Chapter Ten The Clergyman Raises the Alarm #3
The modest phrasing could not conceal the return of Collins’s self-importance, although fear had reduced it to useful proportions. Darcy allowed him the comfort. A man who believed himself unusually perceptive might disclose more freely than one who suspected he had lost his reason.
“You mentioned another incident.”
Collins drew his coat closer around himself. “At my cousin’s sister’s house yesterday, we were joined by three militia officers. Two caused me no unease. The third behaved with perfect civility, yet I wished to remain as far from him as the dimensions of the room permitted.”
Bingley moved closer. “Did he threaten you?”
“No. He greeted Mrs Philips, conversed with the younger ladies, and treated me with every outward courtesy. His manners were exceedingly agreeable.”
“Dangerous men rarely introduce themselves by insulting the host,” Hurst observed. “Society would become much easier if they did.”
Darcy ignored him. “What caused your alarm?”
“I cannot identify any cause. I moved my chair before he approached, then placed a table between us. At the time I believed the alteration convenient, although it was less useful afterwards and Mrs Philips appeared confused.”
Collins paused and glanced at Longbourn. Darcy followed the direction of his gaze and saw Miss Elizabeth’s figure near one of the windows. She stood partly obscured by the curtain, though whether she watched the drive or merely spoke to her sisters could not be determined at that distance.
“The officer directed much of his conversation to Miss Elizabeth,” Collins continued. “He spoke to her quietly and seemed eager to secure her good opinion. She did not encourage him as Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty did, but neither could she refuse ordinary civility in her aunt’s house.”
Darcy felt his control narrowing. “What occurred?”
“When we prepared to leave, the officer escorted the ladies to the door. Miss Elizabeth had removed her gloves for tea and had not yet replaced them. He took her right hand and bowed over it.”
Bingley’s easy expression vanished. Hurst pushed away from the tree.
Collins stared at his own boots as he forced the account forward.
“The moment his lips touched her skin, his body became rigid. His fingers closed around her hand tightly, and when he raised his face, his eyes were black. There was no visible white, no colour, and no ordinary human expression. I cannot describe what occupied his face during that instant, but I knew that he had discovered something.”
Darcy heard the horses shifting near the carriage, the faint scrape of a branch against the wall and Miss Elizabeth’s heartbeat beyond the glass.
The cold discipline of centuries held his body still while every darker instinct demanded that he find Wickham before sunset and tear the knowledge from him.
“Pray, what is his name?”
Collins lifted his eyes. “Mr George Wickham.”
Bingley turned away and dragged one hand through his hair. Hurst muttered a word no clergyman could mistake for prayer, while Darcy fixed his eyes on the yew hedge until its dark needles ceased blurring into a single violent mass.
“Did he break her skin?” Darcy removed one glove and flexed his fingers against the cold, needing the sensation to govern his strength. “Consider carefully. Did you see a cut, a puncture, or any blood?”
“No. Miss Elizabeth did not cry out, although she appeared startled.”
“How long did he hold her?”
“Only a few seconds. His eyes returned to normal, and he released her almost immediately. He apologised for gripping her hand too tightly.”
“Did he attempt to touch her again?”
“No. Miss Elizabeth put on her gloves, gathered her sisters, and insisted that we leave. I confess that I offered no opposition. My principal desire was to place a locked door between the officer and myself.”
“She understood that he was dangerous,” Bingley murmured, turning back to them. “At least she will be cautious.”
“She understood that something was wrong.” Hurst crossed the narrow space to Darcy. “She cannot be cautious against a danger she does not know exists.”
Collins’s eyes moved between them. “You know this gentleman.”
“I have known him since childhood.” Darcy replaced his glove, drawing each finger into place before continuing. “I also know that his pleasant manners conceal conduct which would appal the people who welcome him.”
“His eyes changed, sir!”
“So you have told us.”
“Mrs Hurst’s hand was cold, sir!”
Hurst’s expression hardened. “You have mentioned that too.”
Collins regarded each of them in turn. Whatever conclusion formed in his mind frightened him, but it did not prevent him from following it.
“Is Mr Wickham afflicted by the same condition as Mrs Hurst?”
No one responded.
Collins swallowed. “Are all of you?”
“We are not afflicted by Wickham’s character,” Bingley protested. “Whatever else you may suspect, you must understand that distinction.”
“That was not precisely my question, sir.”
Hurst turned his face aside, but Darcy caught the brief movement of his mouth. “Terror continues to improve him.”
Darcy stepped nearer to Collins. He did not employ compulsion, though the master’s authority in his voice caused the clergyman to straighten.
“You do not require the answer to that question. You require only the knowledge that Wickham is capable of harming Miss Elizabeth and that we are capable of preventing him.”
Collins did not retreat. “That distinction is valuable, but it is not an explanation.”
“No.”
“You will not provide one, sir?”
“Not today.”
A little of Collins’s former indignation returned, tempered by the sensible recognition that indignation should not be exercised too freely before three men who might not be men. “I find myself placed in a difficult moral position.”
“You have occupied difficult positions before,” Hurst reminded him. “Yesterday you stood between Lydia Bennet and the last biscuit.”
“This is considerably more serious.”
“Your improvement is becoming alarming,” Hurst replied with evident admiration.
Darcy moved between them before Hurst could assist Collins into complete usefulness through insult.
“Mr Collins, I am asking for your help because you perceived danger before anyone else did. For reasons I cannot yet fully explain, he has targeted Miss Elizabeth. You kept away from Wickham without knowing why, and you saw a change which escaped everyone else. Whatever produced that perception, she may need it again.”
Collins absorbed the compliment slowly. His shoulders rose, his chin recovered part of its customary elevation, and Darcy watched fear acquire the support of vanity. It was not the noblest foundation for courage, but buildings had stood for centuries on worse.
“It is possible that my sacred office has rendered me unusually receptive to manifestations of evil.”
Hurst lifted one gloved finger. “Let us avoid the word sacred until we know how much credit belongs to instinct and how much to the table.”
“I knew the table was necessary.”
“Then it deserves ordination.”
Darcy cut across them before Collins could defend the furniture. “You will attend the Netherfield ball, will you not?”
“Miss Bingley was gracious enough to include me.”
“When Wickham enters the room, you will remain near Miss Elizabeth. Dance with her, speak, occupy her.” Darcy pointed a gloved finger at the clergyman.
“You will not challenge him, accuse him, or disclose what you witnessed. You will ensure that he cannot lead her into a private room, an empty passage, or the grounds.”
Collins’s chest expanded. “You wish me to serve as her protector.”
“I wish you to serve as her chaperon. The distinction may preserve us all.”
“What action should I take if he attempts to remove her from the ballroom?” Collins asked sensibly.
“You will inform me, Bingley, or Hurst immediately.”
“How am I to do so without alarming the company?”
Hurst considered the matter. “We need a watchword.”
Collins nodded gravely. “What say you to ‘Lady Catherine’?”
Darcy had survived battles, blood feuds, and three separate hearings before the vampire elders, yet hearing those words exchanged between Hurst and Collins introduced a new degree of unease. “Use Lady Catherine’s name if necessary. Do not improvise beyond it.”
“Would some spiritual preparation be advisable?” Collins reached inside his coat, perhaps searching for a clerical object which had not previously interested him. “I have a small prayer book and could procure a cross before the twenty-sixth.”
“No crosses,” Darcy ordered.
“Holy water?” Collins ventured.
Hurst examined the clergyman’s coat. “Do you generally carry it?”
“Not generally.”
“Then beginning now may excite comment.”
“I might obtain a quantity from the church. This is not uncommon.”
“You are an Anglican clergyman, not an itinerant exorcist,” Darcy reminded him. “Your task requires observation, discretion, and proximity. You will not brandish religious objects, recite prayers over the officers, or attempt to drive Wickham from the ballroom through ecclesiastical force.”
Collins appeared disappointed by the restrictions. “I have several sermons which might prove formidable.”