CHAPTER 18 – Several Interrogations and a Proposal
The arrival of the constable drastically shifted the course of the inquiry.
Mr. Hanbury was a surly, seasoned investigator who had served with the Bow Street Runners for nearly two decades before retiring to the Welsh countryside.
Although he had settled in the outskirts of Ceredigion to lead a quieter life, he still found a certain thrill in criminal investigations.
Whenever something of significance occurred in the region, it was he who was called upon.
Whereas Mr. Bevan had been cordial and accommodating, treating the family as peers rather than suspects, Hanbury was shrewd and methodical.
Every question was deliberate, every inquiry designed to extract crucial details that might lead to the truth.
Unlike Bevan, he did not waste time inspecting the ruins of Rosings; any evidence that might have once existed lay buried under a heap of ash and stone.
Lady Catherine’s remains were likewise entombed beneath the rubble, leaving Hanbury with only the testimony of witnesses upon which to base his conclusions.
The first to be questioned was Miss de Bourgh. Given her fragile state, and to preserve propriety, Elizabeth acted as her companion, sitting quietly apart as the lady recounted the events leading up to the fire.
“You say that he entered your rooms and confessed to murdering your mother?” Mr. Hanbury asked.
“Yes, sir.” She pressed a handkerchief to her nose.
Recalling the events that had followed Lady Catherine’s death left her visibly shaken, and she struggled to hold back her tears.
“He entered unnoticed, carrying a small book and murmuring a prayer in a strange tongue.” Her breathing grew shallow and laboured, as though she were gasping for air.
“He said my mother was possessed by evil, and that the line of malice must be severed. He spoke of a curse—that there would be no peace for the heirs of Rosings and death was their only salvation.”
Mr. Hanbury allowed her a moment to compose herself. “And how exactly did he attempt to harm you?”
Miss de Bourgh’s respiration quickened once more, her breath wheezing with each rise and fall of her chest. Elizabeth moved closer, offering her some tea.
Miss de Bourgh took a small sip. “He was carrying a dagger between the pages of the book. It had a blue gem on the hilt. I presume it was the same weapon he used to kill my mother.”
The constable waited patiently for her to continue.
“He advanced upon me. He. . . he would not stop. He was brandishing the dagger in his hand. I hit him with something—the poker, I think. I stumbled against a table. . .” A quiet sob escaped. “The lamp fell, and the fire started.”
The new mistress buried her face in her hands and began to weep in earnest.
Elizabeth would have preferred to end the questioning there, but Mr. Hanbury was not finished.
“Miss de Bourgh, if you do not mind, I have just one last question.”
The young lady wiped at her tears. “Yes, of course.”
“When did you last see your companion, Mrs. Jenkinson?”
Her lower lip quivered. She took a deep breath before speaking.
“In my room. She brought me tea after supper, as she always did. I was sleepy, so she left the tray and went. I. . .” She hiccupped.
“I never saw her again. I assumed she had died in the fire, but my cousin told me she fell down the staircase.”
Mr. Hanbury nodded gravely. “Thank you, madam. I shall not trouble you further.”
***
Hunsford’s testimonies lasted a good part of the day.
The constable questioned Elizabeth first, inquiring about her whereabouts on the night of Lady Catherine’s death and the nights that followed.
She answered cautiously, telling him only that Charlotte and Maria had come to her room that evening to inform her of the stable boy’s demise.
While she mentioned talking to Mr Darcy in the library on the night of Mrs. Jenkinson’s death, she deliberately omitted her encounter with him in the gallery when Lady Catherine was murdered.
Her private conversations with Charlotte, where she had shared her suspicions about Mr. Collins, were also kept to herself.
Maria faced similar inquiries, though her narrations were more fanciful and exaggerated.
It soon became clear that Mr. Hanbury regarded her youthful exaltation with a veil of scepticism.
Charlotte was the last to be questioned, giving a measured account of her movements prior to Lady Catherine’s death and her husband’s wanderings over the past three days.
Elizabeth, present as her companion, paid careful attention.
“Mrs. Collins. It is said that Lady Catherine often mistreated your husband. Is this true?”
Maria’s effusive nod did not go unnoticed, neither by Elizabeth nor by Mr. Hanbury. The constable shot her a sharp glance, a silent reprimand for meddling in Mrs. Collins’s testimony.
Charlotte chose her words carefully. “Her Ladyship was uncommonly strict and on occasion, made remarks that some might consider unkind.” She hesitated, then added, “My husband did not take offense. As a clergyman, he understood his patroness’s ways and bore her words with patience and temperance.”
Mr. Hanbury’s expression remained unreadable. “Did your husband ever speak in another tongue?”
Charlotte’s grip tightened around her handkerchief. “Only occasionally, sir. Sometimes he would recite passages in Latin from the Book of Common Prayer.”
The constable pressed his lips together. “You mentioned that he visited the mansion’s chapel frequently after Lady Catherine’s death.”
“Yes. He spent most of his time there in those days. At least, that is what he told me.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. I suppose he sought spiritual comfort.”
“And when you last saw him, what did he say?”
Charlotte began twisting her handkerchief around her finger.
Still, her voice remained composed. “Almost nothing. He remained quiet that night when we retired and mostly prayed. He did mention he saw something in the chapel, but did not say exactly what. When I awoke the next morning, he had already left the room.”
Mr. Hanbury rubbed his chin. “Have you ever seen him carrying a weapon? A dagger, a knife, perhaps?”
Charlotte’s gaze lifted in surprise, her voice firm. “Never. My husband was a man of faith. He abhorred violence.”
At last, the ladies were excused, much to their relief.
Elizabeth, however, barely had time to collect herself before Hanbury requested that she summon Mr. Darcy.
Her pulse quickened as she left the room, eager to warn him, to acquaint him with what had been said—and omitted—before he faced questioning. But as soon as she stepped outside, she nearly collided with him.
He was already there, waiting.
Their eyes met over the threshold—hers filled with nervousness and dread, his as calm and steady as ever.
***
Darcy endured more than three hours of incisive questioning, most of it concerning Lady Catherine’s death—unsurprising, given he was one of the few that had witnessed the crime scene.
The constable also pressed him about Mr. Collins’s final moments, dwelling very little on the matter of Mrs. Jenkinson.
He chose not to correct the officer’s omission.
Dangerous accidents on staircases were fairly common in old houses, and the fall of an elderly woman carrying a tray left little room for doubt.
If Hanbury himself deemed it unnecessary to investigate further, Darcy saw no reason to bring the subject to his attention.
Doing so might invite unwanted scrutiny, leading to questions he was unwilling to answer.
Finally, Hanbury shifted topics.
“Mr. Darcy, have you ever seen in the house a dagger or a knife with a blue gem on the hilt?”
Darcy’s breath caught.
He had seen it. Years ago, in Sir Lewis’s library. A long-bladed letter opener, its hilt a Celtic braid of pewter, crowned by a striking blue gem.
He had always found it beautiful, so much so that he even fancied ordering one for himself.
The letter opener had not been in the library when Darcy sorted through Rosings’ books and papers the day after his aunt’s death.
Had it been there, he would have noticed it—the item was far too distinctive to overlook.
Nor had it been in Lady Catherine’s chambers when he searched for Georgiana’s letters, though his horror at the sight of her lifeless body had, at the time, rendered him blind to all else.
Had Collins taken it?
Or had someone else?
Darcy swallowed slowly, his throat suddenly dry. “No, sir, I do not recall seeing anything like that.”
Mr. Hanbury studied him a moment longer before nodding.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. That will be all for now.”
***
The day dawned warm and clear, a welcome change after so much darkness and tragedy.
Elizabeth awoke in good spirits, carefully arranged her hair, and went down to breakfast. Perhaps she would find Mr. Darcy in the dining room.
She had barely seen him over the past three days, and an anxious restlessness stirred within her.
She had a longing to speak with him, to ascertain how he fared.
The house was eerily quiet. Charlotte and Maria were still asleep, and the Rosings family was not in the house.
Finding herself alone, Elizabeth enquired of a servant whether he had seen the gentlemen.
She was informed that they had left for the assembly rooms early in the morning at the constable’s request.
She also learned that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy, wishing to relieve the overcrowded parsonage, had arranged for their belongings to be sent to the local inn until the house by the beach had been prepared.
As for Miss de Bourgh, she had been invited to stay with a prominent family in the village whose accommodations were more befitting the heiress of Rosings.