Catch No Evil （Catch-22） #3
Elizabeth fell back to her knees and screamed.
She screamed for the first time in four years, the first time in as long as she could remember, the first time since she had decided in her own mind and her own heart and her own soul that she would never-never-ever show weakness.
The scream would have made both her mother and Lydia cower in fear and embarrassment.
It might have even been enough to coerce her indolent father out of his library if she were back in Longbourn.
She screamed and screamed and screamed until her voice was ragged and she had nothing left.
When she finally had all the screaming she cared for, she gingerly reached out, found the pianoforte, and worked her way carefully to her knees.
There was no bench, probably because the instrument had been in the house when Anne took the lease, and nobody bothered to move it or even notice it again.
The footstool that started the whole escapade was close enough to grab without standing, and of barely sufficient height to make a tolerable bench.
She dragged it over to the instrument, climbed slowly into the seat, and reached out to push a single key at random.
~~~
Jane knew her fate was sealed the moment she heard about the oak tree, and was not displeased in the least, so she decided to proceed.
“Very well, Mr Bingley. Since you are about to offer your hand, shall I just accept it in advance and save us both the bother? You have managed to cover the last mile this time, so let us see about the last three feet.”
Nobody would ever know if she had anything else to say, or whether Mr Bingley would ever get around to his entirely superfluous proposal that he had been rehearsing for fifty miles of good road.
Jane Bennet would always consider this her first kiss, and with the last man she would ever kiss, and it was glorious.
It was everything a kiss ought to be. It was a wonderful bit of exquisite delight that she could not wait to repeat.
She was quite certain she would sink into the floor with the intensity of the feelings, and it was not very long before she began to wonder if she could wait another day for what was to come next.
~~~
Darcy struggled with the recalcitrant lock for quite some time.
Whether it failed because he nervously twisted and nearly broke the key or from wretched timing, he would never know; either way, it took more than a moment to open.
Eventually, it gave way just as he considered charging the door to break it down with the footman.
He forced it open and let out a shout of alarm at what awaited him.
Richard Fitzwilliam, a cousin more like a brother, lately of his Majesty’s Hussars, survivor of both Badajoz and Salamanca, had through a small amount of ingenuity fashioned a credible noose by pulling the cords out of the bed.
It was tied using the traditional hangman’s knot, as neatly as any professional hangman.
The sound Darcy heard was the chair he had kicked over, and the time the sticky lock took to admit Darcy’s key was almost enough time to snuff out the colonel’s life. Almost, but not quite.
Darcy ran across the room to grab his cousin around the waist and take his weight.
The footman glanced up and down the hall to see if anyone noticed, shut the door quietly, calmly righted the chair, and climbed up to cut the officer down with a penknife.
Darcy did not know whether to shout in frustration at the delay or offer sincere thanks for keeping his cousin’s disgrace secret.
Seeing no evidence the delay was harmful, he held his peace.
Darcy and the footman, who introduced himself as Mr Barrow, laid the colonel on the bed and listened for signs of life.
His breathing was ragged and uneven, but present.
They both breathed a sigh of relief. The colonel might finish dying in the coming days or weeks, but it looked like he might yet survive the episode.
~~~
Some indeterminate time after her fall, Elizabeth woke with a start, confused and disoriented, head hurting abominably, and, truth be told, somewhat disappointed in herself.
She had no idea whether she was more disappointed with her past or her future.
The next several hours would be spent trying to help the people she loved in America—Anne and the servants—overcome a feeling of guilt they would no doubt entertain for quite some time, even though she was clearly uninjured and no harm was done.
For a moment, since she was perfectly intact, she considered simply refraining from admitting the mishap; or at least, she might have done so had she not bled all over her best dress.
The hope vanished when she brushed the hair out of her face and found it sticky and her neck coated in dried blood.
At length, Elizabeth started once again reflecting on her past, since the immediate future looked so bleak.
The incident prompted her to think about bravery versus cowardice, and she was not impressed with the results.
When and why had she given up the pianoforte?
Why was her head the only part of her body to make any music in the past four years?
In truth, that music had not been auspicious, but it had been something.
She had lost one of her five senses, so why had she given up the other four without a fight?
A pianoforte had keys that made music! The keys never moved, never changed, never sniggered or criticised, never whispered, never deviated from their purpose.
They were always patient, always ready, always prepared to make music for anybody with the courage to learn and sit at the instrument.
Every key made the same sound it would make if she could see it.
Elizabeth Bennet possessed a remarkable memory and a good ear for music; why, then, had she abandoned a beloved pursuit merely because it became difficult?
Was it because the music so powerfully reminded her of what she had lost, when she had boasted so confidently to Mr Darcy of what she had gained?
Why had she conceded the field without a struggle?
~~~
“Mr Darcy,” Barrow asked, “are you more inclined to speed or stealth when I go for the doctor, or do you prefer to dispense with him altogether?”
Darcy appreciated the man’s sensibility. “Speed will do, I believe, Mr Barrow. I would not spend the rest of my life regretting our actions today. Take my horse if it serves.”
Barrow bowed and departed for Hunsford. The doctor knew how to keep his mouth shut so long as his purse was open, so there would be no difficulty on that score.
Mr Darcy seemed a generous man, and Barrow suspected he would prefer less gossip to more.
He took a moment to speak to a few other trustworthy servants to ensure he could serve both goals at once.
The doctor would return to Rosings through a side door and corridors kept empty.
Once a quiet entrance was arranged, Barrow headed to the stables.
Mr Darcy’s offer of his horse was tempting, but he decided on a comfortable old nag he frequently used to carry messages for Lady Catherine.
Barrow had no doubt Mr Darcy would make things right when the time came, but there was little benefit in presuming too much or dealing with an unfamiliar animal.
Dr Barnes made good speed and attended Rosings within the hour, finding the colonel in as good a condition as might be expected for a man who hanged himself. The bed rope proved as effective as any other, and the doctor pronounced the intervention entirely timely, though nearly too late.
Two hours later found Barrow and two other footmen in Pemberley’s employ and sworn to secrecy.
None of the men repented the change in status in the least. Lady Catherine was a much better employer since Miss Bennet had come for her brief stay, but all three men thought Mr Darcy likely to be a better master.
Mrs Barrow was also from Derbyshire, so it would be like coming home.
Darcy eventually decided he must check on Jane and Bingley, so he left the colonel in the charge of his three new footmen and considered his course.
He must keep the knowledge of his cousin’s actions as quiet as possible for any chance of averting a great scandal.
He wondered if Lady Catherine should be one of those to know.
He owed it to her as both the estate’s mistress and a close relation, but in the end, he lacked the heart to wound her once again.
If she discovered his silence she would be vexed, but she had been vexed with him before and would be again.
This might be a greater offence than most, but he would survive it.
He simply could not add another burden to his aunt’s cares.
~~~
The first key Elizabeth pressed in four years was an ordinary note—Middle C, as it happened—or at least it would have been had the pianoforte not been so far out of tune as to make a stone-deaf codger cringe. It was a start.
Elizabeth attempted a scale. Despite her blindness, the keys remained where she remembered them. She could play a scale and pretend the only fault lay in the instrument’s tuning. Such excuses would not serve for long, but they would do for the moment. It was a start.
A half-hour or more of scales—up and down, left hand, right hand—and Elizabeth was as ready as she was likely to be.
She attempted a child’s air, one she had taught her niece Gardiner, barely six years old, before she lost her sight.
Her niece would have been appalled at both the instrument’s poor quality and Elizabeth’s want of precision, but it was a start.
For a half-hour, then an hour, then two and three, Elizabeth Bennet sat at the worst pianoforte she had ever heard and did her best to reclaim another fragment of her soul and equanimity. It was a start.