Page 9 of Chasing Shadows

Three weeks passed in Meryton without tidings of the killer’s capture, nor of any fresh murder.

At first, the town had been alive with speculation, the gossip running from house to house and filling every corner of the market.

For days, no conversation could pass without some mention of the constable’s death.

Yet, a week after the burial of Mr. Tobias Hatch, the talk began to subside.

Had he been a married man, with a grieving widow or children to keep his memory before the parish, perhaps the matter might have lingered longer.

But Mr. Hatch, of modest means and low estate, had lived alone in the small dwelling he inherited from his late father.

There were no relations close at hand to keep his name in constant circulation.

So it was that some degree of normalcy appeared to return. True, a few cautious souls still spoke of the matter in lowered tones, while others whispered hopes that the killer would soon be apprehended, if only that the town might sleep in peace again.

On the Friday of the third week since his passing, the Bennets were assembled at breakfast when the errand boy arrived with a letter for Jane.

“It is from Miss Bingley,” Jane announced, breaking the seal.

At once Mrs. Bennet urged her daughter to read it aloud, that the whole family might hear.

Jane complied, her soft voice carrying across the table.

‘My dearest Miss Bennet,

The gentlemen of the house have gone out this morning to wait upon Colonel Forster concerning the unhappy disturbances that have so afflicted the neighbourhood.

My sisters and I are left entirely alone and find ourselves both restless and dull, for we dare not yet venture far into the town.

Might you favour us by coming to Netherfield to take tea and enliven our solitude?

If yes, we await your arrival at Netherfield; if you cannot come, kindly send a note to that effect.

With regards,

Caroline Bingley.’

“The militia have been dreadfully dull ever since this horrid business began. One would think they had nothing in mind but duty.” Lydia said after Jane laid aside the letter.

Mrs. Bennet beamed, her face alight as though the queen herself had written to announce a royal visit. “To think, Jane, that Miss Bingley should invite you especially! You must go at once. There is not a moment to be lost. We shall have one of the horses saddled.”

Jane hesitated. “But, Mama, what of the carriage? Surely it would be easier—”

“All the other horses are engaged upon the farm,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted, with a flutter of her handkerchief. “There is no conveyance to be had but on horseback.”

“I cannot think it advisable, Jane. With the sky so dark, even if you reach Netherfield before the rain breaks, you will not return without being drenched through.” Elizabeth interposed gently.

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes brightened with satisfaction. “All the better! Then you will be obliged to remain the night at Netherfield—under Mr. Bingley’s own roof.”

Elizabeth coloured at her mother’s eagerness, while Jane sat in quiet embarrassment. Mr. Bennet, who had thus far made no comment, dropped his fork and spoke with mild irony.

“My dear Mrs. Bennet, considering that you have not ceased these three weeks to insist that Mr. Darcy is the very image of a murderer on the loose, one might suppose you would hesitate before urging your daughter into the same house with him.”

Mrs. Bennet, undeterred, sniffed with importance.

“Well, they have said he is not the killer. And did he not sleep under this very roof at Longbourn on the night the militia officer was slain? No, Mr. Bennet, it cannot be him. Besides, it has been three whole weeks since any fresh calamity. We cannot live in hiding forever and prevent our girls from making the most favourable of connections.”

Thus persuaded, Jane was obliged to prepare for her visit. And so, shortly after the meal was finished, she set out for Netherfield on horseback, her sisters watching anxiously from the window as the first low rumble of thunder stirred in the distance.

As if to support her schemes, Jane had scarcely been gone twenty minutes when the heavens broke, pouring rain in sheets so heavy that even Lydia’s exclamations died into uneasy silence.

The Bennet girls clustered at the parlour window, gasping at the force of the storm, while their mother declared with unshaken triumph that Providence itself had conspired on Jane’s behalf.

“See there, my dears! The rain comes at exactly the right moment. She must remain the night at Netherfield now. How fortunate, how exceedingly well-timed!”

No one argued with her, for they knew the futility.

It rained without cease into the night. No rider approached Longbourn’s gates, no message came. When morning dawned, pale and heavy with lingering clouds, they gathered at the breakfast table, still without word of Jane.

By break of day, whilst the household was yet to break their fast, a servant arrived bearing a note from Netherfield. Elizabeth’s hand shook slightly as she broke it open and read aloud:

"My dearest Lizzy,

How right you were about the weather! I confess I was quite thoroughly soaked through before reaching Netherfield yesterday afternoon, and now find myself rather poorly as a consequence.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst have been exceedingly kind in their attentions and will not hear of my departure until I am quite recovered.

Pray do not distress yourself on my account, dearest sister, for I am confident this trifling indisposition will pass directly.

Mr. Jones is expected presently, and I am persuaded that his remedies will see me quite well again by the morrow.

Pray give my fondest regards to Mama and Papa, and kiss our dear sisters for me. I am already counting the hours until I may return to you all.

Yours, etc.”

Elizabeth folded the letter carefully, her brow creasing with concern. "I must go to Jane immediately."

Mr. Bennet glanced up from his morning paper with a wry expression. "How convenient that your mother's matrimonial schemes have resulted in our Jane being confined to a sickbed at Netherfield. I dare say she could not have orchestrated it better if she had tried."

"Really, Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet bristled, setting down her teacup with unnecessary force. “A bit of moisture never harmed anyone. Jane is merely delicate, and it is hardly my fault that the weather proved disagreeable."

"Indeed," Mr. Bennet replied dryly, "you could have easily persuaded Jane not to venture out when Elizabeth mentioned those dark clouds gathering. But encouraging her to go on horseback when rain was imminent—pure coincidence, I am sure."

Mrs. Bennet had nothing to say to that until Elizabeth repeated herself about wanting to go to Netherfield to see her sister.

She clutched her handkerchief as though Elizabeth had proposed some dreadful enormity. “Go to her? On foot? Certainly not. With a killer still abroad, you could be the very target he seeks! I will not have it, Lizzy. You will not set one foot from this house.”

Elizabeth drew a breath, steadying herself. “Jane is alone, Mama—ill, and among those who care little for her comfort. If she is fevered, she must have someone with her who truly loves her. I cannot remain here while she suffers there.”

"You speak as though Miss Bingley and her sister would neglect her!" Mrs. Bennet cried, dabbing her eyes though they were perfectly dry. "Mr. Bingley will see that she is well taken care of. She is in the finest of houses, with every possible attention."

Elizabeth's reply was sharp with impatience. "Miss Bingley's attention serves her own amusement, not Jane's well-being. Moreover, I know Jane's constitution better than they do. When she is unwell, she requires more than mere politeness and fine words."

Before Mrs. Bennet could marshal her forces for another objection, Mr. Bennet lowered his paper, again, and spoke with an amusement that belied the keen eye he fixed upon his wife.

"My dear, how curious that you were so easy in dispatching one daughter to Netherfield yesterday, yet prove so reluctant to permit another today."

"Lizzy might well have been a target of this killer but some few weeks past," Mrs. Bennet protested.

"Are we to suppose the murderer preys only upon second daughters?"

Mrs. Bennet gasped, quite affronted. "That is not what I meant at all! But Elizabeth—she is so headstrong, she would walk unaccompanied—"

"Headstrong, certainly," Mr. Bennet interrupted, folding his paper with deliberate care. "But no more so than her mother when she has set her heart upon a scheme. Elizabeth shall go."

Elizabeth rose at once, relief mingling with determination. "Thank you, Papa."

Mrs. Bennet made one final, half-hearted protest—"At the very least, wait for the carriage!"—but even she could not deny the obvious. The horses remained engaged with the farm work, and there was no prospect of any conveyance.

"Mama, it is merely three miles on foot. I shall go and return well before dinner," Elizabeth said. "Moreover, we have been confined indoors far too long because of this dreadful affair. Surely a brisk walk will do me considerable good."

With no further objection to raise, and after a stern caution from Mr. Bennet that she should remain watchful and prudent, Elizabeth donned her cloak and hood, fastening the ties securely beneath her chin.

Kitty and Lydia offered to accompany her as far as Meryton market, but their mother forbade it most emphatically.

The air outside was crisp with the freshness of rain-washed earth, the fields glistening with droplets.

The lane to Netherfield was thoroughly sodden, forcing Elizabeth to navigate carefully around the deeper puddles and step nimbly over the smaller ones.

Mud clung persistently to her shoes and splashed against her stockings as she pressed forward, the hem of her gown growing ever darker and heavier with each step.

The events of the past two months weighed heavily upon her thoughts.

A killer still roamed free, though three weeks had passed since the constable’s death and no fresh outrage had occurred.

No word had come from the militia, and Mr. Darcy had not been seen at Longbourn since that sombre day when he and Mr. Bingley had brought the news.

Mr. Bingley had called twice in the interval, but always without his friend.

Now, as she made her way to Netherfield, Elizabeth could not help but wonder if she might see him there.

Perhaps he would share some intelligence on what progress had been made toward discovering the murderer.

Miss Bingley’s letter had mentioned that the gentlemen had gone to consult Colonel Forster—surely their business had concerned this very matter.

The hedgerows stirred in the wind, a branch cracked beneath her tread, and each small sound seemed laden with menace. Elizabeth flinched in spite of herself, yet her purpose did not waver. For Jane’s sake, she would not turn back.

As she climbed the gentle rise that afforded a prospect of the fields toward Netherfield, the great house stood majestically against the pale morning sky, its numerous windows glinting weakly in what little sunlight penetrated the lingering clouds.

Elizabeth drew her cloak more closely about her and quickened her pace.

By the time she reached the imposing front entrance, her gown was thoroughly spattered with mud, her cheeks flushed from exertion and the crisp air, and her spirits admirably braced for whatever reception awaited her.

She was conducted into the entrance hall, her unexpected arrival met with evident surprise and a certain reserve by the household servants, though they dared not refuse her admittance.

Caroline Bingley appeared a moment later, all astonishment thinly veiled by politeness. “Why, Miss Elizabeth! How very unexpected. You have walked? In such weather?”

Elizabeth met her with composure, though she could scarcely conceal her impatience. “I came to be with my sister.”

Caroline’s smile did not touch her eyes. “But of course. She is in the best of care, I assure you.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Nevertheless, I would see her.”

Caroline faltered for a heartbeat, then inclined her head with forced graciousness. “As you wish. Pray, follow me.”

Elizabeth stepped forward, her shoes leaving damp prints upon the polished floor, her mind set as firmly as her tread.

***

Jane was far more unwell than her note had suggested. When Elizabeth was shown into her chamber, she found her sister struggling even to open her eyes. The poor girl had slept ill and now lay flushed with a burning fever.

At the sight, Elizabeth forgot her earlier wonderings as to the rest of the household—for she had indeed been struck by the absence of all but Miss Bingley when she arrived. Those thoughts were driven from her mind in the instant she took Jane’s hand.

She had just seated herself beside the bed when Miss Bingley, as though in answer to the unspoken question, said lightly, “The apothecary will be here soon, I am sure. Charles insists upon his coming before the household returns from Barnet. I remained only to make the necessary preparations, to receive the apothecary when he arrives, and to keep an eye upon dear Jane.”

Elizabeth looked up with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Miss Bingley. You have been most kind.”

Miss Bingley inclined her head with practised sweetness and excused herself, leaving the sisters in privacy.

Jane murmured only a few words of welcome, expressing her happiness at Elizabeth’s presence before she drifted once more into feverish sleep.

Elizabeth smoothed the coverlet, watching until her sister’s breathing steadied, and then at last allowed her own mind to wander back to Miss Bingley’s remark.

“Barnet,” she repeated softly. If the whole household had gone to the principal coaching stop outside Meryton, then surely they had gone to receive someone.

But whom? She could not guess. A visitor of consequence, perhaps—yet in these unsettled times, when suspicion still lingered over every corner of Hertfordshire, she could not help but wonder whether the matter bore some connection to the unknown killer still abroad.

Whoever it was, she told herself, she would know soon enough.