Chapter 14
Fourteen
In Which Lizzie and Darcy Cause a Scene
“And then next spring, we’ll have someone out to inspect the roof. Darcy, are you listening?”
“Hmm?” Darcy said, looking up. “The roof, yes.”
Bingley gave him a look. “Yes, what about the roof?”
“It’s . . . a roof. Very solid. Keeps the rain out.”
“No, it doesn’t—that’s the point. It leaks. Badly. The attic after a rainstorm looks like a bazaar that sells nothing but
pots and buckets.”
Darcy winced. He really hadn’t been paying attention. “I’m sorry. I got a little distracted. But yes, the roof—if it’s that
bad, then I think getting it repaired sooner rather than later is wise. You can’t properly begin to address the damage from
within until the exterior is secured.”
The two of them were outside, standing in the drive and looking above at the east wing.
From outside, no one could tell there was any fire damage, but Darcy still shuddered when he thought of seeing Lizzie on the floor, her leg caught and the wood around her groaning.
Bingley had asked him to come outside to survey the exterior of the house before the party left for the burial service in the village.
“I don’t know,” Bingley said, rubbing his chin. “I thought I was lucky to inherit this place—it was always a secret hope of
my father’s, you know. He felt as though our branch had been ousted from our ancestral seat. But now that it’s mine . . .”
“Ownership is a curse as much as it is a blessing,” Darcy said.
“Yes, exactly.” He sighed, then tilted his head back. “And the facade—look at the stone and how it’s been eaten away. How
long before it all comes tumbling down around us?”
“It won’t happen today,” Darcy assured him, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
They were interrupted by the sound of a loud voice shouting “Oy!” followed by the crunching of gravel and the creak of a carriage.
Darcy startled, turning quickly to see the carriages being brought around. The groom blanched to see them standing there.
“My apologies, Mr. Bingley,” he said, drawing the carriage up short. “It’s just that Arrow here has been acting a bit restless.
He takes a firm hand sometimes.”
“It’s all right,” Bingley said. “We’ll be there in a minute, thank you.”
The groom urged the horses forward to park closer to the entrance, and Bingley turned to Darcy. “Are you all right? You’re
awfully jumpy today.”
“I slept terribly,” Darcy said, which wasn’t a lie—it just wasn’t the reason for his jumpiness.
“Is there anything—”
Darcy shook his head. “Just my own thoughts keeping me awake.”
“The case?”
Darcy nodded, but it wasn’t quite the truth.
Something Darcy had never admitted to anyone, not even Lizzie, was that Lady Catherine scared him. It wasn’t just that she was a criminal—although that was the major concern—but that she’d proven herself willing to
go to extreme lengths. And she had tracked them here, to Netherfield, which suggested she was not far off. With the chaos
of preparations for the ball underway, who was to say she couldn’t just slip into Netherfield Park and find Lizzie? And then
what? Maybe she wouldn’t kill Lizzie . . . but what sort of havoc would she wreak in pursuit of what she wanted?
Bingley attempted a change of subject. “Have you discovered anything useful in the registers yet?”
“No,” Darcy said, feeling the weight of that word. “Not yet, anyway. But we’ve only had a few hours with them, and there’s
still plenty more to read. Mr. Thomas was right—Dr. Fellowes used shorthand indiscriminately. There’s a great deal to decipher
still.”
“I have faith in you,” Bingley said.
The two rounded the corner toward the front of the manor where the carriages sat waiting, one of the horses stomping very irritably.
Lizzie, Charlotte, and Caroline were already outside while Mr. Bennet stood in the doorway, calling, “We mustn’t be late, dears!
” to the Bennet women still somewhere within the house.
Sally stood not too far from the assembled party, Guy’s leash in hand. Darcy gave her a small nod, which she returned stoically.
Darcy wasn’t quite sure what to make of her—was she so stern because she was looking out for her grandparents? Or was she
keeping secrets, as Lizzie suspected?
He went to stand next to Lizzie, who was wearing a navy blue dress that looked overly warm for the beautiful summer weather.
“You look lovely,” he said in a low voice.
“Thank you,” she said, smoothing her hand across the skirt. “Jane lent it to me. I am afraid I didn’t bring anything appropriate
for a funeral. It’s not black, though.”
“No one will fault you for that,” he said.
“I suppose,” Lizzie said. “Even so, it feels disrespectful somehow . . .”
Darcy suddenly felt a flurry of tiny sharp pains on his head and face. As he looked at Lizzie, a handful of small stones bounced
off the shoulder of her navy dress. He looked up to see where they were coming from, and some base instinct took over. He
shoved Lizzie aside, and just in time, too—he’d no sooner jumped back himself when a large, heavy object whooshed through
the air, slamming into the gravel where he’d been standing only moments earlier.
Everyone cried out, and the horses spooked. The impatient one—Arrow—bolted against his harness, causing the three others to shriek in surprise. The carriage lurched ominously as the groom struggled to gain control of the animals. Mrs. Bennet, who’d been inside, came rushing out. “What’s going on?”
Darcy found Lizzie first, standing only a stone’s throw away, her expression white and shocked. Charlotte clutched her arm,
and they both looked down at the object that had very nearly smashed into Darcy’s skull: a large hunk of masonry that appeared
to have fallen from the house. The stone was crumbling and well-worn, and it would have been about the size of Darcy’s head,
if it were still intact. But the impact had broken it into three larger pieces and many smaller chunks, which now lay strewn
about the gravel at their feet and left no doubt as to what it might have done to their own heads, if not for Darcy’s quick
action.
“Is everyone all right?” Bingley asked, rushing forward, panic in his eyes. “Is anyone hurt?”
“No,” Darcy said, feeling rather faint nonetheless. “We moved just in time.”
“The curse,” a voice said. They turned to find a footman, pale as a sheet, standing in front of the open door of one of the
carriages. He was staring at the hunk of stone. “It’s the curse.”
“Don’t be absurd, James,” Mr. Grigson said, striding forward to take charge. “It’s an accident, nothing more. We shall clean
this up, sir.”
Mr. Grigson leaned forward, and Darcy could tell he was whispering a scolding in the footman’s ear. The young man didn’t seem
to care—he looked frightened.
“Mr. Bingley, are you sure my daughter is safe here?”
Lizzie hastened to answer before Bingley. “The curse is only for people who try to leave, Mama. We aren’t going anywhere—just to the church.”
Mrs. Bennet stared at the chunk of masonry, and uncertainty seemed to waver on her face. But then Mr. Bennet came up from
behind her and said, “Old houses need repair. Now, we mustn’t be late.”
“Don’t tell me you’re believing in curses now,” Darcy said to Lizzie, coming to take her arm. There was no reason for him
to do so, except that he needed to touch her, feel the warmth of her skin and remind himself that she was alive and unharmed.
Lizzie tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow, and he wished they could go one step further and he could wrap her up in
his arms and never let go. “Of course not. But . . .”
He followed her gaze upward, craning his neck to see if he could spot where the stone had fallen from. On the second floor,
there was a steady row of windows framed by the stone facade of the manor, and one appeared to be missing a chunk. He squinted.
Was there . . . movement behind that window? Darcy took a step back, but nothing changed, except for the reflection of light
against the glass. He shook his head. It was a trick of the light.
“Are you all right?” Lizzie whispered to Darcy.
“Just thought I saw something,” he murmured. He gazed up at the window, wondering if he had simply imagined movement.
“I don’t see anything,” Lizzie said, and before he could reply, they were distracted by the footman declaring, “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t stay here. There’s no saying who could be next! I’ll send back the livery!”
Darcy and Lizzie turned in time to see the footman backing away from the house, as if afraid it would attack.
“James!” Mr. Grigson shouted. “Come back here at once!”
“I’m sorry!” he repeated, but he turned and began to run down the drive.
Mr. Grigson turned to Bingley, flustered. “Sir, I don’t know what has gotten into the boy.”
The same thing that had gotten to each and every servant who’d left, Darcy thought. He had sympathy for Mr. Grigson. It was
difficult running anything—from a household to a business—when you could not rely on your staff. His father had taught him
that. He still thought the curse was a load of nonsense—two accidents since they had arrived didn’t mean there was a curse.
It just meant the house was old and needed many repairs. No one had died.
He looked up and thought, Yet.
“Don’t worry, Grigson,” Jane said, coming up to place a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. “We’ve all had a fright, and perhaps James
will see sense when he’s calmed down. Please send someone to check on the window to ensure it’s stable.”
“That’s the east wing, ma’am,” Mr. Grigson said. “I’m not sure—”
“Oh,” Jane said, looking up. “Of course it is. In that case, leave it until the builder arrives from London. He should be
here in a fortnight, but we’ll write and see if he can come sooner.”
“Everyone, please step away,” Bingley said, and he and Jane began ushering the party into the waiting carriages.
Darcy saw that Lizzie, Charlotte, and Mary made it into the nearest carriage and then looked up once more. The window glass