Chapter 5 #2
Elizabeth felt the shock of his admission, though she hoped she showed nothing. “Then let us see what we may find.”
They entered the maze together, the yew arch engulfing them in cool darkness.
The path wound back and forth, and in places the gravel was still marked by the impressions of those who had rushed here the previous day.
Between the two, they identified the wide, square prints of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s boots, the smaller, neater triangles of Lady Catherine’s shoes, the chaotic overlay of the gardener’s clogs, along with their own, both of which they presently wore the same as they had yesterday.
At the center, the fountain awaited them, the cherub’s faces green with moss.
Elizabeth approached the spot where she had found Mrs. Blackstone’s body.
She knelt, careful not to disturb the damp earth, and inspected the area with the kind of focus that had given her a reputation as the main contestant for all to compete against during every scavenger hunt in Hertfordshire.
Mr. Darcy hung back, watching with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
She turned over a patch of moss near the base of the fountain and found nothing, but next to the flagstone, there was a footprint, too large to be a lady’s shoe.
“See here.” Elizabeth pointed.
Mr. Darcy knelt beside her, heedless of his trousers. “A man’s shoe,” he said. “Though it might be from the coroner. Or made during Mrs. Blackstone’s… er, removal.”
“I doubt the second. It is a gentleman’s boot, not that of a servant.”
As they neared the yew wall across from where Mrs. Blackstone had been found, Mr. Darcy paused. He crouched and pointed to a stretch of ground.
Elizabeth leaned down. At first, it seemed only a patch of uneven soil, but as she looked closer, she saw the pattern: a double line of indentations, deep at the toe and shallow at the heel, as if the person had stepped hard or was limping.
She looked up at Mr. Darcy, who was already watching her, his expression intent.
“Not the same as the others,” she said. “These are smaller. Narrower.”
He nodded. “But not Mrs. Blackstone’s. I noticed her shoes were of a distinct make, with a broad heel. These are something else entirely.” He stood, dusting his hands. “There is another thing. The print overlays the others, but not in all places.”
Mr. Darcy looked about, then pointed to an area they had not yet moved toward today.
“Over here, the impression cuts through my footprint.” He then gestured a few feet away.
“And yet yours overlay it over there.” He continued looking around on the ground.
“Collins’s cut through here, and he was not present when the coroner came.
” He leaned down to look at something more closely.
“If we assume the print near the fountain is the coroner’s, his seem to overlap it everywhere. ” He turned to face her.
Elizabeth reconstructed the sequence in her mind. “So, it seems someone was here before us, and then also returned to the scene after the group was here, but before the coroner came and Mrs. Blackstone was removed.”
He straightened. “Which confirms our suspicions about someone returning to wet the hand, at the very least.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Or, someone could have remained in the maze, hiding, until you and I left. Perhaps they returned to search for the letter that was attached to the scrap in her hand, or to remove it.”
“Which could mean the person was present when I arrived.” Elizabeth nodded. “Most likely, the sounds of my arrival frightened them away.”
Mr. Darcy stared at her intensely. “It also means that you will not be walking out without an escort again, Miss Elizabeth.”
She startled. “And why is that?”
He raised both eyebrows. “Miss Elizabeth. We have just established that the person who killed Mrs. Blackstone might have been in the maze the entire time you were here. Alone.” Mr. Darcy’s expression was hard to read, but his voice was softer. “Are you not afraid?”
She huffed out a breath. “Afraid that the murderer will harm me? I have nothing worth killing for.” She paused.
“Think of it this way, Mr. Darcy. If that person did mean me harm, they would have had the perfect opportunity to carry out their intent when I was alone in the maze. Since they did not, I suspect I am safe.”
He looked at her, and something passed over his face—an understanding, fierce and fleeting.
“That statement proves you are the most courageous person I have ever met,” Mr. Darcy said.
She nodded her thanks, then diverted her thoughts towards other possibilities. “There was a fragment of paper in the hand, but no other sign of correspondence. Her pocket was empty, though the stitching had been stressed—perhaps from someone rifling through it.”
Mr. Darcy seemed to look at her with a new respect. “I did not notice that.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Sometimes it is about seeing what is missing, not what is present.”
He smiled—a quick, almost reluctant movement.
Elizabeth moved toward the other entrance to the center of the maze, her gaze darting. “This is a multicursal maze, is it not?”
“Yes, there are two entrances. Each has its own correct path, along with several false ones.”
She scanned the ground near the second entrance. “There—” she beckoned.
It was the same print, this time more distinct, as if the person had stepped with more force. Then another where they pivoted suddenly.
“The person was running,” she stated.
“Or being chased,” said Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth met his gaze. “Or chasing.” She pointed to the footprints leading out the second entrance.
They followed them further in. At a turn, there were several of the same footprints, overlapping and facing in different directions. “The person waited here,” Elizabeth said, mind racing.
“The prints continue toward the exit,” Mr. Darcy gestured. “They enter from this direction and leave this way, as well.”
They looked at each other. The air between them changed. There was an equality to it, a partnership, not of social standing but of intellect and will.
“Shall we follow them?” she asked.
He nodded.
The set of prints led to a meadow of high grass.
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy searched for several minutes but could locate no prints among the vegetation.
Elizabeth looked around the meadow. “We could spend a week walking every inch of this field looking for which way this person went. And we still might never find them.”