Chapter 6
'The screams she thought were her own persisted, only that this time they did not come from her lips, but from the outside, from the gallery, echoing horrendously through the corridors of Rosings manor.'
Elizabeth sat up in bed with a start, her breath quick and shallow, her body bathed in cold sweat. Her first impression was that the screams were her own, the result of a horrible nightmare, but as her agitation eased, she realized that the sounds did not come from her throat but that were desperate cries of someone outside the room.
The screams continued, despairing and hysterical, now accompanied by expressions of concern of those who had reached the gallery to see what had caused of the alarm. Not able to contain her curiosity, Elizabeth, disregarding precaution and propriety, covered herself with a robe and rushed outside to meet whoever was responsible of such commotion.
The source of the scandalous noise was no other than a chambermaid. Her hands were pressed against her face and her body trembled with unrepressed sobs. Other servants had reached the scene and Elizabeth, still shocked by the unusualness of the situation, stood frozen as different doors along the corridor opened and showed the astonished faces of those who, like her, were awakened by the maid's cries.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was the first member of the family to come out, half dressed in his trousers and a nightshirt, securing his pants with one hand, holding his sabre with the other one. He reached Lady Catherine's door with the hastiness of a well trained soldier and on facing the maid, demanded to know the reasons for such noise.
"The mistress!" cried the girl, "she is dead!"
His shock was such that he froze for a few seconds before disappearing inside his aunt's chambers.
Barely a minute had passed before a small crowd was gathered in front of Lady Catherine's rooms. No one could understand what was happening and the maid was in such a wretched state that she was incapable of articulating speech. Their initial thought was that Lady Catherine had had a stroke, that the maid happened to find her dead during her nightly inspection of the mistress' room, but as the young girl recovered herself from the shock, the truth was revealed.
"I came to stir the fire … I always do it twice during the night … and I saw her!" the girl sobbed, "… there was so much blood … she was covered with blood!"
The maid was crying in earnest and, on Charlotte approaching her to offer her comfort, she fell in the arms of the parson's wife. In between sobs and hiccups, the girl described the horrid scene to the astonished listeners. Lady Catherine had been … murdered?
It was at that precise moment that Mr. Darcy appeared in the corridor, still attired in the same shirt and trousers he had been wearing when she had seen him earlier, Elizabeth noticed, with his hair dishevelled and his clothes wrinkled as if he had slept in them. He paused only to confirm from the maid's lips what he had overheard as he approached her and then went directly into his aunt's chambers to join his cousin.
Miss de Bourgh, whose room was farther down the corridor, was the last to arrive. She came running, with her robe flapping behind her.
"What has happened?" she cried. "What is all this noise?"
An intense silence followed her inquiry. Almost immediately, they all looked away so their expressions would not betray the pity they felt for Miss de Bourgh's situation. No one had the courage to inform her about what had just occurred, so Ann stood there, looking at them, sensing that there was something very wrong but nonetheless waiting for someone to tell her that there was no reason for concern. At length, Mr. Collins, with the eloquence of a man experienced in the affairs of the church, approached to inform her of the sad news and express his condolences.
"No!" Ann sobbed, "it cannot be! It cannot be!"
Elizabeth extended a compassionate hand and offered her comfort. But to no avail. Miss de Bourgh was hysterical.
"No! Mother!" Ann attempted to go to her mother's chambers.
Both Charlotte and Elizabeth held Ann's arms to prevent her from entering Lady Catherine's room and witness the horrible scene that the maid had described earlier. The young girl continued to struggle until she finally freed herself and ran into her mother's bedroom. It was fortunate that Colonel Fitzwilliam was coming out at that precise moment and gathered Miss de Bourgh in his arms before she go any further. He secured her firmly around the waist and carried her out of the room while she battled him to free herself from his hold.
"Ann," he spoke soothingly, "you must not go in."
"No, Richard! I must see her! What happened to my mother?"
"She … " Fitzwilliam was disarmed for seeing her in such anguish, "she died."
Ann begged him to allow her to see her mother, this time hitting the Colonel on the chest with her fists every time he blocked her way. Neither his caresses nor his words were able to comfort her. She continued to cry and to hit until her strength was gone and she fainted in her cousin's arms.
Fitzwilliam picked her up and carried her down the corridor towards her chambers. "Miss Bennet, Mrs. Collins, pray stay with her until she wakes up. She will need someone by her side."
"I haven't seen so much blood since I served with Wellesley in Talavera." Fitzwilliam examined Lady Catherine's lifeless body through narrowed eyes. "She must have been stabbed at least ten times. The murderer really must have hated her."
Darcy pressed his fist to his mouth and turned away from the horrible vision. He could not beheld the sight of blood with the easiness his cousin could. "We must sail to the mainland to fetch the Bailiff. The crime should be reported to the authorities as soon as may be."
"In this weather?" the colonel covered the body with a blanket. "We cannot leave the island until the storm passes. 'Tis too dangerous."
"That might take a day or two. Something should be done till then."
"I will not risk drowning in the sea for her, Darcy, even less now that she is dead, nor I will send anyone to find his death either. No, it will have to wait until navigation is safe."
"Good heavens!" Darcy walked towards the window. The rusty smell of blood was making him ill. "What kind of person would do such thing? Who could hate her so much as to kill her so viciously?"
Fitzwilliam glanced at the bed and then at his cousin. Darcy was not someone to fret over unpleasant sights but, in this case, the colonel understood the reason of his discomposure. Had it not been for his military experience, which had presented him with all sort of sordid images and mutilations, he would have been in a similar state at the moment.
"Who? It could have been anyone, Darcy." The Colonel joined him at the window.
"Everyone in this island, from the lowest under gardener to any of us have been, in some degree, seduced by the idea of killing her."
Darcy startled and looked at his cousin, somehow shocked by his revelation.
The Colonel smirked at the expression of incredulity on Darcy's face. "Well, maybe not everyone. Miss Lucas I would exclude from this list. Her disposition is too sweet. I cannot believe her capable of killing a fly, less to commit a crime such as this one."
But Darcy did not share his cousin's humour for the situation. "Have you spoken to Ann?"
Fitzwilliam nodded quietly. "I have. She is in such a dreadful state. She fainted when I told her what happened. I took her to her bedroom and asked Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet to accompany her until she is recovered from the shock."
"What are we supposed to do, Fitzwilliam?" Darcy paced the room, visibly altered by the recent turn of events. "We cannot stay here and wait until the storm passes. Lady Catherine was murdered."
"Well, I know a lot of people who would find delight in celebrating her demise."
Darcy glared at his cousin. "Show some respect, Fitzwilliam, it is your aunt who is lying dead on that bed."
"You are right, forgive me. I fear I have developed a certain cynicism after the war. It is the only way I have found to overcome the horrors I saw there."
"I understand," Darcy smiled faintly. "Think no more of it."
"We can begin by gathering everyone in the sitting room and explain the situation. No one can leave the island until the authorities are informed and the bailiff is here to decide what to do."
Darcy assented to Fitzwilliam's suggestion. As they walked out of the room, the Colonel looked up and down at his cousin, a little amused by his state of attire.
"Darcy, did you sleep in your clothes?"
The other man let out a sad chuckle, stress and tiredness evident in his features. "I did not have much sleep tonight. I was too restless to go to bed and I ended falling asleep on the armchair after three glasses of brandy."
"I faced a similar predicament tonight but I least I managed to get undressed before collapsing on bed."
"I am sure the ladies found you a charming sight when you appeared half dressed in the corridor," replied Darcy in better spirits.
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked down at himself. He was barefoot, with his nightshirt rolled beneath his braces, the sabre that he had brandished so courageously on his entrance now forgotten on the table. "I think their minds were occupied with more unpleasant subjects to notice my attire. Come, Darcy, let us reunite the others to tell them the news."
"I believe you all know why you were gathered here." Col. Fitzwilliam began, "Lady Catherine passed on tonight."
Elizabeth listened to the Colonel's explanation with scepticism and distrust. As he said, she had imagined the reason why they were all gathered in the sitting room when they were first convoked but never she had thought that such reunion would only serve to install in her mind the seed of suspicion. Something about the demeanour of the cousins and, in particular, of Mr. Darcy disturbed her. Col. Fitzwilliam spoke well, he told them of all the precautions that were to be taken so the murder would not be left unpunished but, on referring to his aunt, his speech transmitted more concern for the unresolved crime than the shock and grief that usually follows the death of a relative. As for Mr. Darcy, he did not open his mouth the whole time and his disposition appeared remarkably unaffected for someone whose aunt had just been killed.
Yet, such a notion did not surprise her. After all she that witnessed during the past days, she could have not imagined another outcome. With less pliancy of temper than the others and, perhaps, more information at hand as to allow her better discernment, with her perception enhanced by an innate tendency to precipitate her judgement, Elizabeth had already found the murderer. While everyone in that house was a suspect, including herself, according to the Colonel, no one had more reasons to kill Lady Catherine than her own nephew, Mr. Darcy. To her, it was more than clear. The threats of which he was being subjected, the blackmail, the cruelty he was capable of bestowing on those around him plus his nocturnal ramblings through dark corridors at wee hours were, in her mind, proof enough to condemn him. Still, Elizabeth knew that such reflections would have to wait for the presence of the bailiff to be disclosed. She could not trust the Colonel's impartiality in this case. Though she wanted to believe in his innocence, Col. Fitzwilliam could very well be in conspiracy with his cousin or worse, he may try to guard the family's honour by keeping Darcy free of charge, hence convincing her of the wisdom of not formulating any formal accusations before the arrival of the authorities.
There was not much to do then but to wait. The storm outside showed no signs of coming to an end and they were all confined to the house. Together with the dawn, came the despair. Like in her dream, instead of providing shelter, Rosings had become her prison, for now Elizabeth was housebound with a murderer and his victim.
Chapter 7
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