Chapter 3 #2
“Since there is no indication of violence. The woman was, by all accounts, in perfect health, and her position as a companion to Miss Clara Haldridge, sister to Mr. Jonathan Haldridge, the owner of Willow Grange, is entirely secure. She must have had some sort of heartbreak to make her do such a thing.”
“Just because there is no outward sign of violence does not mean there was none,” Mr. Darcy said.
Mr. Collins, white as snow, said, “Sir, no one at Rosings would dare—”
Elizabeth, who had been following the conversation until now, found herself compelled to speak, “Is it not possible that a danger came from outside? Mrs. Blackstone was not of this household, after all. Perhaps someone else followed her onto the grounds.”
Lady Catherine swung her gaze around. “You are suggesting that an intruder made their way into the heart of Rosings Park to—what? Murder this woman? For what possible reason?”
“There must have been a reason for her to be inside the maze.” Elizabeth, emboldened by the necessity of logic, pressed on. “I do not say murder, necessarily. But certainly, she was vulnerable.”
The colonel, who had confined himself to the stoic demeanor of the professional soldier until this moment, frowned. “Mrs. Blackstone’s… eh… condition would indicate that she passed on this morning about three or four hours ago.” He paused. “Why was she here so early?”
This, at last, caused a ripple of uncertainty to pass over Lady Catherine’s features.
“Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine barked, “has Mrs. Blackstone visited the parsonage in recent days?”
Mr. Collins gulped. “I—she called on my wife yesterday, your ladyship. She wished to speak to Mrs. Collins about a matter of charity, I believe.”
The party’s attention shifted back to Elizabeth. Obviously, everyone assumed that if a lady visited Hunsford Cottage, she would be in attendance.
“I was not in the room during their meeting,” Elizabeth said, searching her memory. “But Mrs. Collins did mention to me that Mrs. Blackstone asked about Lady Catherine’s charity school. She inquired whether Mrs. Collins had any experience with the institution.”
Lady Catherine straightened, chin high. “I must suppose that something occurred between that visit and this morning that caused her enough heartache to end her own life.”
Elizabeth felt her nostrils flare. Lady Catherine’s insistence on thinking Mrs. Blackstone took her own life rankled.
Lady Catherine ordered, “Fitzwilliam, you will send word to Willow Grange at once.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “I will see to it immediately.”
Lady Catherine turned to Mr. Darcy. “Darcy, you will not leave Rosings today as planned. You will remain to assist the authorities when they arrive. The presence of family will do much to mitigate rumors.”
Mr. Darcy bowed. “Of course, Aunt.”
Though she was tempted to look at Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth held her gaze steady on Lady Catherine. As far as she knew, Mr. Darcy had not planned to leave today. His change in plans could only be because of her refusal last evening.
Lady Catherine ordered the staff to secure the area.
At the entrance to the maze, she paused to address Elizabeth directly. “You have been useful, Miss Bennet. I will remember it. But I would caution you that a woman’s reputation is a fragile thing. In the present climate, I advise the utmost discretion.”
Though Elizabeth was not sure what she had meant by that, she inclined her head. “I thank you, Lady Catherine.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed, as if uncertain whether her answer was impertinence or deference. Then she dismissed Elizabeth with a wave and marched the group back toward Rosings.
Mr. Darcy insisted on walking her to the parsonage.
Still uncertain she could walk that distance without support, she accepted.
As they walked, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. His voice was soft, but urgent as he said, “You do not believe this death was self-inflicted in any way.”
“I do not,” she replied, “and I do not believe you do either.”
He hesitated, then said, “I will speak with the coroner. There are details you may not wish to hear, but if you want to remain involved—”
“I do. Most definitely.” Elizabeth cut him off, more sharply than she intended.
“I hesitated to mention something before the others, but there was writing on the torn bit of paper clutched between her fingers when I first saw her. It was how I knew who she was. And yet now it is smudged. There was no dew on her hand when I found her, and yet her hand was damp when we returned. It did not rain while we were inside Rosings. It should not have become illegible in the interim.” She narrowed her eyes.
“I believe this means that sometime between my leaving the maze with you and returning with the group, someone wet it. On purpose.”
His eyes widened. “I knew something was bothering me about the scene when we returned but I could not place what it was. Now that you have mentioned it… did you see when I removed my coat?”
“Yes. I watched you.” She furrowed her brow. “You covered her face, yes—but you also covered her hands.” She gasped. “And when we returned…”
He nodded. “Mrs. Blackstone’s hands were uncovered.”
She took a breath. “I wish to hear everything the coroner has to say, Mr. Darcy. I will not allow whoever did this to go unpunished. I mean to pursue justice.”
He looked at her for a moment, as if weighing the wisdom of his thoughts, then bowed. “I will keep you fully informed, Miss Elizabeth.”
The silence between them for the remainder of the walk was not adversarial, but certainly not warm.
Once they reached the door to the parsonage, she thanked him, curtsied, then entered the house.
Upstairs, Elizabeth went into her room and replayed every word, every glance, every tiny expression of the morning.
In the privacy of her own mind, she constructed a map of motives, means, and opportunities.
Whatever happened next, she would not be a bystander or become a footnote. No, she would create the narrative herself.