza, it is clear you have never hosted a ball, or you would understand how foolish a question that is. A ball is the very definition of extraordinary. If it weren't, I wouldn't be doing my duty as hostess. I am fully ignorant of the petty quarrels between guests I barely knew; country folk are always bickering about strips of land, and drainage, and such. And I certainly could not account for every servant running between the kitchens and the ballroom, or guests who have lost their way. My goodness, if I had to list only a handful, there was Mrs. Long, who thought she would take a peek into the music room, Mr. Goulding, who had passed out on one of the couches in the east parlor, that daughter of Sir William, who could not seem to find the ladies' withdrawing room, and even your cousin wandering onto the balcony. Some people simply do not know their place," she added, narrowing her eyes at Elizabeth.

The animosity between the two ladies was thick, and Jane sought to dispel it by inquiring of Mrs. Hurst, "I hope you are recovering from the distress of the incident?"

That lady permitted a deep sigh to escape her and murmured, "It is everything tragic."

And that was the last of the interview. Miss Bingley insisted she had nothing more to say on the issue, and Mrs. Hurst hadn't had anything to say at all. Miss Bingley then determinedly diverted the subject, speaking about her desire to be in London, and how unconscionable it was for their brother Bingley to deny their removal from the area. "For there is nothing more that should keep us here. I cannot pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend," she said, stretching out her hand to Jane with an insincere smile. When she caught sight of Elizabeth's ill-concealed smirk, she added stiffly, "Oh, and your sister's."

Elizabeth would have responded to this with the same sentiments with which it was intended, but her sister laid a gentle hand on her arm and replied with serene countenance that she hoped they would be able to return to London soon, should they wish it. "And I can assure you that you will be missed by all your friends here in the neighborhood by the same measure."

Miss Bingley smiled thinly, and then spoke of how much they all preferred the entertainments in town, and how much they all, especially her brother, missed Miss Darcy, who was like a sister to her. But nothing could draw more than a gentle smile from Jane, and Elizabeth could only marvel at how calmly her sister took the allusions and snubs the grand lady threw her way.

At last, though, Elizabeth and Jane stood to excuse themselves, barely extending their visit to a mere quarter hour, and Miss Bingley escorted them downstairs with exacting politeness, bidding them a hasty farewell. The door closed sharply behind them.

It was a quiet and thoughtful return trip to Meryton, during which Jane commented briefly on the sisters' being understandably "out of spirits," but Elizabeth kept her thoughts on the interview to herself. Beyond Miss Bingley's more usual waspishness, it was more than apparent that something was being concealed, and she had a suspicion as to what it might be, but she hesitated to form a firm conclusion until she had spoken with her father.

When they had at last traversed the two miles to Meryton, Elizabeth and Jane left the gig at the inn and went to call upon their aunt at her home. Mrs. Phillips, as deficient as she may have been in other areas, was an expert seamstress and had offered to her nieces her services in making over some of her old mourning gowns for their current, if brief, need.

That morning, when the note from their aunt had arrived, Kitty had at first insisted on the right to come, but when she discovered that there would be work involved, and none of it with pretty ribbons or lace, and that there would be no visitors from the militia, she soon lost interest. Mary had no need for mourning gowns for a week alone, she had declared, because her current wardrobe was mostly in shades of grey and brown, anyway, and she had much better stay at home and practice a new funeral march. Lydia, who had come belowstairs for the first time, was still having occasional bouts of hysteria and had an abject fear of going outside the house: on the question of visiting being raised, she had taken one look out the window and retired to her room, sobbing. Mrs. Bennet, while ordinarily interested in exchanging gossip with her sister, had ostensibly been required to attend to some of her duties at home and moreover could not be prevailed upon to leave her "poor, poor Lydia" for any great length of time.

So it was that only Elizabeth and Jane sat with their aunt in her parlor and took in seams and lengthened hems on several serviceable mourning gowns. As they worked, Mrs. Phillips shared the gossip she had most recently acquired, most of which was neither fully accurate nor of any interest to either of the Bennet sisters. But they listened politely and made small talk for several hours as the pile of finished gowns grew.

At long last, after some million yards of black riband had been sewn, the bell rang downstairs. The pile of gowns disappeared and they were just sitting back down when Mr. Bennet, followed by Colonel Fitzwilliam, entered the room. The latter quickly apologized for the intrusion and explained that Mr. Bennet had requested he attend him at Longbourn to go over further details of the case and that they were here but to retrieve the Bennet sisters, but Mrs. Phillips brushed aside any formalities and tea was called for. News always took precedence over politeness.

"So it is done, then?" Mrs. Phillips asked after some general social niceties had been observed. "Have they discovered the culprit?"

"I am afraid not," Mr. Bennet replied. "Mr. Denny's death was indeed declared unlawful killing by person or persons unknown, and is returned under my purview, but Mr. Collins' death is still a mystery. Mr. Fletcher was of the opinion that more needed to be discovered of the circumstances and cast many aspersions on the thoroughness of my notes on the scene of discovery, and so he suspended the inquest until further examination could determine the exact cause of Mr. Collins' demise. He, and several of the gentlemen with him, seemed to be of the opinion that there was a possibility it might have been some sort of accident that did him in, and not murder."

"Oh, how thrilling," Mrs. Phillips breathed.

"Perhaps, but definitely more expensive. I shall have to rent the rooms in a few days for another inquest, and Mr. Collins will again have to take up residence in the ice house. Mr. Fletcher has no consideration for my purse."

Colonel Fitzwilliam then inquired as to the occupation of the ladies that morning, and Elizabeth explained the nature of their visits. "I have very little to note of our call on the Netherfield ladies," she said to her father. "Miss Bingley was very secretive about it all, and Mrs. Hurst could hardly be prevailed upon to open her eyes, much less her lips."

A cry had escaped the colonel when Mrs. Hurst's name was spoken, and he stood in agitation. "I beg your pardon," he cried, "but did you say Hurst? Not Mrs. Geoffrey Hurst, surely?"

When it was confirmed that it was, indeed, she, and that as sister and brother-in-law to Mr. Bingley they were staying at Netherfield and had been present at the ball, the colonel looked around to all of them, an amazed expression on his face. "Why, how was this not-- … Did you not know-- … My word!"

As nothing else seemed to be forthcoming from the colonel, who had begun pacing, deep in thought, the rest of the party returned to the discussion of the call on Bingley's sisters. Mrs. Phillips had just shared her conjecture -- of course, she could be wrong, but didn't you think it likely? -- that it was quite possible Mrs. Hurst was succumbing to a wasting disease, but due to a codicil in a relative's will had to be kept alive for at least another year, when the colonel abruptly came to a stop in the middle of the room and said firmly, "Bennet -- you said Mr. Denny had a little book with coded entries, and large amounts of income."

Mr. Bennet cast a sidelong glance at Mrs. Phillip's poorly concealed curiosity, but acknowledged this was so.

"I have a theory," said the colonel. "We must go to Netherfield at once! Come! We've no time to waste!"

This declaration caused a flurry of activity as Mrs. Phillips, Jane, and Elizabeth, all still in varying degrees of ignorance as to the cause of urgency, set about collecting their things. Mr. Bennet merely stood and slowly followed the bustle as they went to the front door to await the carriage and the colonel's horse. As Mrs. Phillips again bemoaned to Jane not being able to accompany them, Elizabeth sidled up beside her father and whispered, "What is it the colonel knows? Why the hurry?"

"Why not?" her father replied with a grin as he put his hat on his head. "It is as diverting as anything else. The game, my dear Lizzy, is afoot."

When they arrived at Netherfield, they were shown into a parlor and the men summoned. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, who had been in the study in discussion over the morning's events, were first to arrive. The latter appeared startled to find his cousin again and questioned what could have brought him there.

"If this continues, Darcy, I shall think you do not listen to a word I say," laughed the colonel. "Did I not tell you, just this morning, that I was sent to help investigate the death of Lieutenant Denny?"

Mr. Darcy acknowledged this, "but I cannot see how it relates to you being here now with Mr. Bennet and his daughters."

"It is all of a piece, cousin! And only reinforces my belief that you disregard me at your peril. Do you not recall what I told you a few months ago of the affair related to me by Lady Sterling?"

"Your cousin?" Mr. Darcy said. "The wife of the Earl of Sterling? I do not recall… but as I have said before, I care little for the gossip and intrigues of society that you delight in."

The colonel laughed again, "You do indeed say that, Darcy, but you cannot get away with it around me. I know that you are as interested as the rest of us, but simply can never recall who is whom in any of my tales, and how they all connect to one another."

"I daresay Mr. Darcy cares so little for the concerns of others," Elizabeth added, "that it is difficult for him to differentiate any of the people that surround him."

Far from offending him, this little addition to the discussion caused Mr. Darcy merely to smile. "On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth, it is merely that few ever truly distinguish themselves from the crowd of mediocrity and monotony of society. If they take so little effort to be memorable, why must I put forth the effort to remember them?"

"It is difficult to recognize the extraordinary," Elizabeth agreed, "when one finds no worth in the ordinary. I recall a conversation we had at one time in this very room about what constitutes an accomplished woman, and I recall it to be a formidable standard; I suppose you have equally high expectations for men?"

Mr. Darcy declared that he certainly had, though he disputed the idea that they were so very high.

"Then I can only imagine that the number of people you deign to notice around you is very small, Mr. Darcy. It is a wonder you have any acquaintances of note at all."

The colonel smirked at his cousin's discomfiture. "I think it more of a question if he believes he meets his own standards. I daresay he does."

"I cannot judge on my own performance," Mr. Darcy replied with a small bow.

More discussion was forestalled, however, by the arrival of Mr. Hurst, and the colonel grew grave as they were introduced. "We have never met," he said to that gentleman, "but I believe you know my cousin, Lady Sterling."

Mr. Hurst said nothing, but arched his brow slightly, and the colonel continued: "She is married to the earl, your cousin."

Elizabeth gasped as she suddenly made the connections in her mind, and her gaze flew to her father, who was sitting calmly in his chair, watching the interaction with a secret smile on his face.

"What of it?" Mr. Hurst said now with a grunt, making the great effort of sitting down in a chair. "The connection is no secret. Lord Sterling is my cousin on the distaff side."

"And were you not at the earl's estate in Surrey during a house party in which Mr. Denny was also a guest?"

Here Mr. Hurst looked uncomfortable, but answered that he had been to many house parties at his cousin's estates and could not account for all of the guests at each of them. "Is anyone else in need of a drink?" he added.

The colonel frowned. "And did you not at this house party accuse Mr. Denny of having seduced your wife and, if not for the intervention of the earl on the very morning of the engagement, would have participated in a duel with said gentleman?"

"He was no gentleman!" Mr. Hurst declared roundly, his usually languorous appearance falling away as anger overtook him. "Any man that should dally with another's wife -- under my very nose, no less! -- is hardly fit for the name. I should have shot him where he stood, rather than allow him to go free. It is only justice that he met his end the way he did."

"And I daresay you helped him to it!" the colonel cried.

"I beg your pardon? What is that supposed to mean?"

Mr. Bingley, agitated by the sudden escalation of voices, stepped in: "Colonel, I cannot believe you have anything to accuse my brother of, certainly!"

Mr. Darcy overrode what the colonel was about to declare next by saying firmly, "I believe what my cousin was trying to ask, in a rather poor fashion, was if Hurst had known of Mr. Denny's presence in the neighborhood prior to the Netherfield ball."

"I d--- well did," Mr. Hurst declared with vehemence, then, when several of the other gentlemen objected to his language, apologized to the ladies before saying more calmly: "I saw him first at the dinner hosted by Colonel Forster several weeks ago -- you recall it, Bingley, Darcy, for it was the next morning we found Caroline had lured Miss Bennet here the day before, and the young lady fell ill. It had been a fine table the colonel set, but the whole of the company was not to my taste."

"So you had known for several weeks he was here, then, and did nothing?"

"Other than keeping my wife away from the rat bas--ahem, Mr. Denny, that is," he corrected himself with a slight blush and glance at the Bennet sisters. He continued: "I didn't think the man would have the bare-faced effrontery to enter this house when he knew we were in residence, so I was as surprised as anyone to see him come for the ball."

"You could have asked Bingley not to invite him," Mr. Darcy said.

"And be forced to lay out my reasons and expose Louisa to another round of shame and disapproval? That I would specifically request his absence?" Hurst asked, then added pointedly, "Did you do so with Mr. Wickham? You and I are no different in that, Darcy."

A hot flush rose to Mr. Darcy's face, and he glanced in succession at Elizabeth, then Mr. Bennet, with concern. But Hurst was not finished: "On the contrary, like you, I left the man to go his own way and ignored him, in the knowledge that he had no hold over me. Any power he had over my wife had long since been put to rest by that little episode at Sterling Hall. And as I had made Louisa aware of his presence in the neighborhood soon after that dinner, she was able to react with little more than a momentary hesitation when he was presented in the receiving line. The gall of the man."

"You're telling me," the colonel persisted, "that you had nothing to do with Mr. Denny's demise? That you did not see him as a threat? That he did not contact you to put a price to his silence?"

Bingley gasped. "That would be blackmail!"

Mr. Hurst was frowning. "He did no such thing, I tell you."

The colonel appeared stymied. "He did not try to blackmail you?"

"No."

"Then perhaps it was merely that when you saw he had dared to come and see your wife again, you grew angry," the colonel said. "And later in the night you slipped away and met with him on the terrace--"

"How dare you imply--" Mr. Hurst roared, surging to his feet.

"--fought with him and impaled him--"

"Fitzwilliam!"

"You liar!"

"Colonel!"

"Bingley, help!"

"Geoffrey! Please, don't!"

At the distressed feminine voice, all eyes turned towards the doorway, a frozen tableau in the center of the room: Mr. Hurst with one hand on the colonel's lapel and the other arm held back by Darcy, with Bingley trying to insert himself between the men. Mr. Bennet, the only gentleman having sat calmly through the contretemps, slowly rose to his feet and bowed politely in Mrs. Hurst's direction. She wavered in the doorway, a picture of tragic womanhood, supported on one elbow by Miss Bingley, whose face had paled to the same ashen color of her sister's at beholding the fisticuffs breaking out in her parlor.

"Louisa, my love," cried Mr. Hurst, shaking off the now frozen men to rush to his wife's aid. He helped her to the couch, where she sat, her handkerchief to her forehead as Jane hurriedly offered the smelling salts she kept in her reticule at all times for her mother's sake. The rest of the room watched in varying degrees of surprise and disbelief at the unsuspected attachment between the couple as they whispered to each other, Mr. Hurst knelt by her side.

At last, Louisa turned to the room and said, in a reedy but impassioned voice, "Geoffrey had nothing to do with that man's death. I swear to you, he had nothing to kill him over, other than concern for my reputation and my embarrassment, and that was all past. Mr. Denny had been an innocent flirtation, but nothing more, and everything they said about him and me was false. I have no idea how my earrings had ended at his bedside, I did not … could not have--" here she broke down weeping, and Mr. Hurst murmured endearments to her while planting kisses on the back of her hand.

The colonel cleared his throat awkwardly, "Mr. Hurst, I regret to tell you that, whether the rumors were true or not, it still remains that your motive is a strong one, and if you cannot account for your exact whereabouts that night…"

"You dare question me!" he said hotly, and would have risen had his wife not put her hand on his forearm. She looked up at the colonel with puffy eyes and a tear-stained face, but her lips set in a determined line.

"It was me," she said firmly. "I killed him."

"No! Louisa!" Mr. Hurst exclaimed. He turned to the colonel and stood. "It wasn't her, I swear! I did it. I killed him in the garden and then returned to the ball. Louisa had nothing to do with it."

The colonel was now thoroughly baffled. "So, then, you admit you killed him?"

"Yes, of course. It was not my wife."

Mr. Darcy was frowning. "And when did you kill him?"

Hurst looked trapped. "Ah, the … supper dance?"

The colonel shot a puzzled look at Darcy. "Is that possible? I thought it was only a few dances into the night when he was found."

Mr. Darcy pinned Mr. Hurst with a serious gaze. "Where were you during the ball, Hurst?"

Mr. Hurst crossed his arms and refused to answer.

"I believe, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth now said wryly, "that you may look to my father for the answer to that question."

All eyes turned to Mr. Bennet, who had resumed his seat and was grinning like a cat in a cream jar. He shook his head at his daughter. "You always spoil my fun, Lizzy."

Elizabeth noted the darkened look on Mr. Darcy's face and the curl of his lip and felt her face flush at his derision. "Papa!"

"Very well, very well. He was with me, colonel." At the exclamations from the others in the room, he held up a hand and said, "We were playing cards in the other room from at least the second dance of the night, and I daresay we could find several other gentlemen to verify it if you don't wish to take my word for it. It was only when Mr. Darcy sent the servant to find me that I left his side. Based on the last time Mr. Denny was seen alive by others at the ball, Mr. Hurst could not have killed him."

The colonel looked embarrassed and angry that Mr. Bennet had allowed him to nearly make an accusation against Mr. Hurst, when all the time he had known it couldn't be him. Another moment and he appeared ready to say something to that effect, but Jane turned to the lady beside her and asked, "Mrs. Hurst, why did you not say anything of this when we spoke to you this morning? You told us that you did not know Mr. Denny."

"On the contrary," Elizabeth said before the lady could speak, "she said nothing except confirming that Miss Bingley did not know Mr. Denny. I did not realize it at the time, but Miss Bingley spoke only of her own recollections of the ball, and only implied, but never said, that the same was true for Mrs. Hurst."

"My sister had done no wrong," Miss Bingley said, cutting her eyes at the colonel. "She was with me all night at the ball, so she could not have been in any way involved. Furthermore, she had nothing to account for in having been unfortunate enough to be importuned by that man in the past. There was no reason to reveal it."

"And every reason to conceal it," Mrs. Hurst added.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as those in the room recognized the nature of the past few minutes, and the silence that must be held by all of them on the subject. After some moments, the colonel, a glum look on his face, spoke again:

"All this aside, then -- and I cannot doubt your word, Mr, Bennet -- if the Hursts had nothing to do with the murder, it still leaves us with one question: who did kill Mr. Denny?"

Chapter 10

The following day was Sunday, and the Bennets attended services in the morning. Motivated perhaps by recent events, Longbourn's pastor temporarily abandoned his series of theological treatises on the weaknesses of the deist argument in order to give a rousing sermon on the sins of envy and rage, as illustrated in the ancient tale of Abel's murder by Cain. The usual glassy stares and snores were replaced by an attentiveness to the scripture unheard of for the parish, with neighbors eyeing each other warily in the pews and Mr. Bennet nearly chortling with glee.

Throughout the service, Elizabeth noticed the nervous glances Charlotte directed her way every few minutes and assumed her friend would approach her later in the courtyard. But the Lucas family barely paused for greetings before hastening back to the Lodge, and Elizabeth was left to wonder if she had imagined the pleading look in her friend's eyes.

Several hours later, though, Charlotte arrived at Longbourn and Elizabeth quickly pulled her into a parlour adjacent the front hall to discover what the fuss was about.

"Absolutely nothing," Charlotte said as she sat heavily in a chair. She cast her eyes heavenward. "Lord, forgive me for this disrespect of my parents, and on the sabbath, no less! But Mama and Papa are two of the silliest gossips I have ever met."

"I believe you have been to visit my Aunt Phillips at tea time," Elizabeth reminded her friend.

Charlotte shook her head. "But at least your aunt is not usually making something completely out of wholecloth. My parents, on the other hand, were given a button and managed to knit an entire vest to fit it."

Elizabeth laughed. "So what is the trouble, then? I should think this good news."

"But with the way they have been carrying on, acting secretive and suspicious, it only takes someone to question it and we'll have all sorts of rumors flying about. Especially after what happened yesterday…"

"You have heard about that?"

"In this neighborhood? It was served with morning tea," Charlotte said. "But I fear that we shall be the next subject, so I thought I would tell you what I have been able to piece together, and perhaps you can tell your father."

"And then we can find a way to not bring any attention to whatever your sister has done and your parents imagined she did. I was right that it was Maria?"

An exasperated roll of the eyes was her answer. When Elizabeth then prompted her with a raised eyebrow, Charlotte sighed. "Yes. And rather than merely question her about their suspicions, my parents conjured up this scandal and very easily could have ruined all of us had we been the unfortunate targets of the colonel's interrogation."

"I assume it happened at the ball?"

"Yes. Sometime during the middle of the third set, Mama realized she could not find Maria and went in search of her. Especially with this being Maria's first private ball, and with her relative youth, she had thought she maybe just went wandering a little. She found Papa in the card room and, just as they were leaving it to return to the ballroom, they caught sight of Maria and Mr. Denny walking down the hallway together. As the two reached the ballroom doors, Mr. Denny bowed over Maria's hand and let her precede him inside, then returned down the hall past the staircase. So, naturally, of course, without confronting any of the principals and discovering the truth, Mama and Papa concluded that they were having a tryst somewhere and were sneaking back into the ball from some secretive location. Then, of course, is the murder and now my father is not only concerned about our reputation, but also how we might be suspected in all of this, and then you come to our house asking about who Mr. Denny fancied, and…" She sighed.

"And they never asked you or your sister anything?"

With a resigned laugh, Charlotte buried her head in her hands. "Not a thing. I only knew that they were upset with Maria about something she did at the ball, but other than that they refused to tell me anything. And Maria went about blissfully unaware that she had caused any concern at all, only somewhat confused by our parents' odd behavior around her. I finally drew enough of the details from my mother to ask Maria, and it all came out, as innocent as you please: at the end of the second set, your cousin Mr. Collins somehow trod upon the hem of Maria's gown, and it was trailing behind her, becoming a nuisance, so she sought out Miss Bingley. That lady told her where the ladies' retiring room was and how a maid would look after her, so off she went, without thinking to let either myself or my mother know. After the maid repaired the hem with a few stitches to hold it, Maria left to return to the ballroom but somehow got turned around and completely lost. Luckily, she encountered Mr. Denny in the corridor and he was good enough to show her the way back. He was completely gallant and unoffending and Maria thought nothing of it. And that was it. They parted at the ballroom doors, and that was the sum total of Maria's complete acquaintance with the man, until my parents imagined they had been on the cusp of a clandestine elopement."

Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh, and Charlotte reluctantly joined in. "How long have we been living in this French farce, Lizzy?"

"I suspect since the 26th of November, though the true beginnings might be lost to the sands of time. I am not sure, though, if what you have told me makes your parents more or less likely to have murdered Mr. Denny. It is certainly a motive, but their behavior makes it unlikely anyone would truly imagine them to have acted upon it. No, I think you and your family are quite safe from my father -- and I shall take care to ensure he understands that I will be so very unhappy should he fail to curb any others' interest in that quarter that I might even refuse to do his accounts forevermore. Or, rather, until I get bored of his punishment."

"What would your father do without you?"

Elizabeth's smile fell away as she pondered the question. "I cannot honestly say, Charlotte. I suppose he would be forced to hire someone. He does depend on Murray a good deal, but while he is the most trustworthy and able of assistants, the man is more Hector and investigator than secretary."

"He shall have to consider it some time, when you marry." The look this statement earned her only made Charlotte laugh again. "You cannot say it entirely unlikely. Mr. Collins was certainly attentive to you."

"And you can see where that ended up."

"Goodness, Eliza! Must we suspect you of doing away with the gentleman?"

"I generally dispatch my suitors politely with words, not permanently with weapons. I am a lady."

"And one that is quite pursued. I seem to recall a few years ago the attentive Mr. Marchand left the neighborhood quite suddenly ... or did he leave at all? Was he ever heard from again? Perhaps we should turn up some ground in that pretty little wilderness you favor and see how many broken hearts are unearthed." Elizabeth stuck out her tongue at her friend. "Is Mr. Darcy the next target for your murderous intent? I told you before that he looks at you a good deal, and do not forget that you were the only lady he shared a dance with at the ball, though it was interrupted unjustly."

"Charlotte! You know there is nothing there," Elizabeth said, standing and pacing. "He despises me as much as I despise him."

Her friend looked at her keenly, but then sighed and stood, as well. "I will not argue with you, as trying to change your mind on this topic would be an impossible and thankless task … and I suppose I should return home before dark," she said. Elizabeth grinned and began to open the door, but she paused as her friend added, "But have you really asked yourself how you feel about Mr. Darcy, Eliza? Truly?"

"What is there to say, Charlotte?" Elizabeth replied without her earlier humor. "Mr. Darcy is the proudest, the most arrogant man of my acquaintance. From the beginning, from the very first moment I may say, of our acquaintance (and you know of what I speak) his manners have been such as to impress upon all of us his conceit and selfish disdain for those he deems unworthy of his approbation or mere notice. He takes little care to conceal his feelings of contempt for those around him, with his haughty silence and scornful stares, and his words only reinforce the mean opinion he has of the value and respectability of the people of this neighborhood. Who could possibly approve of such behavior? It is not the mark of a gentleman."

She paused and then sighed, closing the door softly and leaning her forehead against the wood. "And yet…"

Charlotte waited, then prompted Elizabeth when it seemed she had become lost in her thoughts: "And yet?"

"Oh, I do not know, Charlotte," she said, pushing away from the door and pacing to the other end of the room and back. "I cannot deny that Mr. Darcy is one of the cleverest, most intelligent men I know, barring perhaps my father. He can be quite witty and his observations keen and interesting when he is free to converse without the likes of Miss Bingley clinging to him and interrupting him. And he can be thoughtful sometimes, and very gentlemanly when he cares to be. If what Colonel Fitzwilliam told my father and me of his history is true -- and I have no reason to doubt it -- Mr. Darcy dealt quite fairly with Mr. Wickham despite much provocation, and he certainly might have interfered with Mr. Wickham's advancement should he have wanted to, by informing Colonel Foster of his past misdeeds." Elizabeth frowned. "Though I suppose giving him such an opportunity for redemption and conversion might have been misguided, given Mr. Wickham's inclination to spread calumny and malign him…"

"So then Mr. Darcy is not quite the villain you have thought him?"

Elizabeth grinned. "Oh, I have not completely given up on that; I cannot wholly forgive him his earliest comments and his improper pride. I simply do not know enough of him to make a fair and just portrait of his character, and it is most bothersome."

"Oh, I imagine! Elizabeth Bennet, unable to immediately solve the mystery of a man!"

The smile fell away from Elizabeth's face. "You make me sound so… Am I truly so judgmental?"

Charlotte's lips quirked slightly as she gave her friend a brief hug. "You can be, yes, but I think it is more that you sometimes hold a little too firmly to the first impressions you take of a person. Mr. Darcy does not seem to me one you can puzzle out so simply. No, no, that is good!" she said, laughing at Elizabeth's doubtful expression. "You are much like your father: you need the challenge of an enigma to keep your attention."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I shouldn't imagine I would have too much longer to puzzle him out, as you say. He is only here as Mr. Bingley's guest and, if not for this murder, he would have returned to more civilized society long before now, I think."

"And such a thought brings you pain, does it?" Charlotte said slyly, then added, "But I think it unlikely it is only the murder keeping him here."

Elizabeth laughed and pushed her friend out the door. "Oh, you and that silly idea of yours! You, who claim to be so unromantic! Go, before you put me completely out of charity with you. And you may tell your parents," she said as they claimed Charlotte's outerwear from the butler, "if you wish to ease their minds, of course, that I shall do my best to curtail my father's curiosity in that little matter we discussed."

So with that very goal in mind, Elizabeth directed her steps to her father's study once Charlotte had been sent on her way.

"I have good news, Papa," she said as, when bidden at her knock, she opened the door to enter and found her father leaning back in the chair behind his desk, his hands laced on his belly. "I believe we may be able to narrow down the time of Mr. Denny's death. He was seen by Sir William and Lady Lucas in the corridor during the second half of the ball's third set. That means that it must be within that next half-hour he was killed, and I daresay if we spoke to Sir William directly he might recall -- Oh! Mr. Darcy!"

Hidden at first by the door, the tall gentleman had risen from his seat and now bowed slightly as Elizabeth stared at him, her hand pressed over her rapidly beating heart. She curtsied, and he nodded curtly in return, his expression severe as he cut his eyes toward the window, avoiding her gaze. A small muscle twitched as he clenched his jaw, and she wondered at his carefully contained emotions and what it was she had interrupted.

"Mr. Darcy was just informing me of his history with Mr. Wickham," her father said after a moment or two of silence. He patted the chair beside him. "Come, have a seat. After our discussion at Netherfield with the good colonel, Mr. Darcy thought it best to answer any suspicions that might have arisen in my mind by a particular allusion made by Mr. Hurst. So far in the story, we have learned of Mr. Wickham's poor behavior at Cambridge, and then how he refused the living left to him in Mr. Darcy's father's will and his acceptance of three thousand pounds in lieu of the procurement, and now his subsequent request of the very same!" His eyes twinkled as he leaned towards her and confided in a loud whisper, "We are very nearly at the good part where his sister falls prey to the man, so be prepared to be quite shocked."

Mr. Darcy, in the act of resuming his seat, paused, then his head shot up and he stared coldly at Mr. Bennet and rose to his full height. It took him a full minute before he gathered his composure enough to speak: "Let me be clear, sir: by your speech, I may conclude that you have already heard the story from my cousin?"

"I have received it from several sources, with various details," Mr. Bennet returned with his brow raised slightly.

"Is it your habit, then, to abuse the patience of respectable gentlemen, and sit in mockery of them as they lay bare their most revealing and compromising secrets?" Mr. Darcy asked in measured tones. "Or am I held apart for special treatment? Is it my person you object to, or my status, or something else? I am unaccustomed, sir, to such behavior as you have afforded me."

"Then I am sorry for it, but it does not change the method of my investigation."

"You acknowledge, then, that you have singled me out for such unique attention, if I may call it that? That you have repeatedly subjected me to doubt, suspicion, and disrespect for nothing more than your amusement at my discomfort? Or, perhaps," Mr. Darcy said with narrowed eyes, "this is merely a form of pique for my failure at the beginning of our acquaintance to acknowledge the nature of your position and the precedence you hold above me." He paused in his anger, and his eyes darted toward Elizabeth. When they met hers briefly he withdrew them coldly and focused on the bookcase at the other corner of the room. "I know what you think of me, but do not deceive yourself: I will not play the fool, not for you or anyone else."

"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that to you alone belong the indignities of being questioned and suspected by me," Mr. Bennet said coolly. "In the eyes of Justice, all men are equal, and I will treat you as such regardless of the size of your purse or estate or the illustrious names of your ancestors. I will not be influenced away from my pursuit of the truth and the application of the law regardless of the stature of the individuals involved. You are not entitled to particular consideration or preferential treatment, though you are the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. You are merely a man as any other, and one who had been present at the murder of another man -- to whom, may I add, there was an undisclosed connection and evidence of potential involvement. I should have been a fool to have failed to question you and a fool to have turned you away today when you came seeking an audience to disclose further information. In what fashion, Mr. Darcy, do you find fault with my adherence to my duty? That I derived amusement from your presumption of immunity to suspicion? The diversion I found was not the cause of my behavior, Mr. Darcy, but the result of your own."

During this speech, Mr. Darcy had alternately paled and flushed, but remained standing before the desk, his arms firmly at his side, his hands clenched. When Mr. Bennet had finished, a silence reigned over the library until at last the young man bowed formally and then straightened, his gaze firmly fixed above Mr. Bennet's head. In a clipped voice he said, "If you already know the story I was prepared to divulge, then there is nothing more for me to relate. Do you have any additional questions regarding the murder that I may answer for you?"

Mr. Bennet cocked his head to one side and regarded Mr. Darcy thoughtfully. "I do not believe so. Did you have any for me?"

The rictus of his lips was the only response Mr. Darcy allowed for such a question. "Then I may assume that there is no further need for me to remain in the neighborhood. I will leave you my address in London, and you may contact me there if the need requires it."

"You are leaving Netherfield?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

His eyes flew to hers, and he regarded her for a moment before looking away. "I think it best," he replied, then added, gritting his teeth: "That is, if it is acceptable to you, sir."

Mr. Bennet picked up his book again and sat back in his chair. With a bored wave of his hand, he dismissed him: "I have no more need of you, Mr. Darcy. You may go as you wish."

At this fresh insult, the gentleman offered a mere shadow of a bow and departed the room swiftly, seeing himself out of the house. Elizabeth stood and went to the window, where she could see the curve of the drive. At last she caught sight of horse and rider hurrying away from the house as if the hounds of hell were near upon them, and she turned back to her father in displeasure. He sat with seeming unconcern reading his novel and did not so much as look up when she said shortly, "That was poorly done."

"Et tu, Lizzy?" he replied, turning another page. "Then fall, Bennet!"

"Do not mock, Papa," she scolded. A sense of disappointment enveloped her and clenched at her heart as she looked at her father. "He did not deserve that."

"Oh, did he not?" Mr. Bennet asked, looking at her over the edge of his book. "And this, coming from a young woman for whom he has had nothing but insults, even before you were introduced?"

The hot feeling of shame expanded in her breast, and she felt the flush rising to her cheeks. All of her own words to Charlotte only minutes earlier came back to her and she realized how little those early insults mattered against her increasingly tolerable opinion of the man. While she could never approve of his pride and reserve, she understood it; while she might not necessarily like him always, she did not hate him. And certainly, despite his curiously stilted manner in these recent moments, which disappointed her to an extent she did not now wish to examine, the otherwise gentlemanly behavior and restraint he displayed in the face of her father's discourtesy could only gain her esteem and gratitude.

"I hardly regard that anymore, and neither should you," she said, the words ringing through her with complete sincerity. "It was an unfeeling comment, but a man cannot be judged solely on one moment of duress, and by complete strangers who know so little of his life."

Mr Bennet laughed mirthlessly and tossed his book on his desk, leaning back again in his chair. "And now you are to be his champion against me? Has he won you over, then? By what arts?"

"Papa!" she cried. "Surely you trust my discernment far more than such a question implies."

He looked a little shamefaced at this, and she continued: "Consider that Mr. Darcy is still a young man, one who has been through so much and has so many responsibilities. From what his cousin has said, he was orphaned at a mere twenty-two years of age, and made in one fell swoop master of an enormous and profitable estate and guardian to a young girl. Is it so surprising that he should have gained a little arrogance of manner? He is also, I think, of a more melancholic nature, and I should think that something to which you could relate. You are both clever, too -- the most clever men I have ever known -- and such intelligence cannot be unaware of itself. He is not the first man to take pride in his own superiority of mind."

Mr. Bennet's expression became slightly mulish as he recognized the criticism of his own manner, and Elizabeth sighed, knowing she must retreat. She came around the side of the desk and kissed him on his brow. "I love you, Papa, but love is not truly blind; it merely allows us to accept the other's faults when we might otherwise detest them, to know a person and love them not only despite their flaws, but more for their struggle to rise above them. You and Mr. Darcy have much in common, and I think you would do better to befriend him than to repudiate his efforts to help you. A man such as he would have much to offer."

Her father's head snapped around to look at her, his eyes narrowing slightly, and he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, growing thoughtful as he regarded her. At last, he nodded slowly and said gruffly, "Well, then, be off with you. I have much to think on. We shall talk of the Lucases and their silly travails at some other time."

With another kiss and a brief embrace, Elizabeth left him. But as she closed the door to his study, she wondered what he had been about to say, and wondered, too, at the puzzling enigma that was Mr. Darcy.

Chapter 11

Sometime in the late evening, it began to rain, and Monday morning dawned on a sodden landscape topped by heavy clouds that showed no inclination to disperse. Kept inside by such unfriendly weather, Elizabeth sat in the window enclosure of the parlor that overlooked the front drive, a book resting forgotten on her lap. In solemn silence, she watched the screaming wind lash raindrops against the cold glass that separated her from the elements while she waited for the rest of the household to wake. Her father, she knew, would already be in his study despite the early hour, but she hesitated to join him. She was as yet unsure of his mood after their argument yesterday and had no interest in provoking either his anger or curiosity if she pursued the topic.

The fire in the grate burned merrily, but she shivered despite it and pulled her shawl closer, wondering if Mr. Darcy was traveling in such inclement weather or if in his eagerness to be away from Hertfordshire and its residents he had scorned the tradition of not traveling on Sundays and was already ensconced in London. It was difficult not to think of him after the encounter in her father's study, and she sighed, wondering what it was about him that drew her emotions and thoughts so thoroughly, both for good and ill. Was it as Charlotte had said, that his complex character was such a mystery to her that she felt compelled to unravel it? Or was it something more?

When she had first discovered Wickham's doubtful morals as he lied blatantly to her father in the inn the morning after the ball at Netherfield, Elizabeth had purposefully avoided thinking about everything he had told her about his former friend, Mr. Darcy. But it preyed again upon her mind as she traced the path of a raindrop down the window, watching as it joined, then separated from its fellow drops, growing heavier as it made its way steadily to the bottom. What was it Mr. Darcy had said about Mr. Wickham? That he had "such happy manners as may ensure his making friends," but "whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."

Perhaps Mr. Darcy had been correct. Mr. Wickham had certainly lost her friendship.

As to the latter's accusations against the former, that he had denied him a valuable living out of jealousy and thus reduced him to his current circumstances, what was the truth? She could not truly say, one way or the other -- for she only had the word of Mr Wickham against that of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. But given what she had learned over the past few weeks of the characters of each, she could trust with fair certainty that Mr. Wickham was in the wrong.

More importantly, however, did it matter in her evaluation of Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth had certainly been predisposed to condemn Mr. Darcy when she had first heard of his betrayal of his childhood companion, due to her first impressions of the two men. Now, though, she could not only recognize that Wickham's version might be a complete fabrication, but also that it was truly none of her concern. Other than to use their own words and behaviors to further her understanding of how they each presented themselves to the world, she had no business judging either man in the matter itself.

And when the business between the two men was removed, of what else did Elizabeth have to accuse Mr. Darcy? That he was proud, yes. And certainly that he was careless with his insults in company he judged unworthy of his notice.

Elizabeth frowned. But that was the first night of their acquaintance. Since then, he had been mostly inoffensive. Staring at her and listening to her conversations with others was awkward and somewhat unmannerly, but it was not malicious. And their interactions since that first assembly had not been antagonistic; in fact, she had rather enjoyed a few of their debates at Netherfield. And he had asked her to dance -- even if unwillingly or in jest -- several times.

Truly, the most she could say about Mr. Darcy was that she didn't know much about him, and that she did wish to complete the portrait of his character. It was so rare for a gentleman of his qualities, of his complexity, to enter the neighborhood, and she found that engaging with him on an intellectual level was enjoyable. More than enjoyable. And if perhaps there was a little voice in her heart that whispered that she wished to know more about him for the sake of knowing him more, she was careful to not let it run amok. After all, he could have no interest in her -- not after overhearing what she had thought of him.

For she was certain that he had. He knew what they thought of them, he had said -- not that he supposed, or he thought, but that he knew .

In all the time they had been acquainted, she had seen Mr. Darcy as a man who spoke with precision, and if he knew, then it was only because he had heard it from her own lips. He would have heard her speaking to Charlotte of him, from his place in the foyer before meeting with her father. The conclusion was as inescapable as it was uncomfortable. She was perfectly aware of how sound travelled in her house and she had spoken so indiscriminately with no thought as to who might hear. It was perverse chance that should have admitted him to Longbourn at the same time. His refusal then, in her father's study, to meet her eyes, to look at her, only confirmed it for her.

The pain of having hurt Mr. Darcy -- who had known she had such power? -- burned in her breast, and she closed her eyes in shame, resting her forehead on the cool window pane.

Perhaps it was just payment, that their relationship should have begun and ended on insults overheard.

A moment later, when a discreet chaise turned to enter the drive, Elizabeth abandoned these thoughts and sat up more sharply, watching it approach and pull up beneath the portico. She felt some curiosity at such an early visitor, but could see nothing of the vehicle's passengers from her angle of observation. The doorbell rang and she heard a muffled murmur of voices from the hall, but when none of the household was aroused, she surmised it was someone to visit her father, and returned to her examination of the deluge as the chaise returned from whence it had come, its form hazy in the downpour as it rumbled out of sight. Was it her imagination, or did the rain seem heavier than it was but a moment ago?

An hour later, however, as Elizabeth began to hear the stirrings of the household above, there was a quiet knock on the door to the parlor and Mrs. Hill entered cautiously. "Beg pardon, miss, but I was wondering if you knew whether Mr. Fletcher be staying to break his fast, and should we set a place for him?"

"Mr. Fletcher?" Elizabeth repeated, surprised that with the coroner there her father had not asked her to join them. She frowned, but assured the housekeeper that she would seek out Mr. Bennet and his guest and inquire.

The door to her father's study was closed, and she paused before it, hesitating to interrupt the indecipherable rumble of voices beyond. At last, though, she lifted her hand and knocked, and was soon bid to enter. "We were wondering, sir," Elizabeth said after she had entered and offered a small curtsey to the coroner, "if Mr. Fletcher would be joining us for the morning meal."

Mr. Bennet looked sullen. "I am sure Fletcher has many things to do today. He has surely told me nearly all of them."

The coroner, however, brightened at the invitation. "On the contrary; this rain has put off many of the things I had intended to do. I would be most honored to break my fast with your family, Miss Elizabeth."

"I hope you have been seeing progress in your investigations, sir?" she asked politely.

He acknowledged that he was not as advanced as he had intended to be. The ground where Mr. Collins had fallen had not yielded as many clues as he had hoped, and the autopsy he had done had furthered him little. Mr. Collins, he had found, had sent two letters out that day and had received one note in return, but the coroner had hit a dead end trying to discover to whom and from whom those messages had been delivered, so it could not be determined whether they were in any way connected to the case. "But I have one last inquiry to which I should soon receive a response, and then the inquest may be reconvened." He paused. "I understand that you had a lead that did not turn out favorably the other day at Netherfield."

"Ah, I believe that was Colonel Fitzwilliam's theory," Elizabeth said, shooting a look at her father's scornful expression. "It was, unfortunately, incorrect, but it cannot be said to have had no merit. He had not the knowledge my father had, and pursued a false trail."

"It is not to be wondered at," Mr. Fletcher replied. "Regardless of any military success the colonel may have had, he is not a professional in the field of detection and law, and for an amateur to have had success where we have not should have been exceeding strange."

"I believe the colonel said that he had been employed in the field of military intelligence," Elizabeth said doubtfully.

Mr. Fletcher shook his head. "But it is not the same as thief-taking and comprehending murder. Why, it would be similar to your father attempting to make determination of the cause of a man's death, rather than myself. No, no, I still say that these matters should be left in the hands of those who have been trained and specially formed and who retain the authority to discern them rightfully."

"I wonder, then, at your attempt to discern the culprit in this case," Mr. Bennet said dryly, "as that is my purview, and not yours. For your office, it is sufficient to render the cause."

Mr. Fletcher's cheeks reddened slightly, and the spark in his eyes told Elizabeth that this ground had been covered many times, perhaps even many times that morning. She sighed silently and interrupted the argument to offer to show Mr. Fletcher to the breakfast parlor, where the rest of the family would soon join them.

Indeed, Mary was the first of Elizabeth's sisters to descend, and she and the coroner fell into easy discussion over books they had read. They were soon joined by Jane, Kitty, and Lydia, though the latter hardly opened her lips, even to eat, and sat nervously on the end of her chair all the while. When Mrs. Bennet descended, she quickly recognized the unique opportunity and did her best to forward the burgeoning relationship between the coroner and her middle daughter, to often awkward results. Thus the atmosphere remained convivial, even when Mr. Bennet joined them and sat sulkily silent like a glowering cloud at the end of the table. He remained only so long as his meal did, and then retreated again to his study.

Mr. Fletcher sat with the ladies for the morning as the weather continued to rage and travel appeared unwise. Soon into the afternoon, however, one of Mr. Bennet's tenants came to report dangerous flooding along the river, and it was made clear the coroner would be forced to spend the night. If several hours shifting fallen trees on the muddy banks on the far end of his property and being rained upon did not spoil Mr. Bennet's already tempestuous mood, the notice upon his return in the evening of the need to entertain a new houseguest did nothing to better it. After a warm bath and a dose of Mrs. Hill's special concoction to ward off the chills, Mr. Bennet sent his man with borrowed clothes to the guest room, ordered a tray for dinner, and slammed the door of his study so firmly that a picture hanging in the hall fell to the floor and cracked the frame in two.

"He is like an infant in a temper tantrum," Elizabeth complained to Jane that night as they huddled together in her room. The wind howled outside as the rain continued to pelt down. "He had his toy taken away, was told he was being naughty, and now cannot even play well with the other boys."

"Lizzy, that is unkind," Jane said. "Father has had much pressed upon him today. I understand from Mrs. Hill that the entire western field on Mr. Johnson's farm is underwater and part of Mr. Ford's barn has collapsed."

"Oh, but he was in a foul mood long before that," she replied bitterly. "I should say it has been building this whole week, with such little progress being made on the case. Colonel Fitzwilliam sent him a note yesterday saying that he had finished interviewing every officer and discovered no one unaccounted for, and had even received confirmation from London that Mr. Wickham had indeed delivered his packet and been sent to barracks for the night, so that is that for the militia. He also had a letter on Saturday from Sir Edmund Denny, badgering him for news, to which he has refused to reply, and he expected Murray from London by today -- but with this weather I don't foresee him returning very soon with whatever answers papa sent him to find, which will undoubtedly make him even more cross. And now that Mr. Darcy has gotten out from under his thumb, he does not even have his favorite plaything to tease and bully about. What is it about these gentlemen from Netherfield that have such a strong effect upon us Bennets? Next I expect to see Kitty swooning over Mr. Hurst. At least you, I know, shall be sensible enough, if rather sentimental about your Mr. Bingley -- and don't you argue with me again that he is not your Mr. Bingley."

Jane's mouth opened, and then closed, and a discernible blush crept over her cheeks, and Elizabeth started. The guilty look could only mean one thing: "Jane! Is there something you have not told me?"

Her sister stammered a bit as she picked at the bedclothes. "I am sorry, Lizzy. I wasn't meant to say anything yet."

"But to your dearest sister! I am distraught! When did it happen? Has he sought Father's blessing? Come, Jane! Tell me everything, or I shall tell mama it was you who put the salt in the sugar dish at Aunt Phillips' tea when you were eight."

With such terrible deeds to conceal, it did not take more encouragement for Jane to reveal that during his interview on the carriage ride to London Mr. Bingley had confessed his love for her and, once Jane had stopped crying long enough to say yes to his proposal, he had begged permission of a bemused Mr. Bennet before they had even gone a mile further.

"He does act swiftly," Elizabeth approved. "I suppose he was quite right in that whatever he does, he does in a hurry -- but then why has it not been announced? Oh, right, Mr. Collins," she said, answering her own question.

Jane nodded. "Papa would have told the family immediately, Mr. Collins' death or not, but both Charles and I thought it unseemly, so soon after. And we shall only be in mourning for a few days longer. A week is hardly so much time to wait."

"I should think it would feel an eternity, when one is in love!"

Here Jane decried any intention or inclination to wait forever, and admitted with a blush that she was in actuality quite eager to become Mr. Bingley's wife. It was only that in such blissful happiness as she had, knowing that she was fulfilling the dreams of her family in marrying well and her own dreams of marrying for affection, that she had no room for impatience.

"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!" Jane cried, embracing her sister with tears in her eyes as her emotions at last got the better of her. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed above them all! If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such another man for you!"

"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as you," Elizabeth replied sensibly. "Until I have your goodness, I should never match your happiness. But perhaps there shall be a man for me in time. I shall simply have Papa interrogate them all until one confesses his love for me!"

At this, they both dissolved into giggles, and such was the end to their night; Jane soon after returned to her bed and Elizabeth was left to thoughts of a particular man who had been interviewed by her father, and the disturbing suspicion that, could she have known him better, she might have been as happy as Jane.

The following morning left all unchanged at Longbourn; the rain fell and the wind blew as firmly as the day and night before it, and the inhabitants, including Mr. Fletcher, were bound to the house. Mr. Bennet kept to his rooms, and Elizabeth sought him there after breakfast, in the hopes of gauging his temper.

"I suppose you are here to chastise me for my behavior toward my uninvited guest," Mr. Bennet harrumphed when she came to sit beside his favorite chair and lean against his knees. She didn't say a word, simply sat there with her arm around his leg, and at last he relented. He turned a page of his book before putting a marker in it and setting it on the little table beside him. He lay a hand on her head and sighed. "You're a good girl, Lizzy. A sensible girl, and quite right to have told me what you did. But I am an old man, and fully entrenched in my ways. I doubt it shall have much effect upon me in the end."

"Oh, papa," she said, "I did not mean to say that you must change. I love you as you are, truly!"

His hand stroked her hair gently. "But if you had said it, child, you would have said no less than the truth. I am not perfect, but a man with more or less the same number of frailties as the rest of mankind. It is merely that one of my greatest weaknesses inclines me to be content with all the rest."

"I worry for you, Papa," she said softly. "I cannot help but feel that all of this has exhausted you, and your frustration with the case, and the murder of your heir, and now the weather and Mr. Fletcher … it is all too much. If only you could discover the culprit tomorrow and turn him over, and everything return to normal!"

Mr. Bennet looked down at her with keen eyes, a sad smile curving his lips. "And you think that it is only not knowing the culprit that is holding me back from arresting the man? Ah, my dear, I have known who the murderer was since nearly the very beginning, and it is from there that the frustration grows."

Elizabeth, startled, looked up at her father. "You have known who killed Mr. Denny all this time?" At his nod, she asked, "And Mr. Collins?"

He sighed. "Yes, Lizzy, but it is all merely theoretical. I have the who and most of the why and am nearly certain of the how, but I have very little evidence. And I cannot convict a man with only my convictions."

"And why not, papa? I have never known you to be wrong on a case, and if you have some evidence, surely the courts would find a way to secure justice."

"But in a case where the punishment is certain death?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Let me tell you a story, and perhaps you should understand:

"Some years ago, when you were still in the arms of your nurse and I was as yet rather untried in my position, I was presented with a case in which a man was discovered at the scene of a murder at an estate in the west of the county. Two people had been bludgeoned to death, a husband and wife of respectable lineage, while their children and servants were asleep in the house; it had been supposed that the murderer had come only to rob the house, but been surprised in the act and responded with violence. Furthermore, not only had the man a history of poaching and petty thievery, but there was evidence that he had, indeed, burgled several items from the house that night -- and he admitted as much to me. But he strenuously denied having murdered the master of the house and his wife, and it was thought that, with the penalty for the theft likely transportation and the penalty for murder, death, he was merely striving to gain a lesser sentence and the chance of surviving the long journey to New South Wales."

"Had he done it?" Elizabeth asked. "Had he murdered those people?"

"I certainly thought so, and I certainly was grateful for such an easy case to dispose of, and with such notoriety. Even the king had praised me for apprehending the murderer so quickly, and I was assured by him that my tenure as sheriff was secure. And though the only evidence we had of his fatal crime was his presence in the room when the deaths were discovered by the butler, and his subsequent flight pointing to his guilt, it was enough to convict him. I began to have some doubts after the arrest, but I felt it was out of my hands at that point: the judges were keen to make an example of him, and the man had no family to plead for him, no money to put on a decent defense. He was sentenced to death by hanging, and that was it. With so little effort on my part, I was able to return home to my books and my family. A job well done."

Mr. Bennet paused and passed a hand over his eyes. "But then several months later I received a note from a justice of the peace in one of the southern counties. He had just apprehended a man who had murdered a family asleep in their beds, and when questioned had admitted to other murders, in other counties."

"Including Hertfordshire," Elizabeth said.

He nodded. "And the details of one of the murders of which he boasted in his mad ravings were such that the magistrate had recognized the case immediately, having heard of it himself in London. He wrote me, and I went there and learned what I had feared: that this man was the murderer -- fully insane, fully deserving of death for his crimes -- and that I had sent another man to hanging in his stead."

"So the other man was innocent?"

"Oh, no, he was guilty," Mr. Bennet replied. "But not of the crime I had charged him with. He was likely but a petty thief who had stumbled across a murder, just as he had told me. But I had been so convinced it was him, so secure in my own perception, that I neglected to find the evidence that would have proved it for certain. I am sure, had I looked then with due diligence, I could have discovered evidence of another intruder. In fact, and this is my shame, I know because I returned later to the house and searched with new eyes.

"I swore never again to rely only on my instincts in a capital case, but to prove a man's guilt beyond any doubt," he said slowly. "In the blindness of my pride in my own wisdom and sagacity, and the laziness of my temper, I had put a man to death. Perhaps he would not have lived, in any case, had he been sentenced to the prison hulks or transportation, but he would have had a chance, and my conscience could be clean of the guilt of killing a man through the instrument of the law. I was responsible for ensuring justice, and I failed. And that is a crime I shall never forget."

"But papa, you cannot know that you would have found evidence of his innocence at the time, no matter how you searched later. And what if instead you found evidence that had proved, in fact, that he was guilty?"

"Then I should have rested my conscience in having proved beyond a doubt, as they say, that he deserved his mortal punishment. But should there be even a shadow of a doubt, I must discover the truth before I act."

"But if, while you are searching for evidence, the man does something more, commits further crime. Are his victims not deserving of consideration? They could have been saved the trouble had you acted upon your knowledge -- if you have known since the ball, could Mr. Collins have not been murdered?"

Mr. Bennet sighed. "It is possible. But there is one thing you must remember that took me some time to learn: I am the sheriff. I am not God. I can judge men's actions, but not their hearts, and if they escape man's justice they shall not escape His."

Elizabeth was quiet for some time, her head resting against her father's knee, before she spoke again: "And you will not tell me who you suspect?"

"I will not."

"And this is why Mr. Fletcher is angry with you?"

Mr. Bennet sighed. "It is. He does not understand my reservations; he never has, and I have never tried to explain it. And now he has besieged me in the hopes of inveigling it from me."

Elizabeth laughed. "I think you can blame the rain, and perhaps other feminine inducements for his continued presence."

"And your mother shall see in it a perfect opportunity to extract a proposal for her least promising daughter, and I shall never be free of the man. Ah, Lizzy, my lot is a hard one."

She grinned. "Only if you persist in remaining in this room all day," she said, jumping to her feet and taking his hands to lift him from the chair. "Come, there is plenty of ridiculousness that awaits you in the drawing room, for you know mama's subtlety in matchmaking. And, with the inevitability of the match in no doubt, you may as well take comfort in observing Mr. Fletcher as a suitor. He is as stiff in making love as he is in his duties as a coroner, so you shall have plenty of opportunities to poke and prod at your leisure."

Mr. Bennet smiled at that and gave his daughter a kiss on her cheek before allowing her to lead him to the door. "Very well, but I shall blame you should this lead to my strangling the man."

"And I shall admit my guilt," she replied with a smile. "Beyond the shadow of a doubt."

Chapter 12

It was three days before the rain stopped, and a day more before it was safe to venture out on the roadways by horse. Mr. Bingley came early in the morning, even before breakfast, and the expected announcement was made. The Bennets had spent a week in mourning for their distant cousin, and now it was time for celebration. Mr. Fletcher, too, had made a proposal during a conspicuously convenient moment alone with Mary the day before, and so there was even more rejoicing once Mr. Bennet had less than graciously given his blessing there, as well.

With such rapturous cries from Mrs. Bennet and the general excitement building to untenable levels, Mr. Bennet soon retreated to his book room and there met with Murray, who had just returned from London. Elizabeth, however, longed for the fresh air and the quiet of the outdoors she had missed over the past few days and sought a walk instead. Mrs. Bennet decried such a plan, as walking in such mud would leave her unfit to be seen, but Elizabeth held firm and insisted that most of the mud would be frozen, in any case. In an act of true gallantry, with no doubt a little added hope of finding a moment alone with his betrothed during the course of a lengthy perambulation, Mr. Bingley declared his willingness to join in the plan, and Jane quickly agreed.

Thus the threesome exited Longbourn. Mr. Bingley suggested they might explore the gardens or stroll in the shrubbery near the house. Elizabeth, however, was more inclined to a longer walk, and proposed that a jaunt to Oakham Mount was simple enough and not too extended for them, as bundled as they were from the effects of the cold. She prevailed at last, and they set off.

At first, they remained together, as the path was wide, and Elizabeth asked how the rains had affected the Netherfield estate. "Terribly," he replied. "I am truly grateful that Darcy was here to help me make the proper decisions to help the tenants -- especially after the bridge went out. I was truly at a loss."

"Oh! Is Mr. Darcy still here, then?" Elizabeth cried. "I had thought -- he told my father when we saw him on Sunday that he was to leave for London directly."

"He was, indeed," Bingley said. "I do not know what put him in that temper, but he was in no fit condition to travel, and so I told him. I stood firm in that he was to remain for the night, at least, and then, if he still insisted upon it, he might leave first thing in the morning. After all, travelling on a Sunday! I wouldn't have it said one of my guests would be out on the road in such a way, when he admitted he had no urgent business in London that would require his immediate presence."

"You take such good care of your friends," Jane said with a smile, and the two lovers gazed at each other in shared sympathy for several moments.

"But he did not leave the next morning?"

"How could he?" Bingley asked. "The weather was such that it would have been suicide to travel, and no matter the mood Darcy was in, he is nothing if not considerate of his servants. He would not have them risking their lives on such a journey. As it was, it was a lucky thing he did not, or it might have been his carriage that caused the bridge over the river near Haye-Park to collapse. A farmer lost his wagon and a horse and very nearly his life as it went down under the pressure of the flood."

Both Elizabeth and Jane cried out at this tale, and Bingley assured them that his friend had already ensured the farmer would suffer no hardship from the loss. "He's a good man, Darcy is, and I am honored to call him friend. I shall miss him as he goes up to London, but I am certain he will return for my wedding," he said, with a grin at his betrothed, "for I intend to ask him to stand up with me."

"So then he is gone this morning?"

Bingley shook his head. "No; I was able to persuade him again to stay another night. With the temporary bridge not expected to be in place until tomorrow, it seems he would have had to travel nearly all the way to Luton to reach the main road, and that is quite out of the way and in the wrong direction. But as pleasant as it is for me to have my friend in residence, I shall have to hope that the rain does not resume, or Darcy will be truly cross. He has been nearly unbearable these last few days, with nowhere to go and nothing to do."

Elizabeth smiled weakly at this and nodded, knowing that Mr. Darcy's behavior was likely only partially caused by the rain. The turn of his countenance, when he left her father's study, had been all that was black and wretched, and it was all on account of the Bennets. The days of waiting until he could increase his distance from them must only add to the frustration.

With her thoughts dwelling on the man some mile or so away at Netherfield, she directed her feet to the river they would follow to the path that approached Oakham Mount. That winding waterway formed one of the natural boundaries of Longbourn's holdings, and was a familiar path when Elizabeth needed space to transfer her emotions into activity, safe on her father's land but far from the house. It would work well again today. Bingley and Jane, not as great walkers as she and more interested in each other's company than the hike, trailed behind as Elizabeth's feet ate up the distance.

Her agitation fueled her, lending speed to her steps, and she wondered why it disturbed her so much, now that she knew Mr. Darcy was still in Hertfordshire, and nearby at Netherfield, and unlikely to see them. She considered wildly the possibility of persuading her father to approach him with an apology, as a means to convince him to stay. But why did she want him to stay, if there was no hope? And what was the likelihood of her father abasing himself so?

She had just reached the river, which rushed swiftly downstream, its swollen current bending trees on the banks, when she turned and noticed her sister and Mr. Bingley had not yet rounded the last corner. She sighed, recognizing her role of chaperon could not be completely abandoned, and sat down on a large nearby rock to await them. She stared at the torrent before her, the press of the water compelling all in its path inexorably along the rapids, and thought about the last few weeks and their fateful quality. She was startled out of her maudlin thoughts as a kingfisher darted out of the wood and snatched a fish from the water, doubling back into the brush and out of sight with its prey.

Elizabeth turned again to the empty path, and realized her two companions must have fallen farther behind her than she thought. She had only just stood to return whence she came, when a sudden shout rose up from further along the river.

"Darcy! Darcy!" then, with rising hysteria, "No! Don't!"

And then a sharp report that echoed through the woods, followed by a scream, and without thought she turned in that direction, her natural instincts driving her towards the scene. She had just stepped back onto the path when she heard hoofbeats coming nearer, rapidly, and she had barely a moment to react as a riderless black horse with the saddle of the militia, its eyes wide with fright, pounded around the corner and raced past her. Its flank brushed against her, and she stumbled, nearly falling but catching herself on a tree. She looked after it for but a second, then turned again and began to stir, her steps unsure at first then coming with greater ease and rapidity. Behind her, as the hoofbeats receded, she heard Mr. Bingley shout and a short cry from her sister, but she was already moving, running, stumbling over the uneven, muddy ground. She dashed on, the path moving away from the river, and then towards it, and then away again, overhanging branches catching at her hair as her bonnet fell to her back, held on only by the knot in its ribbons. She didn't know why she ran, hardly thinking, heedless of her own safety, knowing only that something had happened, something serious, and Mr. Darcy was involved. She had to find out.

When she came around a bend, she skidded to a halt as she saw a hulking figure on the path before her, at the top of a rise where two paths met. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the dark-colored horse, but it hardly reacted, busy as it was with its attempt to denude a small bush that had seen most of its fading leaves stripped bare by the heavy rains. She pressed a hand to its sweaty, steaming flanks and cautiously, gently felt along its body to the saddle, where a rifle was strapped to the back. She continued whispering comfortingly to the horse as she slowly moved past to see into the clearing beyond it. When she had come to the bridle and freely dangling reins, she stopped short, and the horse paused in its feeding and whickered softly to her. She brushed its soft nose absently as she took in the sight before her, the details branding themselves in her mind, and before long her equine companion returned its interest to the bush.

It was a small clearing, no more than a hundred yards in either direction, just along the river. She could see, over the tops of the trees, the steeple of the church at Haye-Park, and she knew that she must be very near the crossroads between there and Netherfield, not a mile from Meryton. But it was the figure by the side of the raging torrent that gained her greatest interest: by the bank stood a tall man, his leg propped on a rock, gazing fixedly downstream. One hand, hanging loosely by his side, held a pistol, and in the other, held before him, was a length of fabric. The man's hair rustled in the breeze, unfettered by hat, and she could clearly see the look of utter confusion and puzzled contemplation that graced his features. He wore riding clothes, and as her gaze traveled down to his boots, she caught sight of a dark smear of something, she hardly knew what, on the rocks at his feet. He was alone.

She had opened her mouth, intending to call out to him, when she heard shouts, the sound of men approaching from the far side of the clearing, and saw two men on horseback round the path. She ducked slightly behind the horse and peered around it as the men came closer. Mr. Darcy's head turned at the sound of his name, called by one of the officers, and Elizabeth recognized him now as Colonel Fitzwilliam, the other as Colonel Forster. They dismounted when they had come far enough into the clearing, and Colonel Forster called out, "Mr. Darcy! What is the meaning of this?"

Mr. Darcy, who stood in nearly the same position as he had when Elizabeth had first seen him, opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a moment, he shook his head and looked again at the fabric in his hand, as if seeking from it the answers.

"Darcy! What did you do? Where is Wickham?" Colonel Fitzwilliam cried, dashing to his cousin's side. Taking the pistol from him, he examined it briefly and then handed it to the other officer, who had followed. He put his hands on Mr. Darcy's shoulders and shook him roughly. "Good God, man! What did you do?"

Again, Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment a handful of militiamen rushed into the clearing, their weapons in their hands, and he stiffened, his gaze going from them to each of the colonels in turn, and then, suddenly, towards Elizabeth, who still stood beside his horse. His eyes widened and he would have taken a step towards her had he not been arrested by his cousin's grip.

"Colonel, this is blood -- fresh blood," said Colonel Forster, who had stripped off a glove and knelt by the rocks, his fingers testing the dark liquid. They came away red, and he stood, his manner threatening as he stepped toward Mr. Darcy. "What is that in your hand, sir? Hand it over."

Mr. Darcy responded automatically to the order, offering the fabric in an absent manner, his eyes still on Elizabeth, and the colonel snatched it away, turning it over in his hands. "This is torn from an officer's sleeve -- a lieutenant's. Mr. Darcy, we must ask you again: where is Mr. Wickham? "

"I do not know," Mr. Darcy said at last, his voice strangled, his gaze finally turning to the colonel, and then his cousin. "There was no one here when I arrived."

"You cannot be serious, Darcy," said his cousin. "We heard--"

"I know what you heard!" Darcy snapped, suddenly coming to life. "I heard it myself. And I cannot explain it. I have not the least idea why he said my name like that--"

"You are telling us," Colonel Forster said, "that you were not here with him, that you did not fight with him, that you did not shoot him with this recently fired pistol that you were holding in your hand when we arrived, that this is not his blood, that you did not dispose of his body somewhere--" he looked around him, then at the river rushing loudly by them "--in this river, maybe? Men! Search downstream. I want Mr. Wickham found immediately. He may have come ashore, or his body washed up or caught on the rocks or branches. Find him!"

"Colonel," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "it cannot have been my cousin. No matter the provocation, Darcy would never have done such a thing!"

"How do you know this, Colonel?" cried the other officer, turning on him. "Because he is your cousin? Forgive me if I do not take your word for it. As it stands, everything points to your cousin having done away with my officer."

"I did no such thing," growled Mr. Darcy, stepping forward. Colonel Forster immediately drew his sword in response, and the other man retreated, his hands held open before him.

Meanwhile, Colonel Fitzwilliam was looking around frantically, as if to find something to exonerate his cousin, and spied the other horse standing by the side of the clearing. He jogged a few steps in that direction, then caught sight of Elizabeth standing by its side and stuttered to a halt. He looked around at the activity in the clearing, then came closer and said in a hushed voice, "Miss Bennet! What are you doing here?"

Elizabeth stepped around the front of the horse hesitantly. "I heard the shouting, Colonel, and the shot," she said. "I arrived just before you did."

"But from where?" he asked, taking hold of the horse's bridle and looking at it with narrowed eyes. "This is Darcy's horse. What are you doing with it?"

"Nothing, sir. It was here when I came running from there," she said, pointing down the path.

"Alone? What are you doing out here?"

"I was not alone," she said, shaking her head. "My sister and Mr Bingley -- we were nearly run down by a horse galloping down the path, coming from here, I presume. It looked absolutely wild, no doubt frightened by the shot, though why a horse of the militia ... I left them behind on my way here. They are some ways back. I thought -- oh, I don't know what I thought -- that I could help, maybe…"

The colonel looked at her searchingly, then nodded. Suddenly, in their silence, they both grew aware behind them of the escalation of furious words being exchanged between the two men by the river, and as one turned to look.

"I tell you, he sent me a note, told me to meet him at the crossroads. He said he knew who had killed Mr. Denny and Mr. Collins. He sounded frightened."

"And so you came armed with a pistol. I dare say he was frightened -- of you."

"He knew me -- he knew he had nothing to fear from me physically. No matter what our relationship has been in the past--"

"Oh, yes, I've heard of your relationship! I daresay it may have quite a lot of bearing on what has happened here."

Beside her, the colonel muttered something angry and indecipherable, and had just gathered the reins of Darcy's horse when a muddy militiaman burst out of the woods and ran towards the pair on the riverbank. "Colonel!" He shouted as he ran, then skidded to a stop before Colonel Forster and saluted sharply. "I found this, sir, downriver, caught on some branches." He pointed downstream and handed what appeared to be an officer's hat to his superior.

Colonel Forster looked it over, his face growing more angry, and then he thrust it back in the other man's hands and barked at him, "Get to the camp. Tell Saunderson I want him down here on the double with the rest of the men. I want this river searched thoroughly for Mr. Wickham, as far as we can go. And God help you, Mr. Darcy," he said, turning to point an accusing finger at the other man, "if all we find is his body with a gunshot wound. For now, I arrest you, in the name of the King, for an attempt on the life of an officer of his majesty's militia."

"Good God," murmured the man beside Elizabeth, watching as Colonel Foster had another of his men, who came running at his call, bind Mr. Darcy's wrists and lead him towards the colonels' horses. The starch came into the tall man's spine as he was prodded forward, his head held high and his face set like granite.

With a sharp movement, Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to Elizabeth and grabbed her hand. "Miss Bennet, get your father. We have very little time, and if there is anyone who can figure this mess out, it is him." When Elizabeth hesitated, her eyes fixed on Mr. Darcy as he was led away, he barked at her and pointed. "Go! Get Mr. Bennet. We've not a moment to lose."

Chapter 13

When Elizabeth burst into her father's study without warning, her breath coming in labored gasps, Mr. Bennet looked up with a startled expression on his face. When she couldn't say anything for lack of air, merely leaning her hands on her knees, fighting for every breath, he smirked and set down his book. "What, has your mother found you a new suitor? Come, you needn't be quite so distraught. He cannot possibly be worse than Mr. Collins."

"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth managed.

Mr. Bennet sat back, genuinely surprised. "I do believe I have been proven incorrect. I didn't think Mrs. Bennet had any kind sentiments toward the man at all, but I daresay money and status can overcome quite a lot in the eyes of a marriage-minded mama. Perhaps her latest successes have gone to her head."

Elizabeth shook her head, trying to calm her breathing, and only succeeded in choking and beginning to cough. Running the entire way to the house in the chill of the winter air had stripped her throat, and she struggled to breathe through it. "Mr. Wickham," she wheezed at last.

"Mr. Wickham!" Mr. Bennet echoed, his humor assured. "Well, which is it? They are quite opposite in terms of eligibility, I daresay. If it is Mr. Wickham, though, I shall have to have another word with your mother. She obviously did not take the warning I had given her as to that young man's worthlessness."

"No, papa," she said, finally gaining the chair before his desk and leaning on it heavily. "They've arrested him!"

"Who?" Mr. Bennet asked sharply, his interest now caught. He pulled a glass from his drawer and unstoppered a decanter.

"Colonel Forster, he--" again, she coughed.

He paused in the act of pouring a finger of brandy, his eyebrows nearly shooting past what hairline he had left. "The colonel? Of what did they accuse him?"

"No, papa!" she gasped. "The colonel arrested Mr. Darcy! For killing Mr. Wickham!"

Mr. Bennet's mouth rounded into a perfect "o", and he blinked a few times before shaking his head slowly and muttering, more to himself than to anyone, "I did not anticipate that." After a moment, though, he shook off his surprise and slid the small glass to Elizabeth, who sank onto the seat and took a small sip of the liquid gratefully. Her father watched her until she nodded, and he leaned back in his chair again, lifting his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "Well, if the deed is done, it is done. I should have advised the young man against it, but I dare say it is, indeed, one way to deal with such a problem. I suppose I should congratulate him, in fact. But it is out of my hands now. If they need me to transport him to the Assizes, I shall arrange it, but if the militia has taken charge of the matter, I daresay it has its own way of settling these matters."

"Papa!" Elizabeth cried, leaning forward. "Listen to me! He didn't do it -- I simply cannot believe he did it. His horse would not have stood there, untethered, where it was when the gun was fired. Mr. Wickham's horse certainly didn't, and Mr. Darcy's horse was far too calm to have just had a gun fired so near him. He had to have come afterwards, after the shot. It doesn't matter he had the gun -- that could have been left there; he could have picked it up afterward. And why a pistol when he had his own rifle? There had to have been someone else there, and we just didn't see him! I thought about it all the way home!"

A sad, sympathetic look came into Mr. Bennet's expression as Elizabeth spoke. He stood up slowly and made his way around the desk to draw a chair beside her, reaching out to take her hands. "Lizzy, my Lizzy. Colonel Forster may not be the most intelligent man I know, but he is also not the kind of man who would arrest someone without just cause. I can take a look into it, but I cannot promise anything."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is counting on you," she said, the stress of the past hour and her inability to make her father see reason bringing tears to her eyes. "He sent me to fetch you. He said you were the only one who would be able to figure this all out."

Mr. Bennet's smile held a touch of pride, but it was more melancholy than not. "I cannot work miracles, child. If Mr. Darcy shot Mr. Wickham, there is not much I am able to do. He had reason for it ten times over, and you saw the temper the man has. I can hardly argue against a man with a grudge standing over a dead body with a smoking gun in his hands."

"But you have done it before!" she said, gripping his hands. "You told me, yourself, of the man in your past who was sent to death, the one who was innocent. Mr. Darcy was only there because Mr. Wickham had sent him a note, had asked to meet him there. He cannot have been there to kill him. It wouldn't be like him. He is not violent. I know he is innocent! You know he is, Papa! Even you have been mistaken before."

His expression grew slightly rigid. "Elizabeth--"

"And besides, he wasn't standing over the body with the gun. He was standing by the river. It was just him and his horse I saw. Colonel Forster thinks Mr. Wickham was washed downstream and he has his men searching for him, but all he has found is the torn sleeve and his hat--"

Mr. Bennet stood suddenly, his eyes wild. "What did you say?" he said, taking her by the shoulders.

Elizabeth startled. "I said it was just Mr. Darcy and his horse in the clearing. Colonel Forster thinks the body might have been washed away, and he has his men searching--"

But her father had already released her and dashed behind his desk, pulling out drawer after drawer and throwing rolled papers on the already cluttered surface. "Hill!" he boomed in a voice louder and more commanding than she had ever heard him employ.

The wiry frame of the butler appeared almost immediately in the open doorway of her father's study, and a portion of Elizabeth's brain wondered how long the man had been standing there, waiting to be summoned. "Yes, sir?"

"Send a boy after Murray. Tell him to Hue and Cry. Gather the men and provisions, send for horses, and meet me in the stableyard. Tell Murray: 'I do not know what forewarned him, but he's on the run.' Go!"

The old retainer disappeared faster than Elizabeth could ever remember seeing the man move, and a moment later Mr. Fletcher's curious face popped around the door frame. "Mr. Bennet?" he asked. "What has happened?"

But her father didn't answer. He was unrolling his brand new ordnance maps and examining them. "Lizzy. Here. Show me where this took place."

She came forward quickly, spurred by his urgent tone. "There," she said, pointing to the bend in the river, just east of the crossroads. "It had to have been there; I saw the steeple of St. Mark's to the west, just over the trees."

He nodded, still studying the maps, and then suddenly rolled them up haphazardly and thrust them into a stachel he had pulled from a bottom drawer.

Mr. Fletcher came further into the room. "Mr. Bennet...what has happened?"

Mr. Bennet looked up now at the coroner and stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded sharply and thrust the satchel into the startled man's arms. "Get your warmest cloak and your horse and meet me at the stables," he said, grabbing a pistol from his desk and examining it briefly before shoving it in his pocket. He looked up at Mr. Fletcher, his face as serious as Elizabeth had ever seen it. "I raise the posse comitatus . We must hunt down a murderer."

The coroner stared at him for a moment, mouth agape, then turned on his heel and rushed out into the hall, calling for the housekeeper. Mr. Bennet, meanwhile, had grabbed a sheet of paper from his desk and his quill, then cursed when the nib immediately broke. He thrust it away and began digging in his desk for another, but Elizabeth calmly reached over and grabbed the spare quill from its holder and handed it to her father. "Papa, what is it? Who is it?"

He stopped writing immediately and regarded her with wide eyes, head cocked to the side like a curious bird. "Do you mean you haven't figured it out yet, Lizzy?" A smile curved his lips, and he shook his head, clucking. "Tsk, tsk, my dear. Well, you shall have time to puzzle it out, I'm sure." He dashed off the rest of his note, blotted it and then took it with him to the front door, where a maid was already waiting with Mr. Bennet's outer things. He handed her the note and told her to give it to Hill to be sent immediately, then turned back to Elizabeth, who had followed him into the hall, as he shrugged into his greatcoat. "Tell your mother we shan't likely be home before dark. Hill will know to have everything ready for us, so if we are not back by morning, not to worry. We have a lot of ground to cover, and he has had quite a head start."

"But who, papa?"

He chuckled and patted her cheek. "It will come to you soon enough," he said, and with no more than that he was out the door.

Elizabeth remained where she was, her mind whirling. Mr. Fletcher, dressed in his outerwear, bustled out of the parlor and nearly ran into her, apologizing offhandedly as he hurried out in Mr. Bennet's wake. Through the open door of her mother's favorite salon she could hear Mrs. Bennet calling for Mrs. Hill and bemoaning everyone's lack of compassion for her nerves. A maid rushed past carrying a bottle of vinaigrette; the housekeeper hurried to her mistress. But Elizabeth was still there, still staring at the front door in the same pose as before, when it opened again to reveal Mr. Bingley and her sister, who leaned heavily on his arm.

Shaking off her confusion, Elizabeth hurried forward and helped Jane into the nearest empty parlor and onto a settee by the fireplace. Mr. Bingley turned his back and set to work prodding the banked fire into more warmth as Elizabeth aided Jane in removing her boot. "I am so sorry, Jane!" Elizabeth cried as she examined her sister's swollen ankle. "This is far worse than I imagined when I saw you sitting on that log. I should have stopped to help you, but the colonel had sent me to find Father, and you said you were well, and Bingley--"

Jane stopped her with a gentle hand. "No, Lizzy, you did what you needed to do, and I had Charles with me. He was well able to assist me home." She blushed a deep red at Elizabeth's considering look and confessed, "He carried me nearly all the way here. It was only when we neared the house, and saw the commotion, that he allowed me to walk on his arm, for propriety's sake."

"But what has happened?" Bingley asked now, having added fuel and brought the embers in the fireplace to a blaze. "When you stopped, you said only that Mr. Wickham was killed, and that the colonel had called for your father. We heard the shouting and the gunshot, but I'm afraid I do not understand why Mr. Bennet should need so many men to examine the scene, if the colonel is already there. There were nearly a dozen men or more out there in the yard, and half of them on horseback. If I hadn't had Jane to bring into the house, I should have stayed to listen to your father direct them, but your sister was near frozen through from the cold. That blasted horse, coming through and knocking her down. I should have protected her."

Elizabeth shook her head, sitting back on her heels, and then accepted Mr. Bingley's assistance to rise from her position kneeling in front of the settee. "There was nothing you could have done better, Mr. Bingley," she said, helping her sister to arrange her swollen foot on a pillow and cover herself with a blanket. "And as to the furor in the yard, I confess I do not know. What little I can tell you is that Mr. Wickham has been killed and presumably thrown into the river, and your friend Mr. Darcy has been accused of the crime." She nodded at their cries of dismay and denial and said, "My father does not believe it was Mr. Darcy, either, and said something about tracking down the real murderer. He said he is on the run."

"But has Darcy been arrested?" Mr. Bingley asked, and at her nod added, "Where is he?"

"I can only presume he has been given over to the constable in Meryton, but I do not know for sure. Colonel Forster led him away, but I had to leave to fetch my father, so I heard nothing more. Colonel Fitzwilliam might know where he has gone."

"But why did Colonel Fitzwilliam do nothing to stop him from being arrested?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I think he was helpless to prevent it. The evidence was very strong against Mr. Darcy -- he was there at the riverbank, with the gun and a piece of Mr. Wickham's coat in his hands, and blood at his feet. And they found Mr. Wickham's hat downriver, so it is thought the body must be, too."

Mr. Bingley looked grave. "I cannot believe he would do such a thing. Darcy would never be so violent, so reckless, so foolish--" He broke off and gazed into the fire for a moment, then turned and knelt at his betrothed's side. "Jane, I must go to him. I do not know if I can do anything to have him released, but I can see to his comfort and that they are treating him well."

"Only be sure to avoid the men in the yard," Elizabeth said, "or you should be compelled to join them. I shan't tell you what my father has called for, but from what I remember him telling me once, I believe by law every able-bodied man would be obliged to be a part of it."

"I thank you for the warning," Mr. Bingley said with a spark of mischief in his eye. "And I applaud your circumspection. I shall make directly for Meryton, and only once I have seen to Darcy, shall I allow myself to be informed of the call." He turned back to the couch. "You will forgive me for leaving you? I hate to leave you in this state."

Jane offered her hands to him and said, "Of course you must go. I shall be perfectly well here now."

Mr. Bingley brought both of her hands to his lips and Elizabeth rose and went to the other side of the room on the pretext of finding a few more cushions for her sister's comfort. By the time she had collected them, having carefully examined them all to determine which should offer the most proper support, Mr. Bingley had risen and was bowing hastily before leaving the room. A blushing Jane busied herself with the blanket on her lap in order to avoid her sister's knowing smirk.

"So he carried you all the way home, did he?"

Jane launched a pillow at her sister, who then threatened to not replace it until she confessed how it felt to be kissed by the man you loved, and the two fell into giggles and laughter that lasted until the moment Mrs. Bennet bustled into the room.

"Well! There you are!" she cried, stopping just inside the door. "I vow, none of you have any compassion on my nerves. Off your father has gone on some lark, and taken Mary's suitor with him, and now I see Mr. Bingley has abandoned us as well, and the two of you can do nothing but joke and laugh as if there is not a care in the world! You will be jilted, and I shall not be able to hold up my head, and when your father dies we shall all be thrown into the hedgerows. And no one -- no one will tell me what has happened. Oh! How ill I am used by everyone."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes discreetly at her older sister and led her mother to another chair by the fire, where she sat her and explained that all the men had gone out in search of a criminal, and that Mr. Bingley had gone to search out his friend, who had been arrested for murder.

"I am not surprised," Mrs. Bennet said with a huff when she had heard that. "I always knew that man was the most disagreeable, unlikeable--"

"Mama! Mr. Darcy is not a murderer," Elizabeth said with a surprised laugh.

"I don't see that. I don't see why he couldn't be. You must remember what he said about you at the assembly when we first met him, and how he had snubbed everyone in the room as if we were all dirt under his feet. No matter that he is Mr. Bingley's good friend -- I just knew he would turn out to be a scoundrel. And so I said, right from the beginning."

Elizabeth could not think of a thing to say to that, so she was relieved when Kitty and Mary then entered the room, followed by Lydia. They had come in search of their mother, who had left the parlor without any explanation, and to discover what the commotion had all been.

With a sigh, Elizabeth began to describe everything that had happened that morning, from her walk with Jane and Mr. Bingley to the shouts and gunshot and what she had found in the clearing, concluding with her conversation with Mr. Bennet and his quest to hunt down the murderer. This final news set Mrs. Bennet on a fresh wave of hysteria, exclaiming that Mr. Bennet would be killed and they would all be lost, for with her husband dead the madman would surely come to murder the helpless women left unprotected in the house.

A moment later Mrs. Hill came hurrying into the room again at her mistress' cries, the expression on her face clearly displaying the frustration she felt at this new distraction from her duties. It was simple persuasion for Elizabeth to pull her aside for a moment and whisper a suggestion for a drop of laudenum to calm her mother, and Mrs. Bennet was led upstairs to take a rest.

The Bennet girls sat in silence as their mother's complaints faded and then muffled entirely as the door to her rooms upstairs closed behind her, each looking at the other with varying degrees of bemusement and shock. At last, it was Kitty who broke the silence with a brief, "Well! Mr. Darcy, a murderer! Who would have thought?"

Elizabeth passed a hand over her eyes as Mary dryly recounted everything their older sister had said earlier, concluding that she thought it was quite obvious that Mr. Darcy was not the murderer, and instead Mr. Wickham had been murdered by the same man who had done away with Mr. Denny and Mr. Collins. "For surely such evil cannot exist in so many men that there should be two or even three murderers here."

"Then how is it Papa has to take so many people to the Assizes every quarter?" Kitty countered.

Mary was scornful. "I did not say that there was not so much evil in the world, simply that it was unlikely there should be more than one person here, now, who would be so depraved."

The two continued to argue, but Elizabeth was thinking furiously about this and commented to Jane, "I do think it likely that it is the same man who murdered Mr. Denny and Mr. Collins, and now Mr. Wickham, too. Mr. Darcy said something about getting a note from Mr. Wickham, that he was frightened -- I wonder if he knew who the murderer was, and was killed before he could reveal his knowledge."

"He must have seen it happen," Lydia said, startling Elizabeth, who hadn't heard her youngest sister speak in more than a week.

Elizabeth shook her head, once she understood the meaning of Lydia's words. "If he saw Mr. Collins be killed, there is no reason why he should not have told my father. What was he afraid of?"

"No, not Mr. Collins. I mean Mr. Denny. He must have seen who killed Mr. Denny. He's coming after all of us, to kill us, too. I just know it."

Her eyes wide, Jane put her hand on Lydia's and said softly, "Mr. Wickham was in London during the ball at Netherfield, Lyddie. He could not have seen who murdered Mr. Denny."

"Oh! But he wasn't in London," Lydia insisted. "I saw him."

Jane gasped softly, and for a moment Elizabeth couldn't speak; her heart began to thud painfully in her chest. "Lydia, what are you saying? Where did you see Mr. Wickham?"

Lydia's eyes darted between her eldest sisters, and she seemed to shrink back into herself, but Elizabeth took her by the shoulders and repeated in a gentle voice, "Are you saying you saw Mr. Wickham at the Netherfield ball, even though he was supposed to have been in London?"

The younger girl nodded, and then everything gushed out: "While I was dancing with Mr. Saunderson, I saw Mr. Collins coming in from outside, and so I wondered why he'd been out on the terrace, and after we were done I went across the ballroom and looked out and saw Mr. Wickham at the bottom of the stairs. But no one else noticed him, and I thought maybe he had come to surprise us, so I thought I'd slip out the doors and sneak up on him and give him a surprise, instead, but when I got to the end of the terrace he wasn't there anymore, and then I went down the stairs, and I tripped, and there was Mr. Denny, and….and--"

Heedless of her ankle, Jane moved to envelop her youngest sister in an embrace as she broke into huge gulping sobs, crying out how she feared being killed, too, even though she hadn't seen anything except Mr. Denny. Hearing the noise, Mary and Kitty broke off their argument and rushed over to comfort Lydia, surrounding her in their embrace. They spoke soothing, nonsensical things, trying to calm her without understanding a word she was gasping out about the horror she had seen.

But Elizabeth sat frozen through it all, her mind whirling as the meaning of what she had heard sank in. The whole of the case suddenly laid itself before her with startling clarity: the murder at the ball, why Mr. Collins had died, all of the motives and motivations and how he had done it, and the events of that very day. Oh, she didn't know everything; there were still things she could only guess at, theorize, but the rest of it was so simple, and she wondered how she hadn't seen it before. But now she did.

She knew who her father sought, and why.

Chapter 14

Mr. Bennet returned to Longbourn during the evening of the second day, going first to his rooms to refresh himself and thence to his study. There he entered the room, grown cool with the fire banked low in the grate, set his candle on the desk, and then collapsed in his chair heavily, a sigh escaping him as he rested his head on the high back. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, then sat forward and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, it is done," he said to the silent room.

"You have found Mr. Wickham?"

Mr. Bennet started, looking up to espy his second eldest daughter curled up in her usual chair, blankets tucked around her. He regarded her contemplatively. "How long have you been here, love?"

"How long have you been gone?" she countered.

He snorted. "Too long. The scoundrel led us on a merry chase, let me tell you. It was simple work to track him at first, but then he made an unexpected move and we were forced to throw a wider net. I give due credit to Colonel Fitzwilliam there, for he is a man of action and he had a familiarity with the man's habits that made our suppositions more accurate. We caught him before he set foot out of the county. He was a fool to have given up his horse at the outset, though I suppose he had not thought we would be onto him so fast."

"You could have been onto him much faster," Elizabeth said softly.

"I doubt that very much," Mr. Bennet said. "I think we were very lucky, indeed, that you were so quick to put me on the scent. I commend you, my dear, for recognizing the inconsistencies with Mr. Wickham's supposed murder. He set a very convincing scene, and it was made more so by the players he had been sure would be in place. It was so easy: a note to Darcy, knowledge of the rounds of the militia around Meryton. But he couldn't have counted on you being there."

"We meddling Bennets."

Her father laughed humorlessly. "Indeed. If not for us, he would've gotten away with it."

"Papa, this is no laughing matter."

"I feel as though my sense of humor has long fled," he replied. "And I cannot even put out the Hue and Cry for it."

To Mr. Bennet's disappointment, Elizabeth didn't even smile, but instead gazed at the bookshelf and worried her lip. When the silence stretched for what he felt was long enough, he asked, "Is there something troubling you, my dear?"

"We are very clever, aren't we?"

He frowned. "I should say we are."

"Do you remember when Mr. Darcy insulted me at the assembly, those few months ago?" she asked, her voice cautious and reflective. Something in her voice quieted any response he might have made, and he cocked his head, listening carefully. After a moment of silence, she continued: "From that one little interaction, my low opinion of him was immovable. Everything he said, and was said of him, only confirmed my belief in the arrogance and cruelty of his nature and my own cleverness in disliking him from the first. I liked Mr. Wickham for the very reason that he liked me, and Mr. Darcy did not. It was only after the ball, when we had discovered Mr. Wickham in that lie in Mr. Denny's rooms, that the blinkers were torn from my eyes and I began to realize that I had been operating under the most prideful assumption. From that moment, I never knew myself. We really aren't as clever as we think we are, Papa."

When he still failed to answer, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. "You could have arrested Mr. Wickham the very morning after the murder."

That startled a bitter laugh from Mr. Bennet. "I might have -- I was certain it was him, but, as I told you, I had no evidence. I cannot arrest a man on only suspicion, my dear."

"But you could if you have witnesses."

"I did not learn my cousin had seen him with Mr. Denny at the ball until after Collins had already been killed."

"Yes, there was Mr. Collins," Elizabeth nodded slowly. "That would have helped, surely, and it would have come out quickly had it been known you were looking for witnesses to Mr. Wickham's presence. But there was also someone else, someone beneath this very roof who we disregarded because she was irrelevant to our purpose. She may not be as clever as we are, but all we needed to do was ask her one question: why did she go out to the terrace?"

Mr. Bennet sucked in his breath, his face visibly pale even in the dim light of the room. He didn't speak at first, but when he did, it was in a voice strangled by emotion: "I had forgotten about my Lydia."

Elizabeth smiled bitterly, "An uncommon occurrence, that we could."

He groaned, his head in his hands. After several minutes, his voice, raw with guilt, emerged: "She saw him, then."

"Yes."

"Did she know he would be at the ball?"

"No."

"But she saw him and went out to meet him, a young lady alone in the garden at night with a man."

"Yes."

"An action that could have ruined her, ruined all of her family."

"Yes."

"And I never troubled myself to ask her."

She was silent.

"I am the very worst of fathers." When she still failed to respond, he looked up at her without raising his head, his eyes peeking over the tips of his fingers. His voice, when it spoke again, was broken. "You do not disagree?"

She approached him and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Papa. I have been given to much self-reflection whilst you were gone, so you have no reason to fear I should condemn you: I cannot cast a stone, for I have recently learned that I am the very worst of sisters. Indeed, you are still and will always be the cleverest man I know -- but I cannot deny that you do have such a large blind spot where your daughters reside. It is no doubt the danger of familiarity, of having seen us grown from infants to young ladies. You have known us so long that you think there is no more to know, but people change so continually that there is always something more to observe and learn. There will always be a mystery to solve in each one of us."

They remained in silence for some time in this fashion, father and daughter embraced, each recalling their own failures and reflecting on the events that had drawn them to this point. When the chill of the night had seeped too deeply into their bones and a shiver startled her out of her contemplation, Elizabeth yawned and recalled the late hour. She gave him a kiss on his forehead, then excused herself to retire, reminding him that he should get some sleep, as well, for she had a great many questions to clarify in the morning.

Mr. Bennet remained at his desk in the moonlit room as time stretched into the dim hours of the dawn, thinking. And if on occasion there was a sparkle of moonlight to be seen upon his cheek, there was none to note it.

It was not in the morning that Elizabeth again found her way to her father's study, however, but long after noon the next day. She and her sisters were busy with the needs of the household for some time, given that the mistress was still recovering from her ordeal of nerves from the past several days, and most of the servants had been bent to the support of the posse, leaving regular duties to languish. Elizabeth's long list of tasks kept her from addressing the resolution of the mystery of the recent deaths in Hertfordshire, but she hardly had the time to repent it. There were baskets to make and linens to sort and meals to plan, and she was consumed by the present until the sun had passed its zenith. When once she had a moment to breathe, however, the irresistible tug of curiosity lured her again to seek out her father to beg him to answer the questions that lingered.

Mr. Bennet was seated in his comfortable chair reading a book when she entered. He had clearly retired and been attended by his man and wore a disaffected manner, but his hair had been mussed and his eyes were tired, and she knew he had slept only as well as she had. But seeing this laxity of purpose in him that led to dwelling on errors rather than addressing them, she chided him gently for not taking the time to begin organizing the case against Mr. Wickham. "For the longer you leave it, the more disagreeable the task will become."

"I was merely waiting for you, my dear," he said with a smile more weary than she knew he intended to portray.

Elizabeth expressed her disbelief in a familiarly admonishing fashion, and sat down in her chair by the desk to pull out her notes. She worked in silence for some time, and her father watched her the while until at last she looked up again and, seeing the expectant expression in his eye that he could not conceal, answered it: "Very well, I can see you are eager to acquaint me with your brilliance. What made you first suspect Wickham?"

"The little black book we had found in Mr. Denny's room, of course," Mr. Bennet said with satisfaction, putting his book aside and leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands over his stomach and gazed inwards, recalling. "I quickly deduced it was a record of something nefarious, and it was obvious that Wickham wanted it, regardless of his thin pretense of finding a book of poetry with an appearance so similar. It was that encounter which drew my attention, and from that point everything began to fit together."

When her father stopped and smiled, Elizabeth waited expectantly. They had played this game before.

"Denny and Wickham knew each other from their time at Cambridge," he said at last, getting out of his chair to stroll about the room. "I was able to piece that together from various sources, from my contacts at the university."

"Do you mean to say that you attended to your correspondence?"

Mr. Bennet favored his daughter with a wry look at this interruption. "I can occasionally be moved to do my duty, yes. It no doubt helped that it was at the very outset of our investigation, as my motivation was yet at its height, else the clue should have passed away into forgotten feeling. Lack of commitment has ever been my greatest failing."

When Elizabeth made a sound of dismay at such evidence of continued guilt, her father waved his hand. "Do not worry over this new tendency of mine toward self-reproach. It shall pass away soon enough, and no doubt more quickly than it should." He huffed softly and shook his head. "In any case, Wickham was the elder by a few years, and had connections in some of the more seedy parts of society, whereas Denny was a gentleman, with a gentleman's connections, but a thirst for mischief. Both had a decided need for funds to support the lavish lifestyle neither could afford, and from all I could tell of their association from the notes Denny left in his diary, it was not long before they discovered the fruits of a partnership between them.

"I considered for a time that they were engaged in blackmail, but although I do believe there was some of that, the bulk of the recorded payments were not regular enough for such a longstanding scheme.

"It was the sleeve button that gave me the hint: I had noted Mr. Darcy wearing the cufflinks when we first arrived at the ball (as they were conspicuous against the rest of his costume), so I had known it was his. Thus, either he had left the cufflink at the scene of the crime or someone else had done so. There was little evidence of a scuffle, so the likelihood of Mr. Darcy losing it accidentally was low. Thus either someone had placed it under the body to make Mr. Darcy appear guilty, or it was missed during the murderer's search of the body. It being beneath Mr. Denny makes me think the latter, but I do not know for sure, and by this time the motive was irrelevant. I had turned my attention to the jewelry, and a possible theory began to form. It developed further when we found the ring in Mr. Denny's room and I began to match the dates and initials in the book with reports of theft in London and newspaper advertisements seeking the return of stolen objects."

"Do you mean that the ring we found had been stolen?"

"Likely that, and when it was discovered to be paste, he kept it out of foolish sentimentality or a desire to return it for a reward. Regardless, it confirmed for me that I was on the right trail. So I set Murray to finding the jeweler that might have met with Mr. Denny's accomplice to pawn the rest of the jewels from the night of the ball."

"But why theft? It seems such a risk for a pair of healthy and educated young men who could have pursued any avenue of legitimate work."

"Why do men ever choose crime?" Mr. Bennet said with a shrug. "Because when confronted with temptation, it is far easier to sin than to suffer the law. And Mr. Denny, constantly in the presence of the wealthy and of the sparkling possessions of those with more than he owned himself, felt the temptation strongly.

"Here is how I believe it would work: Mr. Denny would attend events in the homes of the wealthy, during which he would take a few minutes to stroll about the house, in search of things to steal, whilst Mr. Wickham would find his way surreptitiously onto the grounds, either through the soiree itself or more covertly. I have been to London parties as an adventurous young man, and not always as an invited guest -- it is not so difficult to come in on the heels of another party or with an acquaintance, or even to find an unattended gate or wall. Young men are always a desired commodity at society events, and the quality is not often as important as the quantity -- so much as they look the part. An extra gentleman is never turned away.

"After a predetermined amount of time, Denny and Wickham would then meet in the gardens, perhaps while having a smoke -- for is there no more innocuous an occupation for a pair of gentlemen? Who should question their presence or the legitimacy of their casual meeting? The two would exchange the merchandise discreetly, and Denny would be free to return to his party with no incriminating evidence. Wickham, who was unknown and unnoticed, would be off to dispose of the pieces before they were even missing and suspicions raised."

"So then what happened at the house party? The one where he was caught with Mrs. Hurst's earbobs. Wickham was not there to retrieve the goods, I imagine?"

Mr. Bennet smirked. "Apparently their partnership had taken a hiatus of sorts; Mr. Wickham had sought his own fortune in a different direction, if you would recall. But neither of them were successful in their endeavors."

"Miss Darcy," Elizabeth whispered.

"Precisely," Mr. Bennet said. "But Mr. Denny had the better of outcome from his failure, for he found employment with the military not long thereafter. His parents tried to set him upon the straight and narrow, and I daresay it may have worked for a little time, but vice is a difficult habit to overthrow. It was not long before Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham were reunited in London and the former was able to share his fortunate situation with his partner in crime. I do not know when they hatched the scheme to burgle Netherfield, but I mistrust it was the first bit of thievery in the neighborhood. Doubtless when the word has spread of the cabal in our midst we shall discover a few merchants with a smaller inventory than they expected or a few pieces missing at other great houses where the two dined. Perhaps even here; your mother is astonishingly negligent with the few jewels she has. But the take was very small overall, I believe, to escape collective notice; it could hardly support these two, with such expensive habits as they had."

"And I suppose the presence of Mr. Darcy only benefited their plot."

"Indeed," Mr. Bennet said with a laugh. "It provided a very good excuse for Mr. Wickham to absent himself when he needed it, and no one questioned him. You were not the only one to whom he had spread hints of the disagreement betwixt him and Mr. Darcy, merely the most direct. Had Colonel Forster not had a message for his superiors in need of delivery, I am sure they had another ready reason for Mr. Wickham's journey to London or wherever else would provide cover. Had it not been for the murder, no one would have questioned the veracity of his alibi."

"But if he was not in London, where was he?" Elizabeth asked.

"At the King George Inn in St. Albans, of course, which I discovered by checking the inns on our way back from London last week. Wickham had delivered the correspondence to his superiors early, waited for its answer, and then claimed to go to the barracks for the night -- he arrived, but no one saw him after that. When I asked at the George, however, I verified a man that could match his description -- a very respectable officer, no less -- had stayed the night there at the inn on the post road. Murray has now gone through with a sketch of Mr. Wickham and confirmed his identity. Even more, a groom has confirmed he had saddled the man's horse in the evening, though he could not say when he returned."

"That was a risk."

"A calculated one. To all appearances, the alibi was sound, and who would be checking that deeply for a mere robbery? Besides, he was at a busy inn he could slip in and out of with little notice, and something on the main road where he could meet with the jeweler to convert the haul as quickly as possible into cash to conceal any connection with the crime. Murray has only just now unearthed the jeweler in question, and his description of Wickham and their meeting at the inn is consistent with my theories. Mr. Darcy will be able to recover the mate to his cufflink, I understand -- it has not been melted down yet -- though he shall have to replace the diamonds themselves."

Elizabeth accepted this all readily, but wondered aloud what had gone wrong at the ball.

"That is where we must travel into pure supposition, as our only firsthand account has turned truculent and obstinately silent," Mr. Bennet said, returning to his desk and seating himself behind it. He gazed up at the ceiling, pursing his lips slightly as he gathered his thoughts. "First of all, of course, we know that Mr. Wickham was seen in the garden, presumably as they were meeting to exchange the goods. Mr. Collins apparently (if what he told you is true) accosted them after overhearing a crudity spoken by Mr. Denny -- from all that I have drawn from my interviews, I believe that for all his charming manner in good company, Francis Denny was at times a cruel, jaded, sarcastic young man. With the untimely interruption by my bumbling cousin, Mr. Wickham's alibi was now blown to bits.

"We also know from Mr. Darcy and his man that the amount of jewelry Mr. Denny had successfully purloined at Netherfield was smaller than expected, for so great a risk. Things were unraveling at a rapid pace.

"I firmly believe that Mr. Denny had some hold over Mr. Wickham. Throughout that little black book of Mr. Denny's, there was a repetitious 'GW' that I can only take to mean our Mr. Wickham. Perhaps there were great debts he owed, or something else of which I am not aware. Their relationship goes back a long way, and I do not know its intimacies. When I posed the question to Mr. Wickham after he was caught, the only thing he would say is that though they were once close, Mr. Denny had quickly become his bitterest enemy."

"I wonder what it is that turned them against each other?" Elizabeth mused.

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "I doubt we shall ever know, though I have suspicions I shall not share with you. Regardless, if we add together all or even some of these tensors – their frictive relationship, Mr. Collins' intrusion, the small take – it may account for the explosive situation that, perhaps with some further brief argument between the two after the departure of my late cousin from their presence, resulted in Mr. Wickham drawing his sword and plunging it into his former friend and conspirator."

" His sword!"

Her father smirked. "I believe so. I said at the very beginning that it was so unusual that a man might be able to draw another man's blade and then stab him with it; much more likely that the murderer had an identical sabre, which he left at the scene after taking the victim's. Who else, but a fellow militiaman? But, again, this is conjecture. Presumably I shall be able to confirm it with Mr. Wickham, should he ever deign to speak to me or the magistrate. It is also possible Sir Edmund Denny might somehow recognize the blade we recovered from Mr. Wickham, under further scrutiny; I understand it was purchased as a gift for the younger Denny when he joined the corps and there may be an identifying mark. Still, the theory pointed me to the murderer as an officer of the militia, and it fit with all the rest."

"And killing Mr. Collins?"

"A failure of my cousin's own muddled thinking, I gather. In trying to impress you, I believe he contacted Mr. Wickham, sending a note to Meryton. He was last seen on his way to town, oblivious to the danger. Mr. Wickham, forewarned by my cousin's note, could have slipped away during rounds and waylaid him. A simple enough matter, I believe, for a man practiced in misdirection and now fearful of discovery."

"Would he ever have come after Lydia, do you think?"

Mr. Bennet sighed. "Possibly, should she have spoken of what she had seen. It is a blessing she was so hysterical and altered by the experience that she kept to the house. I doubt Mr. Wickham ever knew he had been spotted in the garden by her. By the time she tripped over Mr. Denny on the lawn, he had doubtless taken to his heels and was racing as quickly back to his horse and the inn as was possible. You yourself confirmed to him Lydia had said nothing of seeing him. And when no one apprehended him, well…"

Elizabeth shook her head, grateful for her sister's safety, but with a strong feeling of guilt that the young girl had dwelt with such fear and knowledge for the past fortnight. "So why should he have tried to escape? What led him to contact Mr. Darcy?"

"That can no doubt be attributed to me," Mr. Bennet said with a sigh. "The net was closing in around him, so to speak. He is a clever enough man; he knew that I had my suspicions. He must have known I found the black leather book he was looking for in Mr. Denny's room. As well, Murray had been in London, canvassing the jewelers, speaking to his superiors. Perhaps he has confederates that gave him warning, or perhaps he knew I had asked Mrs. Sanders about any letters that had come on the 28th. She hadn't recalled any, and for certain knew nothing of one from Mr. Collins, but our groom Thomas said he had left it on the table in the hall, so Mr. Wickham might have found it before anyone had known of its existence. A stroke of luck he no doubt thought would continue indefinitely."

"As criminals often believe."

Mr. Bennet smiled. "Indeed. And so he pressed his luck once more, on a plan he no doubt had arranged long before this. He sent a message to meet with Mr. Darcy, assured by his insider's knowledge that the timing would have drawn the militia's rounds nearby, and set the scene at the side of the river. By the time all of the other players converged, he had exited the stage, making his way upriver on the other bank. Based on his northern trajectory, he meant to make it to Luton and the main road there -- likely to take the post south and disappear into the bowels of London or catch a ship to parts unknown -- but we captured him first. And now he dwells under lock and key and the strict eye of the constable, until time for trial and transport."

"And has he not confessed to his terrible deeds?"

"On the contrary," Mr. Bennet said with a laugh. "Aside from some initial sneering when he was tracked down in the woods near the border, he has maintained a steady silence. He is no doubt aided in this by the gag Colonel Fitzwilliam stuffed in his mouth after… after he… what the deuce is going on out there?"

His words trailed off in confusion as his attention was drawn to the rising sound of voices in the hall beyond. The butler's familiar voice was firm and insistent, but it was clearly dominated and overridden by the strident tones of a most forceful personality. As they drew nearer, the words became more distinguishable.

"Madam! This is most irregular -- allow me to announce--"

"I will not be gainsaid! I will speak to him. Where is he? Is this his study?"

"That is the gold parlor, ma'am. I beg of you--"

"It seems a very inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in summer. Why, the windows are full west!"

"I do not believe, ma'am, that the family uses that sitting room in--"

The sound of another door opening and closing interrupted the butler's explanation, and again the lady demanded he show her to Mr. Bennet's study. Said referenced gentleman exchanged a look with his daughter, expressive of his astonishment at the intrusion, but he had no opportunity for comment on the unusual situation, as only a moment later the door swung open and struck the wall with a thud that made Elizabeth despair for the state of the wallpaper.

In the doorway stood a tall, large woman with strongly marked features of a sort that evidenced a handsomeness in her youth. At the moment, however, her every expression betrayed her disdain for her surroundings and the frustration she felt over the obstinacy and obstruction of the butler, who hovered behind her in the hall, wringing his hands.

"You!" the woman cried upon spying the man seated behind his desk. She pointed her finger at him dramatically and narrowed her eyes. "I know who you are, Mr. Bennet!"

Chapter 15

Undaunted by such an entrance as had just been enacted in his study, Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. The silence stretched for a moment as a slow smirk stole across his lips. "I am glad to hear you know who I am," he said. "Under the circumstances, I daresay that at least one of us should."

Two spots of color appeared on the lady's cheeks, and she spluttered furiously. Mr. Bennet took the opportunity of her incoherence to wave off his butler with a flick of his fingers. Mr. Hill hesitated, conflicted, glancing at the open door, and then bowed to his master and melted out of sight. The as-yet-unidentified woman still stood like a statue, every line of her posture radiating her anger. Abruptly she drew her shoulders back and looked down her nose at her nonchalant opponent. "I am not accustomed to such behavior as this! A gentleman rises in the presence of a lady."

"And a lady does not speak to a gentleman to whom she has not been introduced," he retorted.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you not know who I am?"

"I have my suspicions, but it has been many years since our first encounter, and time has its way with memories. I recall you being much more genteel."

Her mouth gaped open unattractively for a moment, before she closed it with an audible snap. "How dare you!"

"No, how dare you, Lady Catherine," Mr. Bennet said, the amusement in his voice replaced by steel as he leaned forward in his chair and tapped a finger on his desk. "No one barges her way into a gentleman's residence in such a fashion with impunity, whether they be the widow of a baron, the daughter of an earl, or the private emissary of the king! You shall be civil, or I shall escort you from the grounds of this estate, myself."

The adversaries glared at each other for a long, tense moment, until at last the lady's eyes shifted away, her posture easing slightly as she ceded the battle. But she was not long from the fight, for as she glanced about the room, her attention alit on its other occupant. "I suppose this is one of your daughters," she said.

Mr. Bennet's eye lit with a mischievous spark as he met his daughter's gaze. "Indeed," he said, his mercurial attitude switching abruptly to mirth. "May I present to you my daughter Elizabeth, eldest but one. Elizabeth, this is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, mistress of Rosings Park, Kent."

His daughter, who unlike her father had risen at the elder lady's entrance, properly assayed a graceful curtsey, and was rewarded with a tight nod. "I have heard of you," Lady Catherine said, her lips pursing slightly. "It was you, I believe, that led my parson to his untimely death."

Even with the prior evidence before her, Elizabeth was taken aback at such effrontery. However, she quickly rose to the challenge. "On the contrary, my lady, I had no influence whatsoever on your parson. Mr. Collins had the singular ability to disregard anything he did not wish to hear. If you found him differently, I daresay it was only you who had the power to lead him anywhere."

Lady Catherine frowned severely. "Mr. Collins had a very compliant nature, and respected those above him in consequence. No doubt, as a gentleman's daughter, you found it very easy to draw him in with your arts and allurements. But he was not worthy of the treatment you afforded him."

"Assuredly," Mr. Bennet murmured. "She was much too polite."

"He courted you properly, granting you an opportunity to raise yourself through marriage, and you toyed with him! I think it a vulgar practice of young ladies, to reject the men they secretly mean to accept in order to increase their love by suspense."

"Upon my honor!" Elizabeth said with a laugh. "I should like to meet these young ladies -- and Mr. Collins assured me of it being a practice among elegant ladies -- who find it amusing to trifle with a young man's affections. I regret to tell you, Lady Catherine, that when I reject a man's proposal, I secretly mean exactly what I say aloud. I have no pretensions to either such elegance or vulgarity, whichever it might be."

"I find your assertions difficult to believe, Miss Bennet. You could not be so ignorant or selfish as to reject an offer so beneficial to you and your family. An offer which, given your lack of other inducements to matrimony, was likely to be the best you could hope for." She narrowed her eyes. "Or perhaps you were hoping to extract an offer from the officer with whom Mr. Collins said you were frequently in flirtation, in an attempt to make him jealous. What was his name? Withers? Whitham?" She drew a letter from her reticule and studied it. "Here it is -- Wickham!" she said, stabbing it with her finger. "I ought to have remembered it -- my sister's husband had a steward of the same name at Pemberley. This officer, however, was not even such a respectable specimen of the lower orders, but in fact an utter wastrel, of debauched tongue and manners, and it was in his quest to show you this error that Mr. Collins was set upon and killed. In this very letter he said he was going out that afternoon to meet with this Wickham, and as I understand it, it was on the road from your little village that he was murdered!"

Mr. Bennet sat forward, his attention arrested, and held out his hand. "May I see that letter?"

Lady Catherine hesitated before handing over her correspondence. Mr. Bennet read it through, his lips twitching at several of the passages within, and then set it down on his desk with a satisfied smile. "This is, indeed, very helpful and will serve admirably to demonstrate motive for Mr. Collins' murder, as well as witness to Wickham's presence at Netherfield, should we need it during the trial. Mr. Fletcher will be quite envious of my good fortune in wrapping up a murder so neatly. I understand you are a woman who enjoys being of great use to others, Lady Catherine, and I applaud you on another successful achievement."

That lady, though visibly confused, acknowledged his compliment with a regal nod.

"Now, is that all?" Mr Bennet continued, taking off his spectacles and setting them down beside the letter. "I greatly appreciate your information, but I believe it is quite a distance from here to Kent, and I shouldn't wish you to travel after dark. Unless you are staying the night with your nephews?"

The question seemed to rouse Lady Catherine, and she lifted her chin. "That is not all," she said stiffly, sitting down on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. Elizabeth settled again into her own chair and exchanged a look with her father, expressive of her wonderment.

"As my footman was inquiring at the paltry little inn in that insignificant market town for the directions to your estate, he heard something very extraordinary, that I can only hope he misunderstood. Indeed! I could not believe it to be anything but a scurrilous rumor, and as the man of law in this little hamlet I pray that you are able to root out its purveyors and punish them for their impudence."

"I am afraid, Lady Catherine, that I am unaware of what rumor it is you might have heard, but I daresay that my seeking to quash whatever it is among the community might cause more harm than good and assay more to its truth than the reverse."

Lady Catherine's lips compressed tightly, and she tilted up her chin. "I was told, and it cannot possibly be true, that my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was arrested for murder."

Mr. Bennet nodded his head. "That is true."

"What!" the lady cried, exploding out of her chair, her face purpling. "How dare you have my nephew arrested? Is this yet another mark of your ineptitude, that you should even think such a thing of a gentleman of his stature, much less have the effrontery to lay hands upon him? It is just as I told my husband all those years ago, when you had allowed a murderer to go free and hanged an innocent man in his place -- it is impossible that you should have kept your appointment with the level of incompetence you display."

Mr. Bennet, who had by habit risen when she had, now leaned over the desk, his hands resting against its surface, his eyes twinkling. "Do you doubt the king's wisdom? That sounds like sedition, which I am obliged to report."

Lady Catherine looked as though she had sucked on a lemon.

"I should like to know, however," he said, standing straight again and crossing his arms, "how it is that you are aware of the case Sir Lewis and I spoke of on the day I visited Rosings. He assured me that he had not spoken to anyone about it, and that he would keep the matter confidential."

Her ladyship found a small chip in her otherwise perfectly groomed nails.

"Now that I think on it," he mused, "I recall it being a warm day, and the window had been open. I do not suppose you had been on the way outside to take a walk in the shrubbery, when we passed each other in the foyer?"

She raised her chin and looked down her nose at him. "A lady may stroll in her own garden. I often recommend a daily constitutional for my daughter, Anne, though her health does not admit a very long period out of doors."

"Assuredly. It is a lady's prerogative. And should her aimless perambulation happen to take her beneath windows where her husband and guest were discussing business which did not include her, well…" He waved a hand airily. Lady Catherine refused to answer, seemingly satisfied with glaring mightily, instead.

When the silence stretched for several minutes, Mr. Bennet sighed. "What is this about, Lady Catherine? You could not have known of your nephew's arrest when you set out from Kent. I cannot believe it has yet made it to the papers. What drove you to seek me out?"

In response, Lady Catherine reached into her reticule again and pulled out a second letter. At her father's gesture, Elizabeth took the letter from her and opened it while the other two combatants resettled into their chairs. She read it through quickly. "It is from Mr. Fletcher," she said, "seeking confirmation of several of Mr. Darcy's assertions and character, and more information on Mr. Collins."

Mr. Bennet sat back and rolled his eyes. "Of course it would be Mr. Fletcher. I told him I would handle this."

"Which you did not!" Lady Catherine said. "Instead, in your incompetence, you suspected my nephew of a heinous crime which he could not possibly have committed."

Mr. Bennet laughed. "Lady Catherine, if you would only get your facts correct, you might be more assured. I did not, in fact, suspect your nephew of murder."

Elizabeth smiled. "I believe you did, when I first came back and told you that Mr. Wickham had been killed."

Her father graciously accepted the point. "But, truly, I should not have considered that murder. I should instead have deputized him post facto."

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. "Then why did you arrest him?"

"I did not," he replied. "That was Colonel Forster, in relation to a set of circumstances over which I had no control."

"But it says in that letter that you had been questioning my nephew in connection with the murder. You dared to suspect my nephew, when anyone of sense should have known that the grandson of an earl, a gentleman of such means and irreproachable character, would have nothing to do with so low an act as that which the lower classes perpetuate upon each other."

"Your reasoning, madam, amazes me. I suppose Thomas More was being fanciful when he alleged King Richard so uncouth as to murder his nephews, then?"

"I have no notion of what you speak, but this More ought to be ashamed of spreading such scurrilous tales. A king would have more sense than to commit deeds of that sort. Those with true nobility have far too high a measure of character than could be understood by the lowest sort."

Mr. Bennet smirked. "I stand corrected. And I suppose that your nephew is one of those men incapable of sin."

Lady Catherine frowned, seemingly to consider whether her response might be blasphemous. She decided on another point of attack. "It is certainly not your place to question your betters, Mr. Bennet."

"As I should say to you, Lady Catherine," he replied imperturbably. "I believe as sheriff, I outrank you, do I not?"

She waved this assertion away. "But who are your people? What are your connections? I know enough of your situation, of your wife's relations, of how your father obtained this estate by a mere trick of primogeniture."

"As I believe is the purpose of an entail," Mr. Bennet noted. "It is what made Mr. Collins eligible to inherit."

"Only after you had stolen the estate from Mr. Collins' father."

Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes. "That old chestnut again? I congratulate you, Lady Catherine. You have as much understanding as my wife of these things. I inherited the estate under the strict settlement despite being younger than my cousin because my late father was older than my cousin's father -- my age and my cousin's age were irrelevant. And Mr. Collins would not have even been Mr. Collins had his father inherited, as he would have retaken the Bennet name. And now it all may be irrelevant: a Bennet of any other name may never inherit if I cannot find another legitimate male heir of my great-great-grandfather's direct line. Or perhaps not -- I could still father a son and when he reaches his majority we could do a common recovery to avoid my having to search out a new eligible heir that would prevent the estate from devolving to the crown, though it would result in my losing my inheritance to my son. Confused yet?"

Lady Catherine had never admitted to confusion in her life. "I have never seen the occasion for entailing estates from the female line. It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh's family."

"I congratulate you."

"It was also not thought necessary in the Darcy line, either. That is how it is in the better families."

"You take pride in your relations," Mr. Bennet said patiently, "and your lineage is impeccable, as is Mr. Darcy's, but all that means nothing in a murder investigation."

"Of course it does!" Lady Catherine said. "Mr. Darcy could never be suspected of murder."

"On the contrary, Aunt Catherine, I could, and I was, and rightfully so."

Mr. Bennet turned to spy the very man in question standing in the doorway, his hat and gloves still in his hands, his greatcoat glistening with a sprinkling of melted flakes. As before, Hill hovered behind the intruder, but his master waved him away. "Well met, young man. I see you have been released from your temporary captivity."

"I have heard that I owe you a great deal of thanks, Mr. Bennet, for the efforts you made on my behalf."

The other man shrugged. "It was less on your behalf than on that of Justice. She has always proven a demanding mistress."

"Nevertheless," Mr. Darcy replied soberly, "I offer my gratitude."

He looked down and passed his gloves back and forth between his hands, clearly gathering his thoughts. Lady Catherine stepped forward slightly and made to speak, but her nephew held up a hand to forestall her. Taking a breath, Mr. Darcy looked squarely at Mr. Bennet and said, "I also wish to offer an apology for the last time we spoke in this very room, sir. I was intemperate in my speech and had, indeed, trusted too much in my position and reputation alone to shield me from suspicion. It was right of you to doubt me, and my assumption of inviolability due to my stature was presumptuous. I have been a selfish being all my life -- in practice, if not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. As an only son, and for many years an only child, I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle and to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish, at least, to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own.

"When I came to Hertfordshire, I was predisposed to be displeased with everything I encountered, and perforce I was displeased. It was your family, in particular, Mr. Bennet, which drew my notice for various reasons, and therefore my criticism and contempt. I could not explain to myself my fascination, reviled my susceptibility, and so rejected and repudiated those feelings, and in so doing I rejected and repudiated you. I considered my own status and behavior as superior, and when I then discovered that your precedence was, in fact, beyond my own, I reacted poorly. When I further learned of your opinion of me, it struck my pride in such a way that I lashed out at you in a desperate attempt to stave off the reckoning of my hubris. It was only in the cold, empty cell in which I was forced to spend the night that I was able to reflect on the hypocrisy of my conduct." He closed his eyes, then gazed at Mr Bennet with a look of sorrow. "I was reproved," he said, shaking his head. "What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled."

Mr. Darcy fell silent and looked earnestly at Mr. Bennet, who though frowning, nodded. "I understand your reasoning, but you owe me nothing, Mr. Darcy; your gratitude is misplaced," he said at last. "We, all of us, tend to shrink from the arguments that cut both ways, for fear of being hurt, but Truth is always a double-edged sword … and I, too, have felt its blade. I have acted with as much pride and surety in the invincibility of my position and superior intellect as did you. If you will thank anyone, you may thank my daughter. She taught me something of the same lesson."

Elizabeth felt a flush rise to her cheeks and tears to her eyes as she gazed at her father, who offered her a gentle smile and a nod of apology. She then looked to Mr. Darcy, who had a warmth to his expression that she had seen before but only now recognized for what it was: approval, interest, gratitude, and perhaps -- if she could be so bold as to put a name to it -- something she hoped she could learn to discover if she might feel the same for him.

"I do thank you, Miss Elizabeth," he said with utter sincerity. "And what is more, I ask humbly that you might be willing to forgive the manner of our prior acquaintance and agree to begin again. From the moment I met you, you have attracted my interest and approval, and over the past few months I have only grown in admiration for you. I know I have not reflected the best of myself in my appearance here, and I understand that I may not have shown you a person who you might admire in return, but I should like, with your permission, to court you as I believe you deserve, as a woman worthy of being pleased, in the hopes that you might eventually return my regard."

Elizabeth gasped in surprise and a stirring of delight in her heart, but her reaction was by far overpowered by the other woman in the room, who with a keening cry of "No!" stepped between them.

"Impossible!" Lady Catherine cried when she had taken a breath. "You could not so far forget yourself, Nephew, as to consider offering for this young woman!"

Mr. Darcy's expression hardened. "I can, and I will, and can only pray that I should prove myself to be worthy of her hand," he replied.

"You, worthy of her hand! Is such a thing to be borne! She is nothing to you -- the spawn of a farmer and a merchant's daughter. Do you not know who her mother is, who her uncles are? She has nothing to your heritage, the respectability of your father and mother. You cannot be thinking of polluting the shades of Pemberley with such a mistress."

"I am a gentleman, madam, and she is a gentleman's daughter, and as such we are equal," he said firmly. "And if I do not object to her connections, they can be as nothing to you. Should she indeed agree to marry me, she would bring so much more to her role of mistress of Pemberley, of my people, of my life, of my heart, than the most exalted woman in this nation. She would be my wife, and I would dare anyone to look upon her as anything less than the honorable and estimable woman that she is."

"But Anne!" Lady Catherine said. "Would you cast aside your engagement to Anne for this opportunist, this adventuress!"

"You will watch your tongue, Lady Catherine," Mr Bennet warned in a low voice, and she snapped her mouth closed, though her chin jutted out in defiance. Elizabeth had a momentary thought that she'd never seen even her spoiled youngest sister carry off the expression so well. Lydia had been usurped.

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and met Elizabeth's eyes as he said firmly, "There is not now and has never been any engagement between myself and my cousin, Aunt Catherine."

"Of course there is!" Lady Catherine cried, then hedged, "Though I grant you it is a peculiar sort of arrangement. It was the greatest wish of your mother and I. We spoke of it while you were yet in your cradles. There could be no greater union than yours, of wedding the two great estates of Rosings and Pemberley. You were formed for each other, and it shall not be prevented by the upstart pretensions of a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family!"

"Young people these days," Mr. Bennet said now, shaking his head, "have no proper respect for the arrangements made by their elders."

Lady Catherine looked with favor on this statement. "Indeed, they do not."

"I affianced all of my daughters in just such a fashion," he continued. "In fact, I traded my firstborn for a try at my schoolmate Harry's new cricket bat during fifth form." He winked at his daughter and pulled a face. "Oh, dear. Mr. Bingley will be disappointed."

"Regardless," Mr. Darcy said dryly over the sound of Lady Catherine's spluttering, "you did what you could, Aunt, but it was for others to complete any such arrangement. My cousin and I do not suit, and we are both in agreement on that. I believe that, given the opportunity to come to know each other better, Miss Elizabeth and I could together found a marriage based on true respect."

Lady Catherine objected again, most strenuously, and with an ill concealed sigh, Darcy turned to Mr. Bennet and said, "I beg your pardon for this disturbance and ask your leave to call again in the morning, alone. I should take my aunt to Netherfield, where she can remonstrate with me to her heart's content and not disturb your family any longer."

Mr. Bennet smiled. "Your visit shall be most welcome, young man." He cocked an eyebrow at his daughter, who nodded, blushing slightly. "We anticipate your call with pleasure."

And with a firm hand on her elbow, Darcy turned his aunt towards the door and began to maneuver her out of the room. She protested her way down the hall, shouting, "I take no leave of you! I offer no compliments! You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased!"

As the front door closed behind nephew and aunt, Mr. Bennet looked expressively at his daughter and raised his eyebrows. Whatever he was to say, however, was forestalled when his wife appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron and glancing down the hall.

"Well, Mr. Bennet!" she said to her husband, setting her fists on her hips. "The people that visit you, on account of this little hobby you have. Murderers, criminals and madwomen! We could hear her shouting all the way from the stillroom." She shook her head and fixed her husband with a stern look. "You ought to take more care to ensure the respectability of your visitors. At the very least, can they not be directed around the back? I shudder to think what my sister Phillips might have thought should she have encountered that woman at the front door."

"I cannot even imagine such a scene," her husband agreed.

"I daresay it was a good thing Mr. Darcy was here to help remove that poor lunatic from our house. You know my thoughts on him -- hateful man -- but one must be grateful for such assistance."

Mr. Bennet nodded. "Indeed. I shall be sure to thank him when he calls on your daughter Elizabeth here tomorrow."

Mrs. Bennet nodded, satisfied, and opened her mouth to speak again, then froze as his words registered in her mind. Her mental cogitations were displayed perfectly on her face as she rapidly came to the conclusion her husband intended. Elizabeth shot him a look of reprimand, but he merely smirked, unrepentant.

"Come, Mama," she said, taking her mother by the elbow and turning her towards the hall as Mrs. Bennet began blessing herself and exclaiming about Mr. Darcy's wealth and respectability and how she had always liked him. "Let us go into the parlor, where I can tell you all about it, while Papa finishes his business."

And with an expressive look to remind him of his duties, she closed the door behind them, and the sounds of Mrs. Bennet crowing over the idea of three daughters to be married and asking after Mr. Darcy's favorite dishes faded down the hall.

Mr. Bennet sat down behind his desk and leaned back, his hands linked behind his head, satisfied entirely with his day.

Chapter 16

"And how is your young man?"

The flush rose on Elizabeth's cheeks, and Mr. Bennet laughed. "Mr. Darcy is not my young man," she demurred.

"Oh, I certainly think he is," her father replied, "It does not require a person of extraordinary cleverness to see that he is completely taken by you, and only awaiting his moment; he has attended you here every day now for the past two weeks. To brave your mother's matchmaking stratagems for so long without retreat shows either a distinct preference or a foolishness as yet unknown to man. As we both of us have been convinced of your Mr. Darcy's sense and discernment, it shall not be long before I am allowed to tease him and threaten to withhold my blessing, and then listen to him rant and storm about how much he loves you."

"Papa! You would not! You promised to be more polite to him."

"Of course I would. And I daresay I am more polite to him, especially given the consideration that he is about to steal my most able secretary and favorite daughter from me."

"I see you mention my use to you as a secretary first."

"It is the only part of our relationship that will change. You shall always be my favorite daughter, though I suppose it is not the thing to admit to such a preference. But you are a young woman now, with a young man courting your favor, and I shall be relegated to the second-most important man in your life. And when you have sons … I shall continue to decrease."

"You shall always be my dearest papa," Elizabeth said, coming around the desk to kiss him.

"Yes, yes, well," Mr. Bennet said in a gruff voice, embarrassed by his show of emotion. "Is your Mr. Darcy to visit again this morning with his friend?"

She blushed prettily again, the joy shining in her eyes. "He is. He had a letter from his sister yesterday that he said he would bring for me to read. She wrote that she is excited to meet me."

"Introducing you to his sister, even, if only by letter," Mr. Bennet mused. "The man is clearly far gone. Two daughters to be married, and another well on the way. Your mother will go completely distracted. And how are your other sisters, Kitty and Lydia? Any men in the offing for them?"

"I think not for a very long time, now. Lydia is improving; she and Kitty took a turn in the garden the other day when it was not quite so cold and windy as usual."

"I know," Mr. Bennet said with a note of melancholy. "I had joined them there, and we strolled in silence the while. I heard not one silly remark to amuse me."

"They are neither as they once were," Elizabeth agreed, though with less mischief in her tone. "As she grapples with her understanding of what Mr. Wickham did and her own judgment, Lydia has become more cautious, and Kitty as usual has followed her into a more sedate manner. They sit together and talk most days and still read their novels, but Kitty has also taken to teaching Lydia to sketch, which I think has helped her. You should get to know them again, papa."

"I suppose I shall have to," he replied with a rueful smile, "or I shall be left with strangers when you are taken from me, and then who shall tease your papa out of his moods? I have begun, and it is a start. But I think I hear the bell, so I fancy that may be your suitor, as eager as ever. You had better make haste, for I am certain your mother is seeking you out even now."

Elizabeth smiled and made for the door, but her father caught her hand and held her back a moment. He appeared to struggle with what he desired to say, but when she tipped her head curiously at him, his mouth curved slightly and he said, "You must forgive your father for the poor blind man that he is where his daughters are concerned, but I shall have to ask directly: You are happy?"

"Every day, papa. And every day, a little more."

He nodded his head and released her hand. She moved quickly, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and rushed out the door in the direction of her mother's delighted voice. Mr. Bennet watched silently as the door swung closed.

When Murray knocked at the study some hours later, he found Mr. Bennet reclined in his comfortable armchair across the room, his legs stretched out on a tuffet and a book open across his stomach. The older man looked the very picture of a country squire at his leisure. "You have returned earlier than I expected," he said without opening his eyes.

The undersheriff bowed and came into the room, closing the door behind him.

"You had success?"

Murray lifted his chin. "I regret to inform you, sir, of an unfortunate occurrence."

Mr. Bennet looked up and cocked an eyebrow.

"I must report that the accused, Mr. Wickham, attempted an escape during his transport from magistrate's court to gaol. He managed to loose his restraints and, while we slowed to turn onto the King's Highway, he opened the door of the carriage. As he exited, I was able to catch him by the tail of his shirt, but he slipped and fell and I was forced to release him. He was dragged for some yards before falling beneath the wheels. He did not survive his injuries."

Mr. Bennet did not so much as bat an eye at the recital, delivered in an even monotone. He gazed steadily at his assistant, who stood ramrod straight before him, until finally nodding and releasing a small sigh. "As my under-sheriff, you have the power of the county, should you find resistance in executing a writ. There was no needless violence, I trust?"

"No, sir."

"You know, of course, that I shall have to note this in your file?"

The other man bowed his head in understanding.

"But then," Mr Bennet continued musingly, "I am notoriously unreliable in my note-taking, and my usual secretary has been very distracted lately."

The two shared a look for a moment, but no words were exchanged until Mr. Bennet nodded and asked, "You have made all the appropriate arrangements with Mr. Fletcher and the undertaker?"

"They have been put in order, sir."

Mr. Bennet nodded and sat up, setting his book on the table beside him. "Then, as there shall not be a trial, I trust it will not be necessary to speak of this again, so long as you truss the next criminal you transport much more securely."

"It was a tragic error on my part, sir, and one that shall be as a black mark upon my conscience for all eternity."

Mr. Bennet pursed his lips tightly, then sighed deeply. "Ah, well. I suppose it is fair enough, as I should have hated to have my Lydia relive any of her trauma for the sake of a trial, even if only a deposition were required."

"You love your daughters, sir."

"I do, in my own way," he replied softly, and looked at his undersheriff with a small smile. "You know me well, Murray. Perhaps better than I know myself. I thank you for your service."

The other man bowed. "It was my pleasure, as always."

Mr. Bennet nodded, and Murray turned to go, but the older man called out to him once more as the nondescript little man slipped from the room: "Do not make it a habit, Murray."

There was no answer, and Mr. Bennet was left to himself in the silence of his study. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, then stood and walked to the window, where he remained for some time gazing out on the hoary grounds of Longbourn and listening to the faint, muffled sounds that filtered in vaguely from the rest of the house: the laughter and frequently shrill tones from the parlour, the tinkling notes of the pianoforte in the music room, the occasional thump from someone moving about in the rooms above. It was perfectly familiar and comforting and not in any way mysterious, and he was glad of it.

"Tis done," he murmured, "and 'tis done for the best."

Then, rubbing his hands together, he pulled on his coat and went to join in the merriment in the parlour. He had some suitors to investigate.