Page 102 of Cousin Conundrum

“They quarreled?” the words screeched back down the hallway. “I should have known Elizabeth would spoil this for me. I should have known the only way she could remain engaged is if the gentleman were unconscious. That contrary, ungrateful—” Somewhere a door slammed, muting the remainder of Mrs. Bennet’s words.

Silence filled the room.

“If Miss Elizabeth has no firsthand knowledge of what took place below stairs, I am finished with her testimony.”

Elizabeth sank back against the sofa, squeezing her eyes closed.

“Mr. Hurst, I believe you have details on the three Mademoiselle Dubois at the base of the staircase?”

Mr. Hurst took up the recounting then, detailing how he and the men he led crashed through the front door to find the three in a heap, Mabel the most injured, having suffered considerable bruising and a broken arm. He and half of his men then swarmed into the large living space, surrounding and disarming Madame Dubois, while the remainder raced up the steps. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, trying not to hear how they’d found her and Mr. Darcy, and carried him out.

Then Mr. Fletcher spoke of how he and several of the men who’d climbed the rope burst into the kitchen through the back door to find Catherine Dubois attempting to shoot Mr. and Mrs. Walters, while her sister Laura struggled to stop her. By his account and those taken earlier from the farmer and his wife, Laura Dubois had saved the couple.

Mr. Partridge took statements from everyone in the room, though Elizabeth had the impression he’d already heard Mr. Fletcher’s and Mr. Hurst’s reports. Elizabeth’s parents did not return. She could only hope her father had taken Mrs. Bennet away. She was certain to be suffering from a fit of nerves now that she knew Elizabeth did not intend to marry Mr. Darcy.

After Mr. Partridge finished his inquiries and departed the room, Netherfield Park’s butler entered. He cleared his throat, then stated, “Mr. Bennet has requested that the Miss Bennets pack their possessions and return to Longbourn.”

Beside Elizabeth, Jane let out a sigh, looking down.

Elizabeth stared at the butler, too tired and listless to care. Longbourn. Netherfield Park. It was all part and parcel to her. She would miss Georgiana, though. Or did she mean Miss Darcy? They were no longer meant to be sisters, after all. Elizabeth’s right to the familiarity of a Christian name was lost to her.

“Oh dear,” Kitty murmured. “I do not believe I will recover nearly as well in Longbourn as I would here.”

“Your younger sister will tend to you, I imagine?” Miss Bingley asked, her expression sympathetic.

“Precisely.” Kitty gave an overly dramatic shudder.

Elizabeth knew she should smile, but couldn’t muster one.

Miss Bingley stood. “I will summon maids to help you pack.”

“Did Mr. Bennet send a carriage?” Mrs. Hurst asked.

The butler shook his head. “No, madam.”

“See ours readied, please.”

“Yes, madam.” With a bow, the butler left.

Miss Bingley turned to where Elizabeth sat with Jane. “I will inform Charles of your departure. He will want to bid you farewell.” Her gaze settled on Elizabeth, uncertain.

With effort, Elizabeth pushed to her feet. “I will deliver news of our departure to Miss Darcy.” She crossed the room, aware of the myriad of worried gazes that followed her.

***

Several weeks later, Elizabeth was still the focus of her mother’s ire as they awaited callers in the little front parlor. Not that they would have any. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had collected Jane earlier so she might picnic with them, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Bingley. Miss Darcy had called once, in the company of her companion, Mrs. Annesley, but sitting in a cluster of Elizabeth’s sisters while Mrs. Bennet railed against Mr. Darcy was quite obviously not an afternoon anyone wished repeated.

Rumor held Mr. Darcy to be recovering well, though not yet up for calls. Jane said she and Mr. Bingley hoped he would be fit enough to attend their wedding, not quite two weeks away. And Elizabeth concluded that Mr. Darcy hoped the same, because Jane also said he and Miss Darcy were to depart after the wedding breakfast, to return to London.

Across from Elizabeth, Kitty rubbed her now lightly bandaged feet together.

“Mr. Jones said not to scratch them,” Lydia reprimanded with a frown.

“Mr. Jones does not know how much they itch,” Kitty replied, but she halted the slide of her feet over one another.

Mary looked up from her book, a medical journal. She’d become obsessed with all things medicinal ever since taking in Kitty’s palm and feet, and Elizabeth’s and Jane’s chafed wrists. “Itching is a sign of healing.”

“Then I must be nearly well,” Kitty grumbled.