Chapter Twelve A Ball of Excellent ution Part I #4
“Is anything wrong?” Charlotte stopped beside Elizabeth and glanced from her closed fan to Mr Wickham.
“Mr Wickham claims that there are documents in Mr Bingley’s study which concern me. He has offered to show them to me.”
Charlotte regarded the officer. “A study during a ball is an unusual destination for a private conversation.”
“I shall accompany Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Collins said firmly. “Recent circumstances have persuaded me that vigilance is among the duties of a clergyman, particularly when officers are involved.”
Charlotte rested one hand against Elizabeth’s arm. “I shall walk with you.”
The dancers began arranging themselves for the next set.
Miss Bingley moved to the musicians and directed the opening before any gap in the entertainment could permit half the ballroom to notice Elizabeth’s departure.
Mrs Hurst walked to the seated ladies, placing herself between the drawing room and the staircase.
Elizabeth glanced back once.
Mr Darcy had not left his position. His eyes rested on her closed fan, then moved to Mr Collins and Mr Wickham. Every instinct in him appeared to demand pursuit, yet he remained where the plan required him.
Mr Wickham noticed him watching and smiled.
They walked slowly past the card room. Mr Bennet was sitting opposite Mr Philips, considering his cards while Sir William described a hand he had played several years earlier at St James’s.
Mr Hurst was deep in conversation with a local gentleman, his posture relaxed, though he seemed entirely aware of his surroundings.
Mr Bennet lifted his eyes from his cards as Elizabeth passed. “Are you leaving the dancing, Lizzy?”
“Mr Wickham wishes to show me a document in the study, Papa. Mr Collins and Charlotte are accompanying me.”
His gaze settled on Mr Wickham, moved to Mr Collins’s stick, and returned to Elizabeth. “Do not allow scholarship to detain you until supper. A gentleman who produces documents at a ball may be capable of several volumes.”
Mr Wickham bowed. “I shall be brief, sir.”
“Very well.”
Mr Bennet returned to his cards. Charlotte walked with them but stopped before reaching the study.
“I shall wait here.”
“There is no need,” Mr Wickham assured her. “Mr Collins provides every protection.”
Charlotte’s expression did not alter. “That is what concerns me.”
Elizabeth continued walking between Mr Wickham and Mr Collins. The music began behind them, lively enough to conceal their steps. At the end of the passage, Mr Wickham opened the study door and allowed Elizabeth to enter first.
The room appeared much as it had during Elizabeth’s previous visit, except that several additional candles burned near the desk. Books lined the walls, a fire glowed in the hearth, and two chairs stood near a table prepared with wine for gentlemen seeking temporary refuge from the dancing.
There were no papers waiting in view.
Mr Collins entered last and stayed beside the door, his walking stick angled across his body. Mr Wickham moved to the desk, opened one drawer and then another without finding anything.
“You claimed Mr Darcy had left documents here.” Elizabeth stayed a few feet inside the room, refusing to move closer.
“He has become more cautious than I expected.” Mr Wickham closed the drawer and turned. “It does not matter. The documents would only confirm what I have already told you.”
“Then our journey was unnecessary.”
“Not at all. There is a possibility that Darcy cannot dominate the conversation from here.”
“But how could he? Mr Darcy is not present.”
“He is always present when people speak of him. It is among his more exhausting qualities.”
Mr Collins shifted the stick against the carpet. “If no document exists, I suggest that we return to the ballroom. Miss Elizabeth has received the information offered, and prolonged absence may attract comment.”
Mr Wickham regarded him. The pleasant officer disappeared from his face, leaving an expression too empty to be called anger.
“You have performed your duty, Collins.”
“My duty is not yet concluded, sir.”
“Yes, it is.”
Mr Wickham’s eyes turned black.
The change occurred without warning. One instant his face was handsome and human; the next, darkness consumed every trace of colour in his eyes.
His voice lowered, and the air seemed to tighten around the words.
“Take your ridiculous stick and leave Netherfield. You will remember nothing of this conversation.”
Mr Collins became rigid.
His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. The stick trembled once in his hand. For several seconds he was caught between Mr Wickham and the door, his face drained of colour and his fingers locked around the polished ash.
“Mr Collins.” Elizabeth moved to him, but he turned before she reached him.
His steps carried him away in a straight, unnatural line.
The stick struck the floor at regular intervals, no longer supporting an injured toe or threatening nearby slippers.
Charlotte appeared at the far end of the corridor and stepped into his path, but Mr Collins bypassed her without greeting or recognition.