Page 27 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

Shewouldgive his words the attention they deserved, but not until after they had already solved this mystery.

With this new resolve, she folded Mr. Darcy’s blue-tinted pages together, put them back in the pocket of her coat, then tucked the other blue sheet next to it.

Tomorrow, she would ask him where he obtained the paper. If the murderer used the same stationer’s shop, then perhaps they could narrow their suspect list down a bit, especially if it was made in a fashionable part of London.

Snuffing the candle, she lay back on the now-familiar bed and stared at the ceiling until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was not of Mr. Darcy, nor of the dead woman, but of a sentence that had survived the dew and mist: “all depends on your discretion.”

Tomorrow would bring answers, or perhaps only more questions. But for now, she let herself drift, trusting that courage and clarity would return with the dawn.

Chapter 9

Elizabeth’s resolve did not so much propel her from bed as require her to negotiate every step between the coverlet and the front door. Her hands, usually so deft in the morning, were all confusion; she fumbled with her stockings and caught her thumb twice in the loop of her bootlaces.

She would have left at once, but Charlotte intercepted her near the front entry, already gloved as though she had been waiting for this exact moment.

“I thought you would need air this morning,” said Charlotte. There was a glimmer in her eyes, neither sympathy nor mischief, but something in between. “Though I supposed you would stop in the kitchen to pilfer something first, since you did not join us for supper.”

Elizabeth blushed. “I am sorry, Charlotte. I fell asleep before I could inform you I would not come down.”

“It is nothing.” Charlotte smiled impishly. “Mr. Collins ensured there was never any danger of a quiet evening. He possesses a remarkable talent for filling every silence that presents itself.”

“I am certain he did.” Elizabeth chuckled. “I believe today will require at least three circuits of the lanes.”

They left the parsonage together, but Charlotte’s presence lasted only as far as the turn in the road where the view opened toward Rosings. There she paused, fussed briefly with the arrangement of her gloves, and said, “You will meet him, then?”

Elizabeth stopped, startled. “I—who?”

Charlotte tipped her head, expression both patient and faintly amused. “There are only two reasons to walk out so early in the cold, Lizzy. To think, or to be thought of.”

Elizabeth found her cheeks burning. She looked down, hoping her hat-brim would shade the worst of it. “It is for the first, I assure you.”

“I do not doubt it, though I am certain the second is also true,” Charlotte replied. “Take care, Lizzy.”

She left Elizabeth at the rise and went on to Rosings, boots scattering grit with brisk efficiency.

Elizabeth turned back to retrace her steps to the tree where she had met Mr. Darcy the day before. As she and Charlotte had passed, from the corner of her eye, she had seen him move behind it.

As she took the turn around a large bush, Mr. Darcy stepped out from behind it.

“Miss Elizabeth.” He paused, eyes flicking from her face to the horizon and back again. “You are… well, I trust?”

He was as awkward as she was. Elizabeth wanted to reassure him, or perhaps herself. “As well as anyone may be after such events.”

Mr. Darcy looked away.

She chuckled. “Why did you not show yourself as we passed?”

“I had heard from my aunt last evening that Mrs. Collins was expected at Rosings this morning. Assuming you would like to head for the maze, I did not wish to be, er,divertedto escort her.”

They left the lane and walked toward the maze. Puddles left by the thaw glittered in the sun’s slow climb, alternating with patches of frost that held on in the hedge-shadows.

Bracing herself for the questions she must ask, she withdrew the blue-tinged sheet from her coat pocket. She stopped and held it out to him.

He visibly started, eyes widening.

Poor Mr. Darcy. He must have thought she was bringing up his own letter.