Chapter Nine
There was a moment of absolute silence, and then the room erupted.
Nearly everyone seated near Mr. Rushworth had moved away from him as he careened about, and those still in their chairs sat stunned and eerily still until Mrs. Rushworth began shrieking, and then they were all talking, shouting, and crying at once.
Elizabeth wept into Mr. Darcy’s chest and he comforted her in his arms just as he had done the night before.
This recollection shocked her tears away, and she drew back. “My goodness, we had better not make a thing of it,” she murmured.
He looked perplexed at her. “Are you well?”
She certainly was not. She glanced nervously at her plate of food, partially covered by Mr. Rushworth’s body. Her fork lay askance across the half-eaten flummery, the raspberry sauce soaking ominously into the dead man’s coat. “He was poisoned.”
Elizabeth stared at the plates of food scattered about the table, one hand slowly curling about her throat and the other resting against her stomach. She began to tremble.
Mr. Darcy took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders, before rubbing his hands up and down her shoulders as if to warm her. “You are shivering.”
“We all ate the food,” she muttered, still in a daze from the great shock.
Mr. Darcy went to the fireplace at the back of the room, put a couple more logs onto the fire, and stoked the blaze. When he returned to her side, there were tears in his eyes, and he wore a look of high emotion. “Do you feel any… are you well? Are you safe?”
Others had begun to come to the same conclusions, at much greater volume. As Mr. Bertram comforted his shrieking, weeping sister, the rest of their party began to hurl accusations at her.
Lady Susan eyed the table of food suspiciously. “Have you poisoned all of us, Mrs. Rushworth? Or merely your husband?”
Mrs. Rushworth ceased her weeping long enough to look up with alarm, though she still clung to her brother. “What?”
“Let us not presume she has done this,” Miss Denham drawled. “It might have been her lover, Mr. Crawford.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Parker agreed. “They both have every reason to wish him out of the way. You might have been as merciful toward him as you were to the others, at least.”
“The others,” Mrs. Rushworth cried. “You think I am the murderer? And a while ago it was Mr. Tilney! Well, I begin to see his point about blaming the most obvious amongst us! Who would really be so bold?”
Still trembling, Elizabeth stepped forward, and Mr. Darcy moved with her, though she was only peripherally aware of his hand on her shoulder.
“I cannot imagine Mrs. Rushworth shooting the general, or stabbing Mr. Wickham, and I certainly do not believe her physically capable of strangling the captain.”
Mrs. Rushworth smiled gratefully at Elizabeth, who looked away sharply. She still distrusted the woman, and hardly knew what had compelled her to speak on her behalf. “Mr. Crawford might have done it,” she said weakly. It was possible, and yet she still had some doubts.
Mr. Bertram was nearly purple with rage. “How dare you all! My sister is clearly aggrieved by this; she never pretended it was a love match, but most unions are not. I cannot approve of mercenary marriages, but I hardly think she would resort to such means to be free of him.”
“They are having an affair, you sanctimonious blockhead,” Miss Denham cried. “She came to me this afternoon and asked me to help her conceal it, so that she could carry on with him at night while we are all asleep in our beds, or laying awake for fear we shall be next to be murdered!”
Mrs. Rushworth gave a cry of rage at this, and Mr. Crawford rushed to her side, but Mr. Bertram stepped forward and cuffed the man. “I have owed you that for some time now.”
Mr. Crawford held up his hand, beseeching his friend. “Tom, I….”
“You have made a sham of my sister’s marriage, and I turned a blind eye to it, but I suppose you think now that it is out in the open, you can flaunt all decency, and consort together as the bodies pile up around us?
You disgust me.” Mr. Bertram spat at the man, and held his sister firmly at his side.
“I do not wish to think my sister a murderess, but I can certainly believe it of you, Henry. You sold out my secrets and theirs to the general, and undoubtedly wished to be free of him, to be out from under the captain’s thumb.
I think you killed them all,” Mr. Bertram went on, taking several slow steps forward, jabbing Mr. Crawford in the chest and obliging the man to make a shambling backward retreat.
Mrs. Rushworth staggered backward in surprise, and Sir Walter braced her, patting her shoulder and muttering gallantries.
She gaped at his absurdity for a moment before moving away.
She shoved her brother aside before clinging to Mr. Crawford and weeping.
“It was not you, I know it was not you!” Elizabeth’s stomach twisted at the agony in the woman’s voice, though Miss Denham and Lady Susan mocked the lady.
“You are fit for the stage, Mrs. Rushworth,” Emma hissed.
Sir Edward cleared his throat and looked at Elizabeth. “My dear, I think you ought to tell everybody about your conversation with Mrs. Rushworth today. It was rather like the one she seems to have had with Miss Denham.”
Mrs. Rushworth looked up at Elizabeth. “Tell them all of it.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Mrs. Rushworth had a turn of dizziness, and I sat with her in the library,” Elizabeth said, hardly knowing why she began with a lie.
“She confided that she had become betrothed to Mr. Rushworth before meeting Mr. Crawford, and afterward regretted her choice, though her brother’s actions in Antigua forced her to keep the engagement when she wished to break it.
While we were conversing, we heard a strange noise, and discovered another secret passageway.
We heard footsteps retreating; someone had been in there, and now I wonder if perhaps somebody else heard her story and saw a chance to frame her. ”
Lady Susan shook her head, as if dismissing the prattle of a nonsensical child. “You have been duped by a great actress, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but Mr. Darcy spoke first. “I believe Miss Bennet is a woman of incomparable discernment. She has given us no reason to distrust her judgement, least of all in this matter. She told me that when she spoke to Mrs. Rushworth, she could sense the lady’s manners were rehearsed.
She ought to know the difference now, if this is a performance. ”
He gestured at Mrs. Rushworth, whose face was streaked with tears as she trembled at Mr. Crawford’s side. The woman nodded gratefully.
Elizabeth looked up at Mr. Darcy with a warm smile, and felt herself shift toward him, so close their hands nearly touched. She offered Mrs. Rushworth a tight smile.
“But there was nobody,” Sir Edward interjected. “The two of you went through the passage, in pursuit of whoever you thought you had heard, but the passage came out in the room next to where we were searching, and we did not see or hear anybody else come out of it.”
“We hardly knew to look for anyone,” Mr. Darcy said.
“We did not see or hear anybody run out of that room, but they might have crept away stealthily, or they might not have left the room at all. They might have hidden under the bed or behind the curtains, and we would hardly have noticed. We left the room a few minutes later; they could have waited for us to move along and then crept out.”
“He is right,” Elizabeth said; now it was her turn to support Mr. Darcy, and his hand gently brushed against her in response.
“It hardly seems as if we can prove anything,” Emma huffed. “I do not know what to think!”
“I am surprised you should say so,” Lady Susan chided her.
“I know exactly what to think. Nobody else has dropped dead of poison, so it cannot have been the food. Perhaps Mr. Rushworth was poisoned before coming into dinner, and who could have had access to him, to feeding him some tainted drink or the like? His wife, that is who!”
“A very good point,” Sir Walter agreed with a flirtatious leer. “But let us not forget Tilney! He is master of the castle and might have sent a servant in to tamper with Rushworth's brandy.”
“Rushworth does not often drink,” Mr. Bertram said. “But I believe my sister does, and she is perfectly well.”
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Oh, can we please take him away?”
Mr. Tilney gave a solemn nod. “Yes, I daresay we ought to move him.”
Lady Susan smirked at him. “What, now that the blame has shifted to you? Mrs. Clay and Mrs. Younge are notably absent, and did you not come in and meddle with all the place cards before the meal?”
He held up his hands defensively. “I merely wished to mix us all up, so that we are talking to different people than those we have kept close to these three days. And what could I have done in here that would cause only Mr. Rushworth to be poisoned?”
“You could have put it in his wine glass before it was filled, or on his plate or silverware, or something like that,” she said.
“What a fascinating turn of mind you have,” Mr. Parker retorted. “I would never have imagined such an idea, Lady Susan.”
Sir Walter turned around to gaze at his countenance in the mirror, and adjusted it, for it had hung crooked since Mrs. Rushworth knocked it askance.
He gave Lady Susan a dashing smile. “While that certainly is clever of you, I can at least agree with Tilney that we ought to clear away that horrid sight! Most indecorous. It is bad enough that nobody has been sitting with the bodies. We ought to tidy him up and move him away someplace. I am astonished at the fortitude of you ladies for not swooning at such a sight!”
“Ah, not so hasty,” Lady Susan said, causing the man to look rather affronted that she had resisted his charms. “You forget that Mrs. Rushworth still has the keys we gave her this morning. I cannot think it wise to allow her to keep them.”