Page 17 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

On the way to Hunsford Cottage, Elizabeth spoke her thoughts aloud. “I am now certain I interrupted the killer’s task. Not the original one, for too much time had passed since the death. But the person must have realized Mrs. Blackstone had something of interest; something important, for it was a great risk to return to the scene.” She hesitated. “And I feel the original crime must have happened quickly, or she might have been removed from here immediately. I wonder if that is the reason the killer returned.”

“To move her?” Mr. Darcy asked. “I doubt they would do such a thing in broad daylight.”

“That is true.”

He took a long breath. “The murderer might have been expected elsewhere at the time and decided to return later to look for clues that might be covered up. Like the handwriting on the scrap of paper.”

“That scenario is very possible,” Elizabeth admitted. “There was no sign of a struggle. But she died clutching something—something so important that even death could not loosen her grip.”

Mr. Darcy said, “And yet, they returned later, though only when the eyes of the world were busy elsewhere.”

She caught his gaze, and for an instant the mutuality of their understanding was total and unmediated by sarcasm orsocial expectation. It was as if the boundaries of their respective stations, their histories, and their mutual grievances had grown translucent. What remained was only the problem, and the fact that they alone seemed interested in solving it.

Elizabeth was silent for a moment before saying, “Our next step, I think, must be to discover whose footprints those were—and whose account does not quite accord with the facts.” She looked up at him. “Do you suppose it would be possible to obtain a list of everyone who was at Rosings yesterday morning? We must also consider who might have crossed the grounds without being observed.”

Mr. Darcy answered, “I will see to it. And you?”

“I will talk to Charlotte to see if I can go with her to visit the Haldridge family at Willow Grange. It is not unusual for a clergyman’s wife to visit a household that has suffered a loss.” She nodded thoughtfully. “I believe there is a story waiting to be uncovered, and I intend to find it.”

She hesitated, then added, “We may have better luck if we do not let Lady Catherine see us working together.”

He seemed about to protest, then gave in, smiling again—smaller, more secretive. “Agreed.”

They walked on in silence until they reached the place they had met earlier. “We will meet here tomorrow, at the same hour?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Unless you are afraid I might best you to the solution.”

He inclined his head, a courtly gesture that nonetheless contained a spark of challenge. “Miss Elizabeth, you are formidable. I would not presume to underestimate you again.”

She turned and started down the path to the parsonage.

Mr. Darcy called out, “Miss Elizabeth.”

She turned. “Yes?”

He said, “Thank you. For not treating this as a mere accident. For believing it worthy of inquiry.”

She let herself meet his gaze and found not only the stubbornness she had come to expect, but something more yielding. Though she hardly dared name it—it occurred to her naturally that it was almost like admiration.

She smiled, warm and unguarded, and left him standing there among the damp gravel and the silent oaks, as if rooted to the spot by the power of her own departure.

When she emerged from the tree line, the air was noticeably brighter, the mist thinning.

The world felt changed somehow.

For the first time, Miss Elizabeth Bennet felt herself on equal footing with Mr. Darcy—not as adversaries, nor as opponents, but as something far more unsettling.

Aspartnersin solving a mystery.

Who knew if that might lead to something else besides.

Chapter 6

Willow Grange, for all its neatness and charm, carried the tragedy poorly. Charlotte and Elizabeth arrived arm in arm, and were shown in by a footman whose professional composure did not quite disguise his mourning. The air in the entryway was thick with the hush that attends a sudden bereavement, or at the very least, a social situation no one had been trained for.

Miss Clara Haldridge received them in the front parlor with a forced appearance of composure, for her grief was unmistakable. She accepted their expressions of sympathy with quiet gratitude and an awkwardness that told Elizabeth she had not had much experience with death.

Miss Haldridge was a decade older than Elizabeth, yet seemed to shrink into the furniture, looking smaller than she had at Lady Catherine’s table only days before, when she and Charlotte had met her there for tea.