Some Particular Evil

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

E lizabeth was sure she had not heard correctly. Mr Darcy was being arrested? The revelation shook her from the mortification which had enveloped her upon being thrown from the man’s lap. She knew he was generally a proud, unpleasant sort of man, but that was not a crime, surely. What could anyone possibly have to accuse him of? Elizabeth had to know, and as she could not stay concealed in the study forever, she decided she must make her way towards the grand drawing room and find out the particulars.

Elizabeth was able to stay in the shadows as she trailed behind the two men, stopping and making herself as flat as possible behind a suit of armour when the colonel turned on Darcy to exchange hurried whispers. When their feet began to click once more upon the marble tiles, Elizabeth let out the breath she had been holding and began to pad on towards the drawing room in their wake, the soles of her boots blessedly making almost no sound at all.

The men entered the room no more than twenty feet ahead of her, and, to her relief, the doors remained open. She stationed herself against the wall in the shadow created by the expansive door that led into Lady Catherine’s drawing room. Elizabeth could not see the players through the cracks that let the light in between the iron hinges, but their voices rang clearly into the hall.

What Elizabeth heard from her place in the crevice caused her heart to pound in her ears. Mr Darcy cavorting with militia men and calling for the assassination of the Regent? And while he was in Hertfordshire? It was not possible! She had heard about him and Mr Bingley dining with the officers on occasion, true, but she knew in her heart that Mr Darcy would never have broadcast his personal feelings—not on any subject and especially not among a set of men he would not consider his equals. He was far too proud to expose himself in such a manner.

Something else sounded peculiar about these charges. The sixteenth of November? That was ten days before Mr Bingley’s ball. Why did that sound so wrong to her? Of course! She had been at Netherfield that very night—that whole week, in fact—and she knew for a certainty that Mr Darcy was at home. He could produce at least six credible witnesses of good standing in society, and any number of servants who might vouch for his not leaving the house that week.

Should she run into the room? Tell the constable he was wrong? Would it make a difference? Probably not, she concluded, understanding that the man’s job was to apprehend an accused criminal, not to try the case right here at Rosings. He probably had no power at all to release Mr Darcy or even to delay his capture. The constable had come, presumably with a thief-taker, to carry Darcy back to London, and that is what he would do and probably earn a bounty for doing it. Besides, how would she explain to the assembled group what she was doing there, much less how she had come to be eavesdropping on the whole interview?

Elizabeth looked about, seeking an escape route and was horrified, finding none. Resolving to hide instead, she picked up a dark blue shawl that was on a chair nearby, hoping the darker colour over her pale gown would help her go unnoticed amid the shadows of the hall. Sliding deeper into the dark corners, she peered between the hinges of the door, watching Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam stride through the doorway. Then she heard their steps retreat back in the direction from whence they had come. A moment later, after listening to more of Lady Catherine’s hysteria as she ordered the footman to send Mr Darcy’s valet to his chambers, Elizabeth heard what she assumed were the two men from town drawing closer. Stopping just past the threshold of the drawing room, one whispered to the other that he would wait outside and smoke a pipe.

“Aye, settle your nerves a bit, Nigel,” the other reassured him in low tones.

“Dirty business, this,” Nigel replied, and she could see him shaking his head in her mind. “Seems like a good bloke. Shame to have to do him in.”

“You shall not be saying that when we get paid. Besides, you’re just here as a second. I got the unpleasant part.”

“When do we get the blunt?”

“We will have the money and be in Scotland before his body even washes up. Now, go and smoke your pipe. I shall join you.”

His body? Do him in? It was not possible! These two were not constables or thief-takers; they were hired killers!

A chill ran down Elizabeth’s spine as she considered what she had just discovered. If Mr Darcy got into that coach with those men, he would never come out of it alive.

I need to warn him that he must not accompany them.

The front door shut behind the false constables. Elizabeth waited half a breath before running towards the study; had not she seen a servant’s stair nearby? She must make her way to Darcy’s rooms! But, how on earth would she ever find him?

Darting through the door and up the stairs, she found herself in a long, narrow passageway with doors that, she imagined, led to bedchambers. And she needed only to find the blue room.

She turned the first handle and entered, but was surprised to see, not a luxurious suite of rooms, but a small closet with a cot, several hanging jackets, and a rack full of damp stockings. She must be in Mr Darcy’s dressing room, where his valet evidently slept and worked to keep his clothes so meticulously clean. Crossing it without a second thought, she burst into Mr Darcy’s bedchamber.