Page 45 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

But neither of them seemed inclined to rise, or to break the silence that now stretched, gentle and connective, between them.

For the first time since she had come to Kent, Elizabeth felt the weight in her chest begin, ever so slightly, to lift.

They did not speak for some time.

The thin April sun had cleared the hedgerow. Mr. Darcy’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, somewhere above the distant sweep of the east lawn. Elizabeth watched the mist rise from the moss at her boots, thinking about the moment when a suspicion becomes certainty.

She drew in a slow breath and looked down at her hands.

“Cyanide in the lip salve. Death by her own hand, but only in the most literal sense.” Elizabeth paused, then asked. “Let us begin again so there is no mistake.”

Mr. Darcy nodded. “The note drew her out. However, the instrument of her death—” He glanced at the report, then met Elizabeth’s gaze. “She would have applied the lip protectant just before leaving the house, leaving her no chance to notice the taste or scent was wrong.”

“Even if she did, if it were new, a slight difference would not have been unexpected.” Elizabeth found herself nodding. “Which means it was someone who knew this was something she would do. Someone who watched her habits.” She felt the pieces click into their final places within her mind. “It had to be someone who had access to her personal effects at Willow Grange, or someone who could send her a fresh tin without her questioning it.”

Mr. Darcy finished the thought. “And who could prepare it without attracting notice from the rest of the household. Or, ifthey did, whose involvement would never be remarked upon, because it was part of their duty.”

Elizabeth turned on the bench to face him directly. “We know the method. We know the occasion. The motive, then: why would someone murder Mrs. Blackstone?”

Mr. Darcy was silent, but his dark, watchful eyes never left her face.

She said, “Mrs. Blackstone was a companion. No family of her own, apart from a brother and the cousin who wrote her threatening letters. She was not a rival in love or in money.”

“Who is to say she was not a rival in love?” Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Do you know something that I do not?”

He stood and began to pace before her, not meeting her eye. “For some odd reason, Lady Catherine has always insisted that Anne and I were destined to marry. My father and uncle have both told us that my mother never promised such a thing, though my aunt insists she did. Neither Anne nor I have ever had any intention of marrying—I mean, of marrying each other.” He cleared his throat. “At the start of this visit to Rosings, I believe we finally got through to her.” Now he turned to Elizabeth. “Immediately, my aunt re-directed her focus wholly upon Mr. Haldridge as Anne’s future husband, convincing herself it was the perfect match. That the estates border the other would result in merging the properties into the largest estate in Kent.AndMr. Haldridge is the younger son of an earl.” He smiled mischievously. “Holding an even higher status within thetonthan I.”

Chuckling, Elizabeth’s attention sharpened. “You believe Mrs. Jenkinson shifted her focus for Miss de Bourgh’s benefit, as well?”

He nodded.

She looked out across the lawn without really seeing it, then said, “Did Mr. Haldridge show any interest in Mrs. Blackstone?”

Mr. Darcy lifted his chin. “I do not believe he ever showed a preference in my presence. However, I noticed she seemed to watch him too closely whenever I saw them together. She also would react a bit too readily any time he spoke.”

Elizabeth felt her eyebrow rise. “Are you saying that Mrs. Jenkinson might have thought of Mrs. Blackstone as a threat to Miss de Bourgh’s future happiness?”

“I would not have surmised such a thing myself. But someone more used to observing others’ interactions, as she is, might have assumed a more tender motive to her behavior.” He began pacing again.

“It must be Mrs. Jenkinson.” Elizabeth considered every moment she had spent watching the woman, the way she positioned herself always a half-step behind, the way she watched the room, the way she managed Miss de Bourgh as if the girl’s body and mind both belonged to her. “She has access to every room in the house. She alone is permitted in the stillroom without supervision. She manages the compounding of every cosmetic used by Lady Catherine, her daughter, and any lady guest. She has the skill to prepare it, the authority to gift it, and the expectation of not being questioned.”

Elizabeth let herself feel the weight of the conclusion. It was ugly, but it was perfectly neat.

Mr. Darcy joined her on the bench once more.

At last, he said, “You are remarkable.”

The words, so simple and so completely without precedent, startled Elizabeth more than any confession of guilt ever could.

She smiled, and it felt like something had come untethered in her.

“I could say much the same of you, Mr. Darcy,” she replied.

At length, Mr. Darcy rose and offered her his arm.

Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before accepting it.