Page 67 of Attempted Compromises
“Miss Elizabeth,” Sir William called gently, breaking the silence. “Please, join us.”
She stepped forward, the weight of their gazes pressing down on her like a physical force. Every step felt heavier than the last as she crossed the room and took the empty seat Sir William had indicated.
“Where is Miss Darcy?” she asked urgently.
“My sister is resting in her rooms,” Darcy answered, his face softening. “Other than being quite fatigued, she is well.”
“And Andrew?” She held her breath.
“Perfectly safe and unharmed,” Darcy assured her. “He and his nurse had retired for the evening, and they had absolutely no idea of what was occurring.”
She exhaled and looked around the room. “But where is Mr. Hurst?”
Elizabeth’s question hung in the air, the tension in the room thickening as she scanned the faces of those gathered. A shadow passed over Mrs. Hurst’s features, and she lowered her gaze to her lap, where her hands rested protectively over the small yet noticeable bulge at her midline.
Mr. Jones cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Miss Elizabeth,” he began delicately, his tone measured, “I am afraid Mr. Hurst… did not survive the events of the afternoon.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. Her eyes widened as the weight of the words settled over her. “What—what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Darcy, seated a few feet away, shifted uncomfortably, his brows drawing together in a tight line. “Mr. Jones believes that the laudanum in the tea, combined with the alcohol Mr. Hurst consumed earlier, proved fatal,” he said, his voice low and controlled, though his hands were clenched tightly on the arms of his chair.
Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Hurst, whose pale face betrayed her grief despite the stoic mask she tried to maintain. “I… I am so sorry,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice trembling. “I did not realize…”
Mrs. Hurst looked up briefly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” she said quietly, her voice raspy, “but I would rather not dwell on it any longer.”
At this point, Sir William cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth, there is some confusion over what occurred this evening, and you are the only one with answers. Can you explain what happened? Mr. Jones has informed us that you said Mr. Wickham was involved and Miss Bingley is missing.”
Elizabeth nodded, swallowing hard. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to stop them from trembling. “Yes,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. “I will tell you everything.”
She began her account slowly, carefully choosing her words. She described the tea, the strange, bitter flavor, and the moments when everything had begun to unravel. As she recounted Wickham’s pursuit and her frantic escape through the hedgerows, her voice faltered, but she pressed on.
When she reached the part where Wickham had carried an unconscious Miss Bingley to the carriage, binding her wrists before fleeing, a collective gasp swept through the room.
“We must recover her at once!” Bingley cried, leaping to his feet. His eyes darted to Darcy, pleading for direction.
Before Darcy could respond, a venomous voice cut through the room. “Must we?” Mrs. Hurst sneered from her corner, her hand resting protectively over her slightly swollen belly.
Normally so poised and unflappable, the new widow was now a shadow of her former self, her eyes red-rimmed and weary. She had been largely silent since awakening to the news of her husband’s death, but now her voice carried a steely edge. “I say, she has made her bed. Let her lie in it.”
Jane let out a soft gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. “Surely there’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” she said faintly, her voice trembling.
Elizabeth pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. “No, Jane,” she said firmly. “There is no misunderstanding. Miss Bingley and Mr. Wickham entered into this scheme knowingly. They are directly responsible for the chaos here tonight, including the death of Mr. Hurst.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
“He wasn’t always like this,” Mrs. Hurst spat, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “He only drank because of Caroline. She drove him mad. He would say it was the only wayto endure her company. And now, she has taken him from me entirely.”
Bingley went pale, his face a mask of disbelief. “Will they be arrested for murder?”
Sir William cleared his throat awkwardly, the weight of authority settling uncomfortably on his shoulders. “Intent is a significant factor in such matters. They will need to be questioned thoroughly before we proceed with any charges.”
“That may be,” Darcy said, his voice cutting through the room, “but Wickham should certainly be arrested for kidnapping. Regardless of intent, he forcibly took an unconscious woman against her will.” His jaw tightened, his eyes blazing. “They’re likely halfway to Gretna Green by now. Marriage would ensure Wickham’s access to her dowry and protect him from immediate consequences.”
“Do you truly think he’d marry her?” Bingley asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Darcy said flatly. “This is not the first time he has attempted such a scheme with a wealthy young woman. When his plans with… a wealthy young woman of my acquaintance failed, he likely saw Miss Bingley as a new opportunity.”
Elizabeth shot him a sharp look.Does he mean….No, surely not! The poor girl; no wonder she is so timid.
