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Chapter Twenty-One

Darcy stood before the fireplace in the library at Netherfield the morning after Caroline Bingley’s death, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he contemplated the events of the previous day.

Caroline’s death had cast a pall over the household.

More troubling than the tragedy itself were the questions that had begun to form in his mind, questions that the magistrate’s impending return might either resolve or deepen to a more disturbing conclusion.

He had risen earlier than was his custom, sleep having proven elusive.

The sound of hoofbeats on the gravel drive drew his attention to the window.

Mr. Burnley had returned as promised, his expression as he dismounted suggesting a man with purpose rather than formality.

This was not mere procedure to satisfy legal requirements; this was an investigation pursued with deliberate intent.

Darcy moved into the entrance hall, arriving just as the butler admitted the magistrate.

“Mr. Burnley,” Darcy greeted him. “You are early about your business this morning.”

“Time is often of the essence in these matters, Mr. Darcy,” the magistrate replied, removing his gloves. “Recollections fade, evidence diminishes. I prefer to be thorough while circumstances remain fresh.”

“A commendable approach,” Darcy agreed. “I regret that Mr. Bingley is not yet available to receive you. He found sleep difficult last night and has only recently retired.”

This was not entirely accurate; Darcy had not seen Bingley at all this morning, but the explanation would serve to justify his friend’s absence while maintaining propriety.

“Understandable,” Mr. Burnley acknowledged with a small nod. “Grief takes many forms, and disruption of natural patterns is common. Perhaps you could show me to where I might continue my interviews? I should like to continue with the household staff.”

“Of course. The small study has been prepared for your use, as yesterday,” Darcy replied, gesturing toward the corridor. “I have taken the liberty of instructing the butler to arrange for staff to be available at your convenience.”

Mr. Burnley raised an eyebrow. “You have assumed responsibility for household arrangements?”

“Someone must,” Darcy said simply. “Mrs. Hurst remains too distraught to manage practical matters, and Mr. Hurst lacks the necessary... organisational acumen. In Bingley’s absence, it seemed the most efficient approach.”

“Indeed,” the magistrate murmured, his tone suggesting he found this information worth noting. “Most efficient.”

As Mr. Burnley settled in the study, Darcy returned to the main hall, where several servants waited with the uncertain air of those unsure whose authority now governed them.

He addressed them calmly, assigning tasks to ensure the household continued to function despite the tragedy.

Fresh linens were to be prepared for Caroline’s body according to proper custom.

Meals must be arranged with appropriate simplicity given the circumstances.

Messages must be dispatched to Bingley’s solicitor and to the local church regarding funeral arrangements.

The butler, a dignified man whose usual imperturbability had been visibly shaken by recent events, approached Darcy hesitantly.

“Sir, regarding Miss Bingley’s chambers,” he began, his voice lowered to prevent being overheard. “The maids are... reluctant. There is talk among them that it would be unlucky, sir, to disturb her belongings so soon after her passing.”

Darcy considered this unexpected complication. Servants’ superstitions could not be dismissed lightly if household order was to be maintained, yet practical matters must be addressed.

“Explain to them that nothing is to be removed or rearranged,” he instructed. “Merely ensure that the room is properly aired and that appropriate respect is shown, until Mrs. Hurst feels able to undertake the task.”

“An excellent suggestion, sir,” the butler agreed, visibly relieved at this solution.

Further arrangements were interrupted by Bingley’s appearance at the top of the stairs. He descended with careful steps, his mourning attire impeccable.

“Darcy,” Bingley greeted him, his voice appropriately subdued. “The magistrate has returned?”

“Yes, he arrived a short while ago. He has begun interviewing the staff again.”

“Again?” Bingley repeated, a momentary flash of something like alarm crossing his features before being quickly controlled. “Surely he gathered all necessary information yesterday. This seems excessive for what was clearly an accident.”

“Mr. Burnley is known for his thoroughness,” Darcy replied, studying his friend’s reaction carefully. “I believe it is merely a matter of proper procedure, and there was not time to speak to all the staff yesterday.”

“Of course, of course,” Bingley agreed quickly, perhaps too quickly. “We must observe all proprieties. Caroline would have insisted upon it. She was most particular about proper forms being observed.”

This reference to his sister’s character seemed oddly detached, a dutiful acknowledgment rather than a genuine reflection of grief. Before Darcy could respond, Elizabeth appeared, having descended the stairs with such quiet grace that neither man had noticed her approach.

“Mr. Bingley,” she said, her expression composed into appropriate sympathy. “How are you this morning? I trust you were able to find some rest?”

“Very little, I fear,” Bingley replied, pressing his handkerchief briefly to his eyes in a way that struck Darcy as a little too exaggerated. “The mind returns continually to what cannot be changed. But I must bear up. There are arrangements to be made, responsibilities that cannot be neglected.”

“We are happy to assist you with household matters,” Elizabeth offered gently. “You need not concern yourself with every detail during this difficult time.”

“Most kind,” Bingley acknowledged with a slight bow. “Though I must attend to certain matters personally. My solicitor must be notified, and there are financial considerations that require immediate attention.”

Darcy noted the curious prioritisation of practical matters over expressions of grief. While attention to business was not in itself suspicious, the eagerness with which Bingley seized upon these tasks struck a discordant note.

“The magistrate will wish to speak with you again,” Darcy informed him. “When you are prepared to do so.”

“Of course,” Bingley agreed, though his hands betrayed a slight tremor as he adjusted his cuffs. “I shall make myself available to him directly after I have spoken with Louisa. She was most distressed during the night and required the doctor’s attendance. I must see how she fares this morning.”

As Bingley moved toward the family wing where the Hursts’ chambers were located, Darcy exchanged a significant glance with Elizabeth. Her perceptive eyes confirmed that she too had noted the undercurrent of tension in Bingley’s demeanour.

The remainder of the morning passed in a succession of interviews, the magistrate working methodically through the household.

Darcy observed the proceedings from a discreet distance, noting the careful precision with which Mr. Burnley framed his questions, building upon information gathered the previous day rather than simply repeating his inquiry.

When Darcy’s own turn came, he found himself ushered into the small study where Mr. Burnley had established his temporary domain. The magistrate gestured to a chair opposite his own, a small notebook open before him.

“Mr. Darcy,” he began without preamble, “you have known Mr. Bingley for several years, I understand.”

“That is correct,” Darcy confirmed. “We became acquainted at Cambridge.”

“And in your observation, how would you characterise the relationship between Mr. Bingley and his late sister?”

The directness of the question caught Darcy momentarily off-guard, though he maintained his composed expression.

“They maintained the usual forms of familial attachment. Miss Bingley managed her brother’s household efficiently.

He deferred to her judgment in social matters.

It was a relationship of mutual benefit, I would say. ”

“Mutual benefit,” Mr. Burnley repeated thoughtfully. “An interesting choice of words, sir. Not mutual affection or mutual respect, but mutual benefit. Might you elaborate?”

Darcy considered his response carefully.

“Miss Bingley gained position and consequence through her brother’s fortune and connections.

He, in turn, benefited from her management of his domestic arrangements and her guidance in navigating social circles to which he was, by birth, somewhat less accustomed. ”

“Were there tensions in this arrangement?”

Again, the magistrate’s precision was notable. “All familial relationships experience occasional strain,” Darcy replied diplomatically.

“Indeed,” Mr. Burnley agreed. “But I asked specifically about this particular relationship. Did you observe specific tensions between Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley?”

Darcy felt the weight of loyalty to his friend competing with the obligation of truth. “There were... disagreements,” he acknowledged finally. “Particularly regarding Mr. Bingley’s choice of society. Miss Bingley had ambitions for her brother that sometimes differed from his own inclinations.”

“Ambitions,” Mr. Burnley echoed. “Of a social nature, I presume.”

“Primarily, yes. She wished him to form connections with families of particular standing and avoid those she considered beneath their notice.”

“And did these disagreements ever become heated? Beyond the bounds of ordinary familial discord?”