Page 18 of Chasing Shadows

“Five murders now! It is too much, Mr. Bennet, far too much!” cried Mrs. Bennet, wringing her hands.

News of a tradesman robbed and killed might ordinarily have been confined to whispers in shadowed corners, yet this time it swept through Meryton like wildfire.

Most declared it nothing more than a robbery, though some muttered darkly that it must be the work of the same killer still at large.

And who could blame them? At present, were a bird to fall dead from the sky in Meryton, there were those who would lay the blame on the killer at large.

“They are saying it was a robbery,” Mr. Bennet observed drily. He had just returned from a call upon Sir William Lucas, where the news was already the chief topic, and was now recounting it to his wife. “Yet the timing is most questionable, for such occurrences are scarce known in Meryton.”

The Bennet sisters, who had been gathered in the music room, hurried in at their mother’s shrill exclamation, arriving just in time to hear the last of their father’s remark.

“The poor fellow was said to be a toy seller,” Mr. Bennet continued, “newly come to Meryton, lodging at the Crown and Horn on the outskirts.”

“What happened to him, Papa?” Jane asked. “Mama only shouted.”

“There has been another murder,” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “It must be the same killer!”

“I said it could be a robbery,” Mr. Bennet corrected.

Mary frowned, her brow furrowed in recollection. “A toy seller? I hope it was not the very man who pressed us yesterday to buy his wares.”

“If he lodged at the Crown and Horn, then it must be the same man,” Kitty reasoned.

“That inn is for passersby, and I had never set eyes on him in Meryton until yesterday. Besides, save for Mr. Martin, who sells his wooden effigies, and the seamstress on Green Street, I know of no other toy-seller in the town.”

“Did he quarrel with Mr. Darcy as well?” Mrs. Bennet demanded. “It seems every soul who dies has had words with that man!”

“Mama—” Elizabeth’s voice was firm. “Mr. Darcy is no killer. Yes, some who argued with him have died, but we all know he did not kill them. At least when Mr. Wickham was slain, Mr. Darcy was with us, protecting me. No—this murderer merely wishes to make him appear guilty.”

“Surely Lizzy is right,” Mr. Bennet said. “If Mr. Darcy killed people for disagreeing with him, then we should be gathering bodies daily, for half the village finds him disagreeable.”

“If he did not carry himself so proudly,” Mrs. Bennet sniffed, “perhaps they would not.”

“You do not know him, Mama,” Elizabeth replied quietly.

“I do not think the toy-seller quarrelled with Mr. Darcy at all,” Kitty interjected. “Had he done so, it must have been observed, for Mr. Darcy cannot stir in the town without being noticed. And besides, what business could he possibly have with a toy-seller?”

“None, I should think,” Jane said softly.

Mrs. Bennet pressed a hand to her bosom. “Shall we now live in fear for our very lives? Even at Christmastide, when we ought to be visiting our neighbours, must this murderer rob us of all enjoyment?”

“The toy-seller was so very kind,” Kitty said, scarcely heeding her mother’s lament, though she too spoke with a sort of wistful remembrance. “I liked the way he tried to persuade us to buy his toys when we were with Mr. Denny. Why should anyone wish to harm him?”

“A travelling tradesman?” Mary replied with a shake of the head. “Doubtless it was for his money. Such things are not uncommon upon the roads, particularly if he had been followed into the neighbourhood by highwaymen.” She delivered it with the air of information they all ought already to possess.

“They took his purse and his wares,” said Mr. Bennet.

“Heavens have mercy,” Lydia exclaimed. “He did not look like a man to trouble anyone. His voice was pleasing, too. I turned when he said Ramsgate —even before he walked up to us.”

Elizabeth’s head came up sharply. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, Lizzy.”

“No, Lydia—you said something just now.”

“I only said his voice was uncommon. Ramsgate was the word he spoke, and when I heard it, I turned. After that, he smiled and came towards us,” Lydia replied with a shrug.

Elizabeth felt her breath catch. “Was he speaking it to you—or to another?”

“I do not know, Lizzy. Perhaps he said it to someone, perhaps he meant he was from there. I could not tell. If he spoke to another, I did not see the person, but he surely wasn’t speaking to me.”

Elizabeth grew thoughtful, her face troubled. Mr. Bennet noted it at once.

“What is it, Lizzy?”

“I am not certain, Papa. Only—Mr. Darcy once confided something to me about Ramsgate. I do not know if it is of consequence, but perhaps he ought to hear what Lydia has said.”

Mr. Bennet’s brows rose at this, for he had not known that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy spoke together in confidence. Yet he held his peace, watching his daughter with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Oh, Lizzy, you will quite end my poor nerves!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Tell Mr. Darcy what? Something Lydia overheard in passing, only to embroil her in these dreadful murders as well? I have already had one daughter nearly made a victim; I will not have another!”

“Mama, surely I must tell him,” Elizabeth insisted.

“Mr. Darcy has shown nothing but respect to us, and he dropped everything to protect me when he thought me in danger. If this knowledge could help clear his name, or bring the killer to justice, it is worth reporting—for the safety of all Meryton.”

Mrs. Bennet drew breath to object, but Mr. Bennet raised a hand and she fell silent.

“Lizzy is right. Surely, for her to think Mr. Darcy should hear of this matter, she must deem it of some consequence. She must tell him at once. I shall have the carriage brought round, and we will drive to Netherfield.”

Elizabeth looked at her father with quiet gratitude. He had not pressed her to reveal what Mr. Darcy had confided, nor forced her to betray his confidence, yet he had given her leave to act as her conscience directed.

As her father left the room, Elizabeth stared down at her hands, her sisters’ eyes upon her—encouraging, expectant.

Mrs. Bennet’s gaze, however, was full of fear.

Elizabeth herself did not know what weight lay in Lydia’s words, or whether there was anything at all.

Yet if it might prove of use to Mr. Darcy, she resolved, there could be no harm in telling him.