“Downstairs, sir. In the round tower.”
Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, I fear we must postpone this conversation until I have seen to the matter.”
She nodded, too stunned to speak. Not only had she just discovered depths to Mr. Darcy she had never suspected—his admiration, his internal struggle—but she had also heard him confess, however unintentionally, both his regard and his disdain. For her. For her family. For everything that made her who she was.
“Allow me to accompany you back to your rooms.”
They left the room and climbed up the stairs, followed by the footman.
Mr. Darcy hesitated when they reached her door. “Miss Bennet,” he said. “If you do not find it inconvenient, I should like to ask you to stay in Miss Lucas’s room tonight. I should be more at ease knowing you are not on your own.”
“Aye, sir. Allow me to first gather a few things from my chambers.”
“I shall wait here. I should rather not have you wandering this house alone.”
She hurried into her room took only a moment to gather a bundle of clothes. Mr. Darcy attended her to Maria's room and waited until the door opened.
“Lizzy!” It was Charlotte who answered. “Where have you been? We knocked at your door and. . .” The parson's wife realized Elizabeth was not alone, and clutched her night robe more tightly across her chest. “Mr. Darcy, sir. I am sorry, I did not see you.”
“Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, “Mr. Darcy suggested I should stay here.”
“Of course, come in.” She grabbed Elizabeth's arm and pulled her into the room.
Chapter 12 – A Fragile Accord
Elizabeth’s surprise at finding Charlotte in Maria’s room was only matched by the astonishment of her friends when they saw her arriving at such a late hour—and in the company of Mr. Darcy. As soon as the door closed behind her, questions began to fly.
“Lizzy, where on earth have you been?” Charlotte demanded, her tone a mix of irritation and worry. “We knocked on your door several times, and we could not find you in your room! We were about to start a search!”
“I was in the library,” Elizabeth said in a rush. “I must have dozed off with my novel, and Mr. Darcy found me there. But why areyounot in your own room?” Her explanation was fairly plausible.
“My husband. . .” Charlotte began, paused, then replied curtly, “Maria was frightened to sleep alone, so I came to keep her company.”
Elizabeth did not miss her friend’s nervous demeanour, yet she was too tired to ask what was the matter. Her stay at Rosings had been marked by strange occurrences, and this was just another.
Maria added, “Yes, Lizzy, there is talk of a murderer on the loose in this house. It is best we keep together. That is why we came in search of you.”
The three ladies gathered on the bed, Maria and Charlotte drawing the counterpane about them, while Elizabeth attempted toremove the pins from her hair. She was still unsettled by the night’s events, leaving little room for other considerations.
“This is simply not acceptable, Lizzy,” Charlotte said in a soft, chiding tone. “What if your father learns about you roaming the house in the middle of the night, with Mr. Darcy, of all people?”
“He merely accompanied me upstairs,” Elizabeth replied with a yawn. “Like you, he thought it best that I not remain alone tonight. I am exhausted. I shall explain everything in the morning.”
Charlotte cast a dubious glance towards Elizabeth and lay down. Elizabeth also tried to repose on the bed, though sleep refused to come. Her mind churned with the events of the past hours, most of all with Mr. Darcy’s unexpected confession of an affection he seemed to resent rather than cherish.
THE PREVAILING DARKNESS OF THE ROUND TOWER LOOMED AROUND him. candle in hand, Darcy strained to discern the path beyond the first turn of the staircase. This obscure, winding route connected the shadowed servant quarters in the basement with the lofty family apartments above. Carved from the same ancient stone as the tower, the staircase spiralled upwards, its timeworn steps a veritable death trap for the unwary.
At the foot of the staircase lay Mrs. Jenkinson’s lifeless body. Darcy had never borne the sight of the dead well, and the vision of her head twisted unnaturally, eyes glassy and wide, and body bruised and contorted was almost too much to bear. Nearby, scattered pieces of china and a tray testified to the chaos of her final moments.
His stomach tightened. “When was she found?” he asked Ferguson, the footman who had been promoted to serve as his manservant while at Rosings. He lacked the refinement Darcy was accustomed to in a personal attendant, but he was steady, discreet, and remarkably efficient.
“Not long before I came to fetch you, sir.” Ferguson glanced about, seemingly unaffected by the broken remains at his feet. “Cook was the one who saw her. We don’t use them stairs much after dark. They are too dark and narrow for the likes of us.”
“Why would she use them, then?”
Ferguson shook his head. “No idea, sir. She always took the main stair when bringing tea to Miss de Bourgh’s rooms every night when her charge went to bed, same as always.”
Before Darcy could press further, footsteps echoed along the stone walls. Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared with a footman in tow.
