CHAPTER FOUR
When the gentlemen arrived back at the Bingley residence in Grosvenor Street in London the following afternoon, they were dismayed to discover that their return was to be marred by some shocking news out of the British Morning Post. Bingley had come directly to Meryton from the north, where he had been tending to business affairs. It can be surmised, then, that he was somewhat disenchanted by the sullen greeting from his sisters, whom he had not seen in more than a fortnight. Darcy, on the other hand, had met Bingley in Hertfordshire from London, hence the dearth of overwhelming affection in the greeting of Caroline Bingley and Louisa, Mrs. Hurst, did not slight him in the least. In fact, he quite veritably preferred it.
“Would you have preferred if I stayed in Derbyshire?” Bingley appealed.
“No, of course not, Brother,” Caroline answered solemnly. “Have you not heard the news?”
“Have you not heard that I have leased a country home?” Bingley petitioned.
“Yes, and a very fine home, we envisage it must be,” Louisa answered. “But you see, Charles, we have all been dreadfully affected by such horrid news from Derbyshire.”
“ Derbyshire?” Darcy asked, suddenly drawn into the conversation by the mention of his home county. “What’s happened in Derbyshire?”
“Sir Andrew Fraser is dead,” Caroline stated flatly.
“Andrew Fraser?” Darcy repeated.
“Three nights past,” Louisa said. “In his bed.”
“How terrible,” Bingley remarked. “I had not known he was in ill health.”
“He most certainly was not,” Mr. Hurst suddenly spoke from the sofa. “Fraser was vigorous and in fine health!”
“Yes, I now remember he was an acquaintance of yours. I’m terribly sorry,” said Mr. Darcy.
“He was a friend, and a damned fine one at that,” Mr. Hurst slurred, his words dangling somewhere between emotion and inebriation. “I hunted partridge with him not a month ago.” Louisa gently patted her husband’s knee.
“Have they published the cause of death?” asked Darcy.
“He did not die , Mr. Darcy,” Caroline answered.
“Pardon?”
“He was murdered .”
“Murdered?” Darcy echoed.
“Yes— butchered . And in his own bed, in the dark of the night.”
“Unfathomable.”
“Why do you say the word butchered ?” Bingley asked.
“That is what the papers have called him, the murderer—Derbyshire’s Nobleman Butcher,” replied Louisa.
“There is no real flow to it… but still, rather grim,” remarked Bingley, somewhat under his breath.
“Quite,” Mr. Hurst blurted.
“Have they any idea as to the butch—err, perpetrator? ” Bingley inquired abruptly.
“Not in the least,” said Louisa. “Supposedly a prized horse was stolen, presumably by the murderer, and then returned the next morning.”
“Shocking,” Bingley replied.
“ Abominable ,” remarked Mr. Hurst.
“And the paper does not mention any knowledge or theories as to who might have committed such a fiendish act?” asked Darcy.
“Only to say that all members of the household have been eliminated from suspicion,” replied Caroline.
“Naturally, that would be the first thought, would it not?” Bingley posited. “Such a heinous act must have been realized by a personal connection, no?”
“Or a draw-latch rum-padder who happened upon the house,” Darcy postulated.
“Oh Mr. Darcy , your expressions! You have been in town too long,” Louisa retorted with a subdued chortle, immediately looking toward her mourning husband to be sure she had not offended him.
“Simply terrifying,” answered Caroline. “To think, any passing highwayman with murder on his mind, breaking into the bedrooms of noblemen, and—”
“Calm yourself, Caroline,” Bingley broke in. “If it were a highwayman he would have simply poached the horse. No, there must have been more personal reasons for such an act.”
“Were you acquainted with him, Charles?” Caroline asked.
Bingley looked up suddenly and looked as if he’d swallowed a mouse. “With whom? Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“You seem to have such a strong inclination toward the slayer’s motivation,” she answered teasingly. “And, if I’m not mistaken, you were present in the county at the time of the act.”
“Ha!” Bingley laughed suddenly. “I was but twenty—that is to say, I was at least twenty-five miles from Grantley Manor, if that is what you mean to know.”
“No doubt the constable might like to have your expertise on the subject,” she retorted.
“I merely asked about the horse ,” Bingley countered. “If the act in question was a robbery and not a personal vendetta, why would the pirate leave the horse? I am sure it is not anything the constable hasn’t already considered.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
“You are right, Charles,” pronounced Darcy. “It doesn’t make sense—”
“None of it makes sense!” With that outburst Mr. Hurst was up off the settee. He snatched a carafe of wine from the table on his way out of the room and proceeded rather unsteadily and quite nosily, mumbling all the way, up the stairs and out of sight.
“He’s been exceedingly upset,” said Louisa after another moment of reticent quiet. “I’ve never seen him take to drink like this.” Bingley raised a single eyebrow in bewilderment before approaching the table to pour a drink of his own.
“I do think too much grief over someone so barely, if at all, acquainted with us is a fruitless manner in which to conduct ourselves,” Caroline eventually stated.
“Aye,” voiced Louisa. “Especially at a time when we celebrate our dear brother’s establishment of a household.”
“Yes, brother, do tell us all about Netherfield Park!”