Chapter 8 #2
Darcy knew he should not say anything in response to the older man’s inquiry.
He was the magistrate, and a clever one.
It might be a trick, and it was certainly a risk to answer.
But Elizabeth trusted this man, in some ways even more than her own father.
He had spent the past week trusting no one but Fitz, refusing to say anything about Elizabeth’s plight to anyone who did not already know, and what had that achieved?
After he delivered Elizabeth’s note to Mr. Bennet, he suspected Sir William would be told in any case.
More to the point, Elizabeth would not wish Sir William to continue to fear the worst. Although he could feel Fitz’s glare boring into the side of his face, he nodded and said, “I have seen her myself, sir. She sends her regards.”
Sir William’s face paled as he asked, “She is well?”
Darcy coughed. “She is recovering.”
Fitz stood abruptly and began to pace. His cousin would likely have his head, but Darcy could not regret watching Sir William’s anguish fade.
“That was not the expectation, then?” Sir William asked flatly.
“We do not believe so, no.” Darcy confirmed.
The man released a breath and gestured to the button in Darcy’s hand. “So, Colonel Black,” he said grimly, “who wants to see Mr. Darcy hanged for her murder?”
Darcy closed his fist around the button and thanked God that Sir William was exactly the man Elizabeth believed he was. “That,” he told the older man, “is what we are here to learn.”
Sir William dropped himself into the chair behind his desk. “There were a great many new faces at the ball,” he said thoughtfully.
Fitz offered the description of the two men who had accosted Elizabeth.
The older man shook his head. “There was no one in the ballroom with hair as light as you have described. He sounds quite distinctive. As for the second man, there were at least half a dozen men at the ball who were not from the neighborhood and had the same sort of looks.”
“Might you have noted anyone acting oddly?” Darcy asked.
Sir William leaned back and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Mr. Bingley was restless. He left the ballroom before supper, which I found strange.” He was quiet, thinking. “He poured himself a cup of punch when he returned and took up his duties as host.”
“Did he speak with anyone you can recall?” Fitz inquired.
“Everyone,” Sir William replied. “As host, he spoke with everyone.” His bushy eyebrows pinched together.
“Perhaps we ought to think about those with whom he did not speak,“ Darcy said. “Perhaps there was someone with whom he would not wish to be connected?”
“Well,” Sir William said slowly, “there was a man hovering near the musicians. He was thin, dark hair, rather large ears. A London friend of Mr. Bingley’s, I presumed.
” He blinked. “He was not wearing dancing shoes, which is why I remarked him. I wondered why he would travel all the way to Netherfield if he was not prepared to dance.”
“Was he tall?” Fitz asked.
“Medium height, I would say, though I was across the room. His hair was worn rather long. And now that I think on it, he did send a look or two in Mr. Bingley’s direction, though that might mean nothing.”
Darcy turned this over in his mind. “Did he wear spectacles, Sir William?”
Sir William considered it. “No.”
“Do you know the man, Darcy?” Fitz asked.
“No, I do not think so.” Darcy replied after he considered it for a moment. “To whom were you introduced, Sir William?”
This sent Sir William on a long recitation of the guests he had met and conversed with, and he always had some way to recall them—a mole, a certain style of dress, a cravat with an intricate knot, a hand that shook.
They had been speaking for some time when there was a knock on the door. Darcy rose immediately from his chair and turned his back, but before he could move to the window, he heard Mr. Bennet and his eldest daughter Miss Jane Bennet announced.
“Bennet,” Sir William said warmly as he rose to greet his guests, “Miss Bennet, I thank you for arriving so quickly.”
Beside him, Fitz stood to be introduced. Darcy did not move.
“Oh,” a soft voice said. “Mr. Darcy. It is good to see you again.”
Miss Bennet had recognized him even without seeing his face.
There was a quick laugh from behind him. “You have an excellent eye, Jane,” Mr. Bennet said. “I would not have guessed it.”
Darcy did turn, finally, to see Mr. Bennet’s sharp eyes upon him. “Well,” the man said slowly, “I would now.”
Both Bennets looked to Sir William. “You said you had news,” Mr. Bennet said bluntly. “I presume these gentlemen are a part of it?”
“How did you know there would be anything to tell?” Fitz asked Sir William.
The older man shrugged. “Mr. Darcy disappeared in the middle of the ball at Netherfield. Miss Eliza watched his departure from the ballroom. Then Miss Eliza disappeared, as best we can tell, eight or nine hours later. When Colonel Black appeared this morning, it seemed certain there was a connection.”
“Colonel Black?” Miss Bennet asked, her forehead crinkling in confusion for a moment before her expression cleared.
“Ah,” Mr. Bennet said. “Very well. Colonel Black.”
Darcy grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet,” he murmured, and offered a curt bow.
Sir William motioned for them all to sit.
Darcy observed Miss Bennet. Although he preferred Elizabeth’s dark hair and eyes, her older sister was as beautiful as ever.
Her complexion was like porcelain, her features aligned in an almost perfect symmetry.
Large blue eyes were fixed upon Sir William as though awaiting some pronouncement.
Darcy was not so lost to her beauty that he did not see the fear and grief reflected in her countenance.
Miss Bennet clasped her hands together in her lap, the fringe of her shawl wrapped around her fingers, and Mr. Bennet was little better, his face pale, his eyes shadowed with the pain of sleepless nights.
Sir William did not allow them to suffer long. “Eliza is safe,” he said quietly.
Mr. Bennet sank limply against the back of his chair.
“My wife’s brother received an anonymous note saying as much,” Mr. Bennet said, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “But it seemed too much to hope for.”
Sir William appeared surprised to hear it.
Mr. Bennet turned to Darcy. “Gardiner sent it to me, but it was not the same as your earlier missives.”
“Darcy said you would recognize his hand. I copied it out before it was sent,” Fitz said.
Miss Bennet’s head was bowed, her lips moving silently in what could only be prayer. Darcy watched her until she looked up. “Forgive me for asking so directly,” Miss Bennet asked in a clear, ringing voice, “but I wish to know what has happened to my sister.”
Darcy looked over at Fitz to see whether he would explain. His cousin was also watching Miss Bennet. There was a brief, wistful expression in Fitz’s eyes before it vanished like smoke up a chimney.
Fitz nodded at him. “They all recognize you. You may as well explain what we know.”
Miss Bennet met Fitz’s eye, and his cousin froze. When Miss Bennet broke her gaze and returned her attention to Darcy, he thought she appeared a bit dazed. Soon, though, she was watching him expectantly.
Darcy nodded at Fitz and addressed Miss Bennet and her father. “First, I have a message for you.” He removed Elizabeth’s note and handed it to Mr. Bennet. She had only written to assure them she was safe, but she had told Darcy that it would be enough.
Mr. Bennet read the message and handed it to Miss Bennet.
“Next, my cousin and I are trying to understand what has happened. It would be a great help were you to relate your actions on the morning Miss Elizabeth disappeared,” Darcy said.
Mr. Bennet nodded. “The morning after the ball, I was awakened by your valet, who brought your first message. I learned little that was new, for Lizzy had already explained what had happened. When I noted her pelisse was gone, I waited for her to return.” Miss Bennet handed the note back, and Mr. Bennet tucked it away.
“When she did not, I sought her out along her usual walking paths. I found a handkerchief I knew belonged to her, but nothing else.” He met Darcy’s eye.
“When I returned home, I found your second letter. Jane had risen by then, and I asked whether she knew where her sister had gone.”
“I wished to ask the servants, but my father requested that I wait,” said Miss Bennet.
“Given what had occurred at the ball and Lizzy’s concerns—well, I was nearly certain this was not happenstance,” Mr. Bennet said.
“I rode out to Meryton on a contrived errand to see whether I might discover anything. It was there I received a summons. Sir William had a bonnet he wished me to see. It had been left in town by a man who said he found it by chance near the river—his carriage had broken its wheel nearby, and he had returned to have it repaired. He had been in a hurry to get to town and left before Sir William could speak with him. It was Mr. Wickham,” he said as his expression soured, “who suggested to Sir William that it was similar to a bonnet he had seen Elizabeth wear.” Mr. Bennet sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“I could not deny it. Fortunately, the most troublesome members of my family slept late and kept to their chambers most of the day. It offered us time to consider what was best to be done. Jane was of great use there.” He looked at his eldest daughter, and she picked up where he had paused.