Page 17 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

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Longbourn

Later That Day

Darcy was grateful for the large fire that had been built in the hearth. Miss Stowe sat closest to it, of course, wrapped in a shawl that hid her injury from sight as well as providing some much-needed warmth. Mr. Bennet sat close beside his niece, and Richard stood a polite distance away, looking thunderstruck.

Darcy himself leaned forward slightly in his chair, hands clasped as he listened to Mr. Bennet, but much of his attention was on Miss Stowe, his glance straying towards her again and again. He was startled to remember Jenny, and uneasy to think that his attraction to the vibrant Elizabeth Stowe was based on vague, half-forgotten memories of a kind, redheaded nursemaid. In truth, they were more than half-forgotten, as he could barely recall Jenny’s face. And even with the unsettling revelation of why he preferred red hair over blonde and brunette, he was of the view that it truly did not matter.

Miss Stowe was an exemplary lady – courageous, kind, witty, strikingly intelligent and well read, with a blithe disregard for the ever-looming possibility of being labeled as a bluestocking. Handsome, yes, but not breathlessly stunning – Darcy’s own reaction to her presence excepted. Miss Caroline Bingley was handsome too, but she had no magnetic pull – a magnetic opposition, perhaps, repulsing him away. No, Darcy was not the sort of man who fell in love with a pretty face, and whatever faint attraction he might have felt for an especially lovely girl in the past had always withered on the vine at shallow, insipid conversation. Richard was correct; his admiration for Miss Stowe was based not merely on looks, though she was a beautiful woman, but also on character and personality. The wisest course of action was to pursue her.

But something else was more pressing, protecting her from her would-be murderer. He had been astonished that Mr. Bennet had discovered who that man was. He had been even more astonished at the identity of the officer who had uncovered the villain.

“Wickham!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said for the third time. “I cannot believe it!”

Bennet, who had been looking grim, lifted an eyebrow and chuckled. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, do I detect a hint that you do not particularly like Lieutenant Wickham? ”

Richard responded by literally grinding his teeth, and Darcy, glancing nervously at Miss Stowe, was relieved to find her smiling a little.

“Mr. Wickham himself informed my uncle that he and Mr. Darcy are not on good terms,” the lady said. “Is it possible that your enmity with him is even deeper, Colonel?”

“It is,” Fitzwilliam declared, marching up and down the green and brown carpet. “Not that Wickham has harmed me more than he has harmed my cousin; it is simply that my cousin is possessed of a cooler temper than I am. I have loudly expressed my desire to...”

He trailed off, grimaced, and said, “My apologies; I forgot that I was in the presence of a lady. In any case, my feelings toward Wickham are not of import. It seems, assuming that this letter is correct, that he has uncovered the identity of the assassin who made the attempt on Miss Stowe’s life. Now I have not met this Captain Denny. Have you, Mr. Bennet?”

“I have not, but Lizzy has,” Mr. Bennet said, turning toward his niece.

Elizabeth nodded and said, “I met him at Lucas Lodge during a dinner party. He seemed pleasant enough, but then I do not pretend to be familiar with the common characteristics of murderers. ”

This was said in such a droll tone that Darcy could not help but smile in wonder and approval. She was a strong woman, Miss Stowe, to maintain a cheerful attitude after being shot and nearly killed!

“Who is the colonel in charge of the militia regiment?” Richard asked, reading the letter yet again.

“A Colonel Forster,” Bennet replied. “He is some five and forty years of age, rather quiet, though perfectly polite.

“I will take care of speaking with Forster,” Richard said.

“Alone?” Darcy asked.

“Alone, yes. I think the conversation will be easier without an audience of civilians.”

“That is sensible,” Bennet said. “Thank you, and I hope you will tell us when Denny is taken into custody.”

“I will,” Fitzwilliam promised.

/

Colonel Forster’s Office

Meryto n

Later

The office in the house rented for the colonel’s use was not a large one, but it was both cozy and comfortable. A small oriental carpet sat between the simple walnut desk and the fireplace, a wooden clock rested on the mantel, and the deep vermilion velvet curtains certainly had not come with the inexpensive provincial house. A glance over the books lined up on the shelf had revealed some expensive titles. Richard, himself the son of a provident earl, recognized the trappings of subtle wealth and approved of his fellow colonel’s taste.

A fire crackled and leaped in the hearth, warming and lighting the room cheerily. The chairs were upholstered in leather, and well-padded, eminently comfortable. All would have been perfectly satisfying were it not for the conversation that had brought Richard hence.

“Captain Denny ?” Colonel Forster demanded incredulously.

“As you see,” Richard Fitzwilliam said, gesturing at the letter in Forster’s hands.

Forster, who had been standing near the window with the light falling on the page, drifted over to sit down behind his desk across from his guest .

“How did you get this?” he insisted.

Richard Fitzwilliam blew out a breath, leaned forward, and said, “I will be honest and say that we arranged to have the officers’ rooms searched at the Pig in the Poke.”

His host’s eyes bugged out in disbelief. “What? Why? Who?”

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Richard was hard pressed to keep from smiling at this incoherent utterance.

“My cousin, Mr. Darcy, was present when Miss Stowe was shot,” he explained. “He and Mr. Bennet spoke at length and thought it probable that the assailant was a member of the militia, since your men comprise most of the newcomers in the area. Sir William Lucas concurred, and after a careful investigation, which found that no strangers had arrived by stage or horse in the days before the attack, they decided to focus more attention on the militia men. Darcy rather suspected the culprit was likely to be a private, but nonetheless, it seemed wise to search the officers’ quarters as well. As you see, this letter from Mrs. Moira Stowe to Captain Denny reveals that he is the miscreant who attacked Miss Stowe, and it reveals Denny’s motive to be the promise of money.”

Colonel Forster rubbed his forehead with one unquiet hand and shook his head .

“I confess that I do not understand this in the least,” he complained. “Who is this Mrs. Stowe? Surely not Miss Stowe’s mother?”

“Her stepmother,” Richard replied, and then he proceeded to explain the entire confusing situation. By the end of his recitation, Forster’s appearance had settled into an expression of resignation.

“It does seem that Denny is guilty,” he admitted. “It is a dreadful thing to learn that one of my own men could do such a horrendous thing. Clearly Denny is acquainted with this Mrs. Stowe.”

“You have never heard of her?”

“I have not,” Forster replied, leaning back into his chair with a sigh. “Most members of the regiment hail from Northumberland, and I am no exception, but it is a large county, after all. I have never heard of Greymere or Mrs. Stowe. How despicable, to attempt murder in order to obtain an estate!”

“Despicable indeed,” Richard said. “Now I approached you on this matter because in my view, it would be best for you, as Denny’s colonel, to arrange for his arrest and detention. However, if you would rather have Sir William Lucas, as the local magistrate, deal with Denny, that can also be arranged.”

“No, no,” Forster said, and rose to his feet. “No, I will deal with it, and now. I expect it to be almost certain that the captain is looking for another opportunity to attack Miss Stowe, so the sooner he is arrested, the better.”

“Indeed,” Richard agreed.

/

Pig in the Poke

Meryton

Dinner Time

Wickham was sure that the beef and potatoes provided to himself and his tablemates were delicious, but every bite was little more than ashes in his mouth. Even the lighthearted banter that he usually enjoyed so much, that flowed glibly from his tongue without much necessary thought, held no appeal. Denny still sat at his left hand, laughing and eating and showing no signs of having lost a terrible, incriminating letter, or fearing arrest for his crimes. What was Forster waiting for? Or was Darcy responsible for the delay? And why? How long until Denny discovered the missing evidence and made a break for it? Or what if he suspected Wickham of being the thief? It did not bear thinking of .

“Hey, Wickham!”

His head jerked up. Smythe was grinning across the table at him, plainly amused. Wickham smiled back, a trace sheepishly.

“I am sorry, Smythe. What did you say?”

“I said that I hope you will join us at the Golden Daffodil tonight. The ale is truly remarkable, and there are several young men who joined us for cards last night and found themselves lighter in the pocket when they were finished.”

Wickham perked up at these words. “Really? Which young men?”

“The eldest Lucas boy, and young Long, and the Yelten twins. I think that Denny convinced them that they ought to return tonight to make up for their recent losses.”

Wickham grinned. “My head is much better today, so yes, I will plan on joining you!”

His fellow officers laughed and lauded his decision, but he was distracted by the door of the pub opening. Colonel Forster stepped inside, jaw set and eyes stormy, and Wickham’s stomach flopped with relief as several equally grim privates filed in behind their commander. A moment later, it turned over again, this time in fear, as Richard Fitzwilliam, also clad in his red coat, brought up the rear. Fitzwilliam scanned the room and his gaze met Wickham’s. He smirked just slightly, and Wickham could not help shrinking a little in cloying fear.

But Fitzwilliam did not stride across the room to seize Wickham’s lapels, or punch his teeth in, or anything else. He lingered by the door in a guarding posture, and watched the militia colonel handle his own men.

Forster, having glanced around the room, marched up to the table. Wickham rose to his feet respectfully, and his three fellow officers, upon noting the presence of their superior officer, rose as well.

“Good morning, Colonel,” Denny said with his easy smile.

“It is not a good morning,” Forster replied, gesturing to the privates behind him. “Captain Denny, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Miss Elizabeth Stowe.”

There were gasps from Smythe and Pratt, and Wickham was careful to allow his own mouth to drop open. It would not do him any good among his fellows if they learned he was responsible for finding the incriminating document .

“I … I do not know what you are talking about, sir!” Denny protested, his face white. “I had nothing to do with…”

He trailed off as Forster pulled the letter out of his coat and held it up to him.

“Do not lie to me, Denny,” the older man said with a fearsome scowl. “This letter shows that you are in league with Miss Stowe’s stepmother in a despicable attempt to kill Miss Elizabeth Stowe to gain control of an estate in Scotland. Privates, take him.”

Denny, rather to everyone’s surprise, promptly punched the nearest private in the mouth and made a dash for the door. Unfortunately for him, Richard Fitzwilliam, who had stepped to one side, stuck out a long leg and tripped the captain. Before Denny could rise again, the privates were on him.

Colonel Fitzwilliam watched calmly as the men bound Denny and dragged him away, and then he sauntered over to the table where Wickham and Colonel Forster and the two other officers were standing.

“Are you entirely certain of this, sir?” Smythe demanded, his eyes like saucers.

“Entirely certain,” Forster growled. “This letter lays bare the plot against Miss Stowe’s life. Now, gentlemen, I am hopeful that none of you are involved in this despicable attempt to kill an innocent girl, but I intend to keep a closer eye on all my men. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the officers chorused, and Forster, after one last stern nod, marched out of the room.

Wickham, who could sense Richard Fitzwilliam hovering nearby, had to force himself to straighten his back and lift his chin to stare into the eyes of his nemesis.

“Wickham!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, stepping closer and producing a feral smile. “What a pleasure to see you after so long. Will you not introduce me to your companions? ”

Wickham hesitated and then turned toward his shell-shocked fellows. “May I please introduce Lieutenant Pratt and Lieutenant Denny. Friends, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, son of the Earl of Matlock.”

The officers managed to bow, more out of innate instinct than awareness, and Pratt blurted out, “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I … I apologize for any discourtesy, but do you know … how can this be happening? Captain Denny? Is it true that he attempted to murder Miss Stowe?”

“I fear that he did,” Fitzwilliam replied. “My cousin Darcy asked me to look into the matter for him, as I have many connections within the army. There is no doubt that Captain Denny was the man who shot Miss Stowe some days ago. I believe you are from Northumberland, sirs? Do you know Mrs. Stowe of Greymere?”

This provoked alarm on the faces of both men, and Smythe said hastily, “No, no, not at all! I have never heard of Greymere.”

“Neither have I,” Pratt agreed.

“Good,” Richard said and turned to Wickham and clapped him heartily on the back. “Well, old chum, I do not expect to be in Meryton long, which doubtless pleases you, but I will remind you that Darcy has no expectations of leaving in the near future, so I would recommend that you watch your spending, or you might find yourself most uncomfortably settled in debtors’ prison.”

Wickham scowled at this and said resentfully, “I am hardly about to forget Darcy’s presence.”

“Good. Gentlemen, it was pleasant meeting you.”

The other officers bowed and watched as the colonel marched out the door and then turned a questioning look on their friend.

“What was that about?” Pratt demanded.

Wickham sighed. “I told you that Darcy and I are on poor terms. Colonel Fitzwilliam is Darcy’s cousin, and he shares Darcy’s enmity toward me. ”

“I see,” Smythe said blankly, and then shook his head. “But come, Wickham, what do you think? Is Denny truly guilty of this outrage?”

Wickham spread out his hands and prevaricated, “Well, I have not seen the letter in question, of course. We will find out more in the future, no doubt. For now, I suggest we finish our food.”

“Very well,” Pratt muttered.

The rest of the meal was completed in silence.