Page 18 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

Her answers were soft and incomplete. “It is all so sudden,” she said. “She was well the previous morning.” Then, after a silence, “Diane was always… sensitive. Though she never complained, the need to seek employment after her husband’s death several years ago surely disagreed with her.”

Elizabeth’s heart twinged at the use of the Christian name. She wondered how much the woman had meant to her mistress, and how much was simply what was required of a lady’s companion.

From the corner of her eye, she noted that Charlotte had settled herself on the edge of a chair, ready to direct the visit with the professional tact of a rector’s wife. She offered platitudes, guidance, small rays of practical hope, and all the while Elizabeth’s thoughts scampered away into other rooms and their possibilities.

“I am sure, Miss Haldridge,” Elizabeth said, after the conversation lagged into silence, “that you have been overwhelmed with arrangements. I beg you will allow us to be useful in any way we may. Should you need help with correspondence, or with the household, I am quite at your disposal.”

Miss Haldridge’s eyes filled with tears, but she pressed a handkerchief to them and shook her head. “You are very good, Miss Bennet, but I have already asked Mrs. Bayes to take care of the household matters. I could not—” She stifled herself, as if unwilling to let her voice betray genuine feeling. “It is all so—”

“So irregular,” Charlotte supplied, gently. “Yes. I assure you, we understand.”

There was more talk, none of it useful. Eventually, Miss Haldridge excused herself, citing a need to compose a letter to her father in Town. The footman reappeared, ready to escort them to the door.

Elizabeth turned to Charlotte. “Would you mind a bit of a delay? I want to beg a word with the housekeeper. If there is anything I can do to ease the work of the day, I would rather know of it before we return to the parsonage.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows rose, but she seemed to understand. “I am certain that would be a comfort,” she said, her tone layered with a meaning only Elizabeth would have noticed.

The footman replied, “Mrs. Bayes, the cook, is below stairs, miss,” he said. “There’s been a good deal of confusion with the housekeeper away. When Miss Haldridge arrived, it seemed a good time for her holiday, but then…” He paused, unwilling or unable to name the issue at hand. “Our cook took over the housekeeping duties in the interim, but she became injured. The maids are all a bit… shaken.”

“If you will show me the way,” said Elizabeth, “I am quite accustomed to confusion. And I promise not to trouble the household a moment longer than necessary.”

He led her along a corridor, past a suite of drawing rooms far more intimate than those of Rosings, and down a short flight of steps into the warmth that is universal to the working end of a country house. The heat of the kitchens hit her at once—an enveloping, busy warmth, thick with the scents of yeast and roasting fowl, as well as the metallic tang of smoke that clung to everything. Copper pans gleamed above the long worktable; the hearth spat embers beneath a kettle so large Elizabeth wondered who could need so much boiling water at one time.

Servants moved about the chamber. A woman was seated on a stool with her foot wrapped in bandages, her face set in a grimace of pain. After what the footman had told her, Elizabeth had to assume this was the cook.

Elizabeth paused at the threshold. The sound of her shoes—far too fine for this room—caught the attention of all at once. The cook, seeing an unfamiliar lady in the doorway, attempted to rise, then thought better of it and bobbed a seated curtsy.

“Mrs. Bayes?” Elizabeth asked.

“That’s me,” said the cook, eyeing her with curiosity rather than deference.

“I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, from the parsonage,” Elizabeth said, stepping forward and lowering her voice to the register of friendly conspiracy. “I wished to express my condolences, not only to your mistress, but to those below stairs as well. I hope you do not think me forward, but I have always found that the servants are best placed to understand what truly goes on in a household.” She let the statement hang, watching the reaction.

The cook’s wariness thawed slightly. “Well, miss, you’re not wrong about that.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I have not the habit of making scenes, nor of repeating what I am told in confidence. If there is aught about Mrs. Blackstone’s passing that has troubled you—beyond the obvious—I am prepared to listen, and to help if I may.”

The cook exchanged a glance with a scullery maid, who had stopped scrubbing a pot at the sink.

“There’s been talk,” she said, “Mrs. Blackstone kept to herself. Never unkind, but not the type ta air ‘er feelings.” The cook’s face twisted as she considered her words. “But you’re asking whether something was amiss? I’d say yes.”

Elizabeth drew nearer, careful to lower herself so as not to loom. “What happened?”

The cook said. “Well—” She nodded to the scullery maid, who took a shuddering breath.

“I seen her, miss,” the maid whispered, not meeting Elizabeth’s eyes. “That mornin’. ‘Twas early; the sun wasn’t even up yet. I was sweepin’ the floors. Mrs. Blackstone was in the corridor, in her shawl, reading a note. She didn’t see me, or maybe she did, but she didn’t say nothin’. She looked—” The girl hesitated, wringing her hands in her apron. “She looked like she’d been struck with horrible news. Like whatever was on the paper was not expected.”

The cook said, “Betsy tol’ me she read it at least twice, miss. Once, standing stock still in the hall. Then a few minutes later, in her room, when Betsy came in ta stoke the fire, she was readin’ it again. Then even before first light, she made ready to walk out.”

Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. “Do you know who delivered the note?”

“Didn’t come by the post,” said the cook, shaking her head. “I’d know if it had. The only deliveries that early in the morning were from the dairyman and the baker. It must’ve been brought by hand.”

“Was there a seal?” Elizabeth pressed.

The scullery maid shook her head. “Not as I saw. It was folded once, not a bunch ‘a times like when it’s sealed.”

Elizabeth nodded. “When she left the house, did she say where she was going?”