Chapter 13 #2
Lady Catherine set her cane sharply to the carpet, the sound a thunderclap.
“So, it is as I suspected. You wish to set aside the judgment of your own family for that of a woman who is, by every reasonable measure, your inferior in rank and connection. I had thought better of you, Darcy. I had hoped you would not lower yourself by so obvious a display of favoritism.”
Heat rose to Elizabeth’s cheeks, though she forced herself to remain still. She was not certain whether the greater shock was Lady Catherine’s words, the unconcealed support from Mr. Darcy, or the knowledge that she was being defended not just as a mind, but as a person.
Lady Catherine, satisfied that the silence had done its work, turned back to Mr. Haldridge. “You received a visit from Mrs. Blackstone’s cousin in the months before her death.”
Mr. Haldridge replied, “I did. He was not a welcome guest.”
That was new.
“You provided him with money,” Lady Catherine stated.
“No, madam, I did not. He asked, but I refused. He wrote to Mrs. Blackstone directly after that, but, as far as I know, she confided in no one but her friend Mrs. Lingard, as her correspondence will show.”
Lady Catherine leaned forward. “You hired Mrs. Blackstone. You controlled her means, movements, and future. If she had reason to fear for her position, it would have been because of you.”
Mr. Haldridge’s smile was not kind. “If I had wished her gone, I would have dismissed her. I am not in the habit of complicating my life with murder, Lady Catherine.”
It was a solid blow, but Lady Catherine did not yield. “Then how do you explain the note?”
Elizabeth could not understand why Lady Catherine would think Mr. Haldridge had anything to do with a note that Mrs. Blackstone’s cousin signed.
She said, “If I may, Lady Catherine.”
Lady Catherine nodded the barest allowance.
“I do not believe Mr. Lorrimer actually wrote the note. It was written by someone familiar with Mrs. Blackstone, someone who knew her routines and her vulnerabilities. And the paper…” here she let her eyes travel to the stack of blue note stock on the writing desk at the far side of the room, “…it is my understanding that it was purchased for exclusive use at Rosings. I checked the watermark myself.”
A murmur, this time from the colonel, who seemed genuinely impressed. “A local hand, then. Or at least one with access to this house.”
Elizabeth pressed on. “Mrs. Blackstone’s only reason to fear was for her employment and her good name.
If the cousin had been present, he would have been seen by half the village.
No one reported a stranger. The only person who had reason to summon her privately, who knew the layout of the maze and the schedule of the house, was someone already established in the vicinity. ”
Lady Catherine scoffed, but the edges of her composure had frayed. “You propose, then, that a member of my household—my own staff—would be capable of murder?”
“It is my belief that the person responsible is someone accustomed to being overlooked. Someone who has the opportunity to observe, to plan, and to execute such a scheme with the least suspicion. In this house, that could be anyone employed here, or even a guest.” Elizabeth let her eyes slide, just for a second, to Mrs. Jenkinson, whose face betrayed nothing.
A sharp intake of breath from Miss de Bourgh, who looked to her mother in panic.
Mr. Collins, unable to restrain himself, said, “Surely you do not suggest Mrs. Jenkinson?”
Elizabeth did not answer directly. “I suggest that every fact must be weighed, and that the case against Mr. Haldridge is not as complete as Lady Catherine has painted it to be.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Yet you have no alternative suspect. Until you do, you are wasting my time.”
Mr. Darcy said, “It is not a waste to prevent a miscarriage of justice.”
Lady Catherine’s gaze darted from him to Elizabeth and back again. Her tone was lower now and charged with something colder than rage. “You are defending Miss Bennet with more vigor than the occasion requires. Some might say it is unbecoming.”
A silence, then. Heavy and absolute.
Elizabeth met her gaze and did not look away. “I have no wish to upset the harmony of your household, Lady Catherine. But I do believe in the necessity of truth, however inconvenient that might be.”
Lady Catherine exhaled through her nose. “Very well. If you are so determined, let us have the matter out in the open.”
She turned to Charlotte. “Mrs. Collins. You are an intelligent woman, if not always the best judge of your own interests. Tell us, plainly, do you believe Mr. Haldridge capable of such a crime?”
Charlotte’s fingers had gripped the settee until her knuckles were white as she answered in a voice so calm it startled even Elizabeth. “I do not believe so. He had no reason to wish Mrs. Blackstone ill. And of course, he had every reason to keep the peace in his own household.”
Lady Catherine bristled. “And you, Mr. Collins?”
Mr. Collins blanched. “I—I believe, your ladyship, that the judgment of the coroner should prevail.”
Lady Catherine made a sound of disgust. “Useless, both of you.”
She turned to Mr. Darcy. “If you will not stand by your own kin, then I see there is little point in continuing.”
But Mr. Darcy did not yield. “I stand by the evidence, madam, and by those who dare to pursue it.”
Another silence. The air was so thick with lilies and perfume and so hot that Elizabeth could feel a bead of sweat trickle from her temple to her jaw.
Even Miss de Bourgh, usually so impassive, looked near to swooning; Mrs. Jenkinson’s only concession was a delicate dab of handkerchief to her brow, but Elizabeth saw the tension in her jaw.
Lady Catherine, realizing that her usual weapons were blunted, shifted tactics. “Miss Bennet, you are unmarried, are you not?”
The question was so abrupt and so wildly irrelevant that, for a moment, Elizabeth stared. “I am.”
“And you are, by all accounts, a woman of some intelligence, but little means. If I may be frank, I happen to know that you have already rejected a proposal that would have secured your family’s future, out of pride or, some might say, vanity.”
Elizabeth felt as though a bolt of cold water had been dashed across her face. She looked to Charlotte, whose lips had parted in astonishment. Though she refused to look at Mr. Darcy, from the corner of her eye, she could see his face was completely unreadable.
Of course, he would assume his aunt was speaking of him, when Elizabeth knew for a fact that Lady Catherine was referring to her refusal of Mr. Collins’s proposal before he offered for Charlotte.
Oh, what a mess.
Lady Catherine continued, “Perhaps your interest in this matter is not solely intellectual. Perhaps you see in Mr. Haldridge an opportunity for yourself now that you have declined a more suitable offer. It is my opinion that you think to clear him to place yourself in his good graces, or even in his household.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth but found nothing to say.
Lady Catherine smiled—a slow, malicious grin. “Let me assure you, Miss Bennet. Mr. Haldridge is far too prudent to ally himself with a woman so determined to overstep her rank. He is a gentleman, but not a fool.”
Elizabeth flushed but would not look away. “I seek only the truth, Lady Catherine. It is all I have ever wanted.”
Lady Catherine’s gaze turned to Mr. Darcy, whose jaw was now visibly clenched. “And you, nephew? Do you still think it wise to champion a woman who would so clearly abuse your loyalty with such a scheme?”
Mr. Darcy answered, “I do support her, aunt. Furthermore, I must say I am absolutely convinced that Miss Elizabeth is incapable of the mercenary behavior of which you accuse her.”
Lady Catherine recoiled as if struck.
The rest of the room seemed to blur. Elizabeth saw, as if at a distance, the colonel’s sharp, speculative glance; Charlotte’s suppressed smile; the horror on Mr. Collins’s face; the stunned pleasure in Mr. Haldridge’s eyes; and the faint smirk on Mrs. Jenkinson’s lips.
The pressure in the room mounted until Elizabeth thought she might scream.
Instead, she stood. Although the movement was not dramatic, in the context of the room, it was revolutionary.
“Lady Catherine,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even, “if you would like to see Mrs. Blackstone’s death truly resolved, then I suggest we wait. Mr. Darcy has sent evidence to Bow Street. Experts will examine it. Until their report arrives, any further accusation is premature.”
Lady Catherine, caught between fury and disbelief, said nothing.
Elizabeth nodded once, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind her with a deliberate, absolute quiet.
The air outside was colder than she remembered, and cleaner. She leaned against the banister in the empty corridor, letting her body cool and her mind reassemble itself.
She heard voices—raised, receding—on the other side of the door, but she did not return.
She would wait, now, for the letter from Bow Street.
And, perhaps, for Mr. Darcy.