Chapter 1.30 #3
They stopped at another inn to change horses, and again, Mr Bourne gathered information. He confirmed that Lady Catherine had left her own carriage at the inn several days ago and purchased a simpler one that she had taken and returned a few hours earlier.
“This is really a plan born of madness!” said the colonel. “Can you imagine how much she plotted? Father, I believe Darcy’s suggestion of Bedlam is the only acceptable one.
“But…is it certain beyond a doubt that it was Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” the earl asked.
“Her identity is certain, milord: first, because of the carriage and, second, because she entered into a very unpleasant argument with some drunk men who were singing loudly. Lady Catherine—I was told—expressed her disapproval in a very harsh manner and demanded silence. She even attempted to pay them to ‘not hear or see their faces for as long as she was in the inn.’ At the men’s vulgar response, she disclosed her identity and threatened that they would be properly punished. ”
Lord Matlock arranged his gloves nervously. All his attempts to disbelieve her culpability proved to be misplaced.
They resumed the journey at a slow pace due to the bad weather, and an hour and a half later, they reached another inn—just as they entered Kent. There, however, nobody had seen anyone remotely resembling Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who—the owner declared—he knew quite well.
Mr Bourne proposed they rest while he sent his three men and two other servants from the inn to inquire about the houses and taverns in the area. Inside, they ordered food and drinks, waiting impatiently.
“Mr Darcy, forgive my impropriety, but may ask how you discovered the identity of the persons behind this situation? I mean Wickham and Lady Catherine de Bourgh. When we first spoke, you had no clues about who it was, and you did not even mention the presence of a lady. I am just curious. I want to know why my efficiency was not at its best this time.”
“Do not worry, your efficiency was impressive, and you will be paid the entire sum for all the men involved in the search. How did we discover their identity? With the help of an eight-year-old girl. Is that not strange? The children of a servant, whom we brought into the house to offer them shelter, helped us discover the vicious plan against my family—made by someone from inside my family.”
“Darcy…” The earl attempted to censure his words.
“It is the simple truth, Uncle. Let us not discuss it further as I am already very angry.”
One by one, the men sent in quest returned without any news. The last one, however, entered impatiently, clearly distressed.
“Sir, I— You had better come with me this moment. Take your carriage and follow me.”
A quarter of an hour later on the road back towards London on a hidden path, split from the main road and covered by the night and a small hill with trees full of snow, they found a broken carriage that none of them failed to recognise.
They hurried to it. A little further away was the coachman, shot dead.
On the ground near the carriage was Lady Catherine de Bourgh—lifeless, silenced in stillness, her face and body in great disorder, revealing signs of violent abuse.
She wore a brown coat, a brown bonnet with many folds, and a dark green scarf around her neck. Just as Libby had said.
The shock stunned them. Lord Matlock knelt by his sister and gently arranged her clothes. The colonel helped his father put the body in their carriage. Darcy stood back, watching.
Mr Bourne searched the ground carefully, declaring there were footsteps from at least four men. He asked the Earl whether he had found Lady Catherine’s reticule or any other bag, but he received no answer.
“Mr Darcy, we will continue our quest. I trust we will shortly find who has done this. It appears to be a robbery. I wonder how it was possible that her ladyship travelled in the middle of the night with only the coachman as chaperone—even more so that she supposedly carried a large sum of money.”
“Yes…yes…you do that, Mr Bourne,” Darcy said absentmindedly.
Lord Matlock and the colonel laid Lady Catherine on the bench.
The earl turned to Darcy. “All has ended now. We must take her home to Rosings, Nephew. There is nothing more you can do. We must take care of her funeral—and of her name. We cannot allow any details to slip out to the world. She was your mother’s sister. She is your family.”
Darcy was frozen in a silence he could not overcome. He stared at his uncle—whom he heard but barely understood—at his cousin, at the men searching the ground outside, then glanced back at his late aunt, transfigured by death, lying only a few inches away.
“Do what is needed, Uncle. This is truly the end. But I will go home to my wife this very moment. She is my closest family now. She is my life now, and she was almost taken from me. I am going back to her, and I will try to put everything else aside. But I cannot forget nor forgive, at least not for now… Maybe in time… God help us all… I am going home.”
“But Darcy, how? We need your carriage to go to Rosings…”
“Of course you do—use my carriage. Mr Bourne, can you take me back to the inn? I shall find a means of transportation to London.”