Page 15 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

Elizabeth decided there was no harm in admitting it. “It is.”

They fell into step, neither speaking for several minutes. The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable; it was the silence of two minds working separately, but in parallel. The hedges rose on either side, glossy with dew, and the ground squelched in places where the old gravel had given way to mud.

The air grew colder as they crossed a field heading towards the maze. Elizabeth pulled her coat tighter. Mr. Darcy, wrapped warmly in his tailored finery, looked impervious.

When they were in sight of the entrance to the maze, Mr. Darcy stopped.

She raised her chin to regard him. “If you think it unwise to share with me the proceedings of the coroner, I assure you I can bear it.”

He stood taller, not in the peacock manner of Mr. Collins, but with a restraint that suggested he valued her opinion—and perhaps feared it, as well. “The coroner came last evening. He is a competent man, though somewhat…eager, shall we say, to conclude matters to Lady Catherine’s satisfaction.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “That is, to rule it a misadventure and spare her ladyship the indignity of gossip.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Darcy said. “He saw little cause for further investigation. There was no mark of violence, no evidence of theft. Mrs. Blackstone’s family has been notified by express post. He intends to file the matter as a ‘fit of the nerves,’ as Lady Catherine prefers.”

“How convenient.” Elizabeth bristled. “And what do you believe, Mr. Darcy?”

He was silent. For a moment, she thought he would retreat behind the walls of reserve that had frustrated her since their first acquaintance. Instead, he said, quietly, “I believe there is more to it. I believe your instincts are often sounder than most men’s logical conclusions.”

Elizabeth felt the shock of his admission, though she hoped she showed nothing. “Then let us see what we may find.”

They entered the maze together, the yew arch engulfing them in cool darkness. The path wound back and forth, and in places the gravel was still marked by the impressions of those who had rushed here the previous day. Between the two, they identified the wide, square prints of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s boots, the smaller, neater triangles of Lady Catherine’s shoes, the chaotic overlay of the gardener’s clogs, along with their own, both of which they presently wore the same as they had yesterday.

At the center, the fountain awaited them, the cherub’s faces green with moss. Elizabeth approached the spot where she had found Mrs. Blackstone’s body. She knelt, careful not to disturb the damp earth, and inspected the area with the kind of focus that had given her a reputation as the main contestant for all to compete against during every scavenger hunt in Hertfordshire.

Mr. Darcy hung back, watching with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

She turned over a patch of moss near the base of the fountain and found nothing, but next to the flagstone, there was a footprint, too large to be a lady’s shoe.

“See here.” Elizabeth pointed.

Mr. Darcy knelt beside her, heedless of his trousers. “A man’s shoe,” he said. “Though it might be from the coroner. Or made during Mrs. Blackstone’s… er,removal.”

“I doubt the second. It is a gentleman’s boot, not that of a servant.”

As they neared the yew wall across from where Mrs. Blackstone had been found, Mr. Darcy paused. He crouched and pointed to a stretch of ground.

Elizabeth leaned down. At first, it seemed only a patch of uneven soil, but as she looked closer, she saw the pattern: a double line of indentations, deep at the toe and shallow at the heel, as if the person had stepped hard or was limping.

She looked up at Mr. Darcy, who was already watching her, his expression intent.

“Not the same as the others,” she said. “These are smaller. Narrower.”

He nodded. “But not Mrs. Blackstone’s. I noticed her shoes were of a distinct make, with a broad heel. These are something else entirely.” He stood, dusting his hands. “There is another thing. The print overlays the others, but not in all places.”

Mr. Darcy looked about, then pointed to an area they had not yet moved toward today. “Over here, the impression cuts through my footprint.” He then gestured a few feet away. “And yet yours overlay it over there.” He continued looking around on the ground. “Collins’s cut through here, and he was not present when the coroner came.” He leaned down to look at something more closely. “If we assume the print near the fountain is thecoroner’s, his seem to overlap it everywhere.” He turned to face her.

Elizabeth reconstructed the sequence in her mind. “So, it seems someone was here before us, and then also returned to the scene after the group was here, but before the coroner came and Mrs. Blackstone was removed.”

He straightened. “Which confirms our suspicions about someone returning to wet the hand, at the very least.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or, someone could have remained in the maze, hiding, until you and I left. Perhaps they returned to search for the letter that was attached to the scrap in her hand, or to remove it.”

“Which could mean the person was present when I arrived.” Elizabeth nodded. “Most likely, the sounds of my arrival frightened them away.”

Mr. Darcy stared at her intensely. “It also means that you will not be walking out without an escort again, Miss Elizabeth.”

She startled. “And why is that?”

He raised both eyebrows. “Miss Elizabeth. We have just established that the person who killed Mrs. Blackstone might have been in the maze the entire time you were here. Alone.” Mr. Darcy’s expression was hard to read, but his voice was softer. “Are you not afraid?”