Chapter Twenty-One
Jonathan had taken even longer to fall asleep the night after his first kiss. He, who had not seen the value of physical contact for so long, now felt afire with the need to kiss Juliet again. More could not come until they were wed.
In the brief moments that passion left him, anger took its place, equally as disquieting and far more difficult to endure.
The injustice against Juliet had outraged Jonathan since the moment he had comprehended Follett’s foul trick, but to think that it had come to disownment!
This he could not endure. The need to put this right—to undo that which should not be—tormented him, and he knew it would continue to do so until proper redress had been made.
This meant he must broach the question of an engagement with his father.
Jonathan briefly considered simply pressing for permission to ask Miss Tilney, rather than admitting to the secret engagement, but he had taken his father’s words about deception greatly to heart.
Even as terrible as the truth was regarding his late cousin Susannah, Jonathan felt better for knowing it had been revealed at last. Honesty must be his course.
He descended for breakfast early but took his time instead of rushing off. Mr. Bennet noted this with interest. “You are not so hasty to go to Netherfield today, I see. Have you caught the fiend you sought? Are you now at liberty?”
“Not yet, Grandpapa.”
“I do wish you would not dawdle so,” said Mrs. Bennet as she buttered her bread. “Some madman loose, running about with slaughter on his mind, and yet you do not conclude the business.”
“It is not a thing that can be rushed, Grandmama,” Jonathan replied, with but slight hope of her understanding. “The truth will out. Besides, it may not be a madman on the loose, but a madwoman.”
Mrs. Bennet thought little of this. “Ha! It is men that go about killing people. No wonder you have taken so long at the task, if you do not even know that!”
Jonathan would have gone on to tell his grandmother about the female murderers he and Miss Tilney had uncovered in the past had he not then heard his father’s footsteps upon the stairs.
Mr. Darcy had expected his son to avoid him at breakfast again, but he was not sorry to have his expectations defied. “Good morning to you all,” he said.
“Good morning, Father.” Jonathan felt the better for even this small beginning.
Mrs. Bennet—who had been all but oblivious to the divide between the Darcy men—merely gestured at the breakfast table, from which they were to take as they desired. “I beg you, sir, enjoy as much bacon as you like, for Mr. Bennet should not always have it all.”
“I entirely disagree,” said Mr. Bennet, “yet I shall not resent it if I do not eat the lot today.”
Mr. Darcy took the chair opposite Jonathan’s, and after a pause said, “You have rested well?”
“Yes, Father. And you?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
These small courtesies meant a great deal, as Jonathan well knew. His father had not gone cold; he did not reject his eldest son outright; this could only mean that forgiveness, if not already upon them, would soon follow.
The rest of breakfast was filled with idle chitchat, especially idle in the case of Mrs. Bennet.
After Pine had cleared away the breakfast things, Jonathan’s grandmother took herself off to call on her sister Mrs. Philips.
His grandfather said, “I have a mind to visit the circulating library today. My subscription has not been put to much use of late. May as well get my money’s worth, eh? ”
“You will not be made uncomfortable?” Jonathan said. “You have often said that it is difficult to get about Meryton with your stick.”
Mr. Bennet smiled and shook his head. “Never fear, Jonathan. I have already instructed Peck to return in the landau after depositing Mrs. Bennet at her destination, and he will convey me and my cane into town well enough.” Only then did it occur to Jonathan that his grandfather meant to give the Darcys a chance to speak alone.
Indeed, no sooner had Mr. Bennet departed than Mr. Darcy came to Jonathan.
“I wish to apologize,” he said. “You can only have taken my silence these last days to mean that I blamed you for your cousin’s death.
Please know that I did not, and do not. You made a mistake, but you committed no wrong. That was Mr. Wickham’s alone.”
Jonathan breathed out heavily. “I do blame myself. Never shall I regret any action more, but I had no ill intent. Mr. Wickham’s reaction might be predicted—his action, less so.”
Mr. Darcy put one hand on his son’s shoulder, a gesture of warmth Jonathan could not but be encouraged by.
“You have always been a loving and obedient son, Jonathan. You have been honest in all your dealings, and of the most forthright character. There are those who judge you harshly for particularities of temperament; they also judge wrongly, placing their attention on that of little consequence instead of that which is most important. Please know how very proud I am of you, and ever shall be.”
How much pleasure Jonathan wished to take in these words!
—but his father’s pride was in Jonathan’s obedience.
In his forthrightness. In his honesty. Now another lie had to be revealed, another omission, and one of the greatest acts of disobedience of which any son could ever be capable.
Surely his father would have pity for Miss Tilney’s plight and would wish to save her from her cruel situation as much as Jonathan did, or very near.
Yet if it had taken days for him to see past the matter with Susannah, how long would the next forgiveness be in coming?
Before he could even begin to untangle this Gordian knot, they heard the sounds of a horse galloping toward Longbourn.
Jonathan and his father looked at each other, then stepped outside just as the rider and his mount came to a halt.
“Mr. Darcy, sir!” the servant called, before realizing.
“Mr. Jonathan Darcy! There has been another death at Netherfield!”
Juliet had witnessed the aftermath of murder more than once, but never the aftermath of self-murder. The latter, she felt sure, was more horrible by far.
“We must take her down,” Jane had said, sobbing, overwhelmed by the pitiful state of the dead woman, who hung from the chandelier.
A sort of rope had been fashioned from petticoats, ripped apart and knotted together; Mrs. Lofton would have known she did not require their service again.
How horrid her face appeared!—Jonathan had warned Juliet once that she was better off not having seen a past victim who had been strangled, and now she knew why.
The protuberance of tongue and eyes was grotesque.
Little wonder Mrs. Bingley could hardly bear to look upon the scene.
Yet Juliet said, “Please wait, Mrs. Bingley. It is better that we do so only after Mr. Lucas and Mr. Jonathan Darcy have arrived.”
“But why? Why?”
This, Juliet could not articulate. It was not common police practice, and yet she knew from past experience that much could be discerned from the immediate aftermath of any violent incident. Better, surely, to see as much as they could—in a case of suicide as much as any other.
Cries and shouts of alarm and grief came from below as Mr. Bingley informed all the others in turn, including those closest to Mrs. Lofton: her sisters and of course her husband.
Juliet could only imagine how Mr. Bingley himself suffered from the death of his youngest sister.
He showed great courage in thinking of others even in such an extremity.
“Please, Mrs. Bingley,” Juliet said, “go downstairs and be with your husband. He needs you now, I think. Will you send Mr. Lucas and Mr. Darcy up when they arrive?” Jane, having been urged to care for another, would never fail to do so, and she hurried away at once.
This left Juliet alone in the room to behold the wretched scene.
Gruesome though it was, she determined to learn what she could.
Mrs. Lofton had not rung for her maid that morning, it seemed, as she still wore her nightdress of cotton lawn and her feet remained bare.
Once Juliet had been able to look away from the dangling corpse, her attention was drawn to the small desk in the corner, upon which sat inkwell, pen, and paper.
A note had been written before the fatal act, ink dry upon both page and the rim of the uncorked bottle.
It took Juliet a moment to make out the words written there, for Mrs. Lofton’s handwriting was as blotted and illegible as her sisters had proclaimed: May God and the dead forgive me my evil deeds.
Juliet put one hand to her lips. Was this begging for salvation after the commission of self-murder? Or…was this a confession?
Footsteps in the hall made her turn to see Mr. Isaac Lucas appearing in the doorway. How terrible was his shock and disgust! “May our Savior have mercy,” he whispered.
“Look, Mr. Lucas.” Juliet gestured to the note. “Can this mean what it seems to suggest?”
Mr. Lucas came to the desk and squinted. After a moment, “You believe her to have been the murderer? That she took her own life out of remorse?”
“That seems the obvious inference to draw.” Yet Juliet had learned to be wary of such inferences.
Jonathan arrived shortly thereafter and came immediately to her side, taking her hand. Juliet could not but be glad of it, given how terrible the sight before them. If Mr. Lucas thought aught of it, or of Juliet’s dishabille, he said nothing. “You must read the note, Mr. Darcy,” Juliet said.
He promptly did so. “She seems to suggest guilt for the murders. Are we to believe that guilt drove her to self-murder?”