Chapter 12 #2
Darcy nodded, and Lizzie began to slowly make her way back in the direction from which they’d come when Darcy’s hand shot out and stopped her. He nodded toward Sally.
Her back turned, and now she was looking toward the front of the churchyard, where someone new was approaching. Lizzie ducked
back out of sight and was surprised to find that the newcomer was someone she recognized.
Clara Jeffries.
The two young women greeted each other and exchanged words. Lizzie could make out the sound of their voices but not what they
were saying.
“Do you think this is a planned meeting?” Darcy whispered.
“I can’t tell.”
Sally’s back was to them, and she held herself almost rigidly. Even from a distance, Lizzie could make out Clara’s expression,
which wasn’t exactly warm. No, it looked . . . worried. She gestured with her hands, and Sally stepped closer and seemed to
shush her. Clara’s face went still as she listened to whatever Sally had to say, and then she nodded once, quickly. Sally
withdrew something from the pocket of her dress and Lizzie squinted. It appeared to be a small purse or pouch of some kind.
She handed it over to Clara, quickly and unobtrusively, and Clara tucked the pouch into her basket without looking at it.
They exchanged a few more words, and then Clara abruptly turned and left.
Lizzie looked at Darcy and found his eyes widened with surprise. What had they just witnessed?
Sally waited a little while longer, turning back to look down at the headstone she stood before.
Lizzie and Darcy went still so as not to draw attention.
Luckily for them, Guy was happy to lie in the tall grass behind a rather large bush, tongue lolling, and didn’t seem at all perturbed by his humans’ strange antics.
After nearly two minutes had passed, Sally straightened her shoulders and turned her back on them and the headstone once more and made her way out of the churchyard.
“What do you suppose that was about?” Darcy whispered.
Lizzie shook her head. “I’m amending my earlier opinion—that had to have been planned. But a churchyard is a strange meeting
place, wouldn’t you agree?”
“For most people, yes . . . but you have to admit, it’s a clever place to go if you don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Only the dead as witness,” Lizzie murmured, and then had to suppress a shiver despite the heat of the morning. She was allowing
herself to jump to dramatic conclusions. Certainly there could be a reasonable explanation for what had just occurred . . .
“Do we think that Miss Jeffries has anything to do with our mystery at Netherfield?” Lizzie asked.
“They’re both hardly older than we are,” Darcy said. “Assuming that it would take more than several years at least for a body
to reach that advanced stage of decomposition, they would have been, what? Fourteen, fifteen when the man was killed? Younger?”
“Maybe they weren’t involved, but they know who he was.”
“Maybe,” Darcy allowed. “Or maybe this is just a very strange meeting place for some perfectly acceptable business. We can’t say without knowing more.”
But how? Lizzie didn’t think Sally was the type to take kindly to questioning about her whereabouts, and Miss Jeffries . . .
well, she hadn’t seemed inclined to trust them the day before, but she had told them all about the curse’s origin. Perhaps
she would be the weaker link.
Lizzie, Darcy, and Guy waited until Sally slipped out of sight around the side of the church, and then made their own way
back around the vicarage toward the lane. The more she thought about it, the odder it appeared. If Sally was engaged on some
legitimate business with Miss Jeffries, why not go to her shop? And that handover—it had looked like Sally was paying Miss
Jeffries. But why? Was Miss Jeffries . . . blackmailing Sally?
As they skirted the vicarage yard and came closer to the front of the church, Darcy held out his hand and Lizzie halted, ears
pricking up. Someone was speaking.
“—think I don’t know that you’re hiding something!”
“I can assure you, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re referring to.”
“Don’t get wise with me,” the deeper voice growled. “I know you understand what I’m talking about.”
Lizzie tightened her hold on Guy’s leash and nodded at Darcy.
Together, they crept forward and peeked around the corner of the church.
Sally stood near the entrance of the churchyard, where she appeared to have been waylaid by none other than the constable, Mr. Oliver.
He stood blocking her way on the small path that led back to the lane, arms crossed.
“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” she said, and took a step forward. When Mr. Oliver didn’t budge, she sidestepped him, but
Mr. Oliver grabbed her arm and dragged her back, jerking her none too gently. Lizzie gasped, and Darcy’s hand tightened around
her elbow.
“Quit playing innocent, because I know you’re not. You and I both know what’s hidden in that great big house, and I want a
cut.”
“Unhand me!” Sally ordered.
But Mr. Oliver only twisted Sally’s arm, causing her to cry out. “I won’t tell you again—”
Lizzie couldn’t stand it any longer. She stepped around the corner of the church and walked briskly toward them, Darcy hurrying
after her with a whispered, “Lizzie!”
“Hello!” she called loudly, infusing extra cheer in her voice. She waved at Sally and Mr. Oliver, an overly exaggerated motion
that likely looked as silly as she felt, but her abrupt appearance did the trick of surprising Mr. Oliver. Sally yanked herself
out of his grasp and took two large steps back. “Mr. Oliver, Sally. What a lovely surprise running into you both here.”
Lizzie hadn’t really given much thought to what she would do after that—her main priority had been to get that odious constable
to let go of Sally. Now that that was accomplished, she pasted on a smile and acted oblivious to Mr. Oliver’s glare.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I apologize if I’m interrupting” She looked significantly at Sally, but the young woman didn’t meet Lizzie’s gaze. “Mr. Darcy and I were out for a stroll with Guy when we spotted you from around the corner.”
“All of Netherfield Park, and you choose to take a turn around the village?” Mr. Oliver asked.
“The dog enjoys a long walk,” Darcy said.
“How fortunate we ran into you,” Lizzie continued. “Have you been able to learn anything more about the possible identity
of the body we discovered?”
Mr. Oliver’s scowl deepened. “No. Seems unlikely, given how much time has passed. Honoria Bingley took that secret to her
grave.”
“Perhaps.” Lizzie said, side-eyeing Sally, who wore a stoic expression. “But as we’ve discovered, some things don’t stay buried.”
An oddly menacing smile slowly stretched across Mr. Oliver’s face, putting her on edge. “You’re right about that, Miss Bennet.
Secrets have a way of coming to light, don’t they?”
He seemed to direct this question to Sally, who steadfastly ignored him. Lizzie considered the two of them—there was something
Mr. Oliver wanted from Sally, that was clear, but she remained stoic.
An awkward pause ensued, and Darcy cleared his throat. “Will you be at the burial service tomorrow, Mr. Oliver?”
“Aye,” the man said gruffly. He looked between Sally and Lizzie and Darcy, then tipped his hat. “Good day.”
The three of them watched him follow the lane north, away from the village, and disappear among the trees that hugged the road. As soon as he was out of sight, Lizzie turned to Sally. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, thank you,” Sally said, her voice clipped. “I ought to be getting on.”
“What did he mean, secrets have a way of coming to light?” Lizzie asked, causing Sally to stop abruptly and turn back to look
at her.
“I don’t know, miss. Why don’t you ask him?”
Whereas Clara Jeffries had been brimming with information once they’d gotten her talking, Sally was a locked box, unyielding
and reluctant to give anything up. Now was the time for Lizzie to show a little bit of her hand—not too much, but enough to
see if Sally could be rattled into revealing anything more.
“I heard Mr. Oliver speaking, before we interrupted,” Lizzie said, trying to sound casual. “He mentioned something hidden
in the house, and wanting a cut?”
Sally, to her credit, hardly blinked. “I wouldn’t put much stock in Mr. Oliver, miss. He might be the parish constable, but
he’s hardly a reliable man.”
“I thought he said he’d been constable for fifteen years, and his father was constable before him,” Darcy said.
“That doesn’t mean anything. Just because you’re a solicitor doesn’t make you a good one. Anyone can be a solicitor.”
Lizzie chose to ignore both the slight and the fact that it wasn’t true that just anyone could become a solicitor. “Are you
saying he takes after his father?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. I never met the man—it’s been Tom Oliver for as long as I can remember.
No one else wants the job. But if you’re waiting on him to solve the mystery of your dead man, you might be waiting until kingdom come.
The man can’t even figure out where Mr. Rowan’s cows keep wandering off to. ”
Lizzie regarded Sally, realizing how neatly she’d sidestepped Lizzie question about Mr. Oliver’s comments—she hadn’t denied,
but she’d downplayed and changed the subject expertly. It made Lizzie decide to change course.
“We’ve been hearing a good number of rumors about Netherfield Park.”
Sally stayed cool. “I imagine you have.” She wasn’t going to make this easy for Lizzie, that was certain.
“The most interesting bit of news was the rumored Netherfield treasure.”
Sally let out an abrupt snort of laughter. “Of course.”
“You don’t believe there’s any truth to it?”
Sally shook her head. “It’s all talk. The people of this village cannot fathom why Mrs. Bingley would prefer to be left alone
in her house all those years, so they gossip. They assume the only reason a lady like her would hide away is if she had something
to hide, like a dragon guarding her hoard.” Sally’s derisive tone communicated clearly how she felt about these rumors.
“But you knew differently?” Lizzie asked.
“Mrs. Bingley was lonely,” Sally said bluntly. “The loneliest person I ever met. She couldn’t let herself live, too grief-stricken by all she’d lost. If she could have gotten on alone, she would have—but she needed my grandparents, and then my mother, and then me.”
Pain flashed across her face, but only for a moment. Lizzie wondered how close Sally had been to Honoria—had she confided
in Sally?
“Perhaps she didn’t have a fortune hidden,” Lizzie said, “but surely a man doesn’t end up in the flue of her drawing room
fireplace without her knowing.”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about that,” Sally said, but she didn’t sound angry—she sounded bored.
“Not even a theory?” Lizzie asked.
Sally regarded her a long moment, then said, “I think you’re looking in the wrong direction, Miss Bennet. If it were me, I’d
be asking different questions.”
“What sorts of questions?”
“If everyone in this village believes there’s a treasure in Netherfield, perhaps it might be best to consider what they might do with that information. What sorts of boundaries they might be willing to cross.”
And on that note, Sally sauntered off, leaving Lizzie with quite a bit to think about.