“No, most likely they stole food from farms or hunted the occasional animal, merely biding their time until they could return to London.”
“But what could these men have to do with Fitzwilliam?”
“That was precisely my question as well. The magistrate handling his case told me yesterday that he had been paid…to kill Darcy.”
A heavy silence fell between them. There were undoubtedly sad and sordid occurrences in the world they inhabited. Still, a heinous crime explicitly directed at one man was inconceivable. Elizabeth could hardly imagine it.
“But who?” she asked after a long pause, her beautiful face etched with fear and worry. “Hertfordshire? Fitzwilliam spent two months there and met no one other than our neighbours…who are all honest people. Who could have anything against him? There were no incidents involving him. I assure you, Meryton and Longbourn are not like London. There, everyone knows everyone else’s business. How could this be?”
“I do not know yet, but rest assured, I will find out.”
Elizabeth remained in the library after the colonel had left, and gradually, the beauty of the room began to dissipate the fears in her heart. She trusted the colonel to uncover whether there had been a terrible plot against Fitzwilliam, and she also felt reassured by the protection they had been afforded.
Resolved to keep her composure, she agreed with the colonel’s decision not to tell Georgiana anything just yet. Then, almost involuntarily, her eyes wandered over the bookshelves.She read a few titles and imagined a warm summer afternoon spent in that room, reading. She saw herself in one of the deep leather armchairs, surrounded by open books. Yet the happiness of the scene felt incomplete. Something was missing. When she closed her eyes, she saw Mr Darcy smiling from the chair opposite her.
Her reverie was interrupted by the butler announcing the arrival of Mrs Gardiner and Jane, and for the first time since her arrival, she let her tears fall.
Chapter 20
Elizabeth surrendered to despair in the arms of her aunt and sister, who initially received her with astonishment but soon became deeply alarmed.
“What is happening, Lizzy?” Jane cried, trying to wipe the tears streaming down her sister’s face. “What are you doing here? What have they done to you?”
With immense effort, Elizabeth composed herself. There was little time, but the story had to begin at the Parsonage. Yet, as she recounted the events of that morning, something strange occurred: the image of Darcy watching her from an armchair in that very room, a book open on his lap, refused to leave her mind. He had been right—the past no longer mattered, and his grave condition compelled her to reconsider the words each of them had spoken when his odd proposal had been angrily rejected. She did not like to lie, but what had happened in Kent did not count any longer.
“My God,” Jane murmured in shock. “He proposed to you?” Regret and perhaps even a trace of envy lingered in her voice, betraying how deeply she still suffered over Mr Bingley and how much she had wanted to marry him.
“Yes—”
“And?” Mrs Gardiner interjected impatiently, for a marriage proposal was hardly a tragedy. Yet, Elizabeth’s tears suggested a situation of serious consequence.
In a few words, Elizabeth told them the rest: her refusal based only on the fact that she was not in love with him, Miss Darcy’s letter, her arrival in London, and her decision to marry, which she revealed with some hesitation, suspecting her family might question her reasons. But, to her surprise, neither Mrs Gardiner nor Jane offered any criticism. Their expressions, far from reflecting disapproval, revealed only worry.
“I have lived since yesterday with the fear that I might open the door to his room…and find him gone. But look, it has been five days since it happened, and he lives still. He is pale and weak as he has lost much blood. He is continually in pain, but the physician assured me this morning there is no sign the bullet has shifted dangerously. I can almost dare to believe the doctor is mistaken and Mr Darcy is past the worst, but he remains convinced that—” Her voice broke.
“Oh, my dear,” Mrs Gardiner said sorrowfully. “It pains me to say this, but you must not place too much hope—”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, looking at her with trepidation. Mrs Gardiner hesitated, evidently regretting her words, but Elizabeth pressed her to continue. “Please, Aunt, tell me if you know something.”
Although it seemed improbable that a lady of her aunt’s station and upbringing might have knowledge of gunshot wounds, Mrs Gardiner drew a laboured breath and resolved tospeak. “Some four or five years ago, we began practising archery in our neighbourhood.”
The girls looked at her in astonishment, for they had believed that even the most inconsequential news passed between London and Longbourn, yet they had heard nothing of this pastime.
“Yes, we gave it up after a few months when, by accident, one of us struck another with an arrow.”
“Oh!” both girls exclaimed.
“They removed the arrow, but the tip remained lodged in the lady’s chest. For a time, she seemed well, but then one day, after a simple slip on the stairs, she died.”
“It shifted,” Elizabeth whispered, burying her head in her hands. Seeing Darcy so well that morning had allowed her to hope the physician might be wrong. Her aunt’s story had shattered that fragile belief. It was proof that such things happened, and no one could tell how it would end in their case. But her aunt’s story only deepened her determination not to let Fitzwilliam move at any cost.
“My dear,” Mrs Gardiner continued as she wanted to know much more about that strange situation, “we must understand what is happening here so we may write to your family at Longbourn. Your uncle will also want to know the details of this situation into which you have plunged with such urgency.”
“You said there was no time for hesitation,” Elizabeth replied.
“But marriage is a serious matter. You cannot decide upon it in mere moments—”
“Yet one can,” Jane said with determination. “It is precisely what I would have done, without a second thought, if Mr Bingley had sought my help.”
