Page 39 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

“You opened the tin that day. You smelled it.” He clenched his jaw, but there was something in his eyes that spoke of vulnerability. “It is a miracle it did not kill you.”

She could not break his gaze, but she blushed with the implications of his words.

Did he… did he still care?

“It matters not.” Mr. Darcy inhaled deeply and looked away at the window. “I have sent it by private messenger to Mr. Roberts, my acquaintance at the Bow Street Runners. My man has instructions to wait for an answer. If anyone has a way of testing its contents, it would be them.”

“Ah,” Elizabeth said and reached for the clue that had started this. She set the blue-tinted page beside the smudged scrap, matching their torn edges once again—not with any expectation that new answers would materialize, but to remind herself of it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The fire in the grate had not yet been lit; the warmth of the room came only from the sunlight and from the proximity of two minds working in harmony.

When she spoke, Elizabeth’s voice was softer than she expected. “We cannot accuse her on this alone.”

“We cannot,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “But if you are right, and I am certain you are, the answer to my inquiry will confirm it.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, then opened them again. “How does one trap a person whose entire life is invisibility?”

Mr. Darcy’s answer was immediate. “You see her. You have already let her know you have seen her. Wait to see how she acts now that her mask is noticed.”

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “I must say I am tempted to admire her skill.”

He let himself smile. “There is a certain poetry to her performance.”

A beat passed, long and slow.

He said, “You have solved it, Miss Elizabeth.”

She shook her head. “Wehave solved it. You provided the means; I only followed the thread.” She paused. “We still do not know why she would do such a thing. It had to be something particular against Mrs. Blackstone.”

“Unless she eventually explains the reason, I am not certain we will ever know.” He considered her, then inclined his head—a small, precise gesture of respect. “I must return to Rosings, but I will not make a report to Lady Catherine about this until we have news from Mr. Roberts at Bow Street. I trust you will be safe until then?”

“I am not in danger, Mr. Darcy. You are the one who will be in the same house with her.”

He hesitated. “I would like to hand over the blue page and torn fragment to the coroner.”

She nodded and held them out.

Gently taking them from her, he bowed and left.

Elizabeth sat alone for a long time, the sunlight slanting across the desk.

She wondered, for a moment, when she might be at liberty to explain all of this to Jane—not just the solution to the murder, but the way it felt to move so closely in step with someone who had once seemed the opposite of herself.

She hoped it would be soon. And that she would find her sisterhappierthan when she had last seen her.

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of her victory, for a little while.

When she rose, she was resolved that, when the time came, she would let Mrs. Jenkinson know that she had been seen.

Chapter 13

The next morning, Lady Catherine summoned the occupants of the parsonage to Rosings Park manor house even before breakfast. The directive was brought not by footman but by the estate’s steward, whose appearance at so unfashionable an hour communicated the message much more effectively than the words on the blue-tinted page he carried.

Charlotte accepted it at the door with her usual composure, but Elizabeth saw from the stiffness of her friend’s shoulders that the contents were anything but ordinary.

Lady Catherine required the immediate presence of all at the parsonage for a “matter of vital import.” Further, the missive noted that the master of Willow Grange was to be present as well. The steward passed on that Mr. Jonathan Haldridge’s attendance had been secured through a second, even more urgent communication.

Mr. Collins, when told of the summons, oscillated between panic and preening, convinced in turn that he was to be either banished or promoted.