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Death at the Netherfield Ball, Chapter 8

May 04, 2022 08:32AM
Author's note (DNA): DebraMc asked how many chapters there were, but I think I'll leave the exact number a mystery -- I shall only say that we are about halfway. Thanks again to LizzyS for the beta/encouragement help.

Chapter 8



As it happened, Mr. Fletcher had already arrived at Longbourn when Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet returned from Netherfield. There they found him comfortably ensconced in the parlor, taking tea with Mrs. Bennet and the other ladies of the house. Lydia yet stayed in her room.

The coroner of that half of Hertfordshire was a man of five and thirty years and of short stature, but with a lean frame that gave him a somewhat gaunt and striking appearance. His hawk-like features, however, were currently softened by the expression on his face as he gazed at a demure and blushing Mary Bennet seated on the sofa beside him. The lady of the house was glowing as she served him another sandwich, giving him such subtle encouragement as only she were capable.

“It must be very difficult to be always travelling without having a warm, inviting home to return to, where a loving wife awaits you,” she said now. “Why, I know that when Mr. Bennet returns from the Assizes he is so very tired and would probably retreat to his lonely bookroom if not for the welcome we afford him. My Mary, especially, is so very considerate that she always has a new piece to perform for him upon his return and would read to him for his enjoyment all night, if he didn’t fall asleep so quickly, lulled by her soft tones.”

“Fordyce is so very soporific, my dear, that you must excuse me my weakness,” Mr. Bennet said, announcing his arrival and crossing the room to insert himself into the very narrow space in the center of the sofa. He reached out to take a cake from the tea tray as Mr. Fletcher and Mary adjusted their seats to make room for him. “Particularly following a rousing three-part concerto or the setting of a requiem Mass, I am afraid that my will to remain attentive is often simply powerless to resist. I never sleep so well as directly I return home from a journey.”

“You see, Mr. Fletcher,” Mrs. Bennet said with a smile, “how very much Mr. Bennet appreciates his daughter’s consideration for him. A man would do very well to have a young wife who can provide such a service.”

“Indeed, I do see,” Mr. Fletcher returned, his eyes narrowing on the man beside him. “And I quite agree. I often miss the companionship of my late wife, and with my son at school the house seems so very empty at times.”

Elizabeth, who had taken a seat beside Jane, saw that her father was preparing to say something cutting and quickly inserted a query about the school Mr. Fletcher’s son attended. The conversation returned apace until at last Mr. Bennet, bored with tea, asked the coroner to attend him in his study. Elizabeth accompanied them, taking a seat near her father’s desk with her notebook on her lap. Mr. Fletcher glared at her as he sat down. “It is shameful that you would expose a young lady’s sensitivities to the ghastly and grotesque of a murder investigation, Mr. Bennet. Though, having known you these past three years, I do not know why I am any longer surprised by your complete disregard for the responsibility of safeguarding the purity and innocence of womanhood.”

The gentleman so addressed merely laughed. “I do greatly appreciate how you must have seen the mourning wreath on our door and, realizing the void that had opened up in our lives, ably stepped forward to provide a spot of moralizing. I thank you. Mr. Collins could not have done a better job himself, though he might have peppered his speech with a few references to the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Do you know her?”

Mr. Fletcher frowned. “I do not.”

“A pity. My cousin would have been able to tell you a great deal. She was his patroness, you see, and something of an important figure in his life. By coincidence, she is also the aunt of another person my daughter and I have just been to interrogate at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps I should send her a note and have her pop ‘round for an interview some time, as well, as she is so very connected to all of this.”


“You shall do no such thing,” Mr. Fletcher said. “I am hereby taking over this investigation, and if anyone is to do any inviting or interviewing, it shall be myself.”

“You do not wish for the benefit of my observations and deductions?”

The coroner scowled. “I do not wish for anything from you, Sir, but the one thing you have already denied me.”

Mr. Bennet did not refrain from rolling his eyes. “Good Lord -- that did not take very long. Two men dead, and all you can think about is my daughter.”

“Men die all the time,” said Mr. Fletcher.

“That they do, but certainly not of love. She is too young for you.”

“You said that two years ago.”

“And you have grown older since.” Mr. Bennet held up a hand. “We shall not have this discussion in front of Elizabeth. It is even less appropriate than talk of the recently deceased. Speaking of which, they are cooling their heels in the icehouse. You may go and see them. They will certainly be better company for you than myself.”

Elizabeth offered some papers to the coroner. “I have made a copy of the notes regarding the scenes of the crimes and the possessions of the deceased. Mr. Collins’ things have not been searched, but I can show you where those are, should you wish it.”

Mr. Fletcher drew himself up proudly. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I apologize for the impolitic conversation we had before you and for any implication I made that your efforts are not recognized. I appreciate your dedication to your father and the work you do for him, and only regret the circumstances that render it necessary.”

Elizabeth smiled and answered before her father could: “There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Fletcher. You must remember that I was raised to do this work and my sensibilities are not as tender as perhaps some of my other sisters.”

With an accepting nod, Mr. Fletcher took his leave and went to first examine Mr. Collins’ room and then the bodies of the two victims, leaving Elizabeth and her father alone in the bookroom. When the door had closed, she turned and, putting her hands on her hips, said. “What did he mean, he asked you two years ago for whose hand? Mary's? Do you have a death wish? Because I cannot imagine you would live very long should even a whisper of such a refusal reach my mother’s ears.”

Mr. Bennet looked sullen. “Not you, too,” he grumbled. “If this is all the conversation I can expect, I shall have to bar you from my study, as well.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Elizabeth replied equably. “You would then have to do all your own correspondence.”

“Your point is well made.” He sighed, settling back in his chair. “She was not yet seventeen, Lizzy, and the man is more than fifteen years her senior. I would not have granted my permission in such a case, even had I approved of the man. But Fletcher! Good God! I cannot imagine what I have done wrong in my life should I truly deserve such a man as a son-in-law.”

“Now, Papa, he’s not a bad sort. Quite the opposite -- very conscientious to his duty, steady, well established. He is not the most handsome of men,” she said, earning a snort from her father, “but that is hardly a necessary requirement for a husband, if his character is good.”

“He is a pompous, conceited, narrow-minded a--!”

“Papa! Language!” Elizabeth cried, laughing. “And you think he is worse than, say, Mr. Collins? You nearly had him for a son-in-law, remember.”

“Over my dead body,” her father muttered. “And I don’t think I was in so much danger as all that. But Fletcher! The man has a rigid mind, and a mental acuity he thinks much higher than it is.”

“He was first in his class at university,” his daughter reminded him. “And it should hardly matter to you in the least, as you wouldn’t be spending any more time with him than you already do. He has his own estate; you would hardly be forced to put him up at Longbourn. If Mary doesn’t object to his person or his intelligence or his manner, why should you?”

Mr. Bennet would not be moved. “But if he were a relation, I would be forced to put him up at Longbourn when he comes, and not shuffle him off to the inn as we do now.”

Elizabeth conceded he had a valid point, but would not cede the argument. “Is a few days of discomfort each year truly worth your daughter’s happiness?” When her father thought about this for far longer than he ought to have, she changed the topic: “So what now for the investigation? Shall I give Mr. Fletcher the remainder of the notes from our interviews?”

“If he does not wish them, I do not see any reason to go out of our way to provide him with them,” Mr. Bennet said. “He has never approved my methods, and I certainly will not stir myself to assist him. No, he will make his own investigation, hold the inquest and declare the deaths to be murder by person or persons unknown, and then be called away to discover the reason some little old lady fell down some stairs and killed herself. Such a brief interlude shall not disturb my investigation unduly, especially as I already know--”

Here Mr. Bennet was interrupted by a knock on the door, and at his request the butler entered with a calling card. Mr. Bennet studied the card, both the front and the note handwritten on the back, a frown developing between his brows, and then he nodded and told Hill to show the visitor in -- but slowly. “Lizzy,” he said once the servant had closed the door, “third book from the right on the second bottom shelf right of the window, green binding.” When she had fetched the requested volume, he flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted and ran his finger over several lines, making thoughtful noises.

Moments later, a knock preceded the entrance of a gentleman of about thirty, dressed in a colonel’s uniform of The Blues. He came to attention in front of the desk and bowed formally to Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth. Upon being introduced to the latter he offered a genuine smile that made his plain and rugged features more pleasant; Elizabeth liked him immediately.

“I thank you for seeing me, Sir,” he began in the crisp voice of one used to commanding troops. “I understand from Colonel Forster that you are heading the investigation into the death of one of his men, Mr. Francis Denny, late lieutenant of the ---shire Militia. I have been sent to assist you in bringing the culprit to bear for his crime.” He stepped forward, offering a sheaf of folded papers to the man behind the desk. “My credentials and orders from the Commander.”

Mr. Bennet took the papers and laid them on the desk, slowly poring over the contents of each individual page. At last he folded them again, returning them to the man before him. He removed his spectacles, and then folded his hands and rested them against his lips. “I find it very odd that a colonel in the regulars has been sent to deal with a militia matter,” he said after a moment of silence. “Why you?”

The colonel grimaced slightly, but nodded. “A fair question, and one I am afraid I cannot easily answer beyond what you have already read. It should perhaps suffice to say that the deceased’s family has some influence in certain quarters, and favors were owed to certain people. I was chosen through a combination of convenience, immediacy, and some previous experience I have had in investigations of this stripe. Ordinarily matters would not be arranged in such a fashion, but…” he made a gesture to indicate the helplessness of his position, his smile rueful.

“Indeed,” Mr. Bennet said with pursed lips. “It does, however, make this situation somewhat more complicated.”

“I assure you, sir,” the colonel said, “I shall not interfere in the progress of your investigation unless absolutely necessary. My primary function is to facilitate the exchange of information between yourself and the militia, and further to ensure that protocols are being followed from a military standpoint in any situation that might arise with regard to members of the militia.”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bennet replied with irritation. “I can hardly be troubled about that. I rather expected something of the sort. I am more concerned with your particular connections.”

“My connections!” the colonel echoed with surprise. Both he and Elizabeth looked at her father in amazement.

“I do not mean to impugn your honor, but the question must be raised,” Mr. Bennet said: “Would you have a conflict of interest should one of the suspected persons be someone close to you?”

The colonel drew himself up, a frown creasing his brow. “I should think, like yourself, I can conduct an investigation with impartiality. But I am not aware of any acquaintance in this part of the country.”

“You are Colonel Richard James Fitzwilliam, the third son of the Earl of ---?”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped as she made the connection, and she looked with interest at the officer before them, who nodded his head uncomprehendingly. “You are Mr. Darcy’s cousin?” she asked, her eyes seeking and finding some of the similar features they shared.

“Darcy?” the colonel echoed. “Darcy is involved in this mess? I beg your pardon, but to be clear, are you telling me that Darcy -- Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley -- is a suspect in the slaying of Mr. Francis Denny?”

Mr. Bennet smiled slightly. “A circumstantial case could be made against him. Some of my only evidence points directly to him, in fact.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head firmly, saying, “Absurd. It is simply not possible that Darcy killed anyone, let alone an officer of the militia. He is the most honorable gentleman of my acquaintance, and the idea of him committing such violence, and then further not accepting culpability for his actions, is unheard of. I know him, sir, and it cannot be him.”

“And yet you can be impartial, you say?”

A flush rose in the colonel’s cheeks as the implication was made clear. After a moment his shoulders slumped slightly and he placed his head in his hands. Mr. Bennet sat quietly watching, then after a few minutes closed the book on the desk in front of him and pushed it to the side. At the noise, Colonel Fitzwilliam looked up, took a breath, and rose to his feet. Squaring his shoulders, he bowed and said, “I understand, sir, if you wish me to withdraw. My superiors will be displeased with the situation, but I shall assure them that the circumstances--”

“Oh, sit down, Colonel,” Mr. Bennet said testily. “There is no reason I can see for you to recuse yourself. For one thing, your letters of introduction speak highly of your character, your principals, and honor; I trust you can conduct any investigation fairly. Furthermore, I do not truly suspect your cousin of having killed Mr. Denny. And lastly, it is no longer my investigation at the moment, so I have no say in your involvement in the least.”

After a moment, a rueful smile crossed the colonel’s face, replacing the look of bafflement he had worn at Mr. Bennet’s words. He sat down slowly on the chair. “I can see, sir, that you keep your cards close to your vest. May I inquire who is heading the investigation currently?”

“Mr. Fletcher, the coroner. He is currently examining the bodies of the two recently deceased.”

“Two?” the colonel said. “Who else has died?”

“Our cousin, Mr. William Collins, was found murdered yesterday morning,” Elizabeth explained. “He was visiting us from his parish in Hunsford, in Kent. He had been struck on the head, killed and left on the side of the road between here and Meryton.”

“Did you say Hunsford? Near Rosings?”

Mr. Bennet smiled. “Ah, yes. That was another connection I had forgotten. Mr. Collins’ patroness was your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

The colonel’s brow furrowed. “That seems quite a coincidence.”

“And it is possible you know yet someone else,” Elizabeth said, thinking. “The son of Mr. Darcy’s former steward is also here.”

A profound silence fell on the room. Elizabeth was startled by the change that had come over the colonel. “Do you mean to tell me that George Wickham is here?” he said in a voice of restrained rage. When Elizabeth nodded, the colonel stood abruptly and began to pace across the room. He appeared like the lion she had once seen in London, when her aunt and uncle had taken her to the Tower menagerie, and she felt the same thrilling chill run down her spine as she waited for the tawny beast to pounce.

“Where was he when Mr. Denny was killed?”

Elizabeth startled at the sudden question, but responded that Mr. Wickham had been in town; that Mr. Denny himself had told her at the ball of his absence, and they had seen him the following morning when he returned. The colonel swore, then apologized for his language.

“One cannot make a man a villain when the evidence says not that he is,” Mr. Bennet said quietly.

“The man is a villain,” the colonel retorted. “He is a degenerate, scheming, amoral man who was given much in life and repaid it by nearly ruining--” He paused, his eyes flicking from Elizabeth to Mr. Bennet. “A young lady,” he finished lamely.

“Perhaps you can tell us the story,” the latter gentleman said, when the colonel appeared to think better of continuing, “or at least what you are free to reveal. I will never object to furthering my knowledge of the motives that drive people.”

The colonel paused. “Has Darcy said aught of his dealings with Wickham?”

“Barely a word,” Elizabeth said, a little sharply. “Your cousin could hardly be prevailed upon to say any more than that Mr. Wickham made friends easily, but is less than capable of retaining them. And that sounds more of jealousy coming from a man who seemingly has such trouble making friends of any sort at all, much less lost them. And though I suspect its veracity now, I must tell you that Mr. Wickham’s tale of their interactions was quite convincing.”

“And no doubt it would be,” the colonel said, his lip curling. “The man is skilled at using charm and misdirection to inveigle his listeners. He has a talent for discovering the prettiest and wealthiest lady in the neighborhood and convincing her of his gentlemanly ways for reasons you, no doubt, can surmise.”

Elizabeth felt the heat rising to her cheeks. “I am hardly wealthy, sir. We are a very modest household, and I do not have great expectations. Mr. Wickham would not have sought me out for that reason.”

The colonel raised his eyebrows and directed a look at her father while still speaking to her: “Then it was not for marriage, but he sought you out, all the same.”

“My daughter was in no danger,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice more stern than Elizabeth had ever heard it. “Elizabeth is beyond reproach. I understand, though, that you imply Mr. Wickham is something of a seducer of innocents. Do you have proof?”

“Several times over, though I hesitate to reveal names due to the delicate nature of a reputation, sir.”

Mr. Bennet nodded once. “A worthy reason,” he said. “But I regret to inform you that even should you establish him a knave with women, a murderer you have not made. The most despicable man may live out the course of his life without ever once running afoul of the laws, or at least without leaving evidence of his transgressions, and be beyond my reach. If he is no more than a rogue or a hunter of fortune by marriage, he is not worthy of my notice.”

“You have a daughter -- I should think that worthy of your notice.”

“I have five daughters, colonel, and while I thank you for the warning against his character, it is irrespective of my investigations.”

“He is a gambler,” the colonel persisted.

“I am aware of that; but so do half of the officers in the militia share that failing. I can hardly arrest all of them for murdering Mr. Denny, because of it.”

“He is a thorough liar and a cheat.”

“That, too, I know,” Mr. Bennet said, shaking his head. “What say you start at the beginning?”

And so the colonel sat down on the edge of his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and began to describe his acquaintance with Mr. Wickham: how the man had been the son of the steward at Pemberley during Mr. Darcy’s father’s lifetime, and how Wickham and young Darcy, only a few years separated, had played together as children. Old Mr. Darcy had bestowed his kindness liberally on his godson and had supported him at school and later at Cambridge, an education he would not otherwise have had, due in part to the extravagance of Mrs. Wickham. The young man, however, had become discontent with his station in life and envied what he perceived as the freedom of wealth and status enjoyed by his more fortunate companions, young Darcy, especially. Always having been of a more lively and social disposition, he soon took to gambling, drinking, and carousing. Colonel Fitzwilliam knew him to frequent inns with particularly foul reputations with his university mates to engage in less-than-gentlemanly behavior.

This conduct, however, never reached the ears of old Mr. Darcy, or if it had it did not sway him from his intent to provide a living for George Wickham. Until the end of his life, Mr. Darcy at least outwardly considered his godson a young gentleman of good character worthy of his respect and continued support. After his death about five years previous now, however, Wickham flatly denied any desire for the living, requesting instead compensation he felt equal to the position, with the alleged purpose of using that money to pursue the study of law. He and young Darcy at last came to an agreement of three thousand pounds, in addition to the outright bequest old Mr. Darcy had left of one thousand pounds. Such an amount should have supported a gentleman of judicious habits for some time, but less than three years later, upon the living at Kympton falling vacant, Wickham wrote saying he was in desperate straits and asserting his plan of entering the church and his right to the position his godfather had intended him. Darcy refused him, to much abuse, and all correspondence seemed to be at an end.

“And that should have been an end to the acquaintance,” the colonel said, his expression darkening, “but this past summer, he intruded upon our notice in a most painful way. My … a young relation was visiting the seaside, and Wickham followed her there. With the connivance of her companion, he played upon her youth and naivete to convince her to fall in love with him and to consent to elope with him. They were to be away within days, and only a chance meeting stopped the scheme and foiled his plans, which were doubtless both revenge on Darcy and the attraction of Geo-- the young lady’s dowry of thirty thousand pounds. She was only fifteen.”

Silence fell on the room, only broken by the hiccough that tore from Elizabeth’s throat. “Is she -- how is the young lady?” she asked, her heart breaking at the idea of such villainy against an innocent young girl, and the thought that she had taken his part at one time and had felt compassion for such a reprobate.

The colonel looked with sympathy at Elizabeth and nodded. “She is recovering, but there is a depression to her spirits that has not lifted, and her manner has become even more withdrawn and hesitant than it ever had been before. Her brother and I have been unsuccessful in diverting her thoughts from what she perceives as a failure and disappointment.”

“I am sorry for Miss Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said, and then smiled as the colonel began to splutter. “Come, come, Colonel. You cannot think me so stupid as to not put the pieces together. How many fifteen-year-old female relations do both you and Darcy have in common, that would allow for such revenge on him? I should hope you are better at investigations than in concealing secrets, or I fear the army is in grave trouble.”

The colonel had flushed deeply and bowed shortly. “I can trust in your discretion?”

“You have our word,” Elizabeth said. Mr. Bennet waved a hand to indicate his concurrence, clearly bored now he’d had his diversion. A little embarrassed by her father’s behavior, she turned to the colonel and asked him what kind of information they could provide him regarding the murder, and whether he should like to meet with the coroner and see the bodies. He was in the midst of replying that he had rather return to the King George Inn in St. Albans to fetch his things, as the day was growing short this time of year and Colonel Forster had invited him to reside with him and his wife in Meryton, when Mr. Fletcher himself arrived. Elizabeth introduced the two men and, once the explanations concluded, the coroner turned to Mr. Bennet and declared that, with the decaying nature of the bodies and the little he understood of the nature of the case, the more prompt the inquest, the better.

“Unlawful death by person or persons unknown, is it?” Mr. Bennet said dryly, not looking up from his place behind the newspaper.

Mr. Fletcher pursed his lips and said that would be determined by the evidence presented. He would hold the inquest tomorrow.
SubjectAuthorPosted

Death at the Netherfield Ball, Chapter 8

KathyMay 04, 2022 08:32AM

Re: Death at the Netherfield Ball, Chapter 8

ChristineMay 16, 2022 01:55AM

Re: Death at the Netherfield Ball, Chapter 8

Shannon KMay 14, 2022 09:06PM

Re: Death at the Netherfield Ball, Chapter 8

EvelynJeanMay 05, 2022 05:07AM

Re: Death at the Netherfield Ball, Chapter 8

KarenteaMay 05, 2022 12:37AM

Excellent

HarveyMay 04, 2022 11:04PM

Re: Excellent

Debra McMay 05, 2022 03:49AM

Re: Death at the Netherfield Ball, Chapter 8

IngaMay 04, 2022 10:39PM

Another terrific chapter!

LisaYMay 04, 2022 06:33PM



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