Some Particular Evil

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“ C ousin Elizabeth,” Mr Collins called in an almost sing-song voice from the front parlour. Charlotte, upon hearing her husband’s cheerful tenor, visibly cringed and set her eyes to the whitework in her lap, lest she be forced to look upon the man when he entered her sitting room. Maria blushed at the evidence of her elder sister’s dissatisfaction with her husband and lifted her own needlework to cover her pink cheeks.

Elizabeth rose to forestall his entrance into Charlotte’s sanctuary. Unfortunately, his form appeared in the doorway before she could reach him, and they were trapped.

“An express has just come for you from London,” he said with a tone of worry only lurid curiosity could conjure. “I do hope your family there is well.”

She held out her hand to accept the letter, but her cousin simply waved it around as he enumerated the many disasters that might occasion such an urgent missive, completely oblivious to Elizabeth’s anxious eyes as they followed the folded paper through the air. Unable to wait a moment longer, she snatched it from him rather abruptly.

It was from Darcy. Something must be terribly wrong for him to risk sending a letter to the parsonage—and by express.

Elizabeth made to leave the room, but she was halted in her course by Mr Collins who stood in the doorway. She begged him to excuse her so she might read her correspondence in private.

“What if this is news of your dear father? Or a tragedy which has struck one of your sisters? Shall I leave you to learn of such a grievous circumstance alone? How could I call myself a man of God if I were to allow you to suffer in solitude? No, it is not to be borne, I must insist?—”

“Get out of her way!” The irritated command reverberated off the walls from Charlotte’s corner of the room. Her husband obeyed, backing into the hall and allowing Elizabeth access to the stairwell leading to her chambers.

April 28, 1812, London

My dearest Elizabeth,

I cannot speak this moment to the raptures your last letter sent me into, as I have learnt a vital piece of information, which, if true, may mean that you are in danger. I recently came upon one of the two men who tried to arrest me in Kent. After some coaxing (and some very sore knuckles on my part), I have learnt a clue as to who is behind this whole debacle.

He told me that he and his partner had been hired to kill me, and they would not be paid until the job was ‘done proper’ as he says. When I asked him to name the man behind the scheme, Horace (as the miscreant is called) said there was no man to name. Another bout of persuasion finally tore it from his lips—there was no man to name because he had been hired by a woman.

Horace remembered no details about the woman who had engaged him, and no amount of further persuasion seemed to jog his memory. My companion, knowing that I was to lie low and fearing the return of the larger cretin, allowed me to escape back to the inn while he escorted Horace to the constables, who detained him on a charge of disturbing the peace.

My love, if he is in earnest, and if what you say of my cousin is true, then I cannot help but worry that you are not safe. I feel you should leave Kent immediately. I do not know why Anne should target you now if she has not already, but I treasure you too much to risk anything happening to you. Please, Elizabeth, come to me. Or go to the Gardiners. Anywhere but Rosings Park.

And if Providence has prevented you from telling Colonel Fitzwilliam where I am before this moment, perhaps this is His sign that it is time. Go now. Tell him to come to London with you. I shall call on him at Matlock House as soon as I hear he has arrived. Do not mention Anne—I do not wish him to endanger himself by confronting her. When he comes here, we can figure out how to deal with the situation together with as little scandal as possible.

Until I see your loveliness in person, safe and sound, I remain?—

Yours,

FD

Elizabeth rushed from the parsonage and ran the whole distance to Rosings Park. There, standing outside before the grand staircase, was Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. It appeared he was awaiting his horse from the stables, for he was attired in a many-tiered greatcoat and riding boots. Seeing her running in his direction, he began jogging towards her in kind.

“Miss Bennet! What is the matter?” he demanded in a panic, grasping her two hands in his as he searched her eyes.

“You are leaving?” she asked, trying to catch her breath.

“I am off to London. Because of you, actually,” he said with a smile.

“Me?” was all she could achieve between gasps.

“You encouraged me to pursue my ‘bright, particular star,’ and I am now determined to do that,” he confessed as he gazed into her eyes. “I cannot yet make any concrete overtures, Miss Bennet, but once I have things in place, things I must see to in London, I shall indeed make my declaration, for better or for worse.”

“Colonel!” Elizabeth had heard only half his speech as her pulse roared in her ears, both from the import of her errand and the exertion of her exercise. “It is Mr Darcy!”

His brow furrowed. He blinked. Clearly, he had not been expecting this.

“Mr Darcy is in London. He has found the two men responsible for his plight, and he needs your help to decide what to do next,” she said.

“You have heard from him? He wrote to you? What is going on?” The colonel did not show the elation she had expected.

“He sent me an express this morning, just now,” she said. “He is in London, hiding from the men who are after him. He needs your help!”

“But why should he send you word and not me? And to write to an unmarried lady—” His sense of propriety seemed out of place to Elizabeth as she noted the continued presence of the colonel’s hands pressed against her own.

“These are desperate times,” she said. “Perhaps he did not wish the other residents of Rosings to know of it.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam thought about this for a moment before, eyes brightening, he squeezed the hands he still held and nodded. “Where is he staying? I shall go there first. Give me the letter.”

“I do not have it,” she lied. “I was in such a panic upon receiving his instruction to call for you that I must have left it. He said he would find you at Matlock House.”

By now, a groom had arrived with the colonel’s massive steed. He looked over at him, then back at Elizabeth. “I shall meet with Darcy, and then we shall decide what to do about this whole situation.” As if finally noting their still-clasped hands, he released them, clearing his throat. “I am afraid this means I shall be away longer than I had intended.”

The uncomfortable notion that she had indeed been his ‘bright, particular star’ was now an entrenched fact in her mind. How had she let this happen? Seeing the hope in his eyes, all she could say was, “I may be leaving for town myself soon. My uncle is expecting me.”

“The uncle in Gracechurch Street? How fortuitous. Perhaps we shall meet again in London. Until we do…” He gazed into her eyes.

Without another word, he swung himself into the saddle and urged his horse forwards. She watched as he made his way down the lane at speed, the tiers of his greatcoat flapping behind him.

Elizabeth had no idea how she was going to get away from Rosings as Darcy wished her to. Nor was she convinced it was the best course of action. For, if Miss de Bourgh had it in her mind to harm someone, Elizabeth was sure it was not herself.

No, it was someone far more vulnerable.