Page 18 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

Dining Room

Netherfield Hall

That Evening

Caroline looked over the spread on the table with wistful pride. She had outdone herself tonight, ordering an expansive dinner fit for a London party, thoroughly appropriate to feeding rich, handsome Mr. Darcy and the son of the Earl of Matlock. She had already dismissed Colonel Fitzwilliam as a potential husband – neither handsome nor wealthy, a mere second son – but it would do no harm to ingratiate herself as an acquaintance, at least. Perhaps if he was pleased with the Bingleys, he would invite them to some party of his mother’s, and they could form an acquaintanceship with the earl and his family.

It was a lofty and admirable goal, and one that, judging by the attention to her table so far, seemed doomed to fail. No one even appeared to notice whether they were eating the beef roast or the soup or the fish or anything else, as they took indiscriminate bites between excited exclamations .

“It is like something out of a novel!” Mr. Hurst declared with far more excitement than was usual for him. “What is the world coming to, when a militia officer is also an assassin!”

“A failed assassin,” Bingley corrected. “And praise the Lord for that. Now that Captain Denny is safely in custody, Miss Stowe is safe.”

Silence fell for a moment, and then Louisa Hurst, to Darcy’s surprise, spoke what was on his own mind.

“If this stepmother of Miss Stowe was willing to pay a man to kill Miss Stowe, what makes you certain that she will not try again with another assassin?”

Bingley, who had been looking cheerful, appeared shocked and then horrified.

“What do you think, Colonel?” he asked, turning to his military guest. “Is such a thing possible?”

Richard, who had been eating with the heartiness of a military man who did not always know where his next meal would come from, looked up and said, “Oh, certainly.”

This cast a damper on the entire table, and Darcy felt his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Possible, but likely? Or possible, but unlikely,” he demanded .

Richard dabbed his mouth with a napkin and looked around at his fellow tablemates, all of whom were gazing at him with rapt interest.

The colonel sighed and said, “In my view, any woman mad enough to hire someone to assassinate her stepdaughter is not only evil, but desperate and idiotic. I cannot imagine making such a decision in the first place, but given that she tried to kill Miss Stowe once, I would not be startled if she tried again to accomplish her villanous goal.”

“But surely she will be prosecuted for her attempt on Miss Stowe’s life?” Mr. Hurst demanded.

Richard Fitzwilliam wrinkled his nose and said, “She did not actually make the attempt, and she might claim that the letter to Denny is a forgery. Captain Denny did not admit to anything when he was taken into custody, and Mrs. Stowe, as mistress of an estate, has more protection from arrest than a laborer or, for that matter, a militia officer well away from his own county. Local loyalty runs deep, you know. I do not think it will be easy to prosecute Mrs. Stowe.”

There were murmurs from the others, and after a minute of silence, Miss Bingley observed, “It might be best for Miss Stowe to leave the area. Everyone knows she is here, after all. If she were to go away to some secret place until the danger is over…? ”

Darcy looked at his hostess in surprise. “That is an excellent idea, Miss Bingley!”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Darcy,” the lady replied with a shake of her dark curls.

A moment later, it occurred to Darcy that Miss Bingley’s suggestion was likely more based on self-interest than altruism; he had not hidden his admiration for Miss Bennet, and Miss Bingley did not welcome rivals to Darcy’s affections. Not that he would ever marry Miss Bingley, but she could not be convinced of that reality.

/

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Longbourn

Evening

Elizabeth relaxed back into her chair, absently grateful for the cushions that cradled and eased her twinging shoulder, and stared into the glowing heart of the fire before her. Her mind was humming with a peculiar mixture of relief and distress. Relief, because she would no longer jump at shadows or sit in closed rooms with the blinds drawn. Her assassin had been discovered, arrested, and locked safely away.

But she was horrified at the identity of the man who had tried to kill her. She remembered Captain Denny’s flirtatious admiration, how warm his brown eyes had been as he looked at her through their dance together. She had thought then, wearily, that he was only after her money. Now, Elizabeth wished desperately that he had been merely a tiresome fortune hunter as opposed to a would-be murderer.

She was safe for the time being, but wondered uneasily how long this safety would last. Eventually her stepmother would learn that Denny had failed. Would she be spooked and cease her attempts to have Elizabeth murdered? Or would she send another assassin to finish the job, thus securing Ravenswood for herself and her son?

Elizabeth wryly supposed that this was confirmation that she was truly the heiress of Ravenswood, and that it was neither derelict nor grossly encumbered since Mrs. Moira Stowe was obviously anxious to lay her hands on it. She wondered, vaguely, if it would be enough to support all the Bennet ladies when Mr. Bennet died and Longbourn passed to his distant cousin, a man by the name of Mr. Collins. It was a gloomy prospect, and Elizabeth had tried not to ponder it too deeply; she did not relish the prospect of losing the home she loved so well. Still, it would be wonderful to have a place to go when they were eventually evicted from their home.

Provided she was still alive to go there with her aunt and cousins, of course.

The door to her room opened, and Sally entered and said, “Mr. Bennet wishes to see you in his library.”

Elizabeth stood up, relieved to have something to do besides cogitate. She smiled at Sally and made her quick way to the stairway which led to the east wing of Longbourn. This deposited her along the east corridor, and thirty seconds later, she entered the library, where her guardian was sitting at his desk, with several papers spread out in front of him.

“Uncle?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

“Lizzy, my dear, do sit down by the fire. You must not become chilled.”

She obediently did so and reached out her uninjured arm toward the warming flames. Her left shoulder, while better than it was, still pained her when she jostled it.

Mr. Bennet took a moment to throw in another log and stirred the fire, and then he took his own seat across from his honorary niece .

“I received a note from Colonel Fitzwilliam an hour ago,” he said abruptly. “Captain Denny has been arrested and is under guard in one of the rooms in the colonel’s house.”

Elizabeth released a sigh. “Good. Has he confessed to…?”

“No,” Bennet said, his fists clenching. “He has, in fact, claimed that he is entirely innocent. However, a search of his quarters revealed the presence of a rifle, along with a set of dark clothing, both hidden under his bed. The trousers have a tear which corresponds to fabric that one of the dogs grasped after you were attacked.”

Elizabeth felt her entire body relax, so much so that she nearly slumped in a most unladylike fashion.

“I am very glad,” she said softly. “Even after the letter, I wondered … well, Mr. Wickham does not have a particularly good reputation. I thought there was a slim chance that he might have forged the letter or something to get in Mr. Darcy’s good graces, but it seems he was, at least, honest about the letter.”

“My dear Elizabeth, I am surprised at your cynicism about your fellow man!” Bennet remarked with a slight smile.

“I was shot, Uncle. ”

Bennet looked startled and then apologetic. “My dear, my teasing was very ill timed indeed, and I have no excuse. I keep trying to forget how close … well, enough of that. I will add that, according to Colonel Fitzwilliam, the garments fit Captain Denny perfectly. He is the tallest of the militia officers by several inches, so that is a reliable indication that he is the culprit.”

“So that is over,” Elizabeth said, though her tone was uncertain.

“Denny is dealt with anyway,” Bennet said.

“What will happen to him?”

“I hope he will hang eventually, although for now he is safely imprisoned so that his testimony will be available in the future if needed. But Lizzy, I need to speak to you about another matter. Only fifteen minutes after I received the note from Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom should arrive but young Mr. Jenkins, just arrived from Scotland.”

It took a moment for Elizabeth to understand her uncle’s meaning, and then she sat up in surprise. This provoked an uncomfortable jarring of her left shoulder, and she winced.

“Are you all right?” Bennet asked worriedly, leaning toward her .

“Entirely. I merely shifted in a foolish way. So Uncle Gardiner’s Mr. Jenkins?”

“Yes. He hired a horse and rode hard today to reach here before nightfall, so I sent him off with Mrs. Hill to eat in the kitchen, and then he will rest. I will, of course, give you the documents to peruse at your leisure, but here is the simple truth. One, Ravenswood is in good condition; it has been cared for by a hardworking and diligent steward, who in turn has been under the oversight of a relative of yours, a Mr. Adair, a solicitor by trade, who is cousin of both your mother and the current Mrs. Stowe. According to Mr. Jenkins, Adair was shocked at the news of your existence; he was told by Mrs. Stowe that you had died as a small child. Indeed, he refused to believe that you are, in fact, the daughter of Mrs. Isobel Stowe.”

Elizabeth tried to decide whether this made her angry or not and decided it did not. Why would an unknown cousin, who had never laid eyes on her, accept the current complex scenario without question?

“If I do not survive until my majority, who will inherit?” she asked quietly.

Bennet nodded. “That is also as we suspected. Your half-brother Harold will inherit Greymere, in Northumberland, on his majority, and if you die before you turn one and twenty, he will inherit Ravenswood as well. Given that your father spoke of his second wife’s extravagant ways, it is likely Greymere is deeply in debt and she wants Ravenswood for her son.”

“I see.”

They sat quietly for a minute, and then Elizabeth said in a trembling voice, “I am afraid she will try again.”

Bennet opened his mouth to say something reassuring and then sighed.

“I am afraid as well,” he confessed.

/

Wickham’s Bedchamber

Pig in the Poke

The clock on the mantel struck twelve, and Wickham tossed over onto his side with a sigh. He rarely went to bed so early, but none of the officers had felt like drinking or gambling or flirting after witnessing Denny being so ignominiously dragged away earlier that day. The bed was comfortable and the softly crackling fire was warm, but his mind hummed too busily to allow him to rest. He was glad that none of the others had yet had the wherewithal to question where the evidence of Denny’s perfidy had come from. Had Darcy or Fitzwilliam informed Forster who had searched the officers’ rooms?

The idea of Pratt or Smythe discovering the culprit who had turned Denny in sent a shiver down Wickham’s spine. Denny’s crimes were scarcely thinkable, of course, but it would be near a death-knell for Wickham himself if he was discovered as a snoop.

He did not regret his actions in the least, though. Even if Bennet had not agreed to pay him, it was ... satisfying, was the word. Quite aside from her ten thousand pounds, Miss Stowe was a lovely young woman, and certainly should not die for the sake of her money. The idea that Denny – a gentleman! an officer! – could sink to such depths was mind-boggling.

He turned over again, gazing into the fire as his mind finally gathered sleep like tufts of wool. He was still a bit offended that Darcy would think that he would stoop so low as to murder a woman. True, he had no compunction about luring a pretty girl into his bed, but they always enjoyed the experience as much as he did. It was hardly comparable at all, really, even if he occasionally lied about his intentions in order to seduce his targets.

Many of his fellows at Cambridge had done the same, and laughed about it; it was common. It was what everyone did. Not Darcy, of course, nor a few of his cronies; they prided themselves on being honorable – another word for uptight, really. Women of the lower classes existed for the pleasure of the men of the upper classes – everyone knew that – and Wickham at least knew that he was pleasing in turn. But… some of those women had pleaded for marriage, crying out that they were ruined.

Wickham would never be willing to marry a poor and lower-class girl, no matter how pretty she might be. But getting a girl pregnant was hardly the same as murdering her, of putting a bullet through her heart. Not comparable at all.

He wondered uneasily what it really meant for a woman to be ruined. Surely there was some work such a woman could do? It would not mean starvation in the streets, would it? At least in London, a pretty girl with a light skirt could find no end of men willing to shower her with their attention and their money, with shiny trinkets and opera boxes. But in the small towns? With no rich gentlemen to patronize them or take them on as mistress? Shunned by the simple honest farmers and reputation-conscious merchants?

Wickham did not like these thoughts. He had never let them trouble his conscience before, when he saw some comely barmaid or farmer’s daughter that he wished to seduce. Now, half-asleep and unsettled as he was, he did not enjoy the conclusions he was reaching. Perhaps … it would be better … if he ceased that sort of activity, at least here in the small towns where such a woman might face genuine ruin as a result of a casual fling with a handsome militia lieutenant.