Chapter 15 #2
Elizabeth’s gaze flitted to the furniture behind Darcy.
That was not what he meant. It would be incredibly bold of her.
Six steps would take her there. It was best to just do it and not ask for permission.
She could not tell what side of the bed he slept on.
He was dressed for staying in his own room and likely planned to sleep soon, but he had not used the bed yet tonight.
She strode to the right side of Darcy’s bed, folded back the bedclothes, and tucked herself in. She made a show of settling herself—adjusting the sheet and shifting the pillow to sit upright—to calm her nerves before lifting her gaze to his.
The heated look she first noticed when she sat in his lap after the game flared up in his eyes, then guttered instantly.
He picked up a wooden chair from the small table and carried it to her side of the bed, letting it drop heavily from his hand before slowly sitting. “I am at your disposal, madam.”
She would have preferred that he sit next to her on the bed.
He did not like being manoeuvred, but at least he did not demand she leave.
“You need not be cross with me. I am resting, as suggested. And it has also been suggested that I keep easy, but not knowing what happened to us is more distressing to me.” She wondered if perhaps he was the one who did not want to remember the events of Saturday. “Are you able to talk about it?”
Darcy gave a bleak laugh. “I gave a deposition to the magistrate yesterday.”
This incident was not truly over, even though they were both safe. There would be more to endure to be fully free from Lady Metcalfe. “Must I appear in court?”
He nodded. “We both will. I know he took statements from Henry Tessier, the cook, the stableboy, and several witnesses at Epsom too. When you are recovered, he will want to speak with you, but you ought to only discuss what you remember. That is the evidence you will have to present when Lady Metcalfe is tried.”
There was tension in his eyes, and guilt twisted her stomach.
She had not thought about how recounting what happened would affect him.
“Would it pain you to talk about it with me? It would relieve me from a state of inexpressible anxiety to know what happened, but I would not, for the world, add to your distress.”
Darcy reached for her hand. “Part of me wishes I could trade places with you and lose those memories. Recalling the absolute terror I felt whilst it was happening troubles me. Perhaps it will get easier with each telling. And if telling you will not add to your fears, if it will alleviate them, then you ought to know.”
He explained intercepting the maid Friday evening with the willow bark infusion from Lady Metcalfe that had been mixed with arsenic.
He had only drunk a sip and, after suffering agonising effects, awoke the next morning and confronted Julia when he learnt Elizabeth was missing, and then realised it was Lady Metcalfe behind every single attack after all.
“Do you recall it was she who was with Mr Travers that night, not Julia?” he asked, tracing his thumb over her fingers.
When Elizabeth shook her head in surprise, he explained how he had been wrong.
“Lady Metcalfe fell in love with Mr Travers when they were young, but his father threatened to cut him off if he married a woman he did not approve of. He chose the money and his father’s favour.
But she was already pregnant with his child and her family forced her to marry another man to keep it a secret. ”
Elizabeth had struggled to think deeply these past few days, to concentrate and to remember, and Darcy waited patiently as she organised this information in her mind.
“Julia is Mr Travers’s daughter?” She shook her head in disbelief even as Darcy nodded.
“And Lady Metcalfe is still in love with him?”
“Lady Metcalfe thought he would finally marry her, but with Julia pregnant it would ruin her chances. I doubt Mr Travers made her any promises; Lady Metcalfe just assumed.”
He may not have attacked anyone or attempted to kill them, but Mr Travers was in his own way a despicable man.
“I think Mr Travers only ever wanted her money to gamble with and her body to use,” Darcy went on.
“But to her, she had to ensure her daughter’s marriage before it was too late.
And since stubborn and self-interested Julia had centred on me, then in Lady Metcalfe’s mind anything was permissible so long as it suited that end. ”
Darcy told how she must have gone for a walk by the stables with Lady Metcalfe, struggled with her, and was then struck so hard she was knocked unconscious.
She was then wrapped in a horse rug, loaded into a cart, and driven adjacent to the course.
His explanations brought something familiar to her mind.
“I have dim memories of trying to get out of the blanket, and realising it was Lady Metcalfe. But I struggle to remember what exactly happened.”
He described tracing Lady Metcalfe to Epsom and how, with Henry’s help, he found her in the crowd dressed as a man. And then, to her alarm, Darcy said he had run across the course to stop Lady Metcalfe just as the final race commenced.
“You ran in front of the charging horses!”
He shrugged as though such a dangerous thing was unimportant.
“It was the only way to stop her. The magistrate told me that Lady Metcalfe confessed to what I suspected, that she was going to say that you left me and went home, and must have been lost on the road. She even took your belongings and hid them in her own coach so everyone would think you left alone.”
“Well, that is just foolish,” she said, smiling at him. “As though you would believe I abandoned you.”
“I admit, given the newness of our understanding, my anxious feelings got the better of me, and I hesitated, if only for a moment,” he insisted. “As secure of your love as I am, in that instant of terror, I believed it was possible.”
“It is impossible,” she vowed. “Unbearable. Ridiculous. Intolerable.” When she saw he believed her, she asked, “What was her plan after she got me to Epsom?”
“She hoped that you would—” He blew out a breath and squeezed shut his eyes.
“She hoped you would be trampled beyond recognition on the turf, and she planned to slip away in the crowd. She even brought her own gown to change back in to. And she was right. She was so close to pushing you out, and she would have escaped in the chaos.”
Elizabeth squeezed his hand, wishing he sat closer so she could put her arms around him. “But how close were you to being run down?” There might have been a dozen horses coming down the straight when he darted across.
He scoffed carelessly. “I could not say. The spectators will share their opinion. It has already been in the London papers, although I have not been mentioned by name yet. It is only a matter of time, though,” he added with a scowl. “Still, what appeared in print so far is exaggerated.”
He had nearly been run down; she was certain of it. The man had risked being crushed for her sake. “Had the horses made the turn before you ran out?” she pressed.
“I was climbing into the cart by the time the leader passed the turn, but I could not say how close it was. It did not matter. The only option was to stop Lady Metcalfe before she struck you down.”
He was not distraught over nearly being run down himself. It choked him to think of her being trampled to death. “I am perfectly well,” she assured him.
“Perfectly well?” he repeated in a whisper. “She struck you so hard she gave you a concussion. She lured you outside and brought the rug with her. She planned it!”
Her memories were still like dim flashes behind a veil, out of order and senseless. “Did she yield easily once you got there?”
Darcy closed his eyes, but from trying to remember or wishing he could not, she was uncertain.
“I had to force her away from you, and it took several of us to overpower her. She was enraged. The magistrate said she confessed to it later, but in the cart she only ranted about how you needed to die to give Julia time to secure my affections.”
“What she did was vile, but she wanted to protect her daughter from the shame of being unmarried and pregnant.”
“No, do not twist this into a story of a mother’s love. She is a cunning woman determined to marry the lover who abandoned her.”
Julia had sensed something between her and Darcy before they were engaged.
Did her mother also suspect early in the week?
“She encouraged Mrs Tessier to let me attend the races alone dressed as a boy. Lady Metcalfe was certain it would be safe since it would be a quieter crowd, but you know how foolish that was. There were still thousands there, and it was rife with crime. Could she have encouraged me to go alone hoping some harm might come to me?”
“It was all her, Elizabeth,” he cried. “Pushing the vase over to crush you, getting you alone atop the carriage hoping you would break your neck, attempting to poison you with arsenic, then this last cruelty at Epsom. The only thing that was not her idea was trapping you behind the jib-door. That was Julia, and Lady Metcalfe helped her.” He let go of her hand and covered his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I should have sent you home the day after the vase fell.”
“There was no way to know what depravity she was capable of. It seemed like an accident. Who would have guessed the lengths she would go to? You cannot anticipate the scheming of a madwoman.”
He made no answer and seemed overpowered by various tormented feelings.
“Fitzwilliam?”
He lifted his head, anguish deep in his eyes.
“Do you fear anyone blames you? Me? My family? The only one to blame is Lady Metcalfe.”
He dropped his gaze; perhaps it was too soon for him to believe it. When she was announced to be healthy again and they were gone from Woodcote Park, he would be more ready to hear the truth.