Chapter 10 #2
Lizzie was tempted to turn right and knock on Darcy’s door.
She wanted to tell him what she had seen, and then .
. . what? Wait for Sally to emerge from the hidden corridor and confront her?
But then sense prevailed. If she did that, there was a good chance they’d wake someone else.
It wouldn’t do for her to get caught out of her bed in the middle of the night, in the presence of an unmarried gentleman.
Although her mother would surely be overjoyed at the swift wedding that would have to follow.
She went straight back to her room, setting Guy on the bed and jumping under the covers after kicking off her slippers and
dropping her dressing gown. She shivered, despite the warmth of the bed, and tried to think up all the reasons why Sally might
be creeping through the east wing. Was she looking for something? Inspecting the floors? Seeing if Lizzie and Charlotte had
disturbed something?
What else was Netherfield Park hiding?
In the morning, Lizzie managed to rouse herself before Agnes came bustling in, bringing in a wave of cheerfulness.
“Good morning, miss!” she said, clearly surprised to find Lizzie already awake sitting near the window and looking out onto
the dewy lawn. Guy was still tired from his midnight adventure and lay sprawled across the bed, but he jumped up and let out
a single yip when Agnes entered.
“Good morning,” Lizzie said. “How are you today?”
“Me, miss? I should be asking you that question.”
“Why can’t we ask it of each other?”
“Well, because you’re . . .” Agnes looked unsure for the first time since Lizzie met her. “You’re a guest, and I’m a maid.”
“We’re both human beings with manners,” Lizzie pointed out.
“Very well. I am well, and you?”
“Quite well,” Lizzie said, although it wasn’t exactly true. She was still thinking about the previous day’s events, and what she had seen last night.
“And did you sleep well?”
“I did,” Lizzie said. Another lie. She’d fallen asleep quickly enough, but it had been a light, restless sleep that had left
her a bit weary this morning. “And you?”
“Yes,” she said, seemingly embarrassed.
“And how is the household this morning? We haven’t lost anyone else since yesterday, have we?”
“Well . . .” Agnes poured water into the washbasin, avoiding Lizzie’s questioning look. “Jenny Hollister didn’t come in today,
but she could just be sick. And Danny, the youngest footman, also didn’t turn up this morning, but his mum never liked the
idea of him going into service. Wanted him to stay home and help tend the farm.”
“Oh dear,” Lizzie said. “But you believe they left because of the curse.”
“Mr. Grigson has banned all talk of it, miss,” Agnes said nervously.
Lizzie didn’t want to force the girl into disobeying the butler, but she had rather hoped to get some information from her.
“Well, what is said in here stays between the two of us. But does everyone believe the curse is real?”
Agnes shrugged. “I don’t know, miss. I don’t hold much with talk of curses. But everyone from Meryton certainly thinks it’s
real.”
“And what about Sally?” Lizzie asked, trying to sound casual as she stood and began flipping through the dresses hanging in the wardrobe.
“Sally? The head housemaid? I reckon she believes in it more than any of us. She’s the one who told Jenny that if she doesn’t
feel safe, it would be best for her to leave.”
Now that was interesting. Lizzie decided to feign ignorance as she asked, “Sally was the only one who was here when Honoria
Bingley was still alive, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, miss,” Agnes said, her voice dropping a notch. “She grew up in this house, but she doesn’t like to talk about it. She’s
the last to leave each night, and she reminds Mr. Grigson to lock up after her. I don’t think he likes being told what to
do by a housemaid very much.”
“Hmm” was all Lizzie said, because secretly her mind was spinning. She had seen Sally in the window in the east wing last
night, hadn’t she? Or had the light and her own exhaustion been playing tricks on her eyes? But her white-blond hair was unmistakable,
and Lizzie didn’t recall seeing any other servant with hair the same hue when they’d all lined up before Netherfield Park
on the day of their arrival. “Does she often stay late?”
“Later now, since you all arrived. She doesn’t like that, and she insists that she and all the locals need to be gone by midnight
each night. Mr. Grigson and she are already rowing about what to do the night of the ball.”
Lizzie winced. She hadn’t thought of that—London balls went until dawn, although she doubted that would be the case for Jane’s country ball. But still, the staff would be expected to stay very late.
“And do you share the others’ concerns about staying overnight, Agnes?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go, miss. I came from an estate near Ware when I heard that Mr. Bingley was hiring a household
staff. And I sleep like a babe, too.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lizzie said, reaching for the breakfast plate. “Hopefully Sally will make an exception for herself and
all the local servants for Jane’s party. My sister is very much looking forward to it.”
“I think she might come around, miss. Mr. Grigson pointed out that they won’t be sleeping, they’ll be working. But she’s still
uneasy. Truth is, I wonder if she’s less worried about the curse than she is about leaving her grandparents alone at night.”
Lizzie’s head jerked up. Her mouth was full of toast, and she swallowed quickly. “Her grandparents?”
“She lives with them in the caretaker’s cottage on the edge of the grounds,” Agnes said, then tilted her head to the side.
“Or at least, I think so. One of the scullery maids was whispering about her, but Cook told her to get back to work, so I
didn’t hear the entire story.”
“Her grandmother who was the housekeeper before?” Lizzie asked.
“Aye, miss. And her grandad was the groundskeeper. But they’re in no fit state now, that’s for certain.”
In all the commotion of discovering the dead man, Lizzie hadn’t actually asked whether the caretakers of the estate from Honoria’s days were still alive.
Jane had said that only one servant remained after Honoria’s death, so she had simply assumed they had passed.
And Sally . . . Sally had been careful not to bring them up.
Lizzie had made an error in assuming that they were no longer among the living, like Honoria Bingley herself.
But they were alive.
Lizzie stuffed the rest of the toast into her mouth and placed a small plate with Guy’s breakfast on the floor, which was
enough to rouse him from the bed. By the time she finished chewing, she was already reaching for the wardrobe. “Agnes, I’ve
just remembered that I promised Mr. Darcy I would speak with him this morning.”
“All right,” the maid said, clearly baffled by Lizzie’s sudden change in topic. “Let me help you dress, at least.”
“I’m all right,” Lizzie said, stepping behind a screen and tearing off her nightgown. “I’m terribly late.”
“They’re just now serving breakfast, so I’m sure Mr. Darcy isn’t even awake yet.”
“No, Darcy is very prompt,” Lizzie assured her, working the ties of her dress.
“Let me at least set your hair for you!”
Lizzie emerged from behind the screen a moment later. “It’s all right, I’ll pin it up. Can you hand me those stockings?”
Agnes watched in vague disapproval as Lizzie made short order of readying herself for the day, clearly not up to the maid’s standards.
When she was finally presentable, Agnes gave her a begrudging nod, then withdrew something from her apron pocket.
“Before you go running off, miss, you’ve had two letters. They came in this morning’s post.”
Lizzie took the letters from her, barely glancing at them. “Thank you! Guy, come.”
Lizzie snatched the leash from the side table as the dog trotted after her and she hurried out into the hall. A lead! It was
wonderful to have a new lead. And to have a lead in the form of people who might have been alive when their dead man was placed
in that flue . . . well, that was a break Lizzie hadn’t been expecting!
She was halfway down the stairs before she thought to look at the letters in her hand. The top one was from Marianne Dashwood,
and she tore it open, eager for news from home.
Dear Lizzie,
We’ve no signs of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
There, I’ve gotten that out of the way—I know it is the first question on your mind.
Graves and I have had a few meetings, and despite what you may think of him, I do believe he’s working very hard to find her.
I’ve also had a few meetings with Fred—when he’s not working at his apprenticeship, he goes around asking his friends for help.
And Henry—you don’t need to worry about him!
He wants to help as well, of course, so Fred has taken him under his wing.
But we’re keeping a close eye on him. I have a few more leads to chase down, none of which I want to put to pen and paper in case this letter is waylaid, but have faith, dear Lizzie.
We’ll bring her to justice and welcome you home soon enough.
In the meantime, Elinor wishes to share some less pressing news from London . . .
The rest of the letter was in Elinor’s hand, sharing news of mutual friends and court cases, which Lizzie skimmed. No signs
of Lady Catherine! How was the woman able to emerge to send threatening letters, only to disappear into nothingness? It was
maddening!
Lizzie got to the bottom of the stairs and made a note to write the Dashwoods back to thank them and to share news of the
case at Netherfield. Perhaps Marianne could ask her Dr. Brandon about the body they’d found and offer a few helpful hints
for her investigation here . . .
Lizzie went very still. She’d refolded the Dashwoods’ letter and finally glanced at the second letter. It was a small letter
with crisp corners, addressed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire. But that’s not what made her heart
leap.
It was written in Lady Catherine’s hand.