Chapter Nine
ELIZABETH DID NOT SPEAK TO DARCY AGAIN THAT EVENING.
SHE SPENT time with the Lucases and her family, holed up in Mr. Bingley’s library, where Darcy left her.
Darcy and Bingley assisted the colonel in organizing the party-goers for questioning.
She heard his voice in the hallway twice, but she could think of no excuse to go to him.
So, she remained with her family in whispered conversations.
“Who do you suppose is next?” A pale Maria Lucas joined Elizabeth on a settee.
“These acts are based on opportunity. We must not permit the attacker the opening to commit a crime.”
“I know you are correct, but it frightens me, Lizzy.”
“It should,” Elizabeth took the girl’s hand, “but it cannot control your life. Colonel Forster and the sheriff will learn the truth soon.” Actually, Elizabeth hoped neither man succeeded in discovering the truth.
After she and her family told their versions of where they were during the ball to the colonel, the Bennets departed Netherfield.
Everyone believed Elizabeth fainted due to the stress of the discovery of another body.
Dawn broke the horizon. Darcy and Bingley saw them off, and Elizabeth seized the opening. “This is farewell forever, Mr. Darcy?”
He looked upon her with what appeared to be regret. “It is, Miss Elizabeth.” The thoughts of losing him had plagued her for days. He offered her a formal bow. “I enjoyed our time together, Miss Elizabeth. It is rare to discover a woman who converses on a variety of topics.”
“I think you would find, Mr. Darcy, that women are capable of many things. The lack lies in men, who do not accept accomplishment in a woman,” she said waspishly.
Darcy smiled as if he knew the source of her displeasure, a fact that irritated Elizabeth further.
“I know barely a half dozen accomplished women, Miss Elizabeth, because I believe a truly accomplished woman needs to add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”
Elizabeth fought the tears rushing to her eyes. “I wish you a safe journey, Mr. Darcy.” There was little else to say.
He brought the back of her hand to his lips before handing her into the carriage. “Au revoir, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth intuitively turned for one last look as the carriage pulled away. Hearts touched in the early dawn.
At home, although light slit through the draperies, Elizabeth claimed her bed.
Her mind remained on Darcy. How many lies had she told recently?
More than she could remember ever telling, and they all revolved around her clandestine meetings with Mr. Darcy, his belief in a curse, their knowledge of the murders, his battle with Wickham, their intimacy, and his powers.
How had she become so entrenched in his life?
A vicious wind chased her. Debris swirled around her feet, churned by the force following her.
Elizabeth ran through the trees. Shadows, kept in place by the drapery of overhanging branches, stretched across the path.
Vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind her, Elizabeth hurdled over fallen trees and gnarled roots.
A black adumbration flitted across her sight, but she did not break stride. Sweat streamed down her face.
The foliage thickened, reached for her, tearing at her dress’s sleeves, pulling strands of her hair free from its chignon.
Inexplicably, a pair of dark eyes appeared before her, forcing her to change direction and to seek shelter in a copse of trees.
But there was no solace, for Wickham stood off to the left, wrapped in a cape of blackest ebony, so dark it gleamed blue.
“Miss Elizabeth,” his words slithered over her, “I am happy you joined me.”
She wished to flee, but she stood, transfixed by the sight of him.
When the rain started, Elizabeth wondered irrationally how it could penetrate the thick foliage, which even light did not reach. Soaked immediately to the bone, her vigil continued: Wickham’s eyes—his smile—directed upon her. “Come to me.” His whispered words caressed her cheek.
Her steps made a sucking sound—pulling free from the mud in which she now stood—the sound reminiscent of a person inhaling quickly.
Despite her urge to run, she did as he instructed.
Wickham’s sinister smile grew broader with each step she took.
The rain and the wind did not touch him.
Only she felt the torment of the elements.
Then, miraculously, a deer stepped from the shadows.
Its eyes were the color of ice. Intuitively, she knew its purpose.
The deer bowed its head, and Elizabeth reached for its antlers.
Her hands encircled the base, and she lifted the antlers above her head.
Without ceremony, she charged at Wickham, who now stood as transfixed as she once was.
A sound of terror filled the air, as each of the antler points pierced Wickham’s body. Blood oozed from each puncture in a rainbow of colors. Before she could attack him again, he disappeared in a puff of grey ashes.
Elizabeth bolted upright, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the noise of the busy household.
The image of Wickham’s blood seeping onto her hands had her studying her fingers for evidence.
She shook her head to clear it and to make sense of the nightmare.
Wickham was obvious, and the deer with Mr. Darcy’s eyes made some sense.
But why would a deer’s antlers kill Wickham? Heavens!
Forcing herself from the bed, Elizabeth drifted to the window, wondering how the day would greet the chaos of her mind. You must go on alone. The early winter sunlight danced across the floor when she parted the drapes, revealing flecks of dust floating in the air.
She had always loved the view from her bedroom—the rolling meadow behind the garden, so green during the summer and dazzling with the colors of wildflowers in the spring.
Now, the frost clung to the remaining blades of grass and dusted the ground with shimmering fairy dust. She touched the damp sill while idly taking in the beauty of the winter scene—and then she realized a horse grazed in the meadow.
A magnificent animal that she knew well. Ceres!
Grabbing her dressing gown, Elizabeth snuck down the back stairs, making her way to her father’s study.
“Papa?” She tapped lightly on the door to draw his attention. “What is Ceres doing in the meadow?”
“Ceres?”
“Mr. Bingley’s horse, Papa.”
“Ah! Of course. Ceres,” he said absent-mindedly. “Mr. Bingley is leaving Netherfield for the festive days. He asked if I would house the animal until he returned. He left me a generous allowance to tend the animal. Another horse on the farm will be useful.”
“Mr. Bingley is gone? Jane will be devastated!” Elizabeth realized Mr. Darcy really was gone if Mr. Bingley no longer was in residence at Netherfield.
“The man should return in the spring. Mr. Bingley’s sisters left Jane a note. It is on the table in the foyer. They left one for you also, Lizzy.” Her father shifted his attention to the book he read. “Take Jane’s to her. She might require your good sense when she reads it.”
Elizabeth’s heart jumped to her throat when he mentioned the note from the Bingley sisters. She knew it was from Darcy. Miss Bingley would never offer Elizabeth charitable farewells. “Yes, Papa.” She started towards the door. “Do you suppose I might ride Ceres occasionally?”
“Hmm? Oh yes. You mentioned Mr. Darcy provided you lessons. I imagine your riding could be arranged.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Elizabeth slipped from the room. Darcy had brought her the horse. She was certain. Somehow, he manipulated his friend into sending Ceres to her. Elizabeth hurried to the entranceway to retrieve the notes before someone else found them.
Grabbing the sealed missives, she felt a sense of anticipation, recognizing Mr. Darcy’s distinctive script.
She slid her note into her pocket before bounding up the steps to her room.
She would wait to present Jane her letter.
Elizabeth doubted her sister was even awake.
She would read the one meant especially for her first. Locking the door behind her, she scrambled to her bed and tore at the seal, eager to read Darcy’s farewell.
My dearest Elizabeth,
As I write this, I believe myself perfectly calm, but I am convinced I write in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.
By the time you read this, I will be miles from Longbourn, but my thoughts will be with you, today and forever.
You brought me a joy I never knew existed and presented me with acceptance even though you knew the worst of me.
How might a man explain how unique you are?
Ceres is yours. Bingley sold her to me, and I give the beauty to you.
Continue your lessons, and learn to ride with the wind.
In my old age, I will imagine your riding breakneck across the rolling hills of Hertfordshire, shocking the neighborhood with your “scandalous” behavior.
A saddle is in the barn. It is well worn, but you will find it serviceable.
The swords are still hidden in the manor house.
They are yours also. Horrify your nieces and nephews with daring.
No one handles a rapier as you do, Vixen.
Someday I hope you will think fondly of the time we spent together. I will cherish each of the moments as the best of my life.
FD
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Elizabeth wished to be with him more than ever, but even being with Darcy would not be enough.
She wanted all the things every woman wanted: a husband and children.
She could never have those things with Mr. Darcy, and, as much as she desired him, she knew he could offer her no future. Their separation was for the best.