The Poisoned Proposal, page 6
part #3 of Dark Darcy Series
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.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The events of the morning cast a sombre pall over the parsonage and they passed most of the day in restless anxiety. Late in the afternoon, Stephen the footman came from Rosings Park with the welcome news that Lady Catherine appeared to have turned a corner. While she was still plagued with convulsions and nausea, the physician believed that the worst may be over. If she survived a second night, then the prognosis was positive.
The news lifted the mood at the parsonage. Though it did not nullify the scandal of the accusation against Charlotte, removing the threat of death greatly reduced the severity of the situation. Mr Collins greeted the news with joyful relief and decided to hold an evening service to give thanks and pray for Lady Catherine’s full recovery. The household fell into a flurry of activity to help him prepare. The announcement about the impromptu service was quickly sent to the village and eagerly received. Many depended on Lady Catherine and her great estate for their livelihoods, so there was much anxiety about her health.
However, as Elizabeth stood in the front pew and watched the villagers file into the church, she realised that it was not only the news of Lady Catherine’s recovery that had spread with great speed but Charlotte’s suspected role as poisoner as well. She saw her friend flush in distress as many of the villagers did not greet her or acknowledge her presence, avoiding her eye and keeping their distance. Fingers pointed as horrified stares and knowing whispers circulated the room.
Elizabeth gave her friend’s hand an encouraging squeeze as Mr Collins moved to the pulpit to begin the service. Charlotte lifted her chin and turned to face the front, gathering the remnants of her composure around her. Elizabeth thought angrily of the injustice of the accusation against her friend and resolved once again to do everything she could to clear Charlotte’s name.
When the service was over, several villagers lingered to speak to the rector and Elizabeth was gratified to see that some included Charlotte also in their greeting. She herself was approached by a young man from the congregation, whom she recognised as Edwin Hargreaves.
She paused, then said, “May I ask—how is Miss de Bourgh doing? I understand that she had a distressing night.”
Hargreaves nodded soberly. “Yes, I believe she was distraught and required sedation. She has kept to her bedchamber all day, though I believe she may be better this evening. I have not been able to extract much information from her companion, Mrs Jenkinson, who treats my concern for Miss de Bourgh with deep suspicion.”
“Yes, that lady can be overly protective of her charge,” said Elizabeth with a dry smile.
“Indeed, she is most disagreeable! She treats Anne—I mean, Miss de Bourgh—like a delicate invalid, denying her all opportunity to partake of any pleasurable activities and dictating to her as if she were still a child in the schoolroom. Miss de Bourgh’s health is fragile, I concede, but I do not see how entombing her within Rosings would help to improve the situation.”
“No doubt you’re right,” Elizabeth agreed. “But it is difficult to see how Anne may achieve independence when Mrs Jenkinson’s restrictions are supported by Lady Catherine—”
“Her ladyship may have superior knowledge in many things, but she does not necessarily know what is good for Anne!” said Hargreaves.
Elizabeth sat back, surprised at his vehemence.
He flushed. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I had not intended to speak my feelings so plainly. I must allude it to your warmth of personality. I have rarely felt so much at ease with a new acquaintance.”
“I welcome your candour, Mr Hargreaves,” Elizabeth quickly reassured him. “And may I return it by confessing that I too share your concerns regarding Miss de Bourgh’s plight. She does seem to suffer an oppressive existence in that household. But… perhaps we judge too harshly. I am sure Lady Catherine has her daughter’s welfare at heart when she issues such mandates.”
“Would that her strictures stemmed from a genuine maternal affection and concern for Anne’s welfare!” Hargreaves cried. “But I fear that they are more likely the result of a domineering nature that delights in dictating to others. From the time I used to visit Rosings as a child, I have seen the way Lady Catherine prevails upon those around her. Why, Anne seems no more than a pawn ordered about for her amusement. It is damnable that—!” He broke off, coloured and stammered, “I… I beg your pardon for my language, Miss Bennet. I did not mean… er… I was carried away by my emotions.”
Elizabeth smiled at him. “You care for Miss de Bourgh very much, do you not?”
Hargreaves dropped his eyes, saying gruffly, “I love her.” Then he looked up hastily. “Forgive me, I am not normally this indiscreet. It must be your welcoming attitude as confidante. I apologise for taking liberties with—”
“Nay, do not apologise, Mr Hargreaves,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “You pay me a great compliment. And I shall keep your confidence gladly. But have you let Miss de Bourgh know of your feelings?”
“It is no use,” said Hargreaves bitterly. “I have already applied to Lady Catherine for permission to court her daughter’s hand, but she has refused me in the most humiliating fashion. She does not deem me good enough for her daughter, being no more than the second son of an earl, with only a small estate to call my own. Indeed, she laughed at me and called me ridiculous.”
Elizabeth thought of Lady Catherine’s condescending manner and felt a wave of pity for Hargreaves. She could well imagine the humiliation of the interview.
As if embarrassed by all he had revealed, Hargreaves hastened to change the subject. “I… I was sorry to learn of the suspicious charges laid on Mrs Collins,” he said. “I hope my comments regarding the poison have not conspired to lay the blame at her door. It was certainly not my intention.”
“I am sure Mrs Collins does not see it that way,” Elizabeth assured him. “We are all eager for any information which may help bring about Lady Catherine’s speedy recovery. I am sure I speak for all when I say we appreciate your knowledge in this arena.”
The last villager had left the church now and the Collinses were preparing to return to the parsonage. Hargreaves thanked Elizabeth once again for lending a sympathetic ear, though she fancied he looked slightly uncomfortable. She wondered if he was beginning to regret all that he had revealed to her. She assured him once more of her discretion, which he accepted with gratitude and a look of embarrassment, then with a last bow he hurried away.
The next morning, once breakfast was over, Elizabeth made the trip once more into Rosings Park. This time, however, she headed directly for the main house. She wanted to keep her word to Darcy and pay a visit to Anne de Bourgh. It also gave her a good pretext to explore the household and perhaps gain some new intelligence regarding the poisoning.
She was met at the front door by a gentleman just exiting the house. He wore scarlet regimentals and she quickly recognised him as the rider she had seen the day before.
“You must be Miss Bennet,” he said, smiling and making her a bow. “I have heard much of you, from both Darcy and Anne. As we are such close country neighbours, I hope you will not mind me dispensing with formality and allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “I was walking in the park yesterday morning and saw you arrive. I believe you had come from Canterbury at great speed?”
“Yes, though thankfully not to a deathbed vigil. My aunt has rallied enormously and appears to be improving by the hour.”
“Oh, I am glad to hear it!” said Elizabeth. “Everyone at the parsonage has been most anxious about her recovery.”
“I am afraid she is still not ready to receive visitors, however.”
“Oh no,” Elizabeth said quickly. “I would not presume to call upon your aunt. It is actually Miss de Bourgh I have come to see—”
“Ah, I believe Anne might be in the rear gardens. I am heading that way myself…” He offered her his arm. “My horse has been stabled since my arrival yesterday morning and requires some exercise. However, I would be happy to delay my ride for a turn about the gardens with you, Miss Bennet.” He glanced at the grey skies. “It looks as if the rain may hold off for a while.”
Elizabeth took his arm and they strolled companionably towards the rear gardens. She found Colonel Fitzwilliam to be extremely pleasing company: though he was not as attractive as his cousin, he had a lively countenance and fine, gentlemanly manners. They talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half so well entertained. She was laughing heartily at some remark he made when they rounded the corner of the house and encountered Darcy coming in the other direction. He stopped short when he saw them and Elizabeth saw his eyes take in their laughing faces, then drop to her hand on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arm. His expression darkened.
“Darcy! I have just been making the acquaintance of the charming Miss Bennet,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam jovially.
“So I see,” said Darcy.
“You had not told me what delights you must have enjoyed in her company back in Hertfordshire,” Colonel Fitzwilliam teased.
“I do not believe I have had the privilege of being admitted to Miss Bennet’s inner circle of favoured acquaintances,” said Darcy curtly. “Therefore, I doubt I could do justice to descriptions of her affinity.”
Elizabeth looked at him in puzzlement, taken aback by his cold tone and angry demeanour. What could he mean by those words? And why the sudden change in his manner? She remembered his tenderness and warmth towards her yesterday morning and, even more, in the library at Rosings the night before… Had she imagined the intimacy of their previous encounters?
“Colonel Fitzwilliam was just telling me of the Spanish orange grove on the property,” she said to Darcy. She smiled at him hesitatingly. “We are about to walk there. Would you like to join us?”
Darcy’s face was remote. “Thank you but no. I shall not trespass on your pleasure.” He gave them a stiff bow, then turned and strode away.
“By Jove, my cousin is in poor humour today,” observed Colonel Fitzwilliam, watching him leave. “I cannot conceive what is the matter with him. He is not normally so brusque.”
“You surprise me, sir; such behaviour is exactly what I have come to expect of him,” said Elizabeth tartly. “His conduct during his time in Hertfordshire was often thus laconic and aloof.”
But she had thought that to be a false image of him, that the glimpses of affability she had seen recently were an indication of his true character. Now she was bitterly disappointed to find that her thoughts had been wrong—Darcy was as much the haughty, disagreeable man as he had always been!
CHAPTER NINE
The feelings of hurt and betrayal from Darcy’s curt manner occupied Elizabeth so much that she was unable to concentrate fully during the tour of the orange grove and was relieved when Colonel Fitzwilliam finally escorted her to the rear gardens and made his farewell. Elizabeth attempted to put Darcy’s behaviour from her mind as she walked along the landscaped pathways, admiring the carefully cultivated bushes and flowers. At a juncture between two gravel paths, she came upon an elderly man with green apron and thick gardening gloves. He was kneeling beside a large rose bush, carefully applying a dark brown liquid to its prickly stems.
“Those are magnificent roses,” said Elizabeth admiringly as she drew near.
