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“Miss Bennet! Please, do not be afraid! It is only I, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Mr... Mr Darcy...?” Elizabeth subsided, staring up at the face of the gentleman in front of her. Now that her eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the dark, she could make out his aristocratic features. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same question,” he said dryly.
“I came to find the Widow Mags,” said Elizabeth.
“That is my design as well,” said Darcy. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I believe you intend to ask her about the syrup of colchicum?”
“How did you guess my intentions?” asked Elizabeth in astonishment.
Darcy gave a wry laugh. “Because it is what I wish to ask her myself. I have obtained intelligence that the Widow Mags is the only person in the village who is able to provide the syrup of colchicum. Hence I took it upon myself to come and see her, in the hopes of discovering some clue as to the identity of the poisoner.”
Elizabeth became aware that his hands were still around her shoulders, though the grip was now a gentle one. She was standing very close to him—so close that she could feel the heat of his body against the chill night air. He dropped his hands as he too became aware of their proximity. Elizabeth felt colour rush to her cheeks and looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Confusion overwhelmed her. After his cold behaviour that morning, she could not understand his gentle manner now or the intimate awareness that seemed to have flared between them once more.
Darcy cleared his throat, then glanced at the darkened cottage. “Well, it does not appear as if we shall be making the Widow Mags’s acquaintance tonight. Perhaps she has gone away to visit a relative.”
Mention of relatives reminded Elizabeth of Mrs Poole and she asked Darcy if he was aware of the relationship between them.
“Yes, I did know,” he admitted. “It is one of the reasons I came to see the widow. I have been pondering the possible identities of those who could have placed the poison in Lady Catherine’s drink. Naturally, there was your friend—”
“Charlotte is innocent!” insisted Elizabeth. “And I shall prove it!”
“You will hardly help her cause by reckless endangerment of your own person,” said Darcy tersely. “Are you aware of the reputation of these woods?”
Elizabeth heard the criticism in his tone and it made her bristle. “Yes. I am not afraid of ghostly tales and other superstitious nonsense!”
“It is not the ghosts that give me concern. There are other dangers to a lone woman at night in the woods, as you should be well aware,” he said sharply. “While I admire your independence of spirit, there are instances where it verges on thoughtless recklessness!”
Elizabeth wanted to deliver a sharp retort, but after a moment she grudgingly dropped her eyes. He was right. Indeed, he was doing no more than echoing the thoughts she had had herself earlier. She had been foolhardy to come to these woods alone, after dark. She shivered suddenly as she wondered what would have happened if the man who had seized her had not been Darcy.
“You are right,” she said at last. “It was foolish of me and I did not think the matter through clearly before embarking on this expedition.”
Darcy’s gaze softened and he said in a placating tone. “I fully believe that your friend is innocent too, Miss Bennet. It is why I have been considering the alternatives.” He paused, then Elizabeth saw the gleam of white teeth as he smiled in the dark. “My valet is the most valuable man, not only for his talent in all matters of grooming and fashion, but also for his skill at obtaining backstairs gossip. He has been the most timely and reliable source of information for many years. Last night, he informed me of an incident which occurred the week before our arrivals, in which Mrs Poole suffered a severe tongue-lashing from Lady Catherine in front of the entire household staff. It was not the first time this has happened, but it was certainly the most public humiliation she has had to endure. She has been full of ire since that incident and many of the servants have heard her swearing vengeance on Lady Catherine.” Darcy gave a wry smile. “Knowing my aunt’s talent for condescending to others, I fear I cannot blame Mrs Poole. However, it does give her the most perfect motive for wanting to see Lady Catherine suffer.”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth mulled over what he had told her. She remembered that evening at Rosings and the dismissive way Lady Catherine had treated the housekeeper. It would have brought Mrs Poole no small satisfaction to see her employer suffer after the humiliations she had endured. Perhaps she had no intentions of genuinely harming Lady Catherine—killing her employer would not be in her favour—but certainly administering enough poison to watch Lady Catherine suffer would bring vindication and gratification.
But where does that leave Mrs Jenkinson? Elizabeth pondered. Did it mean that her suspicions with regards to the lady’s companion were groundless? She sighed.
“Does something trouble you, Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy.
Elizabeth hesitated, unsure whether she should accuse Mrs Jenkinson by name without proof. “No, it is merely that the situation has become complex. I had another suspect in mind and do not know now how to reconcile that with Mrs Poole’s potential guilt.”
“Your other suspect was Mrs Jenkinson.”
Elizabeth looked at him in astonishment again. “Yes, that is right. How did you come to that conclusion?”
“It is not difficult. A blind man could see Mrs Jenkinson’s hostility towards your friend and the ploy of making someone a scapegoat for a crime they did not commit is a time-honoured one.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth angrily. “She has accused Mrs Collins publicly and even sent the village constable to apprehend her. My friend is now under house arrest and may not leave the parsonage until the real culprit is discovered. It is excessively unjust.”
“Whatever your feelings about Mrs Jenkinson, the housekeeper may be at present the stronger suspect, for I have it on good authority—again courtesy of my valet—that she was seen heading into these woods not a week ago.”
“Oh? That would certainly emphasise her guilt,” Elizabeth agreed. “Particularly as she is supposedly estranged from her sister. It would seem strange for her to visit the Widow Mags unless there was a specific purpose.”
“Well, there is little else that can be achieved tonight,” said Darcy, giving the empty cottage a last look, then turning towards the path that led back into the woods. He offered his arm. “May I escort you back to the parsonage?”
Elizabeth accepted, glad of his company. She had no wish to make the return journey alone. They walked quickly along the pathway through the trees, but somehow this time, with Darcy beside her, the strange murmurings and moving shadows seemed less menacing and more like the natural occurrences within any forest.
They came at last out of the copse and into the church graveyard once more. Elizabeth saw at once that the moon had risen high in the sky now, coming out from behind the clouds to cast its pale light upon the landscape. Everything in the graveyard was washed in shades of silver and grey, and the light touched the hard planes of Darcy’s face, throwing his classically handsome profile into sharp relief.
Elizabeth realised that she was staring at him and hastily looked away, glad of the dark to hide her blushes. “I thank you for your escort, sir. I can make my own way to the parsonage now. I will bid you good night.”
She curtsied, then turned to cross the graveyard, but was stopped by Darcy’s voice.
“Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth turned back to face him.
He said gruffly, “I... I wish to apologise for my behaviour this morning. I fear I may have been too curt in my comments.”
Elizabeth raised her gaze to his in surprise. “Yes, I was surprised by your manner,” she admitted. “Why did you not accompany us on the tour of the orange grove? Had I given you cause for taking offence?”
He looked away. “I did not think the pleasures of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s company would be enhanced by my presence.”
Elizabeth stared at him. It suddenly dawned on her. Had Darcy been jealous of his cousin? Was that why he had reacted so coldly and angrily? Because he resented the attentions that Colonel Fitzwilliam had gained from her? The thought flattered and warmed her.
Elizabeth looked up at his averted profile, then on an impulse, said softly, “There are those whose presence provides equal if not greater enjoyment, though they may not be as loquacious.”
Darcy jerked his head back towards her and his dark eyes blazed into hers. They seem to be asking a silent question, but Elizabeth could say no more. She had already said far more than she dared reveal of her feelings for him.
They walked in silence across the graveyard, to the back gate of the parsonage gardens, but when he pushed the gate open and handed her through, he kept hold of her hand for a moment longer than was necessary. Elizabeth looked at him, her heart beating fast. The pressure of his hand was hard against her own, and though they both wore gloves, the heat of his touch seemed to surge through to her bare skin.
Then the creak of hinges sounded behind her and the rear door of the parsonage suddenly opened. Light spilled out from the open doorway. Darcy released her hand at once and Elizabeth turned to find not only Charlotte, but also Anne de Bourgh and Mrs Jenkinson standing there.
