Page 19 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

“No, miss,” said the cook. “She left without a word. But it wasn’t so odd at that time o’ the morning, on account o’ Miss Haldridge waking up much later. There wasn’t no need to leave word. Mrs. Blackstone often went out walking around sunrise.”

“Did she take anything with her?”

“Nothing but her pelisse, gloves, and a scarf, on account ‘a it being so cold,” the maid replied. “I thought it strange because she always had her reticule when she left the house. But then, I seen it on the hall table and remembered the handle was broke. Figured she meant to mend it later.” She shrugged. “Few minutes later, I was goin’ up the stairs ta the third floor when I seen her from the window. She were passin’ through the east gate. I did think that odd since it leads to Rosings. Why wouldn’t she walk on the grounds o’ The Grange?”

“Do you know…” Elizabeth did not know how to ask this nicely. “Why was Mrs. Blackstone not noticed missing when she did not return?”

Mrs. Bayes answered, “Miss Haldridge was indisposed that morning. She didn’t come down for her mornin’ meal, so I assumed Mrs. Blackstone had come through when I was busy, and got something simple for herself outta the larder. It was her way any time she had time off. She mostly kept to herself.”

Elizabeth let the information settle in her mind. “Thank you,” she said, voice soft but decisive. “You have both been most helpful. If you recall anything else, or if anyone makes you uncomfortable—should you see a stranger about, for instance—I beg you will send word to Hunsford Cottage.”

The cook nodded, then glanced at the footman, who had hovered in the doorway throughout their conversation. “We’re just ‘appy someone cares enough to look into it, miss. You know, since she wasn’t the lady o’ the house.”

Her implication was clear.

Elizabeth nodded, then turned to the footman, “May I trouble you to lead me back to my friend?”

He bowed and led her up the back stairs.

Halfway up the staircase, a shape appeared at the top landing, blocking the light. She would recognize the imposing silhouette anywhere, even in the uncertain light of the service corridor.

Mr. Darcy did not look surprised to find her. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “I had hoped I might encounter you here.”

Elizabeth’s heart leaped into her throat, though she schooled her features into a mask of polite curiosity. As she reached the top of the stairs, she saw Charlotte standing nearby.

“Mr. Darcy.” She turned to the footman, “Thank you, I am fine from here.”

The footman bowed and returned below stairs.

Once he was gone, Elizabeth asked, “Has your investigation yielded any fruit?”

He said, “I have made inquiry of staff at Rosings and the outdoors staff here, at The Grange, but their accounts are maddeningly consistent, and therefore, I suspect, incomplete. I am to meet with Mr. Jonathan Haldridge now. Would you ladies like to join me?”

Charlotte nodded.

Elizabeth did not hesitate. “Yes, but first, we must speak.” She stepped closer. “I have information,” she said, “but I do not know what to make of it. Mrs. Blackstone received a message very early yesterday morning—delivered by hand, not post. She was seen reading it twice with great agitation. She left without her reticule, which was odd for her. She told no one where she was going.” She tilted her head.

Mr. Darcy listened in absolute silence, his expression intent.

Elizabeth was struck anew by how little he revealed in such moments. He was like a well-wrapped parcel: there was an interest in what might be inside, but nothing could be guessed until one opened it.

After a long moment, he said, “Do you suppose she was lured out, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I do,” Elizabeth said. “I think it likely she was summoned for a meeting, perhaps one that she did not expect.”

“Do you believe the letter she received relates to the fragment in her hand?” Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth considered. “Possibly. But there is more—she left through the east gate, according to the maid, which leads directly to the Rosings boundary. Whoever she was to meet, it was not in the village, nor on the road to Town. It was someone waiting on Rosings’ grounds, perhaps even in the maze itself.”

Mr. Darcy said, “I shall inform the coroner. But I must ask—why were you below stairs, Miss Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Because, Mr. Darcy, in every household I have ever known, those below stairs see more truth than those above. They have only what is to be gained by a frank accounting of facts.”

He smiled back, a real one, which seemed to surprise even him. “You have the soul of a detective,” he said. “I am impressed.”

They were silent for a moment, listening to the distant rumble of life continuing in the kitchens.

At last Mr. Darcy said, “You are very good at this, Miss Elizabeth.”