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The dining room erupted in chaos. More people began to lurch from their chairs, trembling and retching. Elizabeth saw Wickham reel back in horror as the man next to him stood up suddenly and cast up his accounts on the floor. A lady on his other side moaned for help as her body shook with terrible spasms.
Lydia sprang up and pointed accusingly at the music box which sat at the centre of the table. “I warned you of the danger, but none would listen! We should not have opened the music box, especially on a night of full moon. Now we shall pay the price! We shall all succumb to sickness and death!”
Screams and shouts met her announcement, then there was a stampede of movement as people scrambled to get up from their chairs and away from the scene of the sickness. Bodies collided, people stumbled and fell, tripping over gown hems and becoming trampled underfoot as the panicked crowd attempted to force their way out of the dining room.
Elizabeth found herself being shoved roughly aside and would have fallen to the floor had a strong arm not reached out and caught her. She was held against a tall, hard physique which shielded her from the worst of the onslaught and, when she had recovered her bearings, she was flustered to find that the gentleman who had rescued her was none other than Mr Darcy.
He released her and asked gravely, “Are you injured, madam?”
“N-no,” Elizabeth murmured, colouring. Though he was no longer holding her, she fancied that she could still feel the heat of his hand against the velvet of her gown. “I am well. Thank you, sir. It seems I am indebted to you once again for preventing me from falling prostrate on the ground,” she said, referring to their first meeting on the grounds of Netherfield Park.
A brief smile touched his lips. “I am glad to be of service, though it appears your plight would have been a trifle less muddy on this occasion.”
They were interrupted by another cry of distress and they both turned to see the lady next to Wickham wail loudly as she staggered backwards. Her body crumpled as she fell towards the floor. She flung out an arm to save herself and struck Wickham in the face as she did so. He sprang up from his chair, attempting to evade her grasp, but it was too late. The mask was torn from his face and his countenance revealed for all to see. There was a collective gasp from the people left in the room and Elizabeth felt Darcy stiffen beside her.
“It is Wicked George!”
“The highwayman! It is he!”
“Has he been amongst us all this time?”
“Oh! Will he do us harm?”
“Catch him!” thundered Forsythe suddenly from the other side of the room. He was fighting his way through the crowd, attempting to push against the tide of movement. Several men hesitated, obviously reluctant to approach Wickham and the proximity of sickness. The highwayman took advantage of this delay. Grabbing the roast chicken from the table, he pushed his way past two ladies and made for the tall windows lining the far wall.
“Stop him!” Forsythe shouted again.
A man lunged, but Wickham sidestepped neatly, then advanced with a swift burst of speed.
“He is making for the windows!” yelled Forsythe. “Don’t let him get away!”
Two of the Bow Street runners broke out of the crowd and raced across the room. Wickham had reached the windows by now and was wrestling with the latch. It swung open and a gust of cold air swept into the room, extinguishing several candles and plunging them into semi-darkness. Several ladies screamed. Wickham swung himself up onto the windowsill just as the runners reached his side. One reached out and grabbed Wickham’s arm, but the highwayman turned around and shoved the roast chicken into the runner’s face. The runner fell back in surprise as the greasy bird carcass obscured his vision. He released his hold on Wickham, who attempted once more to climb through the window—but the latter had forgotten about the second runner. The other constable jumped and threw his arms around Wickham’s neck, hauling the highwayman off the windowsill and throwing him to the ground. More runners arrived and helped to overcome the highwayman.
With the excitement of the chase over, attention turned back to the sick. Bingley summoned servants to assist in relocating those who had taken ill to chambers in other parts of the house, and urgent summons were made for the physician and Mr Jones the apothecary. The rest of the guests were ushered back to the main ballroom, where hot tea and coffee were being served to soothe everyone’s nerves. Many people had removed their masks now and the previous atmosphere of gaiety and enchantment was completely lost.
Elizabeth felt great pity for Bingley, whose face was rapidly losing its usual cheerful expression. She even found herself feeling compassion for Caroline Bingley, who looked ill with shock and dismay. The brother and sister’s carefully planned ball was deteriorating into a shambles, and they could do little now but attempt to make their remaining guests as comfortable as possible. There was already talk of people calling for their carriages and leaving the ball early—and the gossip and scandal that would no doubt follow tonight’s events were terrifying to contemplate.
In an attempt to restore a sense of gaiety to the proceedings, Bingley instructed the orchestra to begin playing once more. It seemed too inappropriate to return to dancing, but the presence of music was soothing and helped to distract the mind. At length, the guests in the ballroom seemed to put the recent horrors from their minds and begin to converse on other topics.
Wickham had been marched away to Bingley’s study to be interrogated by Forsythe, and Elizabeth felt guilt weigh down on her shoulders again. Now was the time for her to come forward and confess her part in Wickham’s deception, but she could not bring herself to do it. She despised her own cowardice, but she could not bear the thought of bringing such shame on her family. To admit her prior knowledge of Wickham’s presence would cast her firmly in the role of an accomplice—and she had no idea of the consequences of such a status.
A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd as Forsythe returned to the ballroom. All turned their faces eagerly towards him and waited to hear his address.
Forsythe looked around the crowd and said solemnly, “It would appear that the highwayman known as ‘Wicked George’ is in fact a man of the name George Wickham.”
Elizabeth cast a quick glance at Darcy on the other side of the room, but the tall gentleman’s face was inscrutable.
Forsythe continued, “Wickham has taken full responsibility for the recent thefts at various balls in Hertfordshire. Indeed, he brags of his superior skill in relieving guests of their valuables and evading capture, but unfortunately Wickham refuses to disclose his methods. We have taken the liberty of thoroughly searching him but Mrs Rochdale’s tiara is not on his person and he refuses to name where he has hidden the stolen headpiece.”
Cries of indignation and angry protests greeted this announcement.
“Do not fret, ladies and gentlemen...” Forsythe’s voice cut through the commotion. “I do believe that we may have another avenue of investigation, which will enable us to locate the stolen ornament.” He paused, then said with deliberate emphasis, “It would appear that Mr Wickham has an accomplice here at the ball.”
“What?”
“Indeed?”
“An accomplice!”
“By Jove!”
Excited chatter burst from the crowd. People looked around at each other, their eyes wide with speculation. Elizabeth felt herself shrink inside her own skin. Her heart was thumping in her throat now and her hands were damp with perspiration. She fancied that Forsythe directed his gaze at her, though his next words brought her some temporary reassurance.
“We are unsure as yet to the identity of the accomplice, though we have a suspicion that it may be a lady, from certain words that Wickham relayed. We are entreating those who may have been near him earlier in the evening to come forward and provide us with any information that you may have at your disposal.” Forsythe spread his hands, his grey eyes scanning the crowd. “Anything you know could be of great assistance—perhaps something you have seen or a snatch of conversation you may have overheard—”
“Yes! I know something!” blurted one young lady, stepping forward suddenly.
All eyes turned towards her. Though the girl was unknown to her, Elizabeth felt that her features were strangely familiar and she strove to recall where she had seen the girl previously.
“It was during the dancing,” said the young lady. “I chanced to be in the set with Wickham and his partner, and I overheard part of their conversation as they moved past.”
“Yes?” prompted Forsythe. “Of what did they speak?”
“I cannot recall exactly,” admitted the young lady. “The music was loud and we were moving swiftly. I believe I heard Wickham’s companion scold him for risking discovery by coming to the ball and he teased her about her concern for his welfare. I did not hear much else... but I did hear him address her by name...” She paused and hesitated, her eyes looking apologetically around the room.
“Yes?” urged Forsythe. “Madam, if you have any information which can help in resolving this crime, it is your civil duty to reveal it.”
The young lady lowered her eyes, then said in a small voice, “He addressed her as Miss Bennet.”
