Chapter 4 #2
Colonel Forster searched for Bingley and, succeeding in catching his eye, nodded to him, signalling his intent to approach him at the end of the set.
He then looked around the room until he spotted another person he was looking for and purposely strode in that direction.
Among a group of a few matrons, Mrs Forster was watching her young friends dancing with the equally young officers.
She startled when her husband took her arm and directed her towards the windows, leaning in close to tell her something discreetly.
Although the music and laughter were loud enough to cover the private conversation, it was obvious the news imparted distressed Mrs Forster greatly as she paled and cried out in horror.
The music eventually stopped after the first set and the couples separated in search of refreshments, their friends, or their next partners. The younger Miss Bennets ran towards Mrs Forster, but she did not greet them with her usual cheerfulness.
The colonel, with a meaningful parting look at his wife, went to speak to Bingley, and Darcy approached them, arriving at the same moment as the colonel.
“Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy. I am sorry that my men’s intrusion has provoked a disturbance.
Sadly, I have just been apprised of the most unfortunate news.
One of my officers has been found dead, lying in the woods just outside Meryton.
I have no further details yet, but I shall attend to the matter immediately.
I believe it would be wise to keep the secret for the moment, and I hope for your support in this endeavour. ”
“An officer? Dead! How shocking! How could that happen?” asked Bingley, eyes wide with bewilderment, trying to keep his voice down.
“That is precisely what I intend to discover. It could have been a tragic accident or something worse.”
“Worse? Surely you cannot imagine someone murdered him!”
“Anything is possible. The parish constable is being informed as we speak, and the magistrate will be urgently fetched to help us unravel the tragedy and discover whoever might be culpable.”
“Yes, yes… If we can be of service somehow…”
“Not for the moment, Mr Bingley. I need to remove myself and some of my officers from your company. I hope we shall accomplish it without further disturbing your ball. I have notified my wife, of course.”
“Do not worry about the ball, Colonel, but may I ask, who is the victim of this tragedy? Do we know him?”
“You might well know him. He has only recently taken a commission with my regiment but has already made many friends. And I understand he was well acquainted with Mr Darcy. His name was George Wickham. Now please excuse me, I cannot stay a moment longer.”
Stunned, Bingley missed the colonel nodding his leave and walking to the door. He looked at Darcy — who had turned white with incredulous shock, a stark contrast to his dark curls and black evening wear.
The perplexed silence persisted for a few long moments while the colonel and the officers were quitting Netherfield.
Eventually, understanding hit Bingley, who stared at Darcy befuddled as though he expected his friend to take charge. But no answer came, as the shock seemed to have paralysed Darcy.
“Darcy! What should we do?” Bingley asked several times, finally touching his friend’s arm to get a reaction.
“What can we do, Bingley?” Darcy replied, absently.
“The colonel asked us to keep the matter to ourselves for now. We must make sure we do so. We should continue the evening as planned. Are you well?”
Bingley’s agitation made him barely coherent; his thoughts and words were a jumble and his growing distress was visible on his face too.
Darcy’s tumult was all inside, and he stood still as a stone.
“It matters little how I feel, Bingley. You should try to regain your composure if you intend to keep the matter a secret.”
“I shall try, but everything is so terrible! Wickham dead? I shall look for my next partner. My absence will be noticed and there will be talk if I miss the next set.”
“It might be already too late for that, I am afraid,” said Darcy, looking around the room.
Almost every person was whispering to their neighbour, a soft hum of words growing into a cacophony of cries of disbelief, exclamations, and interjections, until finally it burst out in a choir of voices erupting in a deafening uproar.
“Mr Wickham? Dead? How can it be? Where was he found? Who found him? That is impossible!”
“It was an accident? Such an amiable man! And is it certain? What has been done?”
“Mayhap it is an error? It might not be him? Was a doctor summoned?”
All cries, all questions, no answers, only disbelief, apprehension, and more cries.
Still in the middle of the dance floor, Elizabeth was frozen in consternation. She looked at Darcy, who was as pale, dumbfounded, and as lost as her. Eventually, his eyes turned to her too, his dark gaze meeting and locking with hers in an astonished stare.
Within the next few minutes, the ball that had started so pleasantly turned into a din of rumours, discussions, speculations, fretting and whiny complaining from the ladies, and gossip.
Nobody could believe the dreadful news, nobody could explain such a tragedy, and many hoped it was just an error of some sort.
Lydia and Kitty were among the loudest to cry over the loss of Mr Wickham, claiming it to be impossible.
Mrs Bennet claimed the agitation of her nerves by the news had cause her to feel faint, but the other ladies of her age were no calmer, all of them loudly asking for salts and flicking dainty handkerchiefs.
The musicians put their instruments aside as it was clear their services would not be needed any longer that night. Bingley, as the host, was utterly bewildered, looking at Darcy and pleading for help, but Darcy — as unaccustomed to such a situation as his friend — also seemed dismayed.
“I am very sorry,” Bingley addressed his guests, uncertain about what he was apologising for.
“Mr Bingley, such times of sadness and tragedy are not unfamiliar to me,” Mr Collins said, increasing Elizabeth’s distress. “I would gladly offer my services, if I may help in any way.”
“Thank you, sir, you are very kind,” Bingley replied. “I doubt there is much we can do at this time, except pray.”
Elizabeth startled when she felt a hand grasp her arm, and only then did she notice Jane’s presence beside her.
Together, they walked to the corner where their parents were sitting. Mrs Bennet was whining with her sister Phillips, Mrs Long, and Lady Lucas. Mr Bennet and Sir William were each holding a glass of brandy but neither were drinking it.
“We should leave. I can see no reason to stay any longer,” Mr Bennet suggested.
“But Papa, we cannot be the first to leave,” Jane opposed. “Mr Bingley or Caroline might need our help.”
“Help with what, Jane? A young man has died — there is nothing to be done in that regard.”
“Papa, I agree with Jane, let us stay a little longer,” Elizabeth interjected.
Countless thoughts whirled in her head as she attempted to comprehend whether the tragedy was in any way related to the scene she had witnessed a day prior.
She had seen Wickham with her own eyes leaving and riding towards Meryton.
Had he returned to his regiment? Had he not been seen since?
Had he been involved in an accident or something worse?
Never had anyone heard of a murder in their neighbourhood — surely that could not be the case.
She looked at Darcy again; he was stunned indeed, like the rest of them. But whether he was sad or glad — or at least relieved — by the death of his enemy, she could not presume.
Consternation did not allow Darcy to feel much when the news fell like thunder. Moments later, he saw Elizabeth’s tormented expression and assumed she was devastated by grief; her feelings for Wickham must have been strong and deep.
But in truth, the grip of sorrow cut his chest too, and he still hoped it was some sort of misunderstanding. Nobody had ever provoked and angered him as much as Wickham, but his death was a shocking occurrence which he had never wanted to hear of or indeed wished for.
“Darcy, what should we do? I do not know what is required in such cases.”
He turned to see Bingley at his side, looking to him for answers.
“I do not know. You cannot demand that people leave, but I doubt anyone is in any disposition for entertainment.”
“I shall ask for more drink and food to be brought out… I do not know what else to do,” Bingley repeated.
A thought crossed Darcy’s mind and he followed it without much consideration.
“Bingley, we should delay our departure tomorrow. We cannot pretend all is well and proceed with our plans. I would like to see how this situation progresses.”
“Yes, of course, you are right. I shall inform my sisters right away.”
“They may leave if they wish, there is not much for them here. It is probably better if they do. Indeed, you may leave too if your business requires your presence. But I would rather remain for a while if you do not oppose it.”
“Darcy, how could I oppose it? Consider Netherfield as your house too — you may stay or leave whenever you please. But I shall certainly stay with you until this terrible affair is resolved.”
“Good,” Darcy said absently, suddenly more aware of his wounded hand than before.
***
Despite the universal reaction of shock and grief among the guests, the gathering at Netherfield lasted almost until dawn. There was no more music or dancing, but a rich supper was served, accompanied by drinks, animated conversation, and much speculation.
Bingley’s sisters heartily rejected the idea of delaying their return to London. They refused to stay but also to leave their brother there, and a heated argument started between the three of them until Bingley ended it by stepping away from them.
Bingley approached the Bennets several times, and, at the supper table, Jane sat next to him. As troubled as he was, he still did not neglect her, and his attention to her at such a distressing time was a clear proof of his feelings, which only annoyed his sisters more.
Darcy kept his distance from everyone; he ate nothing, drank a few glasses of wine, and sat in a corner even during supper — his stance forbidding and contrary, as though he did not wish to be there but neither could he make himself retire.
Eventually, the party came to an end. A first group of guests took their farewell, and soon, others followed. The Bennets remained among the last, and Bingley personally escorted them to the carriage and informed them about his and Darcy’s change of travelling plans due to the tragic circumstances.
The news of Mr Bingley remaining at Netherfield was sweet palliation for Jane’s heart and deep relief for Mrs Bennet, who felt so happy that she almost forgot the sad event that had caused it.
Of Mr Darcy’s remaining at Netherfield, there was no mention among the Bennets, and indeed not one of them did care — except for Elizabeth, whose conflicting disturbance grew and deepened with every reflection centred upon him.