Chapter Eleven
“What?”
“How?”
“Where?”
“When?”
They all began to question Mrs. Clay at once, though nobody asked why.
Mr. Tilney helped the agitated woman to a seat, and urged her to tell them everything she knew.
“She and I quarreled last evening; I daresay it was inevitable, between taking on the household responsibilities and quartering together.” Mrs. Clay slumped in a defeated posture on the chaise.
“We both once fancied ourselves in love with the general. That is why we acted as his spies, giving him so many secrets. When I found out that he was making her all the same promises he made me, I was never cross with her, only with him. But she was bitter, and made some remarks about my previous acquaintance with Sir Walter Elliot, another ponce of a man I regret setting my cap at. And then I said something about her and Mr. Wickham, and she told me to get out, so I did. I went and slept with the servants last night.”
“So she was alone all night?” Mr. Tilney cringed. “You ought not to have left her alone.”
“She only told me to do it! She is a woman grown, responsible for herself,” Mrs. Clay sniffed. She cast a sideward glance at Mr. Darcy. “She might have found someone to share with for her own safety, for she has too many enemies here.”
Mr. Darcy stiffened at her accusation. “I shared with Tilney last night, and I am sure I could not have snuck out without tripping over Sir Edward in the parlor!”
“Not to mention you are quite incapable of such a thing,” Elizabeth cried. “Besides, there is another who was far more vocal in their resentment toward her.”
Emma glared at her. “You mean my aunt.”
Mr. Tilney offered Mrs. Clay his handkerchief as she began to sniffle. “Where is she?”
“In her room,” Mrs. Clay said. “I can take you there, if you wish to see….”
“We ought to see if there are any clues,” Mr. Darcy said. “Perhaps you ladies ought to be spared the sight.”
“After five murders, I am not letting you men out of my sight,” Lady Allen said, fanning herself.
Only Emma went in with the gentlemen to see Mrs. Younge. “I have seen death before,” she said somberly. “Besides, nobody here has any authority to tell me not to. I have more faith in a woman’s perception, if we are to find any clues or hints at who has done this.”
The ladies lingered in the corridor together, and a few minutes later the others came out of Mrs. Younge’s room, looking grim. Emma linked her arm through Harriet’s and began whispering with Elizabeth and Cathy.
“Was it very awful?” Cathy asked.
“It made me very sad. Even though she repeated the gossip about Harriet and me to the general, and spied on my aunt, too, it was a terrible sight.” Emma gave a shaky sigh and clung tighter to Harriet.
“She was hit over the head with a large silver candlestick, and her head was bleeding. There was something about her… I hardly know how to say it. Some uncanny pricking in my mind, as if I ought to know the answer.”
Elizabeth felt a chill run up her spine. “I do feel that we are close; perhaps if we look over everything again.”
Just then, Mr. Tilney came to speak with them. “Sir Edward and Darcy are going to move Mrs. Younge to the cellar, which I fear is growing rather crowded. I suppose we ought to assemble everybody together again.”
Emma screwed up her face. “So that we can all bicker and shout accusations at one another again? What is the point?”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “I should rather apply myself to reviewing what we know and trying to make sense of things.”
Nearby, Mrs. Clay gave a snort of derision. “I should rather find the key to get us the hell out of here.”
Mr. Tilney smiled ruefully. “Yes, that too.”
“Mr. Tilney, you must speak to everybody,” Cathy said. “It will surely not be pleasant, but the others have already accused us of being secretive together. You have to tell everyone what has happened.”
“I think she is right,” Harriet agreed. She glanced over at Emma, who appeared lost to them, as if stuck by some great realization.
Cathy grinned at her. “Emma, have you thought of something?”
Emma snapped out of her pensive trance. “Oh! Maybe.” She went over to Mrs. Clay and whispered something in her ear.
The woman nodded and then took Emma’s hand in hers. “They will say your aunt must have taken the keys from Mrs. Rushworth, since they shared a room last night. But I can think of someone she might have opened the door for willingly. Someone I fear might have been looking for me.”
Cathy looked quizzically at Emma as she moved away from Mrs. Clay, who informed them she was returning to her duties. “Does she mean Mr. Tilney? Surely not!”
Emma pursed her lips. “No, but I will say no more. Let us go and hear what everyone has to say for themselves.”
They were a quarter hour in summoning the other guests to the parlor, and there they all convened to discuss the latest development; the news was not at all well-received.
Though Mr. Tilney made the announcement directly, Elizabeth had brought the vinaigrette de toilette up her sleeve, and was determined to continue questioning people about it.
This had to be the missing piece to their puzzle.
In the ensuing chaos after Mr. Tilney informed them of another murder, Elizabeth scanned the crowd of people to determine who would be the easiest to speak to discreetly.
She selected Mr. Willoughby, who was standing near Emma and Harriet, at some remove from anybody she had already asked about the object.
“Sir, I think you must have dropped this,” she said, enacting a similar charade of discovering the item as she had done the night before.
Mr. Willoughby’s eyes flashed wide at the sight of it, and he quickly covered the silver trinket with his hand before pushing her arm away. “For Heaven’s sake, put that in your pocket at once,” he said softly, not looking at her.
“You recognize it?”
He kept his gaze on the general ripple of outcry in the room, but his posture was tense. “It is not mine, so I could not have dropped it, but there can be only one other reason why you might be asking about it. Show it to nobody else, for your own sake. I will speak to you about it when I can.”
Elizabeth gave a tense nod and moved away, while Mr. Darcy stalked toward her. As they stood side by side, only partially aware of the unfolding chaos, he leaned in to whisper. “What happened?”
“I believe he knows something, and only wants some opportunity to divulge it privately.”
He gave a tight smile. “Finally; perhaps this will be just what we need. Well done, Miss Bennet.”
She felt herself blushing. “Thank you. You may praise me at greater length later. I begin to fear our companions shall eat Mr. Tilney alive if we do not interfere.”
Before they could speak up, the raillery against Mr. Tilney took another turn, and just as Mrs. Clay had predicted, Lady Susan, ever the irreverent pot stirrer, was accused of the most recent murder.
“You shared a room with Mrs. Rushworth, who had the keys,” Sir Walter said confidently, pointing at the two women with dramatic flourish.
“Yes, and you gave Mrs. Rushworth a sleeping draught last night, and then encouraged me to go seek the company of… another person,” Miss Denham said. She did not look at Mr. Parker directly, but he took a step away from her.
“I gave her a sleeping draught because she was weeping for her dead husband,” Lady Susan said bluntly.
“My keys have gone missing,” Mrs. Rushworth said. “I forgot all about them last night, but this morning when I was dressing, I could not find them.”
Emma sneered at her. “Pocketed by your lover, perhaps?”
“Emma!” Harriet gasped. “If you have not seen the keys since last night, Mrs. Rushworth, anybody might have taken them.”
“I was out of my mind last night, I am sure,” Mrs. Rushworth said. “Someone might have taken them right out of my hand and I would not have noticed.”
Mr. Parker shook his head with contempt. “And you were so insistent on having the keys!”
Mrs. Rushworth recoiled and hissed at him. “I hardly knew I would become so distracted!”
He curled a lip with disdain. “Did you not?”
Mrs. Rushworth ignored him and looked at Lady Susan in horror. “You must have taken the keys!”
Lady Susan held up her arms. “Search me,” she said with a laugh, as if she expected them all to have a look about her person. Sir Walter leered as if he actually wished to.
“Let us not forget, there is another key to search for,” Mr. Parker said.
Mr. Willoughby agreed. “All this squabbling is pointless if we have no solid evidence who the killer amongst us is, and no means of doing anything about it, anyhow. Anything other than searching for the key that Captain Tilney hid seems a dismal waste of time.”
“My nephew is right,” Lady Allen said, fanning herself as if the argument amongst them all was a physical exertion for her.
Mr. Tilney looked relieved. “Capital, let us go and do that. Perhaps small groups rather than pairs?”
“Just what I meant to suggest,” Mr. Willoughby agreed.
Sir Walter smiled cordially. “I must support my nephew, as well. Clearly trying to reason with certain persons is profitless, but I should like to find the means of our escape, indeed. Sir Edward, Mr. Bertram, perhaps you would join me in our little search, for I have a matter I would speak with you about.”
Sir Edward looked warily at his niece, but Mr. Darcy moved closer to her. “I will go with Miss Bennet; she is perfectly safe with me.” Across from them, Mr. Willoughby was nodding emphatically, and Elizabeth added her agreement.
Sir Walter looked to his nephew, who schooled his expression into instant neutrality. “Perhaps you could escort the charming Miss Woodhouse and her little friend.”
“We will search with Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet, for propriety,” Mr. Willoughby said smoothly.