Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth and Cathy reached the kitchen first; they stopped abruptly at the sight of Mrs. Clay sprawled out across the kitchen floor.
The cook had fainted into the arms of Sir Edward’s valet, who was amongst the servants to take on extra work at the castle.
Elizabeth’s maid Sarah was there, too, and she wrung her hands in her apron before approaching Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet, it was awful! We all just came back from dinner in the servants’ hall, and we were preparing to help Mrs. Penny with dinner for you folks.
We supposed you would take trays in your rooms after last night, and when Mrs. Penny opened the pantry where the trays and big serving dishes are kept, Mrs. Clay just sort of came tumbling out of it! ”
“Good God!” Mr. Darcy appeared at Elizabeth’s side and moved to shield her from the sight. “Is she…?”
“Aye, she’s dead,” wailed Mrs. Penny. “Poor woman! She were kind to us; I cannot think who’d harm her.”
“Did nobody see anything?” Cathy peeked around Mr. Tilney, who was also attempting to spare her the sight of the body.
“We were more than an hour at the table; all the valets and ladies’ maids being newly acquainted, and of course all the dreadful goings on, we had much to talk of,” Sarah said.
Sir Edward stepped forward and shooed the girls away from Mrs. Clay. “Lizzy, how long were you all in the music room?”
Elizabeth was not sure, and looked to Mr. Darcy. “Since around noon,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “It is now nearly four.”
Mr. Tilney let out a heavy sigh, a tear sliding down his face. “She was kind,” he murmured. He dabbed at his cheeks and then cleared his throat. “So, all the servants sat down to eat at around half two?”
“It was surely the killer who locked us up; I presume because we were in rooms near the servants’ passage. They must have gone after her straight away, for if we were to be in groups together, they would have little opportunity to be alone.”
“If they were alone, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Tilney mused. “But where have you all been since noon, Mrs. Penny?”
“After breakfast was sent up for those who wanted it, I cleaned the kitchen while Sarah washed all the dishes, and Albie dried them and put them in the cupboards.”
“Nobody in the pantry then,” the valet said.
Mrs. Penny scowled at him. “It must have been half eleven when Sarah and I went to help in the laundry, while all the lads were tidying in the parlor and the dining room. Then at half one, we came back here to get our afternoon meal ready.”
“And did you ever open that pantry?”
“No, I had everything prepped in the larder; there was a great deal left over from last night, you see,” Mrs. Penny said with a frown. She glanced down at Mrs. Clay and trembled. “Albie, get a tablecloth, would you? Not one of the fancy ones, mind.”
As the valet followed this command and covered Mrs. Clay with a simple ivory tablecloth, Mr. Tilney began to pace. “So, that pantry had not been opened since this morning? And nobody was in the kitchen from noon until half one? But where was Mrs. Clay? Or rather, where was she supposed to be?”
“I thought she was in the stillroom with Martha, Mrs. Rushworth’s maid. They were meant to be making blackberry marmalade.”
Mr. Tilney crouched down and lifted up the tablecloth to peer at Mrs. Clay. “Yes, her fingertips bear a stain from the blackberries. She must have been in the stillroom, but where is Martha?”
“She’s a quiet little wisp, I can’t recall if she ate with us. Sarah?”
“No, Mrs. Penny. She told Grace, Lady Susan’s maid, that she was going to have a lie down, she had a headache. Grace said Martha was acting hysterical about it.”
“Where is the stillroom, Sarah?”
“Just there, Miss Bennet.” Sarah pointed at a doorway not far beyond the pantry Mrs. Clay had been stuffed into.
Elizabeth opened the door and peeked into the room, and Mr. Darcy followed her. Blackberries were strewn across the floor, and a large wooden rolling pin lay on the floor in the midst of the debris. “I think I can guess what happened,” she murmured.
Mr. Darcy gently tugged at her elbow and led her back through the kitchen. Emma had found a tray of biscuits, and was eating one with a look of tremendous agitation.
“I suppose we ought to find out what Martha knows,” Cathy said.
Sarah went to fetch Martha, who was not asleep in her quarters. They set about seeking out her mistress, Mrs. Rushworth.
“She is with Lady Susan and Miss Denham, I believe,” Sir Edward replied.
Mr. Willoughby frowned. “Was she not with you, Sir Edward, and my uncle and Mr. Parker?”
“She was, but we did not spend long searching for the key. Sir Walter had a notion for constructing a raft to get across the moat, and when Mrs. Rushworth did not wish to exert herself in assisting us, Sir Walter escorted her back to her chambers.”
Elizabeth and Emma exchanged a knowing look, while Mr. Willoughby shook his head.
They could see that he did not wish to give voice to what they knew in the middle of the corridor, where anyone might be lurking.
But Elizabeth shivered as she asked, “Was he long in returning to you afterward?” The expression on Sir Edward’s face was all the answer she needed.
She knocked on the door when they reached the suite Mrs. Rushworth was sharing with Lady Susan and Miss Denham. The door opened a few inches, and then Lady Susan smiled at the sight of her niece. “Emma! Have you brought your friends to condole with poor Mrs. Rushworth?”
Emma bristled with impatience at her aunt’s mischievous tone. “We are looking for her maid, Martha.”
“Some new intrigue? Come in and tell us all about it.”
There seemed an unspoken agreement amongst them not to mention that they had deduced the identity of the killer, but they were obliged to inform the three ladies that there had been another murder.
The ladies made every proper show of outrage and horror, though their exasperation was genuine enough.
Mrs. Rushworth was steely-eyed. “What of that raft Sir Walter means to make?”
“It is too late in the day now to cross the moat and walk six miles into the village, but tomorrow we mean to send a man across to get help,” Sir Edward said.
“A pity Sir Walter did not think of it sooner,” she sniffed.
Lady Susan rolled her eyes. “Yes, and I can tell you who will be on that raft across the moat – the one who is killing everybody! Never to be seen again, I daresay, and the rest of us stranded and abandoned. And you can tell Sir Walter I said that.”
“I think not,” Mr. Willoughby muttered.
“Aunt, Mrs. Rushworth, we need to speak to Martha the maid. She was the last person to see Mrs. Clay alive,” Emma said. “Do you know where she is?”
“She is resting in my room,” Mrs. Rushworth said. “She burst in here this afternoon wailing that she had been beaten.”
“Beaten?”
“Yes, struck in the head! My own servant, who never hurt anybody! She is terrified, and I am not pleased,” Mrs. Rushworth hissed. “First my husband, and now my maid – if you have any notion who the murderer is, I should like to have a word with them before they are given over to the magistrate.”
Elizabeth tried to suppress a smile; having met the late Mr. Rushworth, it was no great surprise that Mrs. Rushworth should be angrier over the assault of her maid than the murder of her husband. “Might we have a word with Martha?”
“I gave her some of Lady Susan’s excellent sleeping draught, but I can try to wake her,” Mrs. Rushworth said. She stepped into one of the bedrooms and returned a moment later with a girl who looked to be feeling very poorly indeed.
“Martha, I understand you have been through a terrible ordeal,” Mr. Darcy said. “Thank you for speaking to us. Would you tell us what happened to you?”
Martha’s eyes welled with tears, and she drew the blanket draped over her shoulders tighter around herself.
“I were making marmalade with Mrs. Clay. She were teaching me a pretty song, and then she just stopped singing and looked surprised, like she seen something awful behind me. And then, I don’t know, it were all black. ”
“Show them,” Mrs. Rushworth said, giving her maid an encouraging nod.
Martha turned around and pointed to a large bump on the back of her head. They all collectively winced at the sight of it. Martha turned back around, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Elizabeth asked, “Did you see who did this to you?”
“No, ma’am. The door were behind me, but I’m sure Mrs. Clay saw who it was.”
“So when you roused, she was gone?”
“I woke up in the larder. I was frightened, and come straight to Mrs. Rushworth. She said to rest, but I was too scared. She told me to fetch my things from the servants’ quarters, and come back here to recover myself. I’m very grateful.”
“We will send for a doctor to attend you, as soon as we can,” Mr. Darcy said.
Martha looked surprised, but Mrs. Rushworth gave a gracious nod. “Thank you, Martha. That is all for now, I think. We can speak more later. You may return to your resting.”
They waited until the maid had retreated to speak; clearly this was not the time to break the news to her of Mrs. Clay’s demise.
Elizabeth smiled sadly at Mrs. Rushworth, more impressed by her kindness to the maid than anything else she had seen in the lady’s manners. “Do you recall what time it was, when she came to you?”
“Not long after I returned to my room. Half twelve perhaps?”
Elizabeth nodded; the pieces were falling into place. “I have one other question, though I have no wish to embarrass you.” She leaned in and whispered her query.
Mrs. Rushworth's eyes flashed wide, and then she looked as if she were trying to sort through her own memories. At last, her expression hardened. “Yes, I believe so. I had thought… but the keys….”
Elizabeth brought a finger to her lips, caring little if her secrecy offended Lady Susan or Miss Denham. She gave Mrs. Rushworth a tight nod and suggested her own party return to their suite.