Chapter 19 #2
Mr. Darcy sat beside Elizabeth. “I have never given her cause to entertain expectations.”
“I know.” How or why, Elizabeth could not explain, but she knew Mr. Darcy spoke honestly as certainly as she favored signing the letter “L.”
But dwelling on such thoughts only led to frustration. She knew that, too. Returning to her preferred premeditated distraction, she added, “Cutting an axle seems far-fetched for Miss Bingley. I would sooner imagine her using a poison rather than exerting herself physically.”
Mr. Darcy rubbed his chin. “I can ask the servants at Netherfield Park if any of them saw her leave the house the morning of the wedding.”
“Perfect.”
His chest heaved up and down; his voice carried a tinge of resignation. “Who else is on your list of suspects?”
He did not agree with her, but he consented to help her. Another point in Mr. Darcy’s favor, thought Elizabeth. She said, “As much as I hate to say it, we cannot dismiss your aunt entirely.”
“She did not arrive until after your accident.”
“True. However, could her lateness have been an act?”
“Lady Catherine is many things, but she is not a liar.”
Elizabeth chewed the inside of her cheek. She had been right to worry about his reaction.
He continued, “Speaking practically, I do not believe my aunt strong enough to cut hard wood with a saw.”
Elizabeth had considered that. “What about her daughter?”
“Anne?”
“I do not know much of her character. Might she have assisted her mother?”
Mr. Darcy bunched his lips together and shifted his weight on the couch, away from her, Elizabeth noted. “My cousin is quiet, and when my aunt is present, she is known to fall completely silent for extended lengths of time.”
“Would she do as Lady Catherine bid?”
“She usually does.”
How sad. Elizabeth could not imagine living her entire life always being imposed upon.
More out of pity for Miss de Bourgh than lack of suspicion, Elizabeth moved on.
“I agree your aunt is too feeble to have cut the axle herself, and I do not know that Miss de Bourgh would be of much assistance either. What about a third party? Is there anyone your aunt might have requested to perform such a service?”
“You are determined to cast the blame on her?”
“Not at all. I merely wish to discuss the possibilities. All of the possibilities. And you must admit, your aunt does not approve of me, which makes her suspect.”
He frowned. “My aunt is opinionated and set in her ways, but she is not truly devious.”
Elizabeth would have to take his word for it … unless the evidence proved otherwise. She possessed a distinct impression of Lady Catherine’s rudeness, but she could not recall her basis for such a belief.
“Very well,” Elizabeth conceded. “Who does that leave, then?”
A tap on the door interrupted their conversation, and the announcement of Mr. Collins’ arrival effectively ended their debate of suspects.
Mr. Darcy grimaced. Elizabeth would have done the same had his reaction not given rise to her humor.
Mr. Collins entered the room with a proprietary air, his bow deepening when he saw Mr. Darcy.
“My dear Cousin Elizabeth, I took it upon myself to ensure your health before returning to Hunsford. Mrs. Collins would wish for me to ensure the welfare of her closest friend, as would my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who condescended to inquire of your health to me only earlier this morning.”
Elizabeth cut through the excessive fluff and pomp to extract the only worthwhile bit. “It is your aim to depart today?” she asked.
He bowed, taking the seat Mama must have recently vacated. “So long as your health has not suffered from the blow you suffered, I had hoped to return to Hunsford today.”
“I daresay my memories will return soon enough without inconveniencing you, Mr. Collins.”
His eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply through his nose. “You do not recall—” His gaze bounced to Mr. Darcy and back to her. Clearing his throat, he said, “—your betrothed?”
“Not yet, but it is only a matter of time,” she said with a great deal too much cheer.
Mr. Collins extracted a handkerchief to dab at his face. “It is with immense sympathy I hear your bad news, Cousin.”
He did not sound sympathetic. Just uncomfortable.
“Mrs. Collins will be greatly distressed,” he added, returning the square to his pocket.
“Why did you come to the wedding?” Mr. Darcy asked.
Great question.
Elizabeth watched Mr. Collins. His face colored raspberry red. “Mrs. Collins had wished to attend the wedding, but her condition was too delicate to permit travel. She has been quite ill of late.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Elizabeth said, truly sorry for her friend. She had hinted that she was in the family way in her last letter.
Mr. Collins nodded. “Lady Lucas insisted I retrieve a mixture of herbs she assures me will ease Mrs. Collins’ malaise.”
“Then, you must make haste, Mr. Collins, and return to her without delay,” Elizabeth implored. She could not imagine a fate worse than a lifetime with Mr. Collins, but to suffer sickness to bring his offspring into the world besides was truly beyond the pale. Poor Charlotte.
Looking down at his boots, Mr. Collins said, “I would only add to her distress with the news of…” He looked up at Elizabeth and paled. “…recent events.”
Mr. Darcy said, “That is what we are attempting to discern, Mr. Collins. We have had some unexpected guests arrive, not all of whom hold Elizabeth’s welfare in high regard.”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. Did Mr. Darcy really suspect her bumbling cousin of sabotaging the carriage he would eventually inherit? Or was this retaliation for her questions about his aunt?
Clasping his damp linen in his thick hands, Mr. Collins said, “I take my duty toward my family seriously, Mr. Darcy, especially where it pleases my wife.”
“At the risk of displeasing Lady Catherine?” Darcy scoffed.
Mr. Collins angled his head to the side. “I had not expected to see Her Ladyship at your wedding. I was as surprised to see her as I was to see Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth sat taller in her chair. “Mr. Wickham, you say?”
Mr. Darcy met her eye, equally concerned.
“When was this?” she asked.
“I hardly think ... that is, I would have thought your memory—” Mr. Collins bumbled.
She simplified her question. “When did you see Mr. Wickham?”
“Yesterday, after I returned to Lucas Lodge to write a letter to Mrs. Collins, I walked to Meryton to see if Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh were well-settled at the inn. After ensuring their welfare, I posted my letter. That was when I saw him crossing a field.”
Elizabeth met Mr. Darcy’s shocked look. That was hours after Lydia had said Wickham had departed for his regiment.
What had he been doing tarrying about? Elizabeth added his name to the list of suspects, though she could not fathom why Wickham would interfere with their wedding when he stood to gain from the connection.
Was Wickham the sort of man to injure another? Elizabeth had always considered him an opportunist, a lazy man lacking initiative and expecting a fortune. He would place himself advantageously to benefit from an accident, but she doubted he would provoke one.
But she could be wrong.
Mr. Collins looked between them, confused.
Mr. Darcy explained, “If Mr. Wickham is still in the village, he is likely to be the one responsible for Elizabeth’s current state of mind.”
The clergyman’s mouth opened and closed several times before he produced any words. “Was the incident not an accident?”
“It was a deliberate, calculated act of sabotage, and whoever caused it will face the consequences when I bring them to justice for attempted murder.” Darcy’s tone was hard.
Nothing in his manner suggested exaggeration.
But … murder? Was he serious? Sure, her father had suggested the same, but Elizabeth could think of dozens of other ways to more accurately and effectively end another’s life.
Not that she would enumerate on those now.
“Murder?” Mr. Collins wheezed.
Mr. Darcy must have read her thoughts. Turning to her, he asked, “Would you trust your sister’s life, and that of her unborn child, with a man capable of cutting a carriage’s axle for the sole purpose of crippling the conveyance and harming those inside?”
“But I did not die! I may not even have been the target of the attack!”
Mr. Darcy leveled his gaze at her. “I would prevent anyone from hurting you. I will protect you, and I will make it known to anyone who attempts to harm the woman I love that they will pay dearly for their stupidity.”
“While I appreciate your protection, do you not think you might be overreacting?”
Mr. Collins rose from his squeaky chair, looking positively green. “I must return to Her Ladyship. I must warn her. This is dreadful.”
Mr. Darcy snapped, “If you truly wish to be helpful, convince her to return to Rosings.”
More to make a point of voicing her opinion than in slandering the esteemed lady’s name, Elizabeth said, “Maybe it is for the best that Her Ladyship remains nearby. I do not believe her evil, only sorely entitled. She might know something.”
Mr. Darcy did not look happy, but neither did he contradict Elizabeth.
Mr. Collins stumbled over his own chair, departing from the room with exceptional expeditiousness.