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Elizabeth slept poorly that night, plagued by strange dreams where she wandered, lost and confused, through a maze filled with charcoal pieces and giant teacups. All the while, she could hear the sound of Anne crying, but no matter how hard she searched, she could not find the girl. Instead, she came across Mrs Jenkinson engaged in a tug-o-war with Charlotte over a large sofa cushion whilst Mr Collins stood beside them and gave a sermon on jellies. And always, in the distance, was the tall figure of Mr Darcy, a shadowy presence who called to her and yet when she ran to him—just as she thought she had reached him—he would turn a corner and disappear.
Elizabeth awoke with a start and lay for a moment, her mind whirling with the images from the dream. She sat up slowly and looked around in confusion, trying to determine where she was. It took a minute to realise that she was not in her bedroom at home but rather at Hunsford Parsonage—and then the events of the previous night returned in a rush that was overwhelming.
Elizabeth drew a deep breath, making a great effort to push the memories away, then she climbed out of bed. Shivering in the chill morning air, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stumbled to the window, pulling aside the curtains to look outside. From the pale grey colour of the sky, it was not long after dawn. She should have returned to bed and attempted to sleep some more, but Elizabeth eyed her rumpled bedclothes with distaste. Her mind was too awake now and she knew that a return to slumber would be out of the question.
She looked out of the window again and made her decision. She would go for a brisk morning walk. The exercise and fresh air would do her far more good then remaining closeted within these walls. Her mind made up, Elizabeth dressed swiftly, then crept downstairs and let herself out of the parsonage. She crossed the lane and entered Rosings Park, making her way towards the grove on the east side.
It was a chilly spring morning: the sky was beginning to brighten now into a pale blue, and the scent of daffodils and the distant chirping of birds seemed at odds with the horrifying memories from the previous night. Elizabeth breathed deeply of the fresh air and attempted to banish the morbid thoughts from her mind, but as she approached the edge of the grove and the main house came into view, her steps faltered and paused. She stood for a moment staring at the manor, wondering what had occurred in the night and if Lady Catherine still lived.
Her reverie was disturbed by the sound of hoof beats. Elizabeth turned sharply. She expected to see Darcy on his steed again, but instead she spied a different gentleman. He had just entered the park and was riding down the main road towards the house. He wore the scarlet regimental uniform of the militia and though he was moving too swiftly for Elizabeth to see his face clearly, he had a gentlemanly air. Elizabeth wondered who he could be, arriving at such an early hour.
Elizabeth watched him into the distance then turned and continued her walk. She left the grove and headed towards the clearing where she had last seen Darcy with the footman. The memory brought a frown to her forehead. She could not imagine Darcy being involved in anything underhand and yet there had been a distinctly furtive air about that encounter. What had it been in aid of? She wished she could ask him, but though there had been moments of intimacy between them, she did not feel yet that she could trust him with her questions.
So engrossed was she in her thoughts that Elizabeth did not realise she had strayed far from the clearing and wandered deep into the woods. She was therefore greatly startled when she passed a fallen tree and nearly walked into the man himself.
“Mr Darcy!” said Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet.” He made a quick bow.
Elizabeth remembered her manners and hastily dropped a courtesy. For some reason, she felt obliged to offer an explanation for her presence in the park. “I... I awoke early and could not return to sleep. I decided that a walk would be more beneficial than tossing and turning in my bed.”
A brief smile touched his lips. “It appears that we had the same thought, Miss Bennet.” He was dressed this morning in a forest-green riding coat and buckskin breeches, with Hessian boots and black top hat. With his dark hair tousled by the wind, he looked very different from the gentleman who had crouched at her side by the fireplace last night. Elizabeth wondered for a fleeting moment if she had imagined the entire encounter and those moments of intimate awareness between them.
She cleared her throat, unsure how to word the question. “Uh... Is Lady Catherine...?”
“My aunt still lives,” said Darcy. “Though she remains not far from death’s door.” He gave a wry smile. “It is perhaps the first time I have been grateful for her stubborn nature, for I believe it is only her obstinacy that is preventing her from stepping over that threshold.”
Elizabeth smiled as well. “If her resolution of spirit were the only deciding factor, I would have no concerns about Lady Catherine’s triumph over the situation.” She paused, then asked hesitantly “How is Miss de Bourgh?”
Darcy’s face turned grim. “Anne did not have a good night. She awoke a few hours after you had left and fell into a screaming terror. It took Mrs Jenkinson and several others to restrain her and the physician was obliged to administer laudanum to calm her. The effects have not worn off yet and she still sleeps.”
“I hope that she will be in a better frame of mind when she awakens,” said Elizabeth. She hesitated. “Do you think... I would not want to be in anyone’s way, but if it would help... Perhaps I should call on Miss de Bourgh and offer her my company?”
“That is a capital notion,” said Darcy with a smile. “I have rarely seen her feel so at ease with a new acquaintance as she has with you.”
Elizabeth gave an embarrassed laugh. “You flatter me, sir. I am sure it is nothing more than the novelty of having a female of her own age to talk to.”
Darcy regarded her for a moment, then said quietly, “You do not realise your own charms, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth caught her breath. Suddenly, she was thrust back into that moment in the library, with the fire blazing beside them and Darcy crouched beside her. She caught a glimpse of the same intensity in his eyes now and felt her heart jump in response.
Darcy seemed to recollect himself. He took a step back and said formally, “I am sure Miss de Bourgh would appreciate your company.”
Elizabeth looked away as well, seeking a respite from the awkwardness of the situation. “I... I saw a rider just now, arriving at Rosings,” she said. “From his dress, he looked to be an officer.”
“Ah, yes, that would be Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, his face brightening. “My cousin. I sent urgent word to him last night regarding his aunt’s condition. He is currently stationed with the militia at Canterbury and must have ridden here directly.” He hesitated, then made a slight bow. “If you will excuse me, Miss Bennet, I should like to return to the house and see him at once.”
“Of course,” murmured Elizabeth, dropping a curtsy and watching as he strode away in the direction of the house.
––––––––
The family were at breakfast when Elizabeth returned to the parsonage and she was able to relate the hopeful news of Lady Catherine’s condition. Mr Collins was profuse in his relief and gratitude, and was convinced that his own prayers to the good Lord had played a large part in her ladyship’s survival through the night. The meal, however, remained a sombre one as the harrowing events of the previous evening were not far from everyone’s mind.
They had not been eating long when they were interrupted by the sound of the front doorbell. A minute later, the maid entered the dining room and curtsied. She looked slightly uneasy as she said to Charlotte: “If you please, ma’am, the... the village constable would like to see you.”
Mr Collins’s cutlery clattered to his plate. “The village constable? Why should he wish to see Mrs Collins? Are you certain he was not asking for me?”
The maid shook her head. “No, sir. He specifically asked for Mrs Collins.”
Charlotte looked up and caught Elizabeth’s gaze, her own slightly anxious. Nevertheless, she laid her napkin down calmly and said to Mr Collins, “Rest easy, my dear. I am sure it is nothing to worry about. You may continue with breakfast—I shall go and see the constable.”
Charlotte rose and left the room. On an impulse, Elizabeth sprang up and followed her into the hallway. She found Charlotte confronting a thin, middle-aged man who stood on the front threshold, holding his hat awkwardly between his hands. He had a look of one obliged to perform a very unpleasant task.
He cleared his throat. “Ah... Good day, Mrs Collins. I am sorry to disturb your morning meal, but I am afraid I... I am here in my capacity as the village constable.”
“Yes?” asked Charlotte.
“As you know, madam, there was an unpleasant incident yesterday evening which has culminated in Lady Catherine de Bourgh becoming gravely ill. It is believed that she was poisoned.”
“Yes, I was there,” said Charlotte impatiently.
The constable nodded. “Yes... Indeed, indeed... and that is the reason I have come, Mrs Collins.” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “There has been an accusation made regarding the identity of the poisoner... and you are the person named.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Charlotte, staring at him incredulously.
“That is preposterous!” spluttered Mr Collins, who had come into the hall as well. “How can anyone accuse Mrs Collins of such a heinous crime? Do they not realise that we have always held Lady Catherine with the utmost reverence and esteem, and have always conducted ourselves with every benefit for her health and well-being? Her beloved daughter notwithstanding, Mrs Collins and I are the closest to what Lady Catherine would consider family amongst the members of Hunsford community and I—”
“I am sorry, sir. I am simply doing my duty,” said the constable, shrugging helplessly.
“Why should Charlotte be under suspicion?” asked Elizabeth, coming forwards to stand beside her friend.
The constable looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with his hat. “Er... well, Mr Hargreaves, who has some knowledge of these matters, has theorised that—based on Lady Catherine’s symptoms—the poison is likely to be an extract from the meadow saffron. A syrup is commonly made from its roots, called the syrup of colchicum. It is a powerful expectorant and purgative, and sometimes used for various ailments, though it has strong toxic properties and must be used with great care. A larger dose could prove fatal.” He hesitated, then said to Charlotte, “It is known that you were enquiring in the village last week about where to purchase some syrup of colchicum—”
“Yes, I wished to make use of its curative properties!” said Charlotte. “As the rector’s wife, it is my duty to make the rounds of the parish and dispense what medicines I can. The syrup of colchicum provides welcome relief for those with gout and rheumatism.”
“Nevertheless, such interest casts you in a suspicious light. In addition, it was originally thought that the poison might be in the tea, but that was consumed by all present and only Lady Catherine was taken ill. It transpires that she was the only person who had milk in her tea—therefore it is deduced that the poison must have been added to the milk. Mr Hargreaves says that colchicum is often dissolved in milk.”
“But Mrs Collins is not the only one who had access to the milk,” Elizabeth pointed out. “The tea tray was brought in by the housekeeper, Mrs Poole. Is she likewise under suspicion?”
The constable looked even more uncomfortable. “Nay, miss. There is a witness statement against Mrs Collins and none against Mrs Poole.” He turned to Charlotte with an apologetic look. “There is a witness who states that you were the sole person serving tea and that you served Lady Catherine her cup personally. Therefore, you had ample opportunity to poison her drink.”
“Who is making these claims?” demanded Elizabeth.
“I am not at liberty to say,” said the constable awkwardly. “But it is a trusted member of the De Bourgh household.”
Mrs Jenkinson.
Elizabeth had no doubt that the lady’s companion was the one behind the accusations. It had been obvious that the older woman had taken a great dislike to Charlotte—perhaps because of her friend gaining Lady Catherine’s favour—and casting aspersions on Charlotte’s good name would certainly give Mrs Jenkinson great satisfaction.
“Why should I want to poison Lady Catherine?” said Charlotte. “It is a ludicrous idea!”
The constable twisted his hat in his hands. “Well... There will obviously be an investigation... but in the meantime, I am obliged to detain all suspects in custody until the matter can be cleared up.” He cleared his throat. “Therefore, I must ask you to come with me, Mrs Collins. I regret to say that you are under arrest.”
Charlotte went pale as Mr Collins spluttered indignantly again. Behind them, Maria gasped and began to weep, whilst Sir William blustered, “Now, see here... my daughter is not a criminal...”
Elizabeth stepped forwards and gave the constable her best smile. She said, as reasonably as she could, “Mrs Collins is married to your rector. Can you not spare her the humiliation of a public arrest and simply have her detained in her own home? I’m sure that Mr Collins will vouch for her integrity and character and surely there is no more reliable word than that of your rector.”
The constable hesitated. He was obviously reluctant to make the arrest. “Well...”
Elizabeth pushed her advantage. “Has Mrs Collins not been a paragon of the community since moving to Hunsford? I believe you will find numerous positive references for her character if you but ask around. You may start with Mrs Pope,” she added quickly, recalling Lady Catherine’s words from the previous night. “And I’m sure there are many others who would vouch for Mrs Collins’s character.”
The constable stood in an agony of indecision, then finally nodded his head. “Very well. I shall make an exception this time.” He turned to Charlotte. “Mrs Collins, I must ask you to remain on this property until a full investigation has been conducted and your name has been cleared.”
Charlotte nodded in relief. The constable bowed, then turned to depart. Mr Collins hurried to accompany him to the gates, continuing to offer profuse assurances of Charlotte’s innocence. Maria dried her tears and, at a word from Charlotte, returned to the dining room with Sir William. Instead of following them, however, Charlotte turned to Elizabeth and clasped her hand, her eyes wide with fear.
“Oh Eliza, what if they persist in believing that I am the perpetrator of this crime? What if I should be arrested and imprisoned? The penalty for poisoning is execution!”
Elizabeth squeezed her friend’s hands. “It shall not come to pass, Charlotte. I will not let that happen to you. I will not rest until I discover who the real culprit is and bring him or her to justice.”
