Page 7 of A Most Inconvenient Murder

Lady Catherine’s eyes shifted to Elizabeth. Trapping her. “Miss Bennet? You—” Her tone implied the inadequacy of the witness to explain what had occurred. “You are certain?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I am certain, Lady Catherine. She is deceased.” She stopped there, unwilling to detail the particulars of death in so public a forum.

Lady Catherine inhaled audibly. “How could such a thing happen?” Her gaze narrowed once more. “Did you see anyone else in the maze?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, my lady. I did not.”

“Had you any acquaintance with the woman?” The wordacquaintancewas loaded with social meaning, as if the only route to murder was through the perils of ill-chosen company.

“No, I never met her.” Elizabeth was surprised to feel a numbness in her fingers. Realizing she had been clutching Mr. Darcy’s arm so tightly that it had cut off the circulation to her hand, she wondered what she had been doing to his poor arm. Forcing herself to let go, she widened her stance an inch and folded her hands behind her back.

At this juncture, Mr. Collins found his voice, “Your ladyship,” he stammered, “surely—surely this is not to be borne! That such a—a scene should have occurred on your very grounds!” Her cousin sounded as if he had been personally dishonored by Mrs. Blackstone’s choice of dying on her ladyship’s estate. “Of course, I shall pray most fervently for the departed. And for the sanctity of Rosings Park.”

Lady Catherine turned her attention to Mr. Collins. “Your prayers are well and good, Mr. Collins, but what is needed is action. Fitzwilliam, I assume you have summoned the authorities?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “A footman has been sent to the village to fetch the coroner. But before a crowd besets us, it would be best to preserve the scene.”

Lady Catherine nodded, every inch the general receiving her staff. “I wish to see the scene, but you will see to speaking to the authorities. I tell you now that I must insist the matter be managed with the utmost discretion. My daughter, Anne, is not to be disturbed by this event in the slightest. I will not have her nerves endangered by morbid excitement.”

Elizabeth, accustomed to mothers’ preoccupation with nerves, found the statement almost comically predictable. She watched Mr. Darcy to see if he, too, would be amused, but his face was grave, brow furrowed.

“Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine continued, “Were you walking alone again?”

This is what Lady Catherine would harp on at this moment? Not that a young woman had died, butthis?

Elizabeth composed herself, answering in a tone as neutral as she could manage. “As I have told you before, I often walk out alone at home, your ladyship, but never in Town. In Kent… well, Mr. Collins’ staff cannot be spared, and the maze seemed a safe place.”

At this, Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed further. “Your family must be quite unconcerned about your well-being to permit such independence.”

Elizabeth said nothing in response.

Lady Catherine moved to the next point in her artillery barrage. “You say you did not see another living soul in the maze. Is it possible—can it be possible—that this woman died of natural causes?”

Elizabeth sensed her powers of observation were being tested. “She appeared—” Elizabeth forced herself to remember. “By her position, I knew she was not sleeping and had not fainted. She had fallen, and her hand…” She paused. “She was holding something.”

This sparked a small commotion. Mr. Collins gasped anew; Lady Catherine’s eyes glittered with the first hint of satisfaction, as if a murder was, at least, more interesting than an accident.

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “The hand was locked around it. I did not attempt to remove it, but the Colonel can confirm.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “There was no time to examine it closely.”

Lady Catherine seized upon this. “Then let us go at once. We must not leave a single detail unaddressed. Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and—” She paused, as if considering whether Elizabeth might contaminate the proceedings merely by existing. “Miss Bennet, you must come as well. You are a key witness.”

They assembled at the door, Mr. Collins protesting faintly that it was unseemly for a woman to be at the scene of death, but Lady Catherine brushed him aside as one would an intrusive fly.

In the corridor, Mr. Darcy fell in beside Elizabeth. She sensed, rather than saw, his posture: the squared shoulders, the way he angled himself ever so slightly between her and the rest of the world. It was a more physical shield than an assertion of responsibility, but it was there, and it rankled. She did notwantto be protected. She did notneedto be protected.

He leaned in, voice low. “Are you well enough to return to the maze?”

“I am not an invalid,” she replied, her tone crisp. “And I have no intention of swooning.”

A twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed a mixture of relief and—was it amusement? If so, he had the sense to suppress it.

Lady Catherine led the way out, her stride so swift that the rest of the party had to hurry to keep up. After the heat in the drawing room, Elizabeth drew in the chilly air with relief.

The path to the maze was lined with staff, each standing at strict attention, their faces carefully blank, though Elizabeth detected more than one glance of terrified curiosity.

It occurred to her that the entire neighborhood would know by midday that she had discovered the body. She had not intended to become a subject of interest during her visit to Kent, let alone one of notoriety.