Chapter 10
Ten
It had taken Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam four days to reach Netherfield Park after Darcy had sent his urgent missive.
The weather had been disagreeable, and with the demands of the military, his journey had been slower than expected.
Upon his arrival, he exchanged pleasantries with the Bingley household, and after a brief respite, he joined Darcy in the study.
As they settled, Darcy explained in great detail the events of the past month, his interactions with the two men who had met their untimely deaths, and the growing suspicion that haunted him.
Fitzwilliam listened intently, his face growing progressively more serious as his cousin recounted the tale.
When Darcy had finished talking, Richard leaned back in his chair, his hands folded across his chest. For a moment, he said nothing, his brow furrowed in thought.
Darcy did not press him, having long been familiar with his cousin’s habit of remaining silent while he pondered a matter of importance.
After several minutes, Fitzwilliam finally broke the silence, his voice grave.
“I need to admit that these affairs are indeed disturbing,” he began, his gaze unwavering.
“And you are right to have called me. But I assure you, there is no curse. Of that I am certain.” He paused, then added, “However, I cannot deny that there is a killer here. And if these men who have died are those you quarrelled with, then it is plain that you are the target.”
Darcy let out a long breath, rubbing his temple as Richard’s words resonated with the truth he had feared. “Right,” he murmured, agreeing with his cousin’s assessment.
Fitzwilliam nodded, then leaned forward, his tone turning more businesslike.
“To cover all angles, I would like to see the crime scenes for myself. I will also speak with the magistrate and this parish constable you’ve mentioned.
And I will need to see the parish priest or the local doctor—anyone who may have kept a record of deaths. ”
Darcy grimaced, feeling an unpleasant tightness in his chest. “What good will that do?” he asked, though he could see the sense in Richard’s request.
Fitzwilliam sighed, rubbing his face as if weary of the weight of the matter.
“I need to ascertain the number of deaths that have occurred in Meryton since your arrival. It will help us determine whether these deaths are coincidental or part of a larger pattern. If there have been more, then they may be random. If fewer...well, then we are looking at something more sinister.”
“Definitely something more sinister, and like I said, I have a suspect.” Darcy replied, his voice tight. “George Wickham.”
Fitzwilliam grunted in acknowledgment, though he made no comment at first. Darcy’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean by ‘hmmm’?” he asked, frowning. “You’re not doubting Wickham, are you?”
Fitzwilliam chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t say I’m doubting him. But you seem to be remarkably sure about it.”
“I am sure. Who else could have a vendetta against me?” Darcy’s said, his voice laced with frustration. “When I arrived here, there were no deaths connected to me. It wasn’t until that first ball—after we had been here for a week—that the first man died.”
Fitzwilliam’s brow furrowed in thought, and he leaned forward, clearly interested. “You didn’t know Wickham was here before then?”
“No,” Darcy said sharply. “I had no idea he was even in Meryton. The last I heard, he was in London. And then suddenly, he appears here, and people start dying.”
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. “That’s... curious. But what of the balls? Did Wickham attend either of them?”
Darcy frowned as he tried to recollect the events. “No, I don’t believe he was there. I don’t remember seeing him at either ball, though there were militia members at both.”
“Hmmm,” Fitzwilliam said again, clearly lost in thought.
“Richard, what does that ‘hmmm’ mean?” Darcy asked impatiently. “You must tell me what you’re thinking.”
Leaning forward, Fitzwilliam met Darcy’s eyes. “Let us suppose that there is indeed a killer, someone targeting people you’ve argued with. For that to make sense, this killer would have to be close enough to see these quarrels take place. But if Wickham wasn’t at the balls—”
Darcy’s eyes widened as the realization struck him. “Of course! Wickham couldn’t have seen the arguments if he wasn’t present.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression remained thoughtful. “Exactly. But if he has an accomplice—someone in the militia, or perhaps someone else at the ball—then it would be possible for him to know.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment, processing the implication. “That means the suspect pool just expanded.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, his gaze steady. “Yes. If Wickham has help, the killer could be anyone who was at the events. Or, we could be wrong, and it isn’t Wickham at all.”
Darcy’s tone darkened. “It is Wickham. He’s the only one who would have had a reason to target me.”
“And it could also be someone else entirely,” Richard said, his voice low. “Perhaps a maniac who has latched onto you as the object of his fascination. You do stand out in a crowd, Darcy.”
Darcy grimaced at the thought. “I hope it’s not that.”
Fitzwilliam stood up. “I’ll begin by speaking to Colonel Forster.”
“Forster was at the events too. I think he’s a good man, but—”
Fitzwilliam raised a hand to silence him. “I know the Colonel. He’s not our killer. But this is his turf, and respect demands that I inform him of what I’m doing. You said in your letter that you spoke to him.”
“Bingley has a good rapport with the Colonel. We’ve had luncheon with him before. I believe he respects me.”
“If he respects you, as you say, he will want your name cleared.”
Darcy nodded, but still looked troubled. “You won’t mention Wickham to him just yet, will you?”
“No,” Fitzwilliam replied firmly. “I’ll handle that carefully. Colonel Forster is a regiment leader, and he’s protective of his men. However, he is also a man of integrity. If we find evidence, he’ll be the one to lead the arrest.”
Darcy sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. “And the constable? The magistrate?”
Fitzwilliam sat back, considering the matter with his characteristic thoughtfulness.
"I shall need to speak to the magistrate and the parish constable, as you suggested. If they have a list of suspects, I would like to see it. Also, I want to visit the hosts of both balls—though, you didn’t mention who hosted the first. The second you mentioned happened here, so Bingley I suppose? ."
“Yes, Bingley hosted the second ball. The first was a more public affair, a community gathering. However, Sir William Lucas would know who was responsible for that one."
"Right," Fitzwilliam said, settling back into his seat.
"In any case, I will want to know who attended, especially those who were in close proximity to you at both events.
We can eliminate those who couldn't have been involved—such as the elderly, the infirm, and so forth—and then cross-reference the remaining names with those who had the opportunity to be near you during these quarrels. "
Darcy felt the weight of the situation pressing down on him, but a sense of direction was beginning to take form. "You think this will bring us closer to the truth?"
"Precisely," Fitzwilliam answered, his gaze sharp. "If we can narrow the list down, it will give us a clearer suspect pool. We may still be off the mark, but we’ll be one step closer."
Darcy’s eyes darkened, and he set his jaw. "I trust you, Richard. How soon can we begin?"
"First thing tomorrow," Fitzwilliam replied, rising from his seat. "I intend to see Forster first. Being the man in charge of the regiment, it's only right that he should know what we're investigating. I can’t proceed without his support."
Darcy nodded in agreement. "I’ll leave it to you. I’ll follow your lead."
"Good," Fitzwilliam replied with a quiet nod, adjusting his coat as if readying himself for the task ahead. "The sooner we start, the better. At least, before another life is lost."
***
Elizabeth Bennet was scarcely able to rid herself of the astonishment Mr Collins's proposal had caused when another shock was to come—though it was not of the sort she had anticipated.
Three days had passed since she had rejected him with all the firmness her conscience demanded, and, though she had expected him to make some disturbance, he behaved with an air of untroubled composure.
He returned to Longbourn on the very evening of his rejection, appearing as if no affront had been suffered.
Mr Collins, despite the mild disappointment he might have been feeling, said little—too little for her taste—and, when her mother dared to inquire about the matter, he simply remarked, “Cousin Elizabeth has refused my offer, and there is little I can do about it.”
Elizabeth was taken aback by the indifference with which he spoke of his rejection, but she soon discovered that Mr Collins’s stoicism would not last. Over the next two days, he made daily calls to Lucas Lodge, visiting the home of Charlotte Lucas with an energy that seemed to rival his previous attempts at courting Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, though she had not spoken of it to anyone, was struck with the realization that perhaps Mr Collins, rather than being a man of profound self-pity, would direct his affections elsewhere—and with no small success, if Charlotte were to entertain him.