Chapter 12
Twelve
The following morning, Fitzwilliam laid the list of suspects before Darcy, who stared at it with furrowed brows.
"Seven people?" Darcy protested, his voice edged with impatience. "This is hardly narrowing it down enough."
Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair with an air of patience that Darcy, at that moment, found somewhat irksome.
"Yes. Seven. That’s the best I could manage after eliminating those who are too old, too young, or too indisposed to carry out such a deed.
And you must understand, Darcy, that we’re speaking of a county that boasts over eight hundred people.
Narrowing it to seven is, at this stage, quite a feat. "
Darcy glanced over the list again, his eyes narrowing, a brooding silence falling between them. "It’s Wickham," Darcy said, his voice quiet but firm. "I’m sure of it."
"I’m not one to argue with you," Fitzwilliam replied, his tone nonchalant but serious. "But we can’t act on mere suspicion. We need proof. We can’t simply walk up to him and demand answers. And besides," he added, lifting his eyes to meet Darcy’s, "should you be mistaken—"
"I’m not mistaken," Darcy interrupted, his tone sharper now.
Fitzwilliam raised a brow, as though Darcy’s certainty could not sway him.
"Should you be mistaken, it could be any one of the other six people, or it could be someone else entirely. We must begin with this list, Darcy. If we find evidence, we will eliminate them one by one and proceed. But without proof, we’re just guessing. "
Darcy leaned back in his chair, a hand rubbing his temple. "Other five people. Mr Samuel Reeds doesn’t belong on this list."
“Why do you say that?”
Darcy’s brow furrowed deeper, his frustration evident as he shook his head.
“You don’t understand. He couldn’t have targeted me.
I have only met the man personally on two occasions.
The first was when he came with Mr Jones, the apothecary, on Bingley’s request to investigate the cause of Thomas Granger’s death.
The second was when he delivered my draught. ”
Fitzwilliam regarded him, unblinking. "So?"
"So," Darcy replied, his tone firm, "he harbours no ill feelings towards me. He isn’t the killer. If he was, he would have poisoned the draught and ended me once and for all."
Fitzwilliam thought this over, his lips pressed in contemplation. Finally, he spoke. "Bingley and his sisters saw him come here?"
"Yes," Darcy answered, though his certainty seemed less sure now.
"Then," Fitzwilliam continued, "should he be the killer, he would not have poisoned you then. People saw who brought the draught, Darcy. They would have pointed him out."
Darcy sat back, taken aback by this simple, yet logical observation. His resolve faltered for a moment, but he shook his head again, more to himself than to Fitzwilliam. "He is not the killer."
"Relax, Darcy," Fitzwilliam said, placing a hand on his cousin's shoulder, trying to calm him.
"Let me do as you asked me. I have condemned no one on that list yet. I have no proof against anyone there. But we will find the killer, and if it is not the apothecary’s assistant, then he will be free to go. "
Darcy exhaled a long breath and slumped into a nearby chair, his face drawn with fatigue.
"You should see your face," Fitzwilliam teased, though there was little humour in his voice. "I wonder what Georgiana would say if she saw you like this."
Darcy’s shoulders slumped even further. His sister had gone through a lot already. First was their parents’ death, then an incident too shameful, Darcy forced himself not to even think of it. To imagine her seeing him in this mood was not something he could allow either.
"I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. If a killer is targeting me, I wouldn’t want her near me. Who knows what might happen next? If this person is willing to harm those close to me..." His voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
Fitzwilliam’s expression softened, his lips curving into a slight, teasing smile. “Yet,” he remarked, with a lift of his brow, “you seem perfectly fine with me being around.”
"You’re an officer, Richard," Darcy replied.
"You’re trained for this. You can take care of yourself.
" He paused, then added more urgently, "Please, speak to Colonel Forster.
Bingley has hired more men to watch the house, but having some militia on hand would be a great help.
I owe it to the people I care about to keep them safe.
Bingley and his family are at risk as well. "
Fitzwilliam nodded, his expression now serious. "I’ll see what I can do."
The two men fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation pressing heavily upon them. Darcy looked at the list again, his mind still swirling with unanswered questions.
"So what next?" he asked, his voice tight with frustration.
Fitzwilliam met his gaze with a steady smile.
"We cannot call these men in to ask questions.
Not yet, at least. If the killer is among them, he will only deny it and he will get more careful.
We do not want that. More importantly, it may be mere coincidence.
One person may have killed Mr Edwin Harper, and another, with a grudge against Thomas Granger, might have capitalized on the suspicion that fell on you to execute that murder as well. "
Darcy’s brow furrowed. "That would make two separate killers."
"Yes," Fitzwilliam agreed. "It’s a possibility. I suspect if the there are two killers, then the second person might be someone close to Netherfield. A member of the household, most likely a servant. I’ve spoken to all the staff, but I intend to speak with them again.
I want to see if their stories have changed. "
"And then what do we do?" Darcy asked, his impatience clear.
Fitzwilliam smiled, his expression confident. "When is the next ball in Meryton?"
***
Two mornings after his proposal to Charlotte, Mr Collins departed from Longbourn with all the pomp and circumstance of a man engaged in a most important errand.
His manner was as deliberate and ceremonious as ever, for he was bound for Kent, there to make preparations for his imminent marriage.
He spoke of obtaining a special license, eager to hasten the ceremony, as though his very livelihood depended upon its swift completion.
He also declared his intention to inform his esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of his good fortune in securing a wife, and to request her most gracious consent and blessing upon the union.
As Mr Collins drove off, the household fell into an awkward silence, which was soon filled by Mrs. Bennet's persistent complaints.
She harangued Elizabeth without mercy, lamenting her daughter's refusal to accept such a suitor, so clearly devoted and of such an advantageous position.
"You will never find a husband with such an attitude, Lizzy!
" Mrs. Bennet declared, as though it were a tragic certainty.
"You must learn to appreciate the kindness of men like Mr Collins.
You are far too particular, too picky! And now look what you've done—he's gone off to Kent and engaged to your best friend.
You, my dear, may never have another chance at such a match. "
Elizabeth was not the least bit perturbed by her mother's tirade.
She had grown accustomed to these criticisms, and the sting had long since dulled.
Her thoughts were elsewhere, and the complaints of her mother seemed distant, almost inconsequential.
She had resolved, in her heart, that Mr Collins was a man she could never marry, regardless of his devotion or his connections.
She felt no regret at having rejected him, nor did she feel any inclination to entertain the idea of a match so impractical.
In fact, Elizabeth was no longer preoccupied with matters of marriage—not for herself, at least. Her mind had turned to matters far more pressing. Mr Darcy. She had sworn to find proof of his involvement in the deaths that had plagued the village, and now, she had devised a plan.
Sir William Lucas was to host a ball in two days' time, and Elizabeth, sensing an opportunity, made up her mind. The ball would be the perfect occasion to observe Mr Darcy more closely and, with any luck, it was there that she could hatch her plan.