The Facts of the Matter #3
“I have strong suspicions.”
“And those suspicions concern…”
“I am not yet in a position to name anyone,” Darcy said.
Sir William absorbed this with more understanding than Darcy had expected.
“But you believe this was deliberate. Arranged. By someone who knew your habits. Who knew you used the library in the evenings.”
“Yes.”
“And who had access to the house, or to someone within it.”
“Yes.”
Sir William looked at the lock mechanism on the desk before him. Then at the cut bell cord. Then back at Darcy.
“I can document the facts of the matter as they stand,” he said quietly. “That is within my power and my duty. Whatever else you are not yet able to tell me, that is your affair.”
“My concern,” Darcy said carefully, “is that any premature accusation may do more harm than good.”
“I understand that. I was not always a country knight, Mr Darcy. I understand how these things work.”
Sir William’s expression was mild, but not vacant. “You have a cousin in the army, I believe.”
“I do not ask for names or particulars,” Sir William said.
“Not now. But I can document what I have seen. The lock. The bell cord. The placement of the candles. The maid’s description and her disappearance.
I can take statements from those who were present.
I can ensure that if this matter becomes larger than Netherfield, there is a record that began here, before anyone had time to soften or rearrange it. ”
Bingley let out a breath.
“Thank you,” Darcy said.
Sir William inclined his head. “Do not thank me. This was done in my neighbourhood, in Mr Bingley’s house, and because Miss Elizabeth Bennet was in that room. It concerns us all.”
William remained by the window, taking in more than he let show.
“There is one more thing,” Sir William said. He folded his hands on the desk. “Miss Elizabeth. She was in that room. She gave a description of the maid last night, I understand.”
“She did,” Darcy said carefully.
“I should like to speak with her briefly before she leaves. As a witness. With her sister present, naturally. And Mrs Nicholls.”
“Of course,” Darcy said.
Sir William nodded once. “Then let us get it done before the carriage is called.”
Sir William’s interview with Elizabeth was conducted with exactly the tact and brevity that the situation required.
Miss Bennet sat beside her sister. Mrs Nicholls occupied her usual corner.
Sir William asked his questions quietly and wrote the answers in a small neat hand that suggested he had done this before and taken it seriously.
Elizabeth answered everything he asked and nothing he did not, which Sir William appeared to find entirely satisfactory. William Lucas stood by the door while his father conducted the interview. When it was done, Sir William closed his notebook and rose.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “You have been most helpful. And most composed, if I may say so.”
“You may,” Elizabeth said. “Though I am not sure composure deserves much credit when the alternative is not useful.”
Sir William smiled, which was perhaps not entirely appropriate to the occasion but entirely understandable.
“Quite so,” he said. “Quite so.”
Sir William took his leave with appropriate ceremony. Morris showed them to the door.
Darcy watched from the hall as they descended the steps. Sir William was already talking to Bingley on the gravel, something about the report and timing, while William paused at the bottom of the steps and turned back.
Elizabeth had come to the doorway to see them off.
William said something low, meant only for her. Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. He bowed and joined his father.
Sir William’s carriage pulled out of the drive. The gravel settled.
Elizabeth came back inside and found Darcy in the hall.
“Mr Darcy,” she said.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She looked at him with the direct clear gaze that had been undoing him since the assembly. “I think there are things we should—”
Hooves on the gravel. Fast. A single rider pushing hard.
Every person in the hall turned. The rider came into view at the bend of the drive, hat low, coat dark with travel, his horse flecked with foam.
He did not wait for a groom before dismounting, but threw the reins towards the nearest stable boy and took the steps two at a time.
Darcy knew him before he reached the door. Richard. For one suspended moment, all the careful order of the morning fell away.
Colonel Fitzwilliam came into the hall with mud on his boots and dust on his coat. He had plainly ridden through the night and found exactly what he had feared.
“Darcy,” he said.
“Richard.”
Richard’s eyes moved over him once, swift and assessing. Then they shifted to the young woman standing near him, bonnet in hand, her face pale and her posture very straight.
His jaw tightened.
“You are alive,” he said.
Darcy’s expression changed. “You received Morris’s express.”
“Yes,” Richard said. “And another.”
Darcy’s face lost what little colour the morning had left him.
“When?” he asked.
“Tomorrow,” Richard said.