Page 33 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

Elizabeth thought with amusement,Obviously, we have been dismissed.

She hung back for the briefest instant, feigning an interest in the lilies.

Mr. Darcy paused beside her. He did not look at her but spoke in an almost matter-of-fact tone. “I see what you mean now.”

Elizabeth nodded, keeping her voice light. “She knows everything that happens at Rosings. It is her business to see and not be seen.”

“Yet she saw us,” he said.

Elizabeth smiled again, this time at him. “Then perhaps we have become worthy of notice.”

“I wonder what she thinks we are up to.”

“It will keep her busy if we leave her wondering,” said Elizabeth.

They joined the others in the corridor.

Elizabeth felt a quiet stir of anticipation. At last, the investigation seemed to be moving in the right direction.

She walked on at Mr. Darcy’s side, wondering whether Mrs. Jenkinson would report what she had seen to Lady Catherine. Or would she keep her own counsel until it became more advantageous to share?

Elizabeth had the distinct impression they had just begun asking the right questions.

Chapter 11

Since Mr. and Mrs. Collins had business with Lady Catherine, and a woman had recently died on the grounds of Rosings, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam volunteered to walk with Elizabeth to the parsonage.

The cold had returned with a vengeance. There was no softness in the April air, only the bite of wind scouring the exposed flanks of Rosings Park and turning the long east lawn into a corridor of shifting light and shadow. The gravel path, which wound along the clipped border of the formal gardens, made a crunching sound beneath the boots of its travelers.

It was along this path that Elizabeth found herself between Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy, both men much taller than she, both intimidating in their respective greatcoats: one cut for the cavalry; the other somber and exquisitely tailored.

The colonel, a master of small talk under any conditions, began their stroll with a story about a chaplain who had once attempted to grow tulips on the regimental parade ground.

Mr. Darcy allowed the tale to proceed, making the necessary grunts of amusement at every juncture.

But Elizabeth could see from the set of his jaw that he was not truly interested in his cousin’s story, for she had come to recognize the way Mr. Darcy’s mind organized itself around a problem. His thoughts may be invisible in his face, but they were detectable in the economy of his movements. He was, at this moment, fully deployed for war.

“So, you see,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, with a flourish of his gloved hand toward the beds of shivering narcissus, “no matter how one toils, nature will always have her own way.”

He shot a look at Elizabeth, as if daring her to apply the moral.

Elizabeth replied, “The chaplain would have done much better with cabbages. They are known for thriving, even where they are least wanted.”

The colonel laughed. “I will pass your horticultural wisdom to my next commanding officer.”

She was about to return volley when Mr. Darcy spoke, his voice low and measured. “Richard, may I ask you something about that morning? The one in question.”

The abruptness of the shift stilled the colonel’s smile. He nodded. “Of course.”

Mr. Darcy did not turn to face him. His eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, where the pale gravel gave way to a rectangle of worn flagstones. “You said, last night, that you had been walking the grounds when you heard Miss Elizabeth’s call for help. Is that accurate?”

Elizabeth found herself startled by the efficiency of this approach.

She half expected the colonel to recoil, but he only shrugged deeper into his coat.

“It is, and it isn’t,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam as he stopped.

The others stopped as well.