Darcy looked pensive as they walked. “I shall bring a pistol to ease your mind. I need only catch Utterson in the act so I can be a witness and convince the magistrate. When we recover Carew’s stolen ring, it will all be enough for an inquest.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, and took both of his hands in hers. If anyone on the other side of the room saw them, they might think they were lovers offering endearments and promises. “You must be careful. SomeonekilledCarew.”
Darcy did not tell her she had nothing to worry about. He only nodded before kissing her hand and pointedly telling everyone he was rather tired and to have a pleasant evening. Elizabeth put on a smile for the others. Darcy had asked her to be certain Hester was out of the way for the evening, and she would do that.
But he is mistaken if he thinks I am going to hide in my room until morning.
To avoidanyone noticing him leaving, Darcy bypassed the stable and walked to the village. Twilight had faded and, although it was too dark to bring out his watch, Darcy knew it must be ten o’clock. He walked to Lambton by memory, skirting along the stream for most of the way. His guests would travel north soon, and if the thief was tempted to steal a few jewels that none would notice missing, he had to act now.
As he neared the village, he checked the carriage pistol he took from the gunroom. He had at first thought to bring the smaller pistol he carried when he rode alone a great distance, but for Elizabeth’s sake he took this larger one. It usually sat under his seat in the coach, and its pair in its case with the coachman. It scarcely fit in his frock coat pocket, but he had promised. He did not expect to need it; all he had to do was observe Utterson and then report what he had seen to the magistrate.
But could I observe him and not confront him?
His father had instructed him not to draw a weapon unless he had sufficient firmness and self-possession to fire it. To preserve his family’s safety, for Elizabeth’s, he could certainly use it. He felt its weight. An eight-inch, single-barrelled pistol, long enough to be moderately accurate, and relatively stable; he had never once had to draw it.
The village was silent as he passed the Pemberley Arms to the school that housed the coffins. Darcy collected himself before opening the door. Three large blocks of ice packed in straw had been delivered, and there was a noticeable difference in temperature. The tables were pushed to the centre of the room and six coffins lay across them.
The bodies awaiting burial or reinterment had been arranged by size, from a stalwart man to the body of one helpless child. He had seen them when they were first brought in. Some had been mostly bone and tattered outdated dress, and those faces had been much easier to look upon than the recent victims. There were labourers with plain dress and coarse shoes, and the finer clothes of a gentlemanly man, and two women shopkeepers who had drowned during the storm.
He was doing more than protecting their jewellery from beingpawned for spending money. He was protecting their dignity, and protecting anyone else from suffering the same degradation.
Darcy looked at his pistol again, half-cocked, as he leant on the same wall with the only door in the corner, so whoever entered must pass him unseen to begin his ghoulish work. He could not stop the villain before he began; he had to witness him in the act.
Whilst he waited in the dark, all he could think on was what if the thief did not yield. He had the right to defend his property and his person, but that did not make it easy to fully cock his pistol and fire it. The courts would find that whomever he shot had been the aggressor, and that he acted in self-defence. He certainly had the skill to fire and hit his mark, but could he use it? What if Utterson refused to cooperate, or threatened him, or said he was leaving and taking what he had stolen?
Do I have sufficient nerve to aim at my friend and pull the trigger?
Elizabeth wascertain that by now Darcy had left for what had become a temporaryla morgue. Every moment of taking no action brought her fresh agitation, and only by going to Lambton herself would she have any tranquillity. Even as she changed her shoes and put on her spencer, she knew Darcy would be angry if she walked the same path alone, at night, that Carew had been murdered on in broad daylight.
Mr Utterson had struck Carew down with a candlestick. A shudder passed over her. If Darcy listened to her and brought a pistol to the village, she ought to do the same.
The gunroom was about twelve feet square, had a fireplace, and cases and drawers along two walls for every item related to fishing and hunting. The room smelled faintly of leather and the tallow for oiling weapons. Several double-barrelled shotguns hung near to fishing rods, and two pistol cases were open on a table next to an Argand lamp.
Two coat-pocket pistols were in one case, and a larger pistol was missing from the other. Each case had its powder flask, bullet pliersand screwdriver, flints, and an oil bottle. Two of the pistols were stored with their hammers down, the frizzen up, oiled and cleaned, and the flint wrapped in leather. But one of the small pocket pistols was loaded and half-cocked.
How strange to leave one loaded.
Darcy must have loaded the smaller one, and then changed his mind and chosen a larger pistol. At least he took her seriously; it would be easier to aim one with a longer barrel. Elizabeth felt the greatest dread of the consequences of his meeting come over her. Darcy was alone with only one shot to defend himself.
Was it foolish to leave the house alone, or foolish to let the man she loved face a murderer alone? Elizabeth lifted the small pistol; it was scarcely longer than the palm of her hand. She was going to be Mrs Darcy; Pemberley was to beherhome, her tenants, her servants, her family to protect.
She filled the pan about halfway from the small horn on the table, just as she had seen her father do, then snapped the frizzen in place over the primed pan. Elizabeth tugged open her long sleeve and tucked the tiny pistol inside. Her spencer sleeve was fitted, but hung loose as it passed her wrist. The pistol fit, and no one would see it if she kept her arm mostly straight and her fingers curled. Darcy would be angry when he saw her—and that was a shame—but he would forgive her.
As long as I do not trip and shoot myself.
What would she have to do if the situation in the deadhouse became untenable? Fully cock the hammer and pull the trigger.And hope that Mr Utterson is only a few feet away.Elizabeth moved her arm to see if the pistol would stay in its place and tried to steady her breathing. She was more agitated than she had ever before felt, but she could face whatever was necessary with self-command, certainly if it was for Darcy’s sake.
As she passed through the hall, she saw light through the drawing room keyhole. Darcy had asked her to make sure Hester was abed, so Elizabeth entered to be certain that someone had only left the candles burning.
She felt fresh confusion when she saw a man at the writing table, folding up a letter with great haste.
“What are you doing here?” she cried.
“I might ask you the same,” Mr Utterson drawled. “I cannot imagine Darcy would be pleased to find you alone with another man.” At her shocked silence, he added, “If you will give me leave to hint as to what I think your wishes are.”
“What?” She was completely astounded. Mr Utterson was supposed to be in the village by now.
“If you do not understand me, then never mind,” he said, rising. He approached the door, and she still stood in front of it. “Pardon me.”
