Chapter 24 #2
transpired, and then convinced Travers to remove the ladies’ restraints. Charleston went to fetch Darcy, and Lizzie, Charlotte,
and Georgiana sat down across from the detainees with Mr. Travers hovering nearby, refusing to leave them alone.
“Well, I have to say—you two are among the last people I expected to encounter today,” Lizzie said.
“You were hoping for someone else?” Sally said with a sneer.
The vitriol in her expression took Lizzie off guard. “No. Not exactly. As you can see, the estate is . . . on edge.”
“Oh, we saw,” Clara said, giving Sally a not-so-subtle nudge. “The one at the gate wouldn’t let us in and wouldn’t even pass
a message to you. I told Sally we ought to just go back to Lambton and write you a letter, but no. She had to climb the wall
and get us caught.”
“No unknown visitors pass through the gate,” Travers said. “And Mr. Darcy told me last night that he wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“He wouldn’t be,” Sally snapped. “We came all on our own.”
Lizzie had never seen Sally look so furious—except for when Mr. Oliver had threatened her grandparents. “Why did you?” And then something worse occurred to her—what if they were bringing news from Netherfield? “Is it your grandparents? Caroline? Jane?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly why we’re here!” Sally’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You think you can just abscond in
the night and get away with it?”
Lizzie gaped at her. Now she was truly confused. “Get away with what?”
Sally scoffed. “That’s right—deny, deny, deny. I thought you were supposed to be a solicitor. What, you don’t have a better
argument planned?”
“I truly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lizzie said, looking at Charlotte with bewilderment. Her friend appeared to
be equally confused.
“Fine.” Sally leaned forward, her ice-blue eyes sharp. “I know what you stole.”
“Stole?” Lizzie echoed. “I didn’t steal anything!”
“You took the Netherfield treasure!”
It took Lizzie a beat to comprehend the words, and then she laughed. Charlotte looked concerned. Georgiana was perplexed.
“You think I stole the silver?” Lizzie asked. “Last I saw it, it was secure in Bingley’s lockbox.”
“Not the silver,” Sally spat. “I don’t care about the damned silver!”
Travers cleared his throat. “I won’t have swearing in front of the young lady of the house!”
“I’ve heard the word before,” Georgiana protested.
“If you don’t mean the silver, what do you mean?” Lizzie asked, growing impatient. “I left Netherfield with nothing more than
a valise and the clothes on my back—I didn’t steal a thing, and if I did, I promise you it was unintentional.”
“I don’t think she knows, Sally,” Miss Jeffries whispered.
“She knows. She was over every inch of the estate, asking questions. And after how the ball turned out?” Sally’s glare was
stubborn. “She’s playing coy.”
Lizzie was growing more confused by the second.
“All right, we won’t get anywhere with arguing,” Charlotte said gently. “Now, clearly our visitors think Lizzie took something
that was not hers when we left Netherfield, correct?”
Sally glared but nodded.
“And you call it the Netherfield treasure, but it’s not the silver coins—are you implying that there was more to the treasure
than the coins?” Charlotte asked.
More to the treasure. Lizzie had never considered this angle, but now it made sense—for a lady as cagey as Honoria Bingley was reputed to be, she
would not hide the entirety of her treasure in one place. The risk of being robbed was too great, as she’d probably learned
from George Oliver.
“There was more, wasn’t there?” Lizzie asked, leaning forward.
“Speaking of convincing acts,” Sally huffed.
“I think she’s telling the truth, Sal,” Miss Jeffries said again.
“Why do you think I’m the one who stole it, whatever it is?”
Sally continued to glare at her. “Because it’s awfully convenient that it went missing at the same time that you left Netherfield.”
“Correlation and causation are hardly the same thing,” Lizzie said. “Although I agree that coincidence would be too much for
me to ignore. But surely you must have proof beyond that?”
“No proof. But you were there when it all came crashing down. And then you were gone, and so was the last of Mrs. Bingley’s
fortune.”
Lizzie stared at her, uncomprehending. You were there when it all came crashing down.
Crashing down.
“The chandelier?”
“Now she admits it!” Sally said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lizzie told her honestly. “The chandelier coming down was sabotage, but I had nothing to do with that—I was standing beneath it when it fell.”
“But you took advantage of it and stole what wasn’t yours!”
Lizzie stared at the other young lady, trying to piece together what she meant. The moment the chandelier had fallen was no
longer quite so clear in her mind. It was as though one moment she had been standing, having a shockingly civil conversation
with Caroline, and the next she was sprawled on the floor and Darcy was shouting her name and there was crystal everywhere
and screams ripping through the air and . . .
Crystal everywhere. But it hadn’t been broken. The crystals had stayed intact.
“The chandelier,” Lizzie repeated, and now Charlotte and Georgiana looked at her with confusion. “It wasn’t crystal.”
“Now she comprehends,” Sally said.
“I really don’t think she knew before just now,” Miss Jeffries insisted.
“I didn’t,” Lizzie said honestly. “But if you want me to help you, you have to explain.”
She didn’t think Sally would agree at first. But then she let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. You’re right—the silver coins were hardly Mrs. Bingley’s only treasure. In fact, she told me about them years ago, in case.”
“In case of what?” Lizzie asked.
Sally shrugged. “In case I ever needed them. In case anyone I knew might need them. She didn’t mind that Grandad had used
a bit to try to pay off George, although she didn’t like the outcome. I took a coin every now and then, and I’d use them to
pay debts, or to ensure a family had fuel for the winter. They were doing no good sitting in that old house.”
Lizzie looked between Sally and Miss Jeffries. Miss Jeffries must have read the question in her eyes. “Yes, she saved my father’s
business when he died. He had debts, and I couldn’t possibly have begun to repay them. She didn’t want to see me lose the
only livelihood I had.”
“That day in the churchyard,” Lizzie said, remembering what had passed between them. “You were . . .”
“I was giving her the coins, yes,” Sally said impatiently.
“But how did you use them?” Lizzie asked. “I think a few people might have started paying attention if genuine silver Spanish cobs started appearing in a tiny village in Hertfordshire.”
Clara shrugged. “The blacksmith’s son melts them down for me. He thinks I’m stealing them, but he doesn’t care as long as
a nugget of silver is left for him.”
Lizzie almost laughed. Of course. One could always count on greed to keep a secret. “And then what?”
“It’s easy enough to find ways to exchange them for regular coin,” Miss Jeffries said. “No one asks too many questions when
you own a business. Then I give them back to Sally, and we use the money as we see fit.”
“The gravestone,” Charlotte said. “Was that you?”
Sally glared. “He was a thief and a lout, but I thought perhaps Mr. Oliver might leave us alone if he saw his father was buried
properly.”
Only that had turned out to be a miscalculation, for it had just enraged Mr. Oliver and fueled his suspicion about the Burtons
using the treasure to pay for what they wanted. Which hadn’t been inaccurate at all . . . he just hadn’t had the proof.
“You’ve been working together this entire time, haven’t you?” Charlotte asked suddenly. “I thought it odd that there was no
mention of George Oliver’s disappearance in any of the parish registers, especially after Mr. Thomas told me he was certain
he remembered an entry.”
“Sally asked me to remove all references to him in my reprintings,” Miss Jeffries admitted. “It’s why I offered to have them
printed.”
“Clara!” Sally said through clenched teeth.
“They already figured it out, Sal.” To Lizzie and Charlotte, Miss Jeffries said, “It was so that no one would ever suspect,
you see. Sal knew that with your sister and brother-in-law moving in, it was only a matter of time before he was discovered.”
“I wanted to get rid of him before you all arrived,” Sally said grumpily. “But I didn’t have the time before the estate was
swirling with estate agents and solicitors and your sister’s servants.”
“So you began to take protective measures by rewriting village history,” Lizzie said, almost approvingly. It was terribly
clever. “And did Mr. Thomas know?”
“He never suspected,” Miss Jeffries said.
“And you’ve been using Mrs. Bingley’s stash of silver coins to fund various causes throughout the village, but all the while
the real treasure was in the chandelier,” Lizzie said.
“Diamonds,” Sally said shortly. “She bought that chandelier with her silver, not long after she arrived at Netherfield. She
told me she could tell how greedy her husband proved to be, and she wanted a way to keep her money close. In sight but concealed.
The chandelier was meant to be revealed at a ball she hosted for Geoffrey’s birthday, but . . . well, the misfortunes struck.”
Lizzie let out a sharp little laugh. “Diamonds. Clever. Have you considered Mr. Oliver?”
“That was my first thought,” Sally interrupted.
“But no. He was drunk at the pub the night of the ball. Multiple witnesses accounted for him. I went downstairs after helping the doctor stitch up Miss Bingley to find the chandelier picked over, and every guest in the house headed in different directions.”
“And you suspected me?” Lizzie asked.
“You’re not stupid. I heard your trunk went back to London, but you don’t go anywhere without Mr. Darcy. I went to Clara and
told her what I thought; we confirmed Mr. Oliver wasn’t the thief, and then we took the first coach north.”