Chapter 5
Fitzwilliam Darcy woke with a start and shifted back onto his right side as his left arm flared in pain. Why was his arm hurting so much?
Memory flooded back – of Miss Elizabeth, of Wickham’s head crushed under Phoenix’s powerful hooves.
He found himself breathing rapidly and relaxed back against his pillow.
He despised Wickham’s choices, but it was a tragedy that the bright, clever young man had turned into a seducer and would-be rapist. At least Miss Elizabeth had been saved!
He rested for another few minutes before turning his eyes toward the window.
His bedroom faced west, and he could tell by the light that it would be dusk soon.
He was hungry, and he needed to speak to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley about what had come to pass.
They were planning to leave on the morrow to stop their brother from returning to Netherfield.
It was unlikely that they could convince Bingley to stay in London if Darcy was trapped here at Netherfield.
Nor did Darcy wish for his friend to stay away. He was a strong minded man, a resolute man, but the physical and mental pain of this day made him long for Bingley’s comforting, cheerful presence. In the wake of today’s tragic events, any concerns about Bingley and Miss Bennet seemed minor indeed.
Carefully he sat up, turned to let his legs hang over the side of the bed, and groaned aloud. He was still extremely tired, and his arm protested every time he jostled it.
The door to his sitting room opened, and Percy, his valet, stepped in, his face its usual mask of calm. “Mr. Darcy, may I assist you?”
Darcy blew out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Percy, yes.”
***
Mr. Bennet walked into the drawing room at Longbourn and looked around in relief.
His wife and five daughters were present, which meant he did not need to send a maid to hunt down any of his womenfolk.
Even better, Mr. Collins was not present.
That was peculiar – the man enjoyed hovering over Elizabeth in a thoroughly annoying way – but Bennet wished to speak without being interrupted every fourth word, so he was pleased with his absence.
His eyes fell on his favorite daughter, Elizabeth, who was bent over some needlework. She looked strangely pale, and her father felt an unusual surge of anxiety. He hoped she was not ill. If she was, she would recover. Elizabeth was the strongest, most vigorous of his daughters.
“Mrs. Bennet, daughters,” Mr. Bennet said.
The ladies, noting his serious tone, turned their attention on the master of their house. It was rare for Mr. Bennet to be out of his library before dinner.
Once Mr. Bennet was assured that he had obtained their full attention, he continued, “I fear I have disturbing news. As you know, Mr. Darcy was injured today, but you do not know how. This morning, he had an altercation with Mr. Wickham, a lieutenant in the militia, on the trail along the northern border of Longbourn. In the fray, Mr. Darcy was stabbed, as was his horse, and the lieutenant was killed when the horse trampled him in a frenzy.”
Shocked silence fell for a few seconds and then Lydia, the youngest and loudest of the Bennet girls, screamed, “Mr. Wickham dead! No, it cannot be!”
“Lydia!” her father said sternly. “There is no reason to make such a noise. It is certainly unpleasant and disturbing, but screaming is unnecessary.”
“How can you say that, Father?” Lydia wailed. “Mr. Wickham is such a handsome, kind, charming gentleman. Mr. Darcy murdered him!”
Mr. Bennet frowned reprovingly and said, “Do not say such a thing, Daughter. There is no evidence that Mr. Darcy is at fault in the altercation.”
Kitty, whose cornflower blue eyes were wide in shock, said, “But Father, Lydia is right; Mr. Darcy cheated Mr. Wickham of a living. If he could do such a dreadful thing, is it not possible that he would murder Mr. Wickham without provocation?”
“Surely, it was some kind of dreadful accident!” Jane exclaimed in distress. “My dear sisters, it is terrible enough that a man lies dead and another man is injured; we should not speculate beyond what is known!”
“Jane is right,” Mary pontificated. “Gossip and slander are serious matters in the Word of God.”
“And in the courts of England as well,” Bennet said irritably.
“I command you all to avoid speaking of this matter outside the house! Mr. Darcy is a gentleman with high connections and considerable monetary resources. You will not slander him to your neighbors, or we may find ourselves dealing with a civil suit. Is that entirely clear?”
His wife and daughters murmured their assents, most looking rather awed at his unusually stern tone.
Lydia, as usual, was the least affected by her father’s severity. “But Father, it is not fair! Just because Mr. Darcy is rich, he should not get away with murdering poor Mr. Wickham!”
“He will not get away with anything, as you put it so crudely, Lydia. An inquest will be held in the next few days, and your uncle Philips, as coroner, will preside. I assure you that the matter will be thrashed out by sensible men who will come to the appropriate conclusion.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, an inquest!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, speaking for the first time. “I cannot like such a dreadful thing to be associated with Longbourn in any way. Will you be required to testify?”
“I will, since I observed Mr. Darcy when he arrived, and Sir William and I fetched the body. But be at peace, Mrs. Bennet, other than that, this unfortunate affair has nothing to do with us. Now, I wish to have the use of my library for an hour before dinner.”
He turned and departed in haste, leaving his chattering wife and daughters behind.
Only Elizabeth remained silent as her hands mechanically worked with needle and thread. An inquest? She was not very familiar with such proceedings, but surely Mr. Darcy would be required to swear an oath that he would speak the truth? What would he do? What should she do?
***
“But Mr. Darcy!” Miss Caroline Bingley exclaimed.
“You really must return to Town with us on the morrow. Charles will not listen to Louisa and me, I fear, and we must keep him from coming back to Netherfield. You know that Miss Bennet is waiting to get her claws into my dear brother! If he proposes to her, all will be lost!”
Darcy shook his head. “I cannot, Miss Bingley; Wickham lies dead, and I am injured. I may need to recount what happened and in any case, my arm pains me significantly. A carriage ride would be most uncomfortable. I must remain here at Netherfield.”
“I have laudanum!” Miss Bingley declared enthusiastically.
“I am confident that if you take a large dose, you will be well enough. Please, Mr. Darcy – I know you are such a good friend to my brother. You would not wish him to be trapped into marriage to a woman like Jane Bennet! You would never consider marrying into such a lowborn family, even if Miss Elizabeth is blessed with fine eyes.”
Darcy stared at the woman in wonder. He had long known Miss Bingley to be a determined social climber, but the depths of her indifference to his own plight was eye opening indeed.
She was entirely selfish! As for Miss Elizabeth, yes, she did have fine eyes and considerable beauty.
She had also been attacked today by a vile man.
He would not leave the county without being assured of her safety and well-being.
Mrs. Hurst seemed to sense some of his feelings because she said hastily, “I can certainly understand if you do not wish to travel given your wound, Mr. Darcy. Are you willing to write a letter which we can deliver to our brother to discourage him from returning to Netherfield?”
Miss Bingley frowned at this. Darcy knew that she harbored hopes of becoming Mrs. Darcy and did not want to be separated from him. After a few seconds, she obviously realized that Darcy would not be moved from his determination to stay in Hertfordshire.
“Yes, I believe that would be quite acceptable,” she said graciously.
“No doubt you will be feeling much better in a day or two, and will follow us to Town then. Mr. Darcy, I know you write so very well, and your lines are so even; would you be able to provide us with a letter before we depart for London tomorrow morning? You can write to my brother and direct him to stay safely away from Hertfordshire and Miss Bennet.”
Darcy tightened his lips and said grimly, “I will write a letter, yes.”
***
“Father?”
Mr. Bennet sighed deeply as he eyed his favorite daughter. Elizabeth was quick, intelligent, and shared his own satirical wit, but after a full day of dealing with Mr. Darcy and a dead body and people rushing in and out of his home, he only wanted solitude.
A moment later, his irritation gave way to concern. Elizabeth looked even worse now than a few hours ago, when he had spoken to his womenfolk in the drawing room.
“Oh Lizzy, do come here,” he ordered, rising to his feet and gesturing toward two chairs pulled up near the fire. “Sit down, my girl, and tell me what is wrong.”
She obeyed the first part and, biting her lip, stared into the fire as a tear slipped down her damask cheek.
“Lizzy,” he said, sitting across from her and grasping her hands in his own. They were very cold. “Lizzy, my love, is it Mr. Wickham? I know your younger sisters were quite enamored with him; was that true of you as well?”
Elizabeth gulped hard and then leaned forward, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “I was, Father, quite enamored with him, but it turns out that he was a villain. Father, I was there when he died.”
Mr. Bennet jerked at these words. “You were there? I do not understand.”
“I woke early and went walking. I encountered Wickham on the trail along the northern edge of Longbourn. He was drunk, Father. He ... he forced a kiss upon me, and I pushed him away, and he grabbed at me and pulled at my clothing...”
“Elizabeth,” her father murmured, almost too horrified to speak. “Did he ... did he harm you?”
“No, no! I screamed, and by God’s grace, Mr. Darcy was near enough to come to my rescue. He threw Wickham off of me before he could ... he could do anything else.”
Here Elizabeth lifted her hand to push down the collar of her dress. “You can see the marks of where Wickham grasped me, Father, but he did nothing more.”
Mr. Bennet’s face was flushed with anger now, but he must not give way to his fury; his daughter needed him to stay calm.
“What happened next?”
“Wickham said something horrible about Mr. Darcy’s sister, and Darcy leaped forward to punch him for uttering such a slur.
I saw a knife in Wickham’s hand and screamed a warning.
Wickham was trying to kill him, Father! Mr. Darcy swerved just in time so that he was struck in the arm, not the chest. Mr. Darcy urged me to run for Longbourn but I .
.. I could not leave him to Wickham’s cruel attack.
As the wretch approached Mr. Darcy, I hit him on the side of the head with a branch.
Wickham fell so that his knife stabbed Phoenix, and the horse trampled him to death. ”
Mr. Bennet found himself rubbing Elizabeth’s cold hands over and over and over. To think that while he lay in bed this morning, his dear girl had nearly been...
“I wanted to run for help but Mr. Darcy insisted that my reputation would be ruined, and my sisters with me. But now, oh Father! He will have to take an oath to speak the truth about what happened today, and I cannot imagine him perjuring himself. Even if he did, what if he is hanged for murdering Wickham?”
“I will not permit that to happen, Lizzy,” her father informed her. “I promise you that. Now please, my dear, dry your eyes.”
Elizabeth reached for the handkerchief he was holding out and carefully wiped her face. “I killed him, Father, by hitting him. I killed Mr. Wickham.”
“The horse killed him, and Wickham deserved it,” Mr. Bennet declared, his eyes flashing with rare fire. “My darling girl, I am certain it is most difficult for you, but you may well have saved Mr. Darcy’s life. Wickham brought his death upon himself by his foul actions.”
“I know, and I truly do not regret hitting him, but when I close my eyes, I see his broken body...”
She trailed away, and her father stared at her helplessly. He loved Elizabeth, but he had connected with her through books and wit, not by discussing serious matters sheathed in emotions.
“If there is true danger that Mr. Darcy will hang, I will speak the truth about what happened,” Elizabeth declared, suddenly looking fierce.
Mr. Bennet rubbed his forehead with one unquiet hand. If either Darcy or Elizabeth spoke the full truth of what occurred, the Bennets would be ruined. But yes, with Colonel Forster on the warpath, the situation was unstable and dangerous.
He would not say that to his dear Elizabeth, though; she had suffered enough today.
“Do not worry, my dear,” he said, attempting to sound confident. “I will ensure that all is well with Mr. Darcy. I am thankful ... I am most thankful you are safe, my precious Lizzy.”