Page 11 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

“Charlotte,” she said, “did you notice anything unusual when Mrs. Blackstone called yesterday? Anything that suggested she was troubled—or that someone might have wished her harm?”

Charlotte was silent for a moment, thoughtfully turning her teacup in its saucer.

“No,” she said at last. “She struck me as reserved rather than unhappy. She spoke politely of Lady Catherine’s charity school and mentioned that Miss Haldridge hoped to lend her support to a similar one recently established in Bath. She remained only long enough for a single cup of tea.”

Charlotte shook her head.

“Had she possessed enemies, I should never have guessed it from her manner. There was only one thing that gave me pause.” She looked up at Elizabeth. “She asked whether Lady Catherine or Miss de Bourgh were in the habit of walking the grounds very early in the morning or late in the evening—or whether they generally remained indoors.”

Elizabeth’s mind pounced on this detail. “Did she say why?”

“No, but she laughed when she asked. It seemed a joke at her own expense, as if she was mocking herself for being too inquisitive.” Charlotte took a breath. “At the time, I thought perhaps she preferred to walk on the grounds of Rosings Park than those of Willow Grange and did not wish to be caught out.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps she was arranging a meeting.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “It is possible she wanted to meet someone without the Haldridge family’s knowledge.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, thinking of the seclusion of the maze. “Or perhaps she wished to see someone without anyone’s knowledge at all.”

There was a lull in the conversation as both considered the implications.

Charlotte was the one to break the silence. “And Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth’s cup gave a slight rattle against its saucer. She steadied it at once, though she suspected Charlotte had noticed all the same.

“I scarcely know what to think of him,” she admitted. “He was there whenever he was needed. So attentive… and yet so unlike the gentleman I first met at Meryton. I have never seen him so entirely forget himself. It is almost as though this dreadful morning has stripped away every defense he possessed.”

Charlotte regarded her briefly. “Or,” she said gently, “perhaps it has only stripped away the part that prevented everyone else from seeing him as he truly is.”

Elizabeth set her cup aside, unwilling to hide behind it. “Charlotte, you must not imagine that there is anything between us. He is—he is the last man in the world I could be prevailed upon to—”

Charlotte snorted, a sound so undignified that Elizabeth was startled into silence.

“Lizzy, you are the most transparent person I have ever known. You may not like certain aspects of his character, but you do not despise him.”

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush. She opened her mouth to retort, but found she had no words at hand.

“I have eyes, Lizzy. I saw how he looked at you in Hertfordshire. I see how he looks at you now, even when he wishes not to be seen. In fact, I believe it is more intense now than ever.” Charlotte’s voice softened. “If you cannot see it yourself, then you are in greater danger than any murderer can present.”

Elizabeth could not help herself. “You do not think he is capable of—of—?”

“Of murder? Of cruelty?” Charlotte shook her head. “Not in this context, and not against a woman he admires. His failings are all of the obvious kind. If anything, he is more likely to accuse himself of a crime he did not commit, out of some perverse loyalty to justice.”

Elizabeth huffed out a chuckle, then was silent for a time. The conversation had wandered into reflections she was not yet prepared to examine too closely, and she was relieved to think of something more tangible.

“Charlotte,” she said, “did you know I have seen Mr. Darcy write upon the very same paper as the fragment found in Mrs. Blackstone’s hand?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Are you certain?”

“Not absolutely. But I borrowed a sheet of paper from him to write a note to my parents while Jane was ill at Netherfield. It was nothing one could buy in the usual shops. The texture, the thickness, and I daresay, even the scent was as if it were not meant for ordinary correspondence. I knew the scrap she held was familiar, but I did not put it together until just a moment ago. It may mean nothing, but it is… odd.”

Charlotte was thoughtful. “If anyone could afford made-to-order stationery, it would be Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth frowned. “But why would she have it? Mrs. Blackstone. And why only a small fragment?”

Charlotte’s gaze was piercing. “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth’s heart thudded uncomfortably. “I could not.”