Chapter 4

As was most fitting for the day of a funeral, the sky over Pemberley lay heavy with gloom, thick with dark and foreboding clouds. Not a bird chirped nor an insect buzzed upon that woeful Friday; all that remained was a dreary hush that seemed to swallow the estate whole.

"The magistrates of London are a congregation of imbeciles," Darcy declared, scowling as he scanned an express from his man in town.

Elizabeth, in contrast, was wholly engaged in the task of bouncing Edward upon her knee. The baby's plump and rosy countenance stood in sharp relief to his father's blackened mood. Both Darcys approached the coming service with great apprehension.

Elizabeth had never before attended the funeral of one who had met so violent an end—let alone that of her husband's cousin, murdered within the walls of her own home. A knot of unease had settled in her stomach and grown to the size of a grapefruit.

"Are you prepared for your stay at Sapphire Park?" Darcy inquired. Elizabeth knew not whether he asked if she were packed or if he inquired after her fortitude. She very much hoped it was the former.

"Yes, dearest, I am quite ready. I am only sorrowful to be leaving you both, my loves," she replied with a sigh.

Jane had written, requesting Elizabeth's company for two nights following the funeral. She had impressed upon her that it was of some import. Elizabeth was loath to leave Darcy at such a time but could not shake the feeling that Jane had need of her. It would be her first true separation from Edward, and the guilt of it weighed heavily upon her.

Sensing her turmoil, Darcy set aside his correspondence and moved to her side, slipping an arm about her and drawing her close, their child nestled between them.

"Jane has her reasons for calling upon you, and I have no doubt they are sound," he murmured. "Pray, do not distress yourself over us. We are well enough and shall endure your absence. It is but a matter of days." He pressed a light kiss to her cheek.

"Yes, but the timing is wretched. It has scarcely been a week since poor Henry's death. Richard sits in custody, awaiting trial, and our period of mourning should rightly extend for weeks yet," Elizabeth lamented.

"You know I place little stock in observing every dictate of society," Darcy replied. "Your visit to your sister is no abandonment of mourning. You and I both feel this loss keenly."

"Indeed."

"Let us speak of more pleasant things. Consider, if you will, the exquisite thrill of parting only to be reunited once more," he said, his lips curling into a roguish smile.

"I do believe I shall count the very hours," Elizabeth returned coyly.

~0~

"Only think! We are on our way to the funeral of a murdered man!" cried Kitty, positively giddy with excitement as their carriage rattled toward the Matlock estate.

Georgiana, with a sigh, adjusted her scarf to shield her ears. The gentlemen were to attend the service at the church, while the ladies would wait in solemn tea at the Matlock estate, awaiting their return.

"How very diverting for you," Darcy remarked dryly. Elizabeth suppressed a grimace. She well knew her sister was testing her husband's already-thin patience and silently gave thanks that Kitty's visit to Pemberley was at its close. Kitty was to accompany her to Sapphire Park as a guest of the Bingleys before returning home to Longborn, though Elizabeth suspected Mrs. Bennet would soon contrive another arrangement to keep her youngest daughter far from Meryton.

"Yes, my last entertainment before I am banished to the dreary wilds of Longborn, where I shall most certainly perish from sheer tedium!" Kitty bemoaned dramatically.

Darcy clenched his jaw at her absurdity, barely resisting the urge to rebuke her. That she had referred to Henry's funeral as a bit of fun was a trial indeed. He turned his gaze to the window, absently plucking at his black armband as though it itched him. Though the carriage was too small to allow any true escape from Kitty's ceaseless prattle, Elizabeth took comfort in the certainty that her husband's love for her was steadfast—despite the frequent humiliations inflicted upon him by her relations.

"Will Colonel Fitzwilliam be allowed to attend?" Kitty wondered aloud, with the air of one posing an intellectual inquiry.

"No," Elizabeth replied, barely concealing her exasperation. "Prisoners awaiting trial are not, as a rule, granted leave to attend the funerals of those they are accused of murdering."

"Well, yes, I see your point," Kitty allowed, "but he is his brother..."

"Let us endeavour to be sensitive," Elizabeth interjected, her tone now one of warning, "and to remember that some among us are grieving a great loss." She inclined her head toward Darcy and his sister.

Kitty, for once, bit her tongue.

The carriage soon arrived at the Matlock estate, where Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Kitty alighted. Darcy remained, continuing on to the service for Viscount Henry.

A chill passed through Elizabeth as she gazed upon the stately home. Even the house itself seemed to wear the pall of mourning, its elegant façade rendered cold and grey with sorrow.

"That house grieves two men today," Darcy had remarked to her that morning.

"I cannot imagine the Matlocks' suffering," Elizabeth murmured.

"As boys, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Viscount Henry were utterly inseparable," Darcy recalled. "Some of my fondest memories are of the mischief the three of us made when they visited Pemberley." His voice grew wistful.

"One Christmas, we convinced ourselves we were quite brave enough to cross a frozen pond. Henry, of course, was the first to tumble straight through the ice. There was no time to fetch help. Fitzwilliam leapt in after him, risking his own life. He nearly perished from the fever afterward. I remember their parents' fury—equal to their gratitude that both sons had been spared. I had always wished for a brother of my own, after witnessing the strength of their bond."

Elizabeth's heart ached for the Matlocks. And for her husband.

~0~

Upon entering the drawing room, Elizabeth beheld the ladies assembled, their black bombazine gowns lending them the semblance of a solemn parliament of crows, each perched in mournful repose. Jane perceived her sister at once and hastened toward her, embracing her with quiet fervour.

"I am beyond relieved that you are here," she murmured.

Elizabeth, striving for discretion, cast a measured glance about the room, taking note of those in attendance. Lady Catherine's gaze met hers—cool, assessing, and not without a flicker of reproach. The lady had been residing at Matlock prior to the Pemberley gathering, and it seemed evident to Elizabeth that she had found fresh cause for disapproval.

"Have you somehow offended Lady Catherine?" Jane inquired in a whisper.

"I fear I exist in a perpetual state of having offended her," Elizabeth returned lightly, though she could not immediately divine the precise nature of her latest transgression.

"If I were to hazard a guess," she continued, "I should imagine she holds me personally accountable for the untimely demise of her nephew."

"And she has evidently impressed upon her daughter the necessity of sharing in that sentiment," Jane observed, noting Anne de Bourgh's unmistakable scowl.

"Naturally," Elizabeth murmured. "It would never do to permit dear Anne the perilous liberty of independent thought."

With Kitty and Georgiana accompanying them, the sisters advanced toward Lady Matlock to pay their respects and offer their condolences. Though composed and dignified, her ladyship's countenance bore the unmistakable traces of grief.

"Lady Matlock," Elizabeth began with gentle earnestness, "pray be assured that Mr. Darcy and I remain wholly devoted to aiding the authorities in their inquiries. My husband is steadfast in his conviction of Colonel Fitzwilliam's innocence and is determined to see his name cleared. He has personally undertaken a meticulous re-examination of the household staff, seeking to establish a precise account of the day's events. Moreover, he has corresponded with those guests absent from the ballroom at the time, hoping to glean any detail previously overlooked. He has even written to the magistrate in London, expressing his personal interest in the matter and relaying such findings as he has made."

"You have my deepest gratitude, Elizabeth," Lady Matlock said solemnly. "The dedication you and Mr. Darcy have shown in service to my son speaks volumes of your character." With this, she reached for Elizabeth's hand and pressed it warmly. "Lord Matlock and I are profoundly indebted to you both. Georgiana, my dear, might I prevail upon you to remain with me a little while longer?"

The Bennet sisters withdrew, permitting others to tender their sympathies while Georgiana remained at her aunt's side.

Elizabeth next made her way to Charlotte, who stood upon the outskirts of the mourners. The Collinses, wherever Lady Catherine went, were certain to follow, and thus they too had taken up residence at Matlock.

"My word, Charlotte, this dear girl is the very image of her mother," Elizabeth said warmly, gathering Charlotte's young daughter into her arms. It was the first time she had beheld the child.

"Thank you, my friend," Charlotte said with a soft smile.

"Is Mr. Collins in attendance at the service for Viscount Henry?" Elizabeth inquired, somewhat surprised. She had not known him to be acquainted with the late viscount.

"Indeed, he is," Charlotte replied. "As Lady Catherine's vicar, he deemed it his duty to offer what small comfort he might in her ladyship's hour of grief."

"Of course. Mr. Collins is ever the devoted servant," Elizabeth acknowledged, though she could not help but observe the faint strain in Charlotte's expression.

"And tell me," Charlotte asked, "do your relations with Lady Catherine remain as cool as ever?"

"Eternally so, it would seem," Elizabeth replied, unperturbed. "Her ladyship has never forgiven her nephew for marrying me, and now she shall forever lay the blame for Viscount Henry's death at my feet, merely for the crime of having hosted a party at Pemberley. I may as well have wielded the dagger myself."

Charlotte laid a gentle hand upon Elizabeth's arm.

"This, too, shall pass," she murmured soothingly.

~0~

The funeral proceeded with solemn propriety, unmarred by disruption. Before long, the gentlemen returned, and the mourners began to take their leave. The tea had been concluded, and guests departed in a steady stream. After bidding her husband farewell, Elizabeth felt no small relief in joining her sisters in Charles's carriage, eager to place as many miles as possible between herself and the oppressive gloom of Matlock.

Bingley was uncharacteristically silent on the journey home, and Elizabeth attributed his reticence to the burden of grief—both for the friend he had lost and for the other, now languishing in prison under suspicion of so dreadful a crime. He had formed a strong attachment to the Matlock brothers, having come to know them well through Darcy in years past.

By the time the Bingley carriage drew up before Sapphire Park, the hour was late, and the weight of the day had settled upon them all. A simple repast of small sandwiches had been laid out in the dining room, for which Elizabeth was exceedingly grateful—she had not realized the depth of her hunger until the sight of the food stirred her appetite.

"Was it terribly wretched?" Caroline inquired as she entered the room.

"It was precisely as one might expect," Bingley replied.

Elizabeth found it curious that Caroline had not attended the wake at Matlock, choosing instead to remain alone at Sapphire Park. Perhaps, unlike her brother, she had never cultivated a particular intimacy with the Matlock family? Elizabeth tucked the thought away, resolving to discuss it with Darcy in due course.

"I regret that I was unable to attend," Caroline continued, as though divining Elizabeth's thoughts. "An old friend arrived most unexpectedly. It would have been quite impossible to bring her along to so solemn an affair."

"I daresay Lady Matlock would have appreciated your presence, regardless," Bingley remarked, his tone edged with something that might have been mild displeasure.

"I am quite certain she scarcely noted my absence," Caroline returned coolly. "She is, after all, enshrouded in grief—one son in the grave, the other imprisoned for his murder."

"It was all rather dismal," Kitty interjected.

Caroline did not trouble herself to conceal her disdain at Kitty's remark.

"Pray forgive me for not remaining with you ladies in the parlour this evening," Bingley said, rising from the table. "The day has been exceedingly long, and I find myself quite spent."

"Of course, dearest," Jane said kindly. "I believe we are all much fatigued." She turned to Elizabeth and Kitty. "Come, I shall show you to your rooms."

"Good night, then," Bingley murmured, excusing himself.

Elizabeth watched him depart, troubled by a vague disquiet. Had she been mistaken in coming? Was there something more weighing upon Bingley's mind? Was he, too, harbouring resentment toward the Darcys for the tragic events at Pemberley? Her thoughts swirled, and the weariness of the day pressed upon her. She longed for the respite of sleep.

~0~

As Jane led the ladies to their respective chambers, she saved Elizabeth's for last and, upon reaching it, followed her inside. No sooner had the door closed than Elizabeth turned the key in the lock and turned to face her sister.

"What is the matter?" she demanded.

Jane's countenance crumpled, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh—I do not know!" she cried. "This is precisely why I begged you to come. Something is amiss, and I cannot, for the life of me, discern what it is. Charles is—different."

"What do you mean, 'different'?" Elizabeth pressed, placing a steadying hand on her sister's shoulder.

"It began around the time of the party," Jane confessed. "He has not been himself. He seems preoccupied, as though something weighs upon his mind. Our intimacy has grown infrequent. And at Pemberley, there was a time when I could not find him at all. He was not at the card tables the entire evening—I am certain of it. Yet when I press him, he insists that nothing is amiss, that I am being foolish." Her voice broke, and she wept openly now. Elizabeth murmured soothingly, rubbing her sister's back in comfort.

"Oh, Elizabeth, do you suppose his affections have been engaged elsewhere?" Jane implored, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elizabeth hesitated. "Is that what you believe?" she asked carefully.

"It is the only explanation that makes any sense," Jane reasoned. "Although I have no notion of whom it could be with. A maid, perhaps…"

Elizabeth raised her brows. "Is that why you placed me in this chamber?" she asked. "Furthest from the family wing?"

A guilty flush crept over Jane's cheeks. "Since Darcy is not here, I thought you would not mind being lodged elsewhere."

Elizabeth sighed but patted her sister's arm reassuringly. The room, after all, was spacious and well-appointed. Whatever mystery surrounded Bingley, it would have to wait for another day.

"And then there is this business with Caroline," Jane said, her voice taut with unease. "She has been lingering about since our return from Pemberley, always finding some excuse to go visiting 'friends' in Mansfield or Nottingham, yet never offering further explanation. The air between her and Charles is unbearably strained, and I find it most uncomfortable to witness. When I questioned him about it, he dismissed my concerns outright, declaring me fanciful. Elizabeth, I fear I am losing my wits. Surely you have observed it too?"

"I have indeed," Elizabeth replied gravely. "You are quite correct—something is amiss. But perhaps you should not be so quick to conclude that Bingley has been unfaithful. I know he loves you dearly."

"As do I," Jane sighed. "Yet I cannot make heads or tails of this wretched business. I am so relieved that you see it too."

"I do," Elizabeth assured her. "We shall make sense of it in due course. But I find myself dreadfully fatigued. Let us retire for the night and revisit the matter with clearer heads on the morrow. A fresh perspective may do much to set things in order."

"Yes, perhaps the morning will bring greater clarity," Jane agreed. She pressed a kiss to Elizabeth's cheek. "Good night, dearest. And thank you—for coming to my rescue."

"You give me too much credit for that," Elizabeth said with a soft smile. "But I am glad to be here. Good night." She nestled into the expanse of the large, inviting bed, suddenly aware of how utterly spent she felt.

~0~

Some hours later, Elizabeth was roused from slumber by an unfamiliar and distressing sound—low, broken sobs interspersed with the unmistakable sound of retching. Alarmed, she slipped from her bed and pressed her ear to the adjoining door. Who could it be? A maid? Cautiously, she rapped upon the wood.

"Please, let me in," she whispered. "Caroline? Please."

She tried the handle, but the door was locked.

Elizabeth hesitated, debating whether she ought to fetch Jane and Bingley—or perhaps summon a servant. Before she could decide, she heard the soft click of a key turning in the lock. A moment later, the door creaked open to reveal Caroline, her face swollen and blotchy from weeping. She stood trembling in her nightdress, her dark hair plastered to her temples.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. A pungent scent of sickness clung to the air. Without thinking, she reached out and laid a hand against Caroline's forehead, checking for fever. She was cool to the touch, yet looked utterly wretched.

"Why are you quartered in a guest room, and in so remote a part of the house?" Elizabeth demanded. "Shall I fetch Bingley—"

"No!" Caroline cried, recoiling as though struck. "You mustn't—he mustn't know." At that, she sank to the floor, shoulders shaking with fresh sobs.

Elizabeth was startled. She had never seen Caroline so undone. Then, as she studied the girl's pallor, the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the tremble in her hands, a realization dawned—one that sent a jolt through her. She had looked much the same when she had been with child.

"Caroline," she said carefully, "are you with child?"

For a long moment, Caroline was silent. Then, with a shuddering breath, she nodded, eyes downcast.

"How far along?"

"Two—perhaps three months," came the barely audible reply.

"Does your brother know?"

"He suspects," Caroline admitted.

"And is this why you are here?"

Another nod. Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

"But why are you staying in this chamber?" Caroline asked suddenly.

Elizabeth chose not to answer. Instead, she pressed on, her voice gentle. "Who is the child's father?"

Caroline buried her face in her hands and mumbled something indistinct.

"Who?" Elizabeth pressed.

Through her fingers, Caroline choked out, "Viscount Henry."

Elizabeth exhaled slowly and sank down beside her. She rubbed Caroline's back in a soothing motion, though her mind raced.

"Did he know?"

"Yes," Caroline whispered. "We were in love. We planned to marry. We were to announce our engagement to Lord and Lady Matlock upon their return from your anniversary party. We had hoped for a swift wedding, so that no scandal would arise over an early child." Her voice faltered. "And now—I do not know what to do."

"We ought to sleep on it," Elizabeth murmured, for the second time that evening. "Tomorrow, you must tell Jane and Charles, and the right course of action will be determined."

Caroline wiped her eyes. "I suppose you are right." She rose unsteadily and moved toward the bed.

"You do not wish to return to your own chamber?"

"No. I have been sleeping here for several nights now. It is for the best."

Elizabeth fetched a cool cloth from the basin, and Caroline pressed it against her face with a grateful sigh.

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

"You are welcome." Elizabeth gave her a final, reassuring look before retreating to her own room. As she crawled beneath the covers, she exhaled slowly.

A.N. I hope this reposting chapter shows up. FFN is so strange sometimes. Do give me some encouraging comments.