Page 41 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

Miss de Bourgh seemed to shrink into her shawl.

Mrs. Jenkinson’s hands, however, never left their calm position in her lap. She watched the proceedings with the interest of a chess master several moves ahead.

Lady Catherine turned to Mr. Darcy. “My nephew, in private you have made it plain that you are not inclined to suspect Mr. Haldridge. May I ask why?”

Mr. Darcy straightened. “Because the evidence, such as it is, points in several directions. The note, that morning’s events, and Mrs. Blackstone’s history do not suggest that he is the culprit. To convict a man on such slender grounds as you have put forth would be irresponsible.”

Lady Catherine’s voice grew noticeably cooler. “You have permitted Miss Bennet to involve herself in this investigation at every turn. She has questioned witnesses and examined evidence. I must ask, Darcy—are you truly so persuaded of her abilities, or is this merely a personal indulgence?”

No one spoke.

Elizabeth became acutely aware of the room around her. Charlotte cast her a quick, anxious glance before looking at her hands. Mr. Collins appeared suddenly fascinated by some imperfection in the knee of his breeches. Colonel Fitzwilliam, by contrast, looked from Lady Catherine to Mr. Darcy with unmistakable interest, as though he had just been promised an unusually diverting afternoon.

Without hesitation, Mr. Darcy answered, “Miss Elizabeth has been the only individual to examine the evidence without prejudice.” He narrowed his eyes. “In my opinion, she is better qualified than anyone else present to assess it. I have every confidence in both her participation and her conclusions.”

Silence followed.

Elizabeth had never heard him speak of her in such terms, certainly not before an audience. There was neither apology nor qualification in his words, only quiet certainty.

For the briefest instant, she allowed herself to be grateful.

Then she remembered whose drawing room they occupied. Lady Catherine was not a woman to let such a declaration pass unanswered.

Lady Catherine set her cane sharply to the carpet, the sound a thunderclap. “So, it is as I suspected. You wish to set aside the judgment of your own family for that of a woman who is, by every reasonable measure, your inferior in rank and connection. I had thought better of you, Darcy. I had hoped you would not lower yourself by so obvious a display of favoritism.”

Heat rose to Elizabeth’s cheeks, though she forced herself to remain still. She was not certain whether the greater shock was Lady Catherine’s words, the unconcealed support from Mr. Darcy, or the knowledge that she was being defended not just as a mind, but as a person.

Lady Catherine, satisfied that the silence had done its work, turned back to Mr. Haldridge. “You received a visit from Mrs. Blackstone’s cousin in the months before her death.”

Mr. Haldridge replied, “I did. He was not a welcome guest.”

That was new.

“You provided him with money,” Lady Catherine stated.

“No, madam, I did not. He asked, but I refused. He wrote to Mrs. Blackstone directly after that, but, as far as I know, she confided in no one but her friend Mrs. Lingard, as her correspondence will show.”

Lady Catherine leaned forward. “You hired Mrs. Blackstone. You controlled her means, movements, and future. If she had reason to fear for her position, it would have been because of you.”

Mr. Haldridge’s smile was not kind. “If I had wished her gone, I would have dismissed her. I am not in the habit of complicating my life with murder, Lady Catherine.”

It was a solid blow, but Lady Catherine did not yield. “Then how do you explain the note?”

Elizabeth could not understand why Lady Catherine would think Mr. Haldridge had anything to do with a note that Mrs. Blackstone’s cousin signed.

She said, “If I may, Lady Catherine.”

Lady Catherine nodded the barest allowance.

“I do not believe Mr. Lorrimer actually wrote the note. It was written by someone familiar with Mrs. Blackstone, someone who knew her routines and her vulnerabilities. And the paper…” here she let her eyes travel to the stack of blue note stock on the writing desk at the far side of the room, “…it is my understanding that it was purchased for exclusive use at Rosings. I checked the watermark myself.”

A murmur, this time from the colonel, who seemed genuinely impressed. “A local hand, then. Or at least one with access to this house.”

Elizabeth pressed on. “Mrs. Blackstone’s only reason to fear was for her employment and her good name. If the cousin had been present, he would have been seen by half the village. No one reported a stranger. The only person who had reason to summon her privately, who knew the layout of the maze and the schedule of the house, was someone already established in the vicinity.”

Lady Catherine scoffed, but the edges of her composure had frayed. “You propose, then, that a member of my household—my own staff—would be capable of murder?”

“It is my belief that the person responsible is someone accustomed to being overlooked. Someone who has the opportunity to observe, to plan, and to execute such a scheme with the least suspicion. In this house, that could be anyone employed here, or even a guest.” Elizabeth let her eyes slide, just for a second, to Mrs. Jenkinson, whose face betrayed nothing.