Chapter 7
The terrace at Willow Grange possessed a quiet character.
An ancient flagstone walk wandered only so far before yielding to a patch of moss.
One section of the garden wall bulged where the roots of a yew pressed against the masonry, and at the far end stood a weathered bench whose peeling paint bore the marks of many seasons.
Elizabeth found the effect far more agreeable than the studied perfection of Rosings’ grandeur.
It was here that Elizabeth, accompanied by Mr. Darcy and Charlotte, waited for the master of the house.
It fascinated Elizabeth that they should be escorted outside the house to meet the owner, considering they had already been inside.
Was it a statement of Mr. Jonathan Haldridge’s reluctance to meet with them?
Did the gentleman wish to keep the interview completely private?
Was it intended as an insult to Mr. Darcy, who ranked much higher than Mr. Haldridge within the ton?
Or would this encounter prove that Mr. Haldridge was even more peculiar than Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins combined?
Sunlight glittered off last night’s damp, dividing the terrace into bands of shadow and light. Still, the wind was sharp, carrying with it a chill that made standing still a challenge.
Thank goodness they were not kept waiting long, for Mr. Darcy had not stopped fretting over keeping Elizabeth and Charlotte out of doors in so much wind.
Mr. Haldridge appeared in the open French doorway a moment later. He was tall, with sandy-brown hair and the bearing of a man more accustomed to putting others at ease than drawing attention to himself.
“Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Collins.” He bowed to each in turn. “Miss Bennet. I am sorry our acquaintance must begin in such melancholy circumstances.”
He motioned toward the bench before pausing. “Forgive me—that will scarcely do for four.” Looking about the terrace, he added, “Unless you would rather stand? The sun has made this corner of the garden surprisingly comfortable.”
The arrangement put them in a sort of line, facing Mr. Haldridge across a strip of shadow.
He did not waste time with pleasantries. “You have questions for me,” he said, “and I will do my utmost to provide answers, though I must admit I have precious little to offer beyond what I told the authorities this morning.”
Mr. Darcy took control, his voice formal and measured. “You will forgive us, sir, but as representatives of Lady Catherine—”
Mr. Haldridge’s mouth tightened. “I am aware of her ladyship’s preference for resolution over process. I share it, in fact. But I believe you will find there is nothing here to trouble her, or anyone else, beyond the very ordinary grief of an unexpected death.”
“Unexpected deaths,” said Mr. Darcy, “are, at times, not so accommodating as to be ordinary.”
Mr. Haldridge’s gaze flicked to Elizabeth, as if searching for an ally.
Finding her neutral, he returned his attention to Mr. Darcy.
“You will have read the coroner’s notes,” he said.
“No evidence of violence. No sign of foul play. Mrs. Blackstone had not so much as a bruise, apart from the one on her temple, which was explained as a consequence of the fall.”
“Of course,” Mr. Darcy said. “But there are details that remain unclear. It was indicated that Mrs. Blackstone left at an early hour.”
“That is correct,” said Mr. Haldridge. He folded his hands behind his back, which made him seem even more like a man preparing for deposition. “I cannot speak to her reasons for going out. My sister is… inconsolable, and I have seen to it that she is not disturbed by the particulars.”
“Did Mrs. Blackstone have a habit of taking walks?” Mr. Darcy pressed.
Mr. Haldridge cleared his throat. “From what I understand, it was her custom to go out early in the morning, though I had not known of it before yesterday’s events.
Until then, I would have assumed she was a woman who preferred her books and letters.
During the normal course of a day, if she left the house, it was only to accompany my sister to the village or to Church. ”
Elizabeth watched his eyes as he spoke. They did not dart, did not shrink from the question, but neither did they linger. Each answer was presented cleanly and with a careful absence of excess.
“May I ask,” said Mr. Darcy, “whether there was anyone in the house who might have wished Mrs. Blackstone harm?”
Mr. Haldridge answered, “We at The Grange are not in the habit of cultivating grudges that end in tragedy. Mrs. Blackstone was a paid companion. She kept to her place, as did we all. Any enemies she may have had were not to be found under my roof.”
Elizabeth found herself both convinced and unconvinced by the answer. She could not help thinking that it was a conclusion arrived at before the facts.
“She did receive a note, did she not?” Elizabeth asked, softening her tone so as not to seem adversarial.
Mr. Haldridge turned to her, and his mask slipped a fraction. “You have been speaking to my staff.”
The question was not a challenge, only a statement of fact.
“I have,” she said. “I hope you do not object.”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Haldridge, and for a moment, the lines around his eyes deepened with something like actual humor. “I did not know about the note until Mrs. Bayes mentioned it. I have not seen it, and, as far as I know, it was not left among her effects.”
“Nor did she mention to your sister where she was going?” Elizabeth pressed.
“Not of which I am aware, but it was very early in the morning. If she informed anyone of her destination, it has not been communicated to me. As I said, Mrs. Blackstone was a woman of few confidences.” He considered, then added, “I arose late yesterday; my sister was indisposed, and the staff was busy with their work. The post does not arrive until about ten o’clock.
There is, so far as I can tell, no one in my household who would have lured her outside. ”
He said this last with an air of finality, as if to signal that the subject was closed.
But Mr. Darcy, whose sense for unfinished business was as keen as Elizabeth’s, asked, “Did Mrs. Blackstone have any attachments? Any close acquaintances who might have cause to see her privately?”
Elizabeth watched Mr. Haldridge as he shifted his weight from heel to heel. He seemed suddenly restless.
Mr. Haldridge shook his head. “She was a widow, and—if I may speak plainly—not a woman likely to inspire pursuit. I do not mean that unkindly, but I got the impression that she had long ago reconciled herself to her situation.”
His gaze now veered from face to face, as if he were monitoring their reactions to his answer.
“She was seen walking along the east boundary of your property, toward Rosings Park,” Mr. Darcy said.
“As the gardener told me.” Mr. Haldridge shrugged. “I find it odd, but not inexplicable. The boundary is less than a quarter mile from our door. If she wished privacy, that is as good a place as any.”
“May I ask,” Elizabeth said, “whether there is anyone in the village, or amongst your acquaintance, who might have called on Mrs. Blackstone? I do not mean a social caller, but someone from her past. Someone who may have wished to meet her unobserved.”
Mr. Haldridge hesitated. For the first time, he seemed to consider the possibility seriously.
“There is only one person who comes to mind,” he said at last. “A distant cousin, Mr. Lorrimer, who wrote to her the last time she was here in Kent. He wished to borrow money, as I recall, and was refused. I doubt he is in the country just now, but I cannot say with certainty. Mrs. Blackstone had not spoken of him since last year, when she mention his pestering her.”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Mr. Darcy, who registered the new information with a single blink.
“Would you permit us to look among her things?” Elizabeth asked.
A faint line appeared between Haldridge’s brows. “If it would serve to end the matter, yes. You may search her room. But I doubt you will find anything. The coroner already sent a man, who left without result. Wait here. I will have a footman escort you up soon.”
Mr. Darcy bowed, ever the diplomat. “We thank you for your time, sir.”
Mr. Haldridge nodded. “If there is anything further, you may leave a note for me. I will do my best to assist. But I ask that you not trouble my sister again unless it is necessary. She is… not herself.” He paused. “It is why I wished to meet with you out here.”
He glanced at Elizabeth, as if hoping for understanding on this point.
She nodded, acknowledging both the request and its reason.
There was a peculiar tenderness in the way he spoke of Miss Clara Haldridge, a care that seemed at odds with his otherwise guarded manner.
With the formalities complete, Mr. Haldridge excused himself, withdrawing into the house by way of the same doors through which he had joined them.
The terrace, emptied of its principal, seemed instantly colder.
Mr. Darcy let out a slow breath, then turned to Elizabeth with a look of appraisal.
“Well?” he said.
“He is hiding something,” Elizabeth said, without hesitation.
Mr. Darcy allowed a small, approving smile. “I agree. The question is whether it is a secret worth killing for, or merely the ordinary sort of family embarrassment.”
“I do not think he is the type to kill for embarrassment,” Elizabeth said. “But he is certainly the type to conceal it to avoid a scandal.”
“Who among us would not?” Charlotte said. “It is my opinion that he is afraid for his sister. It was in every word he uttered. Whatever troubles them, it is not Mrs. Blackstone’s death, but what may come after.”
Elizabeth nodded, seeing it now as clearly as if it had been said aloud.
“You believe he wishes to protect her and believes she is not strong enough to withstand a scandal. Or an inquest.” She looked again towards the door Mr. Haldridge passed through.
“I am inclined to agree, but I am also not certain it was only that.”