Chapter Four
Chaos erupted in the parlor. Elizabeth held up her hand to shield the flickering flame from the rainy wind that blew in the open window, while Mr. Darcy hastened to latch the window closed again.
When he had done this, Elizabeth stepped in a wide arc around the prone form of Captain Tilney to light some of the other candles.
She was trembling so much that Emma came to her aid.
“I think his neck is broken,” Mr. Rushworth observed.
“We can see that,” Mr. Tilney cried, tears in his eyes. “But everybody stay where you are. Who was near Fred?”
A chorus of accusations followed, as they all cried out the names of those who had been standing close to Fred before the light went out, and several of them insisted they had felt their companions moving about.
Most noticeably, Mrs. Clay and Mrs. Younge had fled the room. “Well, there you have it,” Lady Susan said, gesturing at the open doorway they had escaped through.
“No, it was not them,” Emma said. “I heard them whispering, just before the window blew open. Mrs. Younge said that she did not want to be made to expose the secrets of others for fear of meeting the same fate as the general, and Mrs. Clay agreed.”
“Then they have probably fled for their own safety, and I cannot blame them for it,” Mr. Tilney said, still staring aghast at his brother’s lifeless form.
“You warned your brother against airing everyone’s secrets,” Mr. Parker observed. “It is fortunate you are not aware of them, or not all of them, anyhow, else you might meet the same fate.”
“Are you threatening him, sir?” Lady Susan said, mentioning that gentleman’s proximity to the captain minutes earlier.
“I am certainly not, and I begin to think all your barbs must be deflection, madam.”
“Well, here is another – I think it very odd that Mr. Tilney should warn his brother of danger just moments before he was killed.”
Harriet swooned, and Lady Allen cradled her on the sofa, while Emma rushed to her friend’s side and fanned her face.
Elizabeth began to feel similarly overcome, and Mr. Darcy gestured to the nearby sofa.
She sank down in a daze, her eyes fixed on Sir Edward, if only to avoid the sight of the dead man.
Sir Edward smiled sadly at Elizabeth, but she was glad that he did not approach her. She nestled herself into the sofa, and Mr. Darcy sat down beside her, silently assessing the situation.
“We must find a way to go for the magistrate,” Mr. Rushworth said.
“You are perfectly welcome to swim the freezing moat,” Sir Walter drawled.
“We must find the key,” Cathy cried, latching onto Mr. Tilney in her enthusiasm.
“He might have hidden it anywhere, the shifty bastard,” Mr. Crawford huffed.
“Then we shall have to find it,” Emma said.
“And then what?” Mr. Crawford scowled and shook his head. “Let the murderer go free?”
After a great deal of clamorous bickering, half the party wished to locate the key that would allow them to lower the drawbridge, while the other half of them felt sure that wishing to make such a hasty escape was surely a sign of guilt.
Mr. Tilney and Mr. Crawford were nearly at the point of fisticuffs after the dispute, and though some of the other gentlemen moved to restrain them as their argument intensified, Mr. Tilney would have the last word.
“If you were wondering how your secret came to the general, Bertram, look no further than your sister’s friend. Sorry, I mean, your family’s friend.”
Mr. Bertram released his grip on Mr. Crawford’s shoulder, and the short, red-faced man took a swing that Mr. Tilney easily side-stepped.
“My poor brother was quite adept at a card table, was he not, Crawford? And when you could not pay what you owed, you agreed on a different form of currency to satisfy your debt… the secrets of your friends.”
Mrs. Rushworth gasped and her husband grumbled, and Mr. Bertram staggered back with his hand in his heart as if he had been shot. “You, Henry?”
Mr. Crawford shook his head. “I had little choice; he threatened to ruin my sister Mary.”
“Then I suppose we have found our culprit,” Lady Susan said, seeming to relish stirring the pot in such a way. “Surely now, Mrs. Rushworth, you will not insist that he was with you in the library.”
The haughty woman looked between her brother and the man Elizabeth could easily suppose to be her lover.
“Certainly he was,” she said, holding her chin high.
“And he was standing at my side when the candles blew out. You may feel betrayed by him, Tom, but I know he is innocent, and I will not say otherwise out of petty spite. If I am to resent anybody, I should think it would be my brother, for damaging our family’s holdings. The truth would kill poor Papa!”
“Now, Maria,” Mr. Rushworth tutted, looking uncomfortably between his wife and their companions.
Mr. Bertram glowered at them, then moved to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He raised his glass aloft. “A toast to those of you who have chosen to keep your secrets to yourselves. I salute your good sense and selfishness.”
“Now, just a minute,” Mr. Darcy said, standing indignantly. “Some of us have others to protect, rather than our own folly.”
“Folly? Now see here,” Sir Edward cried, wagging an angry finger at Mr. Darcy as he moved protectively closer to Lady Allen.
Elizabeth glared at her uncle. “What else would you call it, sir? Circumspect prudence does not get one blackmailed.”
“How superior you are, for a tradesman’s by-blow, Miss Bennet, if we can still call you that,” Miss Denham purred. “But now you have a secret as much as the rest of us, and are in no position to judge.”
“How dare you speak to Miss Bennet in such a way,” Mr. Darcy said sternly, while Sir Edward made a feebler protest.
“And yet I keep no secrets from anybody in this room,” Elizabeth retorted. “Should you like to enjoy such honesty, Miss Denham?”
That lady looked thoroughly chastened, though her face set in a wrathful grimace.
Emma brought her thumb and forefinger to her lips and let out a whistle, though she did not appear entirely prepared for everyone’s attention to instantly fix upon her.
“There is a dead man on the floor,” she said with a gesture at the captain.
“Ought we cover him up?” Mr. Rushworth wore a squeamish expression as he glanced down at the body.
“I think we ought to search him for the key,” Sir Walter suggested. “We should feel awfully foolish if we searched the house for that object of our salvation, and he had it on his person all the while.”
Mr. Tilney nodded wearily. “I suppose I ought to do it, and then, yes, we shall cover him. Ladies, perhaps you will not wish to observe.”
A few of the gentlemen drew closer around Mr. Tilney as he set about searching his brother’s person for the key, but Mr. Darcy resumed his seat beside Elizabeth.
Again he asked, “Can I get you anything, Miss Bennet? A drink to fortify yourself, or perhaps throw in your uncle’s face?
” He smiled as this coaxed a little laugh from her.
“I hardly think you are in any position to provide what I really require, which is a hasty return to Longbourn,” she sighed. “But in lieu of that, I suppose I shall accept a little brandy.”
While Mr. Darcy hastened to pour her a drink and one for himself, Cathy moved that way and took his place on the sofa. “Oh, Lizzy, how utterly horrid! I am terribly afraid everybody shall blame poor Mr. Tilney.”
“They would not be without reason if they did,” Elizabeth said, hating to cause her friend – her sister – such pain. “It might be anybody.”
“Well, we know it is not you or Mr. Darcy, for you were out of the room when the captain was attacked, and I hardly think it likely that there should be two murderers. It must have been the same person who killed the general and Mr. Whitman.”
“Wickham,” Mr. Darcy corrected her as he returned with two glasses of brandy. He handed one to Elizabeth, and Cathy took the other. Mr. Darcy remained standing, looking a little irritated that his seat and his drink had been usurped.
Elizabeth looked up at him with sudden apprehension. Surely Cathy was right to suggest that all three victims had the same killer, and yet she knew how Mr. Darcy had despised and degraded his erstwhile friend. She sipped at the brandy, avoiding his gaze.
“I have been saying that you and Lizzy are the only two people who are obviously innocent,” Cathy said to Mr. Darcy. “You were out of the room, when….”
“And I would not have harmed Mr. Wickham for all the world,” Elizabeth said. “Others have done him enough harm, poor man.”
Mr. Darcy looked pained. “Surely his decision to work in whatever dubious capacity with the general was his undoing; one’s decisions are often the cause of one’s tribulations, real or imagined.”
Elizabeth peered up at him with all the anger and frustration she felt at their situation, all of her high emotion in one scathing glare. “Yes, I supposed he must have imagined a very different life for himself.”
“And you have always taken an eager interest in what he might have imagined,” Mr. Darcy said. He opened his mouth as if he would say more, and then abruptly stalked away.
“Lizzy,” Cathy cried. “I could not be as bold as you for all the world, even if we are sisters.”