Chapter 4
After freshening up, Elizabeth joined Charlotte in her sitting room. The hush of the place, its familiar lavender air, and Charlotte’s presence felt consoling.
Charlotte looked up from her sewing, her gaze quick and appraising. Elizabeth could see that she was taking stock of Elizabeth’s posture, color, and condition in the space between breaths.
“Lizzy,” Charlotte spoke softly. “You are returned.”
Elizabeth could not summon a proper smile, but she met Charlotte’s eyes and forced the semblance of one. “I am, and I believe I have satisfied every requirement of a scandal since I left this morning, except, perhaps, for fainting away, which Lady Catherine may consider a personal affront.”
Charlotte’s lips twitched. “That will be a great disappointment to Mr. Collins. He has prepared three sermons on the dangers of ‘female excesses’ since he was quite certain you would illustrate them before your visit was up.”
Elizabeth gave a hollow laugh. “It must be a disappointment to him, then, that my composure remains undisturbed.”
Putting aside her sewing, Charlotte rose from her chair and closed the distance between them, pausing only to touch Elizabeth’s hand in a gesture of genuine warmth. “You are as white as the wallpaper. Sit. You will do yourself harm, standing thus.”
As instructed, Elizabeth took her customary seat beside the modest fire burning in the hearth. The tea things had already been laid out.
Charlotte poured with practiced composure, yet Elizabeth could not help noticing how often her eyes strayed toward the window, as though she half expected some fresh calamity to present itself at the door.
“Has Mr. Collins been at home since the events of the morning?” Elizabeth asked, assuming Charlotte already knew of them through the servants.
She accepted a cup with both hands.
“No,” Charlotte answered. “He was summoned to Rosings with the news of the crisis. I do not expect his return before the entire staff has had the benefit of his consolation.” Her eyebrow twitched.
Elizabeth took a sip of tea, hoping it would steady her. It did not. “You have heard, then, of the events at the maze?”
Charlotte nodded. “Lady Catherine sent a note by footman, along with instructions that I was to keep you from excitement and not to permit any further exertion of your ‘overactive sensibilities.’”
Elizabeth sighed. “Lady Catherine’s system is as ever: first demand the facts, then command the witnesses, and only lastly, if at all, guide the truth into something more palatable.
” Elizabeth set her cup down and found her hands were still trembling.
“I do not know if I am more offended by her assumption of my frailty, or her presumption that the matter will be concluded as soon as she has rewritten it to her liking.”
Charlotte made a quiet sound, the closest she came to outright agreement, for it would be dangerous for her to criticize her husband’s patroness.
“It is not often our little community refuses to re-order itself around her ladyship’s wishes.
I am surprised she has not yet commanded the corpse to remove itself and spare her the inconvenience. ”
This startled a laugh from Elizabeth, so sudden and sharp that for a moment it felt as if she might cry instead. She steadied herself. “Forgive me. I am not myself.”
Charlotte, always a pragmatist, replied, “It would be more worrying to me if you were not disturbed.”
There was silence then, companionable, yet charged. Elizabeth let it linger, knowing that Charlotte was one of very few people who would not mistake her quiet for surrender.
“Will you tell me,” Charlotte asked, “how it was? If you would rather not speak of it, I will not press, but if you would like to, I am not opposed to hearing it all.”
Elizabeth managed the story with a calmness that surprised even her, skipping the encounter with Mr. Darcy since she would not speak of his proposal, even to Charlotte.
But she told her about going into the maze to read a letter, finding the body, the peculiar sense that came over her when she realized Mrs. Blackstone was dead.
She described the dead woman’s hand clutching its secret.
She spoke of the walk to Rosings, of the way Lady Catherine had marshaled the room.
The second visit to the maze, and her return here with Mr. Darcy’s escort.
Charlotte listened with strict attention throughout.
When Elizabeth finished, Charlotte poured a fresh cup of tea and offered it wordlessly to Elizabeth as she reviewed all that had been revealed.
“Mrs. Blackstone,” Charlotte said after a moment, her tone as composed as ever.
“Until a few days ago, I had never heard her name. She arrived at Willow Grange as companion to Miss Clara Haldridge. Mr. Collins met her only once, yet he afterward declared her to be remarkably haughty.” A faint smile touched her lips.
“I rather suspect she merely declined to receive his advice.”
Elizabeth’s mind, already turning over the details, seized on this. “She wasn’t a local, then?”
“No. Miss Haldridge only arrived for her spring visit to her brother last week. Her primary home is with her parents in Bath, but they frequently visit Kent. I believe Mrs. Blackstone was hired from that city.”
Elizabeth ran a finger along the delicate rim of her cup. “Do you have any ideas about why she would be in the Rosings maze? What reason could a companion, however elevated, have for venturing so far from her charge?”
“Perhaps she was summoned or expected to meet someone… in secret.” Charlotte’s tone suggested the possibilities were limitless, and also, perhaps, none of Elizabeth’s affair. “Lady Catherine will not wish for scandal to attach itself to her grounds, but I doubt she can prevent it.”
The two women regarded each other over the teacups, the conversation shifting into its deeper current.
“I do not suppose,” Elizabeth said carefully, “that you believe Lady Catherine’s assertion that this was a mere fainting spell, or that the poor woman succumbed to some innate female delicacy, or did herself in?”
Charlotte allowed herself a slow, deliberate smile.
“It is more likely that the sky will fall on Hunsford Cottage than that a healthy woman expired of sensibility in a neighbor’s garden.
Especially when her hand was clamped so tightly around a piece of paper that no one can pry it loose without a struggle. ”
Elizabeth felt a surge of gratitude so intensely she had to look away. “Then you are not inclined to treat this as an accident?”
“I am inclined,” said Charlotte, “to consider your judgment at least equal to the collective wisdom of Rosings Park.” She hesitated, then reached across the low table and covered Elizabeth’s hand with her own.
“Lizzy, you have the soul of a coroner, and the heart of a spy. Whatever you decide to do, you must promise me that you will take care.”
Elizabeth almost laughed. “Do you mean that I must promise to behave as a proper young lady, or that I should avoid embroiling myself in danger?”
“I mean both,” said Charlotte. “But also, neither. What I mean is that if you must pursue this matter, you will allow me to help, or at least to be aware of what you are about. It is intolerable to be left out, especially when one’s own reputation is at risk by proximity.”
Elizabeth pressed her friend’s hand. “Your reputation will not be at risk if I have anything to say about it.”
“Of course it will,” Charlotte replied, deadpan. “You have not managed to follow society’s rules for ladies for a single day of your life.”
Elizabeth smiled despite herself. The expression quickly faded as her thoughts returned to Mrs. Blackstone.
“Charlotte,” she said, “did you notice anything unusual when Mrs. Blackstone called yesterday? Anything that suggested she was troubled—or that someone might have wished her harm?”
Charlotte was silent for a moment, thoughtfully turning her teacup in its saucer.
“No,” she said at last. “She struck me as reserved rather than unhappy. She spoke politely of Lady Catherine’s charity school and mentioned that Miss Haldridge hoped to lend her support to a similar one recently established in Bath. She remained only long enough for a single cup of tea.”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Had she possessed enemies, I should never have guessed it from her manner. There was only one thing that gave me pause.” She looked up at Elizabeth.
“She asked whether Lady Catherine or Miss de Bourgh were in the habit of walking the grounds very early in the morning or late in the evening—or whether they generally remained indoors.”
Elizabeth’s mind pounced on this detail. “Did she say why?”
“No, but she laughed when she asked. It seemed a joke at her own expense, as if she was mocking herself for being too inquisitive.” Charlotte took a breath.
“At the time, I thought perhaps she preferred to walk on the grounds of Rosings Park than those of Willow Grange and did not wish to be caught out.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps she was arranging a meeting.”
Charlotte tilted her head. “It is possible she wanted to meet someone without the Haldridge family’s knowledge.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, thinking of the seclusion of the maze. “Or perhaps she wished to see someone without anyone’s knowledge at all.”
There was a lull in the conversation as both considered the implications.
Charlotte was the one to break the silence. “And Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth’s cup gave a slight rattle against its saucer. She steadied it at once, though she suspected Charlotte had noticed all the same.
“I scarcely know what to think of him,” she admitted.
“He was there whenever he was needed. So attentive… and yet so unlike the gentleman I first met at Meryton. I have never seen him so entirely forget himself. It is almost as though this dreadful morning has stripped away every defense he possessed.”