Chapter 27
Pemberley, Derbyshire
They had not planned on a watch. That was a mistake, Neston thought, but one that could be rectified. He was mostly glad Ashbourne had suggested Wickham. The man's manners were a little too smooth for Neston's liking, but his knowledge of the grounds thus far had been invaluable in evading the watch and finding a place to hide while they waited for entry. They needed Wickham, but Neston hoped he was not the sort of man who would become difficult afterwards. They had agreed to split the money equally between the three of them; while Neston was not thrilled with this, at this point he cared more about taking it from the Darcys than depositing it all in his own bank account.
"That is the east door, there?" whispered Neston, pointing in the moonlight. They carried blackout lanterns, but could not yet open the shields.
Wickham whispered that it was. They waited. The door opened at midnight, just as Neston had instructed in his letter. There was no light from any of the guards' lanterns to be seen at the moment, and so he slunk towards the door.
"Perfectly timed," he whispered.
"My bedchamber is just up here."
They made their way thither in the dark, but all of the candles were still burning in her bedchamber and it took Neston's eyes a moment to adjust. He had considered Caroline Bingley years ago, when she had seemed the best option for accessing Pemberley, but then what had seemed the better opportunity had presented itself. Neston lamented his pursuit of that opportunity; much time had been wasted and he found Miss Bingley much better suited to him, for all she had been avoided by the rest of the marriage mart. She was a handsome enough woman, and she knew how to entertain. Moreover, she was ambitious. Neston liked that most of all. She was a bit older than he would have liked and her money was from trade, but considering what was said about him at present, Neston could not hope for much better. And, of course, there was no other lady who could help him kill two birds with one stone.
"I am glad you are come – I have had the most dreadful stay so far. I do not think any of them much like me here, and I do not much like them. I tried to convince them to go to Matlock tomorrow so I might meet the Marchioness of Huddersfield, but they would not listen to me."
"Give me what I want, and I will introduce you to the marchioness myself – as my bride. You need not get ahead of yourself."
"I shall give you what you want," was her confident response.
"Then you will move in my circles soon enough."
Avarice and glee shone in her eyes. She smiled and walked over to the bed, where a cloth was laid down atop the sheets. "Do it here. I understand there may be bleeding."
Not one for romance, Caroline Bingley. Neither was Neston. She laid back on the bed and he pushed her nightgown up. It was over in minutes; she squirmed a little as he took her maidenhead, but was otherwise still and silent. She rose as Neston buttoned his breeches, looking down at the cloth. A few drops of blood provided the evidence of their first coupling, and Neston watched as she carefully folded it up.
"You intend to keep that?"
"Of course."
He chuckled. "Good girl. You and I are going to get on very well, I think. Here, take my handkerchief as well – it is embroidered with my initials." Neston did not mention who had done the embroidery; her name would have aggravated them both. "This time may not have got you with child – write to me and we shall arrange our next liaison. And stay in your room for the rest of the night. I have some unfinished business in this house."
Neston went back down to the east door but found only Wickham waiting there for him. He felt a surge of irritation as Wickham whispered, "Ashbourne thought of another place to search and went ahead. He will meet us in the passages. Come, this way."
By moonlight they crept through the house, Wickham placing his ear against a service door and then opening it. Here they opened the panels on their lanterns, allowing enough light to go forward down the dark hallway until Wickham pulled open a cabinet, revealing a corridor. Neston did not entirely like the man, but he had to admit Wickham had done all he had promised thus far.
Kitty could not sleep. This was not a novel state, for her; she had struggled to sleep ever since her family had returned from Derby and General Fitzwilliam had begun to pay her more attention. At least, she thought it was more attention. This was part of what kept her up every night, thinking through each of their interactions on the day and wondering if she was just imagining things and he was paying her no more mind than he had before. Wondering if she was not imagining things, and what that meant. Did he have some interest in her now? And if so, what could come of it? Kitty had never considered this before – for so long, she had presumed her love was unrequited and would remain thus. There was no need to consider practicalities. The practicalities were not in their favour: he was a second son who had left his career and was now to lose his stipend for managing Pemberley; she was the daughter of an entailed estate, with a thousand pounds she had inherited from her mother and another four thousand set aside from the economies that had followed that mother's death. Two hundred and fifty pounds a year was a goodly amount if she remained a spinster sister, living with one or the other of her sisters who had married so well. It was a meagre amount for a couple, and still less if that couple had children. It was surely not enough to support the son of an earl in anything like the life he had known thus far, save perhaps his time in the army.
Sighing, Kitty rose from the bed, found the chancel matches and lit a candle, then took up her book from the bedside table. Reading was the only thing that calmed her roiling mind, but she was a mere ten pages from the end of this book, and it was finished quickly. How she had adored making General Fitzwilliam laugh at dinner! How she had enjoyed their conversation about the Battle of Bosworth Field, both their exchange of thoughts and the delight of his attentions!
Kitty sighed. General Fitzwilliam was her lodestone – her thoughts were always pulled back towards him. She would need to find another book and read until her eyes grew tired, as she usually did. But she had read through everything she had brought from Longbourn as well as the books she had gleaned from Pemberley's library. It would not take too long to slip down there and procure another book, and as long as she was covered up with her dressing gown, she ought to be modest enough to go thither amongst a family house party. Besides, it was so late it was unlikely she would encounter anyone.
Henry stood at the library window, contemplating Kitty Bennet. He had not been very successful in his attempts to limit himself to familial friendship – yes, his manners had always been thus, but he had paid Kitty a great deal more attention than he had intended to over the last few days. When it came to a single gentleman and a single lady, attention was often sufficient to raise expectations not only in the young lady, but also in her family. Henry was spared that only because he was family, but he liked Kitty and did not wish to see her disappointed.
Liked her a great deal, he admitted to himself. The trouble was, he was not certain how much of his liking was specifically for Kitty, and how much of it was the appeal of attaching himself after all these years, of preventing his impending loneliness by taking a wife. It appealed to him tremendously at this moment, to not be the lone bachelor nursing a brandy by the dying fire, to instead be sharing a bed with another. Not a seasoned widow, but instead a sweet young lady with a light and pleasing figure, and a smile that seemed to be just for him.
What if he just married Kitty Bennet and let everything sort itself out? What if he went back to his father with such intentions, and pressed the earl for more details on what sort of situation Henry could expect in the future? What if you are getting far ahead of yourself, for you do not even know if the lady returns your affections, nor even how deep your own affections are?
That was the tricky part. He needed to know whether he could support her before he could fully give his heart to Kitty, and he needed to be sure of his own heart before trying to claim hers. She lived a comfortable life at present, one that would remain comfortable after her father died, with two wealthy and generous sisters. Henry did not believe that love in a cottage could last, not between two people who had been accustomed to much more.
He rose and went to the window. Outside, the watch Darcy had posted was apparent, a lantern light bobbing along the grounds. There was but one sip left in his brandy glass. Henry swirled it around and contemplated getting another. Papa was always saying that Henry would reach an age where he could not drink brandy so late at night and still wake at the hour he did, but that age had not yet come –
Pain. Excruciating, searing pain in his back. Henry had been wounded before and knew the sensation, but on the battlefield, the sensation was expected. In Pemberley's library, it was completely incongruous. He was slow to comprehend what had occurred, to turn around and face what must be his attacker.
The knife was in his chest before he could react further. Henry fell to his knees, the pain far worse than any injury he had ever known before.
"Ashbourne!" he gasped, slumping onto the floor.
It had been a great deal easier than Ashbourne had expected. He had thought he might have to go upstairs to the bedrooms and do the deed there, but no, there was Henry, standing with his back to the door of the library, almost as though he was asking to be stabbed.
Neston had insisted on knives, but no pistols, for if any of them found themselves in a position where they needed to use a weapon, the report of a pistol would have ended their endeavours at entering and leaving the house silently. Ashbourne had been a little concerned over being able to work up the courage to kill at such close quarters, but once the knife had pierced flesh once, it was not difficult to do it a second, fatal time. For ever since he had glanced inside the library, Ashbourne had been thinking: this is your chance, restore your inheritance, reclaim what is yours. Again and again he had thought it, and now there was Henry, lying prone on the floor. It was done. Ashbourne had done it.
There was a lot of blood, but thankfully not much had spattered on Ashbourne. He wiped the knife clean on his brother's coat and approached the entrance to the passages. Two birds, one stone, he thought, smirking. The thousands of pounds he stood to earn were not quite so critical now that he would be restored to his inheritance, but it would pay off his debts and give him a good deal of ready blunt until his father died.
The last embers of a fire were still burning in the library fireplace, which Kitty had not expected.
"Is anyone there?" she asked, a little more thrilled than she ought to have been at the prospect of encountering General Fitzwilliam here, alone, at this hour of the night.
But there was no answer. Kitty sighed, chastising herself for such racy thoughts. She walked over to the bookcase that had quickly become her favourite, for it was filled with eras of interest to her, but as she went thither, she noticed what seemed to be a misshapen form on the carpet before the window.
It was likely just the shadows playing upon her imagination at this hour of the night, she told herself. She stepped nearer so that she could prove herself wrong.
As she drew closer, Kitty realised she was not wrong. She screamed like she had never screamed before, a bloodcurdling cry of horror and heartbreak.
The Darcys were awake before the scream pierced the house. They had been asleep earlier in the night, but Elizabeth had awakened them both with another nightmare and William had been endeavouring to soothe her.
"My God, what was that?" gasped Elizabeth.
"Nothing good," he said grimly, rising from the bed.
Elizabeth followed him, watching him pick up the pair of loaded pistols he had taken to keeping beneath his bedside table.
"Here, take one," William said. "I will go see what happened."
"No – I will not stay here. Not while the children are unprotected. If it is Neston, there is no way of telling whether it is the money he seeks or revenge on our family. If it is the latter, there could be no target better than your sons – your heir."
"Good God, do you think he would – "
"I think him capable of every evil."
"I will take you up to the nursery first, then. Take the boys and hide until we know more of what has happened. I cannot understand how Neston could have gotten past the watch."
They paused only long enough to light the candles in their lanterns, Elizabeth grateful they had taken to keeping them in the Darcys's chambers while not employing them in the search. It would be much easier to move through the house at speed without needing to worry about accidentally extinguishing their source of light. William handed her a pistol and a lantern, saying only, "It is still half-cocked."
Elizabeth nodded and followed him up the stairs at a rapid clip.
The scream had awakened both nurses and most of the children, and they were milling about the nursery in agitated confusion, the nurses endeavouring to soothe the children but appearing too worried themselves to be of much use. They looked relieved to see the Darcys, but their relief was short-lived when Darcy, the pistol clasped firmly in his hand, directed the nurses to take the Bingley children and Darcy daughters down to the Bingleys's bedchamber, concluding his instructions with, "Do not let anyone in whose voice you do not recognise, even if you must barricade the door."
"What of little William and Henry, sir?" asked Wilson.
"Mrs. Darcy will take them and hide. We fear they are at the greatest risk."
"Come William, come Henry," whispered Elizabeth. "Come with mama. We must be brave now."
"Be safe, my darling," William said, his eyes catching hers for a long, painful moment. Then they all separated.
The Colbournes had been asleep, but the scream awakened both of them. It took but a few moments of groggy confusion to comprehend that something very bad had happened in the house, and then they were both up, out of bed, Philip opening his trunk and pulling out a case of travelling pistols.
"Will you load for me, m'dear? Deuced difficult with one hand."
"Of course." Georgiana had done this often for him, and she worked as quickly as she could, worried about who had screamed and what it meant. Had it been Elizabeth? Jane? Kitty? Caroline? One of the female servants? One of the nurses, God forbid? Was Julia in danger? A strong wave of dread passed over her at this thought.
Georgiana finished and handed Philip one of the pistols. There was no question of whether she would go with him – someone needed to carry the chamberstick. She located a reticule and stuffed a handful of extra paper cartridges inside, took up the second pistol and the candle, and followed Philip out into the hallway.
When she heard the scream, Caroline Bingley was lying in bed, considering the dull throbbing between her legs and the promise it held. Comprehending immediately that this had something to do with Lord Neston's unfinished business in the house, she found herself filled with rage at him. How dare he risk his life and her future position for whatever he was about in Pemberley!
It had likely been Eliza Darcy's scream. Caroline wondered if he had killed her. She could not rouse much emotion over Eliza's death – not the woman who had broken all the rules and somehow still claimed what Caroline had wanted most in this world. However, Caroline did know she needed to look out for herself in whatever had occurred. Hopefully, Neston would manage to get out of the house without detection, but if a crime had been committed, everyone would wonder how he had gotten in. They all disliked her already, and Caroline was the one who had shown up without being invited – it would be easy enough for suspicion to fall upon her.
That could not happen. She needed to be free to continue to meet Neston until she got with his child, not questioned like a criminal and forbidden to leave by Charles. Caroline crossed the room to the little chest where she kept important things, unlocking it with the key she wore on a ribbon around her neck. Inside were Neston's letters to her, addressed to Alice Newbold, Poste Restante, Lambton, as well as Charles's letter to their aunt in Scarborough, intercepted by Newbold before it had gone into the post. Caroline intended to reward Newbold handsomely when the marriage was done, although surely becoming the abigail for an honourary baroness was some goodly reward.
Placing the folded, bloody cloth and Neston's handkerchief inside, Caroline closed the chest and locked it. She was about to light a chamberstick but then decided it would be better to take the candelabra, then opened her door carefully, listening for any sounds in the hallway. There were none and so she stepped out, walking toward the stairs. The east door was still unlocked and she stepped outside carefully, blowing out the candles when she noticed a light in the distance – it appeared Neston had already got outside the house, and they were searching for him. Good, she thought, all could still proceed then, provided she could avoid suspicion herself.
The grass was damp with night dew, and she cringed at the feeling of it on her bare feet. At least she did not have to walk far, just to the nearest window. It belonged to a lovely sitting-room, perfectly furnished – one of those rooms that had long angered Caroline, that she should not be mistress of this house, that she should never entertain people in such a room and surely do it better than Eliza Darcy. She tried to put all her rage into putting the candelabra through one of the panes of the window, but her first attempt merely cracked it. Caroline swung again and felt it give way, the glass shattering into the sitting-room.
Slinking back along the side of the house, Caroline went back in the east door and into the sitting-room, where she carefully wiped the blades of grass off of her feet and onto the carpet. Then she crept towards the window, careful to avoid cutting her feet on the shards of glass scattered everywhere. She pulled the window up and crept back out of the room.
Charles was just entering the hallway when she arrived back upstairs, and she suffered a moment's panic upon sighting him.
"Caroline! Are you well? Something bad has happened in the house – you should go to my bedchamber. Jane and the nurses and the children are hiding there."
"Yes – I heard the scream – I was scared – I did not know what to do," Caroline feigned breathless fear. "Thank you, Charles."
"Here, let me give you a light," he said, dipping his chamberstick to light each of her three candles. "Be careful, Caroline. I fear there is danger in the house."
It depends on what you are afraid of, and what you consider to be danger, thought Caroline, commending herself on her escape. She would be a viscountess yet.
Wickham was giving a whispered explanation of the layout of the passages and how the corridor they were in linked up to the others, when the scream rent the night.
"Ashbourne, damn it," Neston whispered furiously. He understood now that while he had needed one or the other of them – Ashbourne or Wickham – to help him navigate the house, he should have found a way to eliminate Ashbourne from the expedition, for while Wickham had proven useful thus far, Ashbourne had clearly just exposed them all.
"I cannot stay after that – if I am found in Darcy's home, he'll have me hanged," whispered Wickham. "Stay if you wish, 'tis your neck. I shall call on you in town, my lord."
Ah, there it was. Neston had been right in his first impression of the man. Wickham was the sort who would become a nuisance after this night: Neston's mere presence here was fodder for blackmail. He would not allow that, though.
"I understand," said he, nodding. "I intend to stay and continue searching. Take care in getting out of the house."
Wickham nodded and turned to go back down the corridor. Silently, Neston unsheathed his knife, brought it around Wickham's neck, and slit his throat. The man made a little strangled sound and then collapsed at Neston's feet, his lantern landing with a clank upon the ground and extinguishing the candle within. Neston shuddered a little at the unexpected hot slickness of the blood but then rallied himself. There were trunks just down the corridor – they had planned to search them first – and he set his lantern down, dragging Wickham to the nearest one and opening it. There were naught but tapestries inside and Neston pulled them out, picked up the dead, limp form of Wickham, and slung him inside, throwing the tapestries back on top of the body and using the last of them to wipe his hands and knife clean.
He smiled faintly at the thought of Darcy having to deal with whatever had prompted that scream and the decomposing body of his old childhood friend within the bowels of his house. It had not been Elizabeth's scream. Neston was fairly sure of that.
Georgiana had a sense of where the scream had emanated from – at the least, she was confident in the side of the house they should search first. Further cries for help aided the Colbournes in finding the library as the room of concern. They recognised them as coming from Kitty, but neither was prepared for the scene that met them when they rushed into the room, that of poor Kitty bent over Henry Fitzwilliam, trying to stop the flow of blood from his chest with what must once have been her dressing-gown. Now, it was soaked almost entirely through and Kitty was sobbing, "Please, someone help! Please, why won't anyone come and help him?"
The sight of her cousin in such a state was enough to weaken Georgiana's knees for a moment, but she reminded herself that she had seen far worse, regaining her strength and running over to them. She had managed at Waterloo, and she needed to manage now. Henry needed her to manage. "We are here – help is here."
"Oh thank God," gasped Kitty. "He's – he's been stabbed, I think. He is bleeding very badly. I have been trying to stop it, but it's not working."
"We will help him. We will do everything we can for him, I promise." Georgiana knew not to promise more.
"My God." Georgiana looked up to see Tindall standing at the door, looking ashen-faced.
"Tindall! Please bring me a clean bedsheet and a pair of scissors," Georgiana yelled to him. "And then send someone for a surgeon."
"Yes – yes, my lady." Tindall spun around and staggered off.
They could do little until he returned. Georgiana encouraged Kitty to continue with what she was doing, putting as much pressure on the wound as possible to staunch the bleeding. Meanwhile, Philip was pacing about the library, until finally he said,
"Did you see anyone in here or in the hall before you found him?"
"No – no, he was all alone here on the floor. Just bleeding here – all alone," Kitty sobbed.
"If whoever did this knew about the passages, he could have escaped that way," Georgiana said. She rose, going to the bookshelf that formed the door to the passages: "'Tis unlatched."
"Do not open it yet," stated Philip. "I'll check it, but I need a light."
"Philip, you cannot – you need both a light and a pistol," stated Georgiana.
"Well then we must find a way. I'll not let whoever did this to Henry get away – survives the war and then gets stabbed in a country house – good God, G, just give me a candle and I'll manage somehow."
That she would not allow, but they contrived that one of the oil lanterns in the library could be hung from his neck by a window curtain-tie, and once this was arranged, he slipped through the door to his wife's parting, worried admonishment that he take care.
Tindall returned with a bedsheet and scissors, but expressed his worry at leaving the ladies alone to see to a messenger for the surgeon.
"We are not completely unprotected," Georgiana said, raising the pistol. "And my cousin needs a surgeon more than we need a protector."
Tindall nodded and ran off. Georgiana carried the fabric and scissors over to where Henry lay, encouraging Kitty to press her dressing gown against the wound for just a little while longer. She worked quickly, cutting the bedsheet into long strips of cloth.
"I am ready for you to remove the dressing gown," said Georgiana. "The blood will come more quickly for a bit, until we can fill the wound."
Tearily, Kitty nodded, withdrawing her hands and the bloodied mass of fabric. Georgiana worked quickly, cutting through poor Henry's coat, waistcoat, and shirt to reveal the wound, the blood pumping more thickly, as she had promised. She took up a strip of cloth and began pushing it down through the gash in Henry's chest, her hands moving in rote memory, an echo of those first days after the battle that had almost widowed her. They had not lost Philip then, and they would not lose Henry now, she vowed.
The cloth did its duty, and Georgiana thanked God for it. Yet something felt wrong to her, and finally she determined it was the quantity of blood on the floor, which still seemed to be increasing.
"Help me turn him over, Kitty – we should see if he is wounded there as well."
It was no small effort for two ladies to flip over a man of good, muscular size, but once they had done so Georgiana could see her concerns had been founded, for there was another wound in Henry's back. She cut through his clothes here as well, stuffing the wound on his back with more cloth and then enlisting Kitty to help turn him back over.
He looked very pale – Georgiana supposed it was impossible for him to be otherwise, given how much blood he had lost. Yet his pulse was still there – and reasonably strong, considering. She prayed the surgeon would arrive soon.
There was someone else in the passage. Ashbourne slid the panel closed on his blackout lantern and waited as the faint beam of light drew closer. He could not tell whether it was Neston or someone who had come searching as a result of the scream. He cursed his luck for that scream – how on earth could someone have found Henry's body at such a late hour?
It did not much matter if it was Neston or someone else, Ashbourne decided. Everyone was to be avoided at this point, and his only goal ought to be to get out of the house undetected. As long as no one knew of his presence here, he could surely return to Pemberley in the aftermath of his brother's death. His inheritance was restored, and that was a good night's work. One bird with one stone was still one dead bird.
For now, he needed to slip away from that light, as silently as it could be done. Fortunately, Ashbourne had a long history of dabbling with Pemberley maids and sneaking women into the house, and he intended to bring his experience to bear.
"Very good boys, you're doing very good, you are such brave boys," whispered Elizabeth. When William had suggested she hide with the boys, one place had come immediately to mind, the room she and Kitty had found in that first day of searching the passages. Neston did not know of the passages, and so they could hide there as long as was necessary.
First they had to get there, though. Elizabeth led them into the servants's hallway and then through the cabinet to the passage. They were being exceedingly well-behaved, she thought, to be roused from their beds and frightened and then made to go into such spaces. They truly were brave little boys.
Her heart calmed a little as she closed the cabinet door. It would not be long until they were safe, hidden away in the very heart of Pemberley. She whispered to the boys to come along with her and walked down the corridor, trying to remember which panel it was that opened into the secret room.
Elizabeth pressed on one panel but found it did not move. The second did, swinging wide open when she pushed it. When she looked back on that moment, Elizabeth would realise she should have understood something was wrong from the moment the light met her. There should be no light in a secret room. Yet what she found was so unexpected, such things were beyond her comprehension in that moment. For there was Alexander turning to look at her, a lantern resting upon the trunk beside him.
"Good evening, Elizabeth. I did not expect you."
She endeavoured to swallow her fear and find her courage. "We were hiding from you."
He chuckled. It sounded bitter. "You failed."
Elizabeth raised the pistol and pulled it to full cock, pointing it at him. If he had his own pistol, she did not see it, although he did appear to have a knife sheathed at his waist. She could feel the boys, pressed up against her legs; whether they sensed her fear or recalled and feared Alexander themselves could not be told.
"William?"
"Yes, mama?" he whimpered.
"I need for you to be a very brave boy and take this lantern and run and hide with your brother. Can you do that? You must be very careful with the lantern, because there is fire inside."
"I will, mama. I'll be very careful."
"Good boy," she murmured, handing the lantern down to him and listening as the boys' footsteps receded, with them half of the light. Silently, she prayed for them, that whatever was to happen to her, they would at least find a safe place to hide. Eventually they would be found by their father, and all of the children would be safe.
Alexander chuckled again. "I do not care about Darcy's boys. Do you not understand what I am here for?"
"The South Sea fortune," stated Elizabeth.
"Yes. Your mind is quite slow, for a lady who was supposed to be clever. It is about the South Sea money, Elizabeth. It has always been about the money."
"Is that why you married me?"
"Yes – very slow. I suppose I must stop my search for the money, but now that I think on it, perhaps it would be easier to just take something – or rather someone – of value to Darcy and make him search for the fortune. Maybe you were right to send away those boys; one of them would have been a great deal easier to carry."
The pistol was heavy, and Elizabeth's hand had begun to waver. She straightened it and swallowed hard.
"I have a pistol and you do not."
"So you do," he murmured. He began edging his hand towards his own lantern, and Elizabeth realised what he intended to do: her pistol would be of no use in the dark, and in this place the dark would be complete. She fought for her courage against a torrent of fear.
"Stop moving, or I will shoot."
"I do not think you will, Elizabeth."
She would not let him harm her again. She would not. She would not let him harm any of them.
His hand continued to move. Her hand was shaking. Elizabeth willed it into stillness and pulled the trigger.
Neston could not know about the passages, Darcy had thought. He had been running through every room in the house, trying to hunt down Neston but encountering no one. The first soul he came across – finally – was Charles Bingley, who burst in from the opposite end of the gallery and started at the sight of his friend.
Bingley ran the whole length of the gallery, stating, "Darcy – there you are – thank God. I think you should hide. It has occurred to me that someone might be trying to kill you."
A grim little laugh burst forth from Darcy's lips, but he said nothing. That was when the report of a pistol hit them – a very loud, very close pistol.
Good God, it could have been the passages, Darcy realised. He looked at his friend: Bingley's eyes were wide, but it was clear by his countenance that he was ready to face whatever came.
"That was either in the servants' hallway or in – an older space. Will you check the service spaces?" asked Darcy.
Bingley replied that he would as Darcy opened the door to the servants' hallway. He wished Bingley luck as his friend ran off, then opened the false cabinet to enter the passages. It was still and silent, and Darcy began to think the shot must have come from the servants' hallway. He continued down the corridor anyway, saying a silent prayer for his friend. Then he saw a faint light up ahead, and as he drew closer to the light, a figure slumped against the panelled wall.
Dear God, it was Elizabeth. He ran to her, kneeling beside her and laying his hand on her cheek. Her warm cheek, part of a living woman – thank God – but a woman wide-eyed and panting in shock.
"Elizabeth – Elizabeth – are you hurt?"
"No – no," she whispered. "Is he – is he – dead?"
Darcy looked through the open door before her. There was Neston, lying on the floor with what was plainly a bullet wound in his chest. He inhaled sharply and cursed every decision they had made that night, decisions that had ended in this – Elizabeth having to face the man who plagued her nightmares, having to train a pistol on him and pull the trigger. Already suspecting what he would have to tell her, Darcy rose and felt the man's neck for a pulse. There was none.
"He is dead," Darcy murmured, going back to his wife and pulling her into his arms. She felt stiff and wooden – she did not relax against him as she usually would. But he did not know what else to do.
"I shot him," she stated. "I killed him. I was not trying to kill him. I just wanted to stop him. I did not want him to hurt them – to hurt me."
"Oh, my poor darling, you did what you had to. You acted to protect yourself and your children. Elizabeth – where are the boys?"
This seemed to enliven her as nothing else had done. "I sent them off to hide. We need to find them."
"Come, we will search for them. Let me just do one thing, first." Darcy aimed his pistol at the wall.
"William, wait – what are you doing?"
"Bingley was with me when we heard your pistol shot. I will fire mine as well – we will say I am the one who shot Neston. You have been through too much already."
"William, no. I am grateful that you would try, but you cannot do that. I will not watch you lie for me – I will not watch you sacrifice your honour for me."
"You mean more to me than my honour, my love."
Even in the dim light, he could see the tears shining in her eyes. "And your honour means too much to me. If you do this, William, I will never forgive you."
Such was his concern for her that even this threat was not immediately effective. Only when he thought back to his time as a magistrate and the legal possibilities of this situation was he willing to lower the pistol. He would do whatever it took to convince Calvert or Lord Beeley that Elizabeth should not go through another trial.
"Here, come with me." He helped her to rise and found her unsteady when she did so, keeping one arm about her waist and holding the lantern in his other hand. They left both pistols on the ground; with Neston dead, Darcy hoped they would not need them.
"William! Henry! 'Tis papa and mama! It is safe to come out now," Darcy called out as they walked along the corridor.
He hoped the children would be easily found, but he recalled little Elizabeth during the fire and knew that a frightened child could hide exceedingly well. The little girl had only traversed two rooms in fear, but the boys had been deliberately directed to hide and had the whole house in which to do so. They continued down the passage, Darcy calling out to the boys and watching his wife in concern. He wondered if he should take Elizabeth somewhere she could lie down and be tended to, and come back for the boys.
Then suddenly a low wood panel swung open, away from Darcy's feet. Light from below touched his slippers.
"We got'sa be careful with the lantern," admonished little William. "There's fire inside."
Elizabeth slumped against his father in relief as a lantern was pushed out onto the corridor by a tiny hand. It was followed by Henry, who crawled out and gazed up at his father, and then William.
"We hided as good as we could, mama," stated William. "And we was careful with the lantern."
"You hid very well, William," whispered Elizabeth. "You and Henry did so well. You are my brave little boys."
"Papa, look't what we fouwn," said Henry. He opened his little hand to his father, revealing three golden guineas.
Both of his parents gasped, but neither of them was prepared to pursue that particular matter any further at the moment. Darcy asked little William if he could keep carrying his lantern while they walked out of the passages, and William was proud to oblige his father.
When they reached the corridor back to the library, they found Philip Colbourne with a lamp strung about his neck and a troubled countenance.
"Are any of you hurt?" he asked.
"No, we are all well," Darcy said, feeling it to be untrue even if it was accurate. Elizabeth could not be considered well after the events of this night. "Lord Neston is dead. I think we are all safe, now."
They went through the bookcase door into the library, there to be shocked several times over. First, for Darcy at least, was the sight of his younger sister training a pistol upon them all, until she comprehended the intruders to the library were family and lowered it. The second was the body on the floor beside Georgiana – it was Henry, Darcy realised, and for a moment he thought his cousin was dead. Elizabeth must have thought it as well, for she swooned beside him, her knees buckling as she slid to the floor, Darcy doing his best to ease her descent.
"Mama?" asked William in confusion.
"Mama is not well," Darcy said, setting his lantern down on the carpet and picking her up so that he could carry her over to the sofa. She was trembling, and Darcy opened the chest beside the sofa, where they kept a few rugs for draping over legs on cold winter nights. He pulled one of them out and was about to cover her when he determined it would be better to give the children something productive to do.
"William, Henry, mama is cold and it would help her very much if you covered her with this rug to make her warmer. Can you do that?"
"Of course, papa," stated William.
Darcy gave the boys the rug and watched for the first few moments as they endeavoured to drape it over their mother and then make minute adjustments to ensure its placement was optimal, a little tenderness returning to her countenance in place of the shock as they did this. Darcy picked up another rug and went over to where Georgiana and Kitty were attending the prone form of his cousin. By now, Darcy had gathered that Henry was not dead, but it was plainly apparent his wounds were grave. He draped the rug over his cousin's lower body.
"Thank you," said Georgiana. "I should have recalled those."
"How is he?" Darcy murmured.
"He has held on so far, but I will feel better when a surgeon attends him."
"I have sent messengers for both Allen and Stearn, with orders to bring them back as soon as possible – I did not want to take a chance that one of them should be away from home," said Tindall, entering with a worried countenance. Mrs. Reynolds was behind him, which brought Darcy an unexpected comfort; everything seemed better when his dear, capable housekeeper was about.
"The maids are all hiding in their chambers, sir," she told him. "The footmen and other male servants who were not already part of the watch are assisting in the search."
"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. We believe the man who posed a threat is dead. But it would do us well to remain vigilant and continue the search, in chance he had others working for him. I would appreciate it if you could look after Mrs. Darcy. She has – she has had a very bad shock. Tindall, we will need to send for Calvert – we need a magistrate."
They moved to follow his orders, and Darcy stood there for a moment, bereft. Elizabeth was still lying on the sofa, her countenance pale and unnerved, the boys still carefully arranging the rug about her as Mrs. Reynolds knelt down beside them. Elizabeth was his greatest concern, but Darcy felt there was more he should be doing – there was a dead man in his house and Bingley was likely still searching the servants' rooms for the cause of the pistol shot. Then he felt Philip's hand on his shoulder, and heard his brother-in-law murmur,
"Darcy, there's something else you need to know of. I found a body, in the passages. Not Neston – some other man."
Darcy sighed, and wondered why things needed to be so complicated, so fraught. But all he said was, "Will you take me to him?"
Philip still wore his lamp-necklace; Darcy took up his own lantern and together they went back into the passages, down the corridor lined with trunks.
"He's just down here," stated Philip. "I noticed there was blood on the floor, and it looked as though a man had been dragged along, just here." He made to open one of the trunks, and Darcy leaned in to help with his free hand. When they had lifted the lid of the trunk and then the tapestries within, he found himself gazing upon the dead, unseeing, blood-spattered face of George Wickham, and could not help but exclaim: "Wickham! Good God!"
"D'ye mean George Wickham? The one who tried to make off with my G?"
"Yes, the very one," said Darcy. Despite everything Wickham had done – and intended to do – to his family, still Darcy felt horrified at the sight of his old childhood friend lying dead in the trunk, a long red gash across his throat. At least his presence here explained how Neston had known about the passages. Darcy had wondered about that, and now he knew: Wickham had betrayed his former friend one last time, and then had learned what it was to be betrayed himself.
"Hope he rots in hell," stated Philip, making clear his reaction was far less conflicted. "Trying to seduce a girl of fifteen – stealing my G's confidence. Got what he deserved."
"There is nothing we can do for him now. Calvert will wish to see both bodies when he arrives." Darcy laid his hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. Perhaps it was best that Wickham was gone from the world, never to plague any of them again. "Would you mind searching for Bingley? He went to check the servants' spaces."
"Of course, but I'd rather go from the library. I cannot say I like these passages much."
Darcy found himself in agreement. No longer would the passages be the intriguing spaces he remembered from boyhood – the corridors where he had played with Wickham and Henry. One of them dead, one of them possibly dying.
He led them back to the library, longing to return to Elizabeth. She looked much as she had before, but the boys had ceased fussing over her and were seated quietly beside the sofa, while Mrs. Reynolds was handing her a glass and encouraging her to drink its contents. Elizabeth's hand shook as it raised the glass and Darcy strode to her side, kneeling down beside Mrs. Reynolds.
"Mrs. Darcy told me a little of what happened," whispered Mrs. Reynolds. "I thought a little laudanum best for now."
"Yes – you should rest, my darling," Darcy murmured to his wife.
She said nothing in response, merely turning her troubled eyes towards him to meet his sympathetic gaze. Darcy brought his hand up to stroke her hair as she drank the laudanum. He cursed Neston in that moment, and cursed himself for putting her in a situation where Neston could become part of her life.
Elizabeth finished the laudanum as the boys fell asleep on the floor. Eventually the drink took effect and she followed them into slumber, her countenance looking more peaceful. Not long after this, Philip returned with Bingley, who reported that he had engaged the male servants in a search of the rest of the house, and they had found no other intruders – the men were now searching the grounds, to ensure no-one lingered on the property. Darcy supposed he ought to have been relieved, but two intruders had done an unimaginable amount of damage to his family.
"I need to tell Jane and the others that they are safe," Bingley said. "They are still shut up in our bedchamber."
Darcy nodded. "Would you mind if I took Elizabeth to your bedchamber to sleep? I would like for Jane to be with her, if she wakes."
"Certainly. Follow me – I will see to the doors."
Mrs. Reynolds promised to watch the little boys, and Darcy gathered up his wife and followed his friend across the house to the Bingleys's apartment. Charles called out that it was safe for them to open the door, and a scraping noise followed, the sound of some piece of furniture being moved away from its position as a barricade. Jane took one look at her sister and gasped.
"She is not wounded," assured Darcy. "But she has had a very difficult night. Will you stay with her? Sleep if you wish – I just do not want her to wake up alone."
"Of course – oh, poor Lizzy. My poor, dear sister."
Darcy laid Elizabeth down on the bed but could not bring himself to step away from her. He found himself struck by how very small she appeared in that moment: he had always known her height, of course, but to him she had always been an equal, her intellect matching his stature even if her size did not. It must have been easy for Neston to overpower her, and she must have been tremendously frightened at the prospect of his doing it again.
There was a tear, rolling down his cheek. He dashed it away and found his own hands were now shaking. Both of the Bingleys were staring at him, but he could not explain himself. Everyone waited until he had regained some command over his emotions.
"Are the boys well?" asked Wilson.
"Yes, they are asleep in the library. Mrs. Reynolds is with them. Where is little Elizabeth?" Darcy asked, glancing over the children and realising she was again missing.
"She's in the room somewhere, sir, but she went off and hid and I'm not sure where," Wilson replied nervously.
"I know her ways," murmured Darcy. He pulled back the curtain by the bedpost and revealed the little girl, who gazed up at him with frightened eyes until she saw who it was.
"Papa!" she sobbed. "Papa! Baa man!"
Bad man, Darcy realised. He loathed that such words had found their way into the child's limited vocabulary, and leaned down to pick her up, holding her tight as she cried.
"There was a bad man, but mama made him go away, sweetling. He will not hurt you or mama or anyone else in this family, ever again. You are safe, now." In time, she calmed and stilled, and Darcy said, "Will you go upstairs with Nurse, now? All is well, and it is time to go back to sleep."
She nodded, her eyes wide, and was handed over to Wilson.
"I can carry the baby, if you wish," stated Caroline Bingley.
Darcy started – he had entirely forgotten about Caroline, but supposed it made sense that she had sheltered here with the other women. He wished Elizabeth had done the same with the boys. Everyone in this room had been perfectly safe, never threatened at all, and she had been forced to shoot a man to defend herself and their sons.
He watched as Caroline picked up Julia and left with the nurses, the Bingleys's nurse encouraging all of their children out of the room, and those children responding with sleepy obedience. Jane climbed up into bed with her sister and looked at the men expectantly, and Darcy gave his wife one last reluctant glance then left the room. In the hallway, Bingley gazed at him and asked,
"What happened, to Lizzy?"
"She – she was trying to hide with the boys when they came across Neston. He threatened her and she shot him – he died."
"Good God. Darcy, she cannot go through another trial."
"I hope it will not come to that, but I will need to speak to Calvert."
"What can I do?"
"I am not sure, at present. Let us go back to the library for now. I want to see how Henry is doing."
Ashbourne held his breath as a footman with a lantern walked below his hiding-place, but the footman did not look up. His hiding-place was a good one, atop a set of casks stacked atop another set of casks in the wine cellar. He had been making goodly progress towards exiting the house until a flurry of activity had come through the service rooms, led by Charles Bingley. This had been Ashbourne's place of refuge while those rooms filled with manservants holding lanterns, but that footman appeared to have been the last of them, for the noise of the searchers quieted and then ceased.
Still, Ashbourne waited another quarter-hour before he abandoned his hiding-place. He was proud of himself for having such patience. It was what was going to see him clear of Pemberley. That, and a suitable disguise.
His feet made a scuffing sound as they hit the floor, but no-one came running back into the wine cellar to investigate, and Ashbourne crept out, into a hallway. It was almost completely dark, but he dared not open the panel on his lantern and instead crept along, feeling his way toward the cabinet just outside the servants' hall. Once he opened the cabinet, he allowed himself a sliver of light from the lantern, for he needed to find a footman's livery that would be near enough to fitting him. He closed the panel once he found what he sought, eased the cabinet door shut, and ducked into the pastry-room to change into the livery, bundling his own clothes up in his coat so that he could carry them out.
Now that he was suitably attired, he opened the panel on his lantern fully and strode down the hallway, holding the bundle low against his body, endeavouring to look like the rest of the men searching the house. He burst through the door into the service yard, seeing that there were still men going about the grounds with their own lanterns. He walked on, raising the lantern high as though he hoped to find something – or someone.
"That you, Oliver?" asked a voice.
Ashbourne gulped, then replied in the best imitation of a lower-class Derbyshire accent he could manage, "Aye, I'm to check the Or'ng'ry!"
"Take care, Oliver!"
"Aye, you too!" Ashbourne exhaled as the lantern of his questioner grew more distant, then strode off towards the Orangery.
The surgeon had arrived, by the time Darcy and Bingley returned to the library. It was Allen, of Matlock, and Darcy was glad the nearer man had been found. At present Allen was pulling a strip of bloody cloth from Henry's chest, assisted by Georgiana and, to a lesser extent, Kitty. It occurred to Darcy that it was in no way proper that an unmarried lady be where Kitty was at present, wearing naught but her nightgown, but he could not bring himself to care about propriety at such a time. Darcy closed his eyes and said a prayer for Henry.
Calvert arrived not long after the surgeon and halted upon entering the library, visibly shocked at the state of Henry.
"My God, what happened here?" he asked.
"Much more than what you see before you," Darcy said. He asked Calvert to go with him to a far corner of the room, motioning that Charles and Philip should come with them. "I hardly know where to start, but I believe I should inform you that in addition to the condition of my cousin, which is grave, two men died here tonight: Lord Neston and George Wickham, who I think you may recall as the son of my late father's steward."
"A wastrel, if I remember correctly."
"I would agree with you," said Darcy. "A wastrel, and one who would not hesitate to join a scheme that might earn him a goodly amount of money for a night's work, particularly if it involved revenge on my family."
"You think one or the other of them attacked your cousin?"
"I do. I believe they were in the house seeking – well, it is a long story, but I must tell it." Darcy informed Calvert of the South Sea fortune and Neston's past behaviour.
Calvert's eyes were wide by the time Darcy finished his account. "So were Neston and Wickham killed by your men?"
"I believe Neston turned on Wickham and killed him – Wickham's throat was cut, and my men would not have done that. As for Neston – " the temptation to lie, to claim the shooting upon himself, pulled at Darcy so strongly he nearly did it. But then he heard Elizabeth's voice in his mind, saying she would never forgive him. He believed her. With effort, he added: "Mrs. Darcy and our sons were trying to hide from Neston, and instead they stumbled across him. She feared for her life and – and she shot him."
Calvert sighed. "I wish it had not come to that, Darcy. It was self-defence, of course, but I am loathe to see her go through another trial."
"It was trespassing – we have a right to shoot trespassers in our home, and we had signs posted," replied Darcy, recalling with a pang that it had been his cousin to recommend the signs, then glancing over to where the surgeon was still working on Henry. "And they were here to commit felonious burglary. There need not be a trial if it is considered justifiable homicide during a burglary."
"Ah yes, of course – I should have thought of it. But were all of your doors locked? Did he break into your house?"
"He must have. I have been ordering the doors locked every night." Darcy explained their suspicions about the carriage accident, compounded by the fire at the Cross Keys.
"For now, then, I will treat this as a man shot during felonious burglary. I will need proof of housebreaking, of course. And I had better have a look at those bodies."
Darcy led him first to Wickham, Charles and Philip following behind them. Calvert was but a few minutes in looking over him, for there was no doubt about what had caused Wickham's death. They walked on to Neston's body, and with each man carrying a light it was easier to see the signs that it had been Neston who had killed Wickham: there were traces of blood on the knife sheathed at his waist, and still more blood on his sleeves and beneath his fingernails.
"I will need to interview everyone and have Allen look at them when he is finished helping your cousin, but it seems clear enough to me what happened here," stated Calvert. "May I have the bodies placed in a room with better light?"
Allen was a coroner, and his influence during the inquest would be key in declaring Neston's death a justifiable homicide. They needed him to do so, to spare Elizabeth another trial. Philip offered to find two male servants, and Darcy told him to have them move the bodies into the boudoir; it was near the library and had been a favourite space of his mother's, but outdated and little used by Elizabeth.
They all returned to the library, and found there that two male servants had already been enlisted to carry Henry out. Georgiana approached and said,
"Allen has done all he can for Henry. They are taking him back to his bedroom now, but it will be some time before we know whether he can heal from his injuries – and of course whether he has taken a fever."
"Should he be moved to a nearer bedroom instead?" asked Darcy.
"Nay, I proposed the green bedroom, but Allen said he may as well go to his usual room, provided the men carrying him take care. If he takes fever, familiar surroundings will be less disorientating."
Darcy nodded, and watched as Calvert approached Allen and the two men conversed for some minutes, presumably on the further duties Allen would need to carry out before leaving Pemberley. Calvert clapped the man on the shoulder and then turned back, to return to Darcy, Philip, and Charles.
"I will need to conduct interviews with everyone," Calvert said. "That corner over there will suit me well enough, unless you have somewhere else you would prefer."
Calvert pointed to a space with a desk and several chairs, and Darcy indicated his acquiescence. So much had occurred in the library and the passages that it seemed the most sensible place for Calvert to use.
"Yes, of course. You will find paper and pens in the top drawer, and do let me know if you need anything else."
"A copy of Burn's book would not go amiss, if you have it. I suppose you must – you held this position before I did. Perhaps you still do, given you never formally vacated it," Calvert mused.
"As you can see, I have more than enough happening in my life without resuming a post as magistrate," said Darcy.
Calvert nodded his head grimly, and Darcy left him to locate the volumes of The Justice of the Peace, and Parish Officer, leaving them on the desk for Calvert to reference. The magistrate seated himself at the desk, took out pen and paper, and opened the inkwell.
"Mrs. Darcy is asleep. We had her take a laudanum draft – she was very shocked over what happened," Darcy said. "I would rather not wake her."
"That will be no issue. Her part of this is more straightforward. I believe I would rather start with whomever found your cousin."
"I am not sure who that was, although it was clearly a lady who screamed." Darcy turned toward his butler. "Mr. Tindall, do you know who found General Fitzwilliam?"
"I do not know for certain, sir, but Lady Colbourne and Miss Bennet were tending him when I came to the library, so I think it may have been Miss Bennet."
"Let me start with Miss Bennet, then."
Kitty and Georgiana had both followed Henry out of the library, and Darcy asked Tindall to bring Miss Bennet back down for an interview, stating that Darcy would act as chaperone unless she preferred a female – perhaps Lady Colbourne, since her sisters were asleep. The two ladies entered a quarter-hour later, looking worried and exhausted.
Kitty had not wanted to leave General Fitzwilliam's bedside. She should not have been there, of course, but once the men had laid him down there, Kitty and the Colbournes had stood there, watching him, willing him to awaken. Yet he had not awakened, had not even stirred; he just lay there, looking pale and still. Kitty had watched his chest rise and fall, grateful for this one sign that he lived still, that there was hope.
Then the Darcys's butler had come in and said the magistrate wished to speak with her, and that Mr. Darcy would act as her chaperone unless she wished for a female – perhaps Lady Colbourne.
"I will go with you, if you wish," said Georgiana. "We should dress first, though. I will help you with your dress, if you will do the same for me."
Kitty had wished for Georgiana to come with her; she had always liked Mr. Darcy's sister, and she wanted female companionship for this conversation. Still more, Georgiana had done so much for General Fitzwilliam before the surgeon had come, and Kitty was grateful to her. They had been friendly but perhaps not wholly friends before – seeing each other but rarely since they had become family. Now, though, they had been through such an experience as would naturally bond two ladies of similar age.
They helped each other with buttons and stays and then went downstairs to the library. A well-dressed man sat at a desk in the corner. Upon noticing them he stood, bowed, and was introduced as Mr. Calvert by Kitty's brother-in-law, who then said he would leave them to their conversation.
"Please be seated, ladies," said Mr. Calvert, motioning to two chairs before the desk. "I simply wish to speak with you about what you have observed this evening. "Miss Bennet, I understand it was you who discovered General Fitzwilliam?"
Kitty swallowed hard. "Yes. I could not sleep, so I came down to get another book. I saw something odd by the window and I went closer – and that is how I found him." She could not make it through this statement without sobbing, and found that once she started, she could not stop.
Georgiana pressed a handkerchief into Kitty's hand as Mr. Calvert said, "Take a deep breath, Miss Bennet. I understand this must have been very distressing for you."
Kitty tried to do as he asked, but hiccoughed instead. They had to wait some minutes as she spent the worst of her sobs. Georgiana pressed a glass into her hand now – port, Kitty discovered, when she took a sip.
"Are you ready to continue?" asked Mr. Calvert. "We may wait, if you wish."
Kitty was not truly ready, but she wanted this all to be over so she could return to poor General Fitzwilliam's bedside. She nodded her head yes and took another sip of port, setting the glass down on the desk.
"Did you see anyone, when you entered the library?"
"No – but the last of the fire was still going in the grate."
"Thank you, Miss Bennet, that is a helpful detail for you to remember. Is there anything else you can remember?"
"No, I am sorry."
"Do not worry yourself over it. Now, Miss Bennet, I am going to ask you a difficult question, but one that will be very helpful if you can answer it. Can you recall how much blood there was, from General Fitzwilliam's wounds?"
Kitty sobbed again. Of course she could recall it; she felt certain she would recall it every day for the rest of her life. "There was a lot of blood on his chest and a little bit on the floor," she managed to say before devolving into another fit of sobbing.
She could hear Mr. Calvert questioning Georgiana as she pressed the handkerchief to her eyes, struggling to recover some command over her senses. Then their voices halted and Kitty drew away the handkerchief, realising they were staring at her.
Drawing a shaky breath, she said, "I'm – I am sorry."
"Do not worry yourself, Miss Bennet. I have no more questions for yourself or Lady Colbourne. You may go, unless you wish to sit and settle yourself more."
Rising, Kitty shook her head. Mr. Calvert thanked her and Georgiana, then asked if Georgiana's husband might be sent down so he could speak with him. Putting a hand on Kitty's arm, Georgiana led her out into the hallway, closing the library door behind them.
"You love him, do you not?" Georgiana asked.
Kitty sobbed again, ready to deny it, but she could not.
"At first, I thought you were just upset because of what a shock it was to you, but I think it is more than that."
"I have been in love with him for years," Kitty whispered. It was strange, to finally say it to another soul, to admit the secret of her heart.
"Oh, you poor dear," murmured Georgiana, reaching out to draw Kitty into an embrace. "Philip and I will help ensure you can stay with him – one or the other of us can chaperone you and help to nurse him. I cannot say that it is proper, but I will argue on your behalf, if anyone is concerned over propriety."
"Thank you," sobbed Kitty. "I do not expect anything of him – I just want him to live."
"We all do, and we are going to nurse him, and pray for him, and do everything we possibly can to help him do that."
Darcy had taken himself off to his study as Calvert interviewed Kitty, seating himself in one of the chairs before the fireplace. It was chilly in the room and he ought to have lit a fire or rang for someone to do so, but instead he just sat there dully, considering all that had occurred within his house that night. Even if Henry lived – and Darcy said yet another prayer that he would – things would never be the same for their family again. His home, his beloved home, had become the place of nightmares.
It had already been thus for Elizabeth, Darcy reminded himself. And now the events of tonight would surely be the source of new nightmares.
In the library, before the window, was the pool of blood where Henry had been stabbed. In the panelled room within the passages was another pool of blood, where Elizabeth had taken a life to protect her own and that of her children. In the boudoir, laid out, would be the bodies of Neston and Wickham: the man who had plagued Elizabeth, and the man who had plagued Darcy. Somewhere else in the house, in the secret space found by the children, was some quantity of golden guineas. Darcy had no desire to look for them at the moment; part of him wanted to leave them there forever.
There was a knock at the door, and Darcy bade whomever it was to enter, certain it was going to be someone bearing more bad news. It was Bingley, but it appeared he had no news at all, for he entered quietly, saying only, "Hell of a night, Darcy."
Bingley went to the cabinet and poured out two brandies, then looked to his friend and said, "Oh, I should have thought – would you prefer ale?"
Darcy sighed. "Nay, I think brandy is more the thing for a night such as this."
Bingley handed him one of the glasses and then flopped down in the chair opposite Darcy's. It occurred to Darcy that Bingley had matured a great deal, during Darcy's disappearance. He had observed this as Will, but seemed to have neglected it upon regaining his memory. He ought to have brought Bingley into his confidence regarding the threat to their family before this night, but Bingley did not seem to care. Certainly, Bingley had acquitted himself as well and bravely as any man that night, in his indefatigable search of the house. Still more, he had shown himself to be a leader, organising the servants so well as he had. Darcy would not say all of this to his friend, but he owed it to Bingley to say at least some of it.
"You did well tonight, Bingley. I am very grateful to you."
In this, too, Bingley had matured. It was clear he appreciated the praise, but he was not eager for it. "I did what I could," he said, shrugging.
Darcy took a sip of his brandy and laid the glass down, picking up the guineas instead. Two Queen Annes and one George I.
"What are those?" asked Bingley.
"Some of the treasure that has apparently lain undetected in my home for a hundred years," Darcy said bitterly. He gave Bingley a brief explanation of the South Sea fortune, watching as his friend's eyebrows crept further and further up his forehead.
"And this is in your house? This is what Neston sought?"
"It is," sighed Darcy.
"Are you not curious to look for it, to at least see how much there is?"
"I will eventually. Not tonight, perhaps not even tomorrow. However much there is, it is not worth Henry's life," said Darcy. "And fortune does not mean what it used to mean to me. I have learned how to be happy on very little."
He would do so again if need be, Darcy vowed. If this house and this life were too much of a reminder to Elizabeth of what she had suffered, they would leave and take up a life elsewhere. Whatever life and whatever home brought Elizabeth the greatest peace and happiness, that was what he would give her.
They sat quietly, after this. It was strange, for Darcy had come into this room seeking to be alone, but he found himself deeply glad of the companionship. The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked away the time, and eventually a soft greyness in the windows promised that dawn was imminent.
There was another knock at the door, and Calvert entered stating that he had done all the interviews he wished to do that night. He was offered a brandy and accepted it, taking up a chair and drawing it near where Charles and Darcy sat.
"You should know, one of your men found a broken window on the east side of the house," Calvert said. "So it is a clear case of breaking and entering."
Darcy exhaled in relief. This would make things much easier, for Elizabeth. "Thank you for letting us know."
Calvert sipped his brandy. "After I finish this, I would like to catch a few hours of sleep and then interview others in the household. Allen intends to look over the bodies once there is daylight enough."
"Thank you, Calvert. Mrs. Reynolds will have ordered rooms readied for both of you, I am sure."
"So far, it is my belief that Neston and Wickham entered the library together and happened upon your cousin. One or the other of them must have stabbed him – Wickham's hands are clean, so it was more likely that it was Neston, but I do not suppose it much matters. Both of them are dead, so it is not as though either will need to be prosecuted. Then they both entered those passages, and not long after that, Miss Bennet happened upon the general while seeking a book from the library. Thank God they were not still there when she entered, or I expect that poor girl would have been attacked as well. Then she screamed – loud enough for much of the household to hear it, from what I understand – and Neston turned on Wickham and killed him. I am still not entirely sure why."
"I am almost certain Wickham would have intended to blackmail Neston if a payout did not seem forthcoming. He would have planned to profit from this outing, one way or another," stated Darcy.
"Ah – that would explain it, thank you."
Calvert sipped his brandy until yet another knock sounded at the door. Now it was Tindall, his countenance one of concern.
"Sir, the men searching the grounds found something, and I thought you would wish to know immediately. And you, sir," Tindall said, bowing to Calvert. "There was a footman's uniform, in the Orangery. It appears to have been worn for some period of time."
Darcy gasped, as did Bingley and Calvert.
"I will need to rethink my conclusions," stated Calvert wearily. "It seems there was a third man."
Bingley rose, promising to go out and help with the search of the grounds, to see if this third man could be found. Darcy rose as well. He intended to help with the search, but first there was something else he needed to do. Dawn was here, and he needed to send a rider out with a letter, to ensure it got on the London mail. It was a letter Darcy would loathe writing, but the earl needed to know what had happened to his son.
