Chapter Thirteen A Ball of Excellent ution Part II #3
The corpse no longer had enough weight to require three men. Its limbs folded inside the cloth, the scarlet uniform collapsing around dry bones and hardened skin. One brass button broke free and rolled to the punch bowl.
The bowl trapped it under its rim.
Fletcher extended one hand. “Release it.”
The bowl remained still.
“The button is required as evidence.”
It tilted away from him.
Elizabeth crouched beside it. “You cannot keep pieces of everyone you defeat.”
The bowl lifted enough for her to retrieve the button. Fletcher accepted it, placed it with Mr Wickham’s personal seal and returned to the chest.
A smear of dark blood marked the bowl’s rim. Fletcher produced a cloth and attempted to clean it. The bowl shuddered, rolled backwards, and struck his shoe.
“I shall attend to it,” Elizabeth offered.
“It should be cleaned before the blood dries.”
Elizabeth wiped the silver herself. The bowl submitted at once, rocking gently against her hand while Fletcher watched with professional disapproval.
The servants closed the chest. Fletcher secured its fastenings and directed them through the service passage to the cellar.
He covered the stained section of the carpet with another length of linen.
“The carpet cannot be removed until the guests depart. This room will remain locked. Mr Wickham’s coat, hat, and gloves will be taken from the vestibule, and a groom will return his horse to Meryton after midnight. ”
Mr Darcy nodded. “The officers will be informed that he became unwell and departed privately.”
“No compulsion,” Elizabeth reminded him.
“None.”
Mr Hurst pointed at the service door. “I shall tell Colonel Forster. He has known Wickham for too short a time to consider sudden disappearance unusual.”
“Mr Collins cannot return in that state.” Charlotte indicated the blood on his cuffs and shirtfront.
Mr Collins examined himself, registering the damage for the first time. “Mrs Bennet will object.”
“Your principal concern is Mrs Bennet?” Mr Hurst paused at the door.
“She will be appalled.”
Fletcher inspected Mr Collins’s coat. The black fabric had concealed most of the blood, although grey residue covered one sleeve and the white cuffs had suffered beyond any explanation involving ordinary clumsiness.
“Mr Bingley has fresh linen in his dressing room. The size will be tolerable. The cravat may require adjustment.”
“My own arrangement was commended by Lady Catherine.”
“I understand, sir,” the valet said, “but the vampire blood has altered it.”
Mr Hurst left through the service passage, while Fletcher sent one servant upstairs for the replacement linen. Mr Darcy stayed with Elizabeth until Mrs Hurst entered a few minutes later. She had come at an ordinary pace, ensuring that no guest would associate her retreat with alarm.
“Caroline has begun another set. Charles remains with Miss Bennet, and no one has entered the western corridor.” Mrs Hurst inspected Elizabeth’s gown. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Your glove is torn.”
Elizabeth lifted her right hand. The seam had split in her palm when she seized the chair, leaving the skin exposed but unmarked.
Mrs Hurst turned to Charlotte. “There is a dressing room accessible through the service stairs. I shall take Miss Elizabeth there. Will you remain with Mr Collins?”
“Of course.”
Mr Collins appeared reassured by the arrangement and troubled by his relief.
Mr Darcy stepped nearer. “I shall accompany you as far as the stairs.”
“That is unnecessary,” Elizabeth countered.
“I know.”
His face made clear that this knowledge would not affect his decision.
The service passage carried them behind the public rooms. Music travelled through the walls, uninterrupted and almost indecently cheerful.
Mrs Hurst led Elizabeth up a narrow staircase used by servants and into a small dressing room adjoining one of the guest chambers.
Mr Darcy stopped outside the door, while Mrs Hurst entered with Elizabeth and called for her maid.
The maid brought clean gloves, water, and a dark shawl. Mrs Hurst removed the torn glove and examined Elizabeth’s hand for injury before washing a trace of dust from her wrist.
“You know how to remove blood from silk,” Elizabeth observed as Mrs Hurst treated a small mark near the hem of her gown.
“Cold water first. Heat fixes the stain.”
“Experience?”
Mrs Hurst continued working. “More than embroidery.”
The maid hid the damp section under the fall of the gown and helped Elizabeth draw on the clean gloves. Mrs Hurst placed the shawl around her shoulders, covering the pulse which had caused Mr Darcy so much distress earlier.
Elizabeth surveyed herself in the mirror, which returned only her own pale face and Mrs Hurst’s gown moving without a woman inside it. The sight should have been terrifying. After Mr Wickham’s death, it appeared merely impolite of the glass.
“Does the absence of your reflection trouble you?” Elizabeth indicated the empty space where Mrs Hurst should have shown.
“At first. However, after two centuries, one learns to distrust other people’s descriptions and employ an honest maid.”
The maid continued adjusting the shawl without reacting.
When Elizabeth returned to the passage, Mr Darcy was waiting exactly where she had left him. His eyes moved to the clean gloves and the shawl before settling on her face.
“I am unharmed, Mr Darcy. You may lower your guard now,” Elizabeth reassured him.
“You were nearly converted by force.”
“But I was not.”
“Because Mr Collins and a bowl reached the room before I did.” He stared at the wall without seeing it.
“I heard nothing from you. Not fear, not anger, nothing at all. Miss Lucas reached me first. She had seen your cousin walk past her without recognising her. When your heart finally broke free, I had two hundred people between us, and I could not cross them at the speed I wished without showing every guest in that ballroom what I am. I should have been there. I shall never forgive myself.”
“Mr Darcy, I am afraid the fault is mine,” she said, smiling at his puzzled face. “I was trying very hard not to have my pulse disturbed in order to avoid alarming you.”
“What? Miss Elizabeth, do you realise how reckless that was?”
“For some reason, I felt... invincible, full of energy.” As an afterthought, she added: “And for some other reason, I felt... protective.”
“Of me?”
“Yes, Mr Darcy, of you. Is it so hard to believe?”
He offered no response, but the softening in his eyes and his posture relaxing spoke volumes.
Mrs Hurst stepped between them and opened the door to the public corridor. “You may continue conversation after we have prevented the county from discovering a corpse in the study.”
They returned separately. Mrs Hurst entered the ballroom first and Elizabeth followed later with Charlotte. Mr Darcy stayed away long enough to preserve the cover story.
The ball had continued normally. Couples moved through another set, candles burned steadily, and Mrs Bennet enjoyed her gossip with Lady Lucas, unaware that one prospective son-in-law had spent the previous half-hour killing a vampire while another entertained Jane.
Mr Bingley still occupied his assigned place. He had not left Jane even when Mr Hurst returned and spoke briefly in his ear. His face filled with relief, but he stayed beside her until it was proper to return her to Mrs Bennet. Only then did he approach Mr Darcy.
Miss Bingley directed the musicians, corrected a servant carrying refreshments and continued hosting a ballroom which had acquired a corpse without permitting the rhythm to suffer. Elizabeth’s respect for her increased against personal inclination.
Mr Hurst was speaking with Colonel Forster.
“Mr Wickham became suddenly unwell,” Mr Hurst explained when Mr Denny and Mr Carter joined them. “He requested a private conveyance and left through the side entrance.”
Colonel Forster frowned towards the hall. “He gave no indication of illness earlier.”
“It developed rapidly, apparently.”
Mr Denny glanced at Mr Carter. “Should one of us return to Meryton?”
“He requested solitude,” Mr Hurst countered. “I am told the condition is embarrassing rather than dangerous.”
Neither officer volunteered to investigate an embarrassing condition. Colonel Forster was displeased but permitted the matter to end when Miss Bingley announced the next dance and his lively wife came to collect him.
Lydia, however, would not let the subject drop so easily.
“He has left before supper?” She approached Elizabeth with Kitty beside her. “He promised me another dance.”
“Perhaps his illness affected his memory.”
“He appeared perfectly well.”
“Many disappointments do, Lydie.”
Lydia stared at the entrance as though Mr Wickham might recover through determination and return. Kitty agreed that his departure was very strange, then forgot the matter when Mr Denny requested the next set.
Mr Collins reappeared shortly afterwards. Mr Bingley’s shirt fitted passably, although the collar sat too high and Fletcher had tied the cravat with greater restraint than Mr Collins preferred. A grey stain was left on the edge of his black sleeve.
Mrs Bennet intercepted him before he reached Charlotte. “What have you done to yourself, Mr Collins?”
“I assisted with an unexpected indisposition, madam.”
“Oh, but you have ruined your cuffs. Did it involve the officer who became ill?”
“You must allow me some discretion.” Mr Collins addressed the ceiling, the carpet, and the door in turn.
Mr Hurst came to his aid. “Claret was involved.”
Mrs Bennet examined Mr Collins’s sleeve, puzzled. “That does not resemble claret.”
Mr Bennet had left the card room and joined them without announcing his presence. His gaze rested on the grey stain, moved to Mr Collins’s missing walking stick and landed on Mr Darcy, who had resumed his place next to Elizabeth.
“Netherfield serves a remarkably sombre vintage.”
Mr Collins opened his mouth. Charlotte caught his arm before truth, Lady Catherine, or providence could escape. “Mr Collins has had a shock. He should sit down,” she said.