Page 13 of A Matter of Murder
She had been too stunned—toohurt—to argue any further. And just like that, she had been overruled.
Now here she was at Netherfield Park, a most intriguing matter before her. And of course they expected her to begin investigating—it was what she did, after all. But if she was going to solve a case, she’d much rather put her efforts to solving something that actually mattered by finding Lady Catherine.
“But if not you... who?” Bingley asked.
Lizzie shrugged. “Perhaps Darcy is willing to look into the matter.”
“Of course,” Darcy said. “But Lizzie...”
She was doing her best not to look at her father, but sheheard him sigh. “Clearly the body is quite old. It hardly seems like a pressing—or dangerous—matter.”
“I beg to differ!” Bingley exclaimed. “There is a dead body in my drawing room! Who is he? How did he get there? If we don’t find answers, this could prove ruinous to our reputations.”
Lizzie felt herself waver then. She hated the idea of Jane’s reputation being sullied by her misfortune of marrying a man who happened to inherit an estate concealing a dead body. But she remained resolute. “I have a backlog of cases back in London that absolutely require my attention, so if anything, I should be seeing to those.” She gave her father a sharp look, and then sat down on a nearby settee, not caring it was covered with dust—her own green skirts were sullied anyway. “I’m sorry, Bingley, but this matter would be better suited for the local constable.”
She ignored the look her father gave her—part exasperation, part disappointment—and settled in to wait. She knew, on some level, that she was being petulant. And if this had been a recent crime, she would have immediately begun asking questions. But she couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit of resentment toward the men in front of her, as much as she might love and care for them.
As the silence stretched on, though, Lizzie stared at the body and the tattered, stained cloth it was wrapped in, mulling over a hundred different possibilities. It was highly suspicious that someone should be placed in a chimney to begin with. It begged the question—why go to the trouble, when there were at least ten other ways to hide a body? No, you only chose the most difficult method if it was your only option. It was clever,but not practical. First of all, the body would have created a most horrendous stench in its early days of death. Second of all, the first time anyone went to use the fireplace, it would have been discovered. It didn’t seem likely the body had been placed there recently, given the fragility of the bones and the soot streaks around the stained shroud. The shroud appeared mostly intact, suggesting that the soot had come from brushing up the inside of the chimney, not from catching fire. The fireplace, therefore, had likely not been used since the body was placed there... which suggested that Great-Aunt Honoria had not used the fireplace in years.
Had she known what it contained? And wouldn’t she have noticed the stench?
Unless... she had been the one to place the body there to begin with.
Lizzie shuddered at the idea of sharing a roof with a decomposing corpse. The questions were like gnats—no matter how hard she tried to bat them away, they kept popping up.
From the hall, they heard the sound of a front door opening and Mr. Grigson’s hushed, urgent tones. Bingley leapt up nervously. “That must be the constable!”
He rushed out of the room, and with a sigh, Mr. Bennet followed, leaving Lizzie and Darcy alone.
Alone, except for the deceased.
Darcy didn’t waste a moment. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?”
“You’re being obstinate for the sake of being obstinate. It’snot in your nature to let matters this serious fall to someone else.” He stepped closer to her, so close that she could reach out and touch him. She might have, had she not been so thoroughly annoyed by the knowing look in his eye.
Instead, she stood, so he wasn’t looking down at her from quite so great a height. Only now that she was able to look him in the eye without craning her neck, she found that they were perilously close. “Perhaps I’m turning over a new leaf,” she said sweetly, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart.
Darcy rolled his eyes, but he said, “I know you, Elizabeth Bennet. If you’re not on this case by the end of the night, then...”
“Then what?” she challenged.
He leaned in, so close she almost thought he would kiss her. “Then I’ll pack up and go back to London first thing in the morning.”
His familiar scent was tantalizing, and she found herself charmed by the mischievous look in his eyes, as if he knew that he’d walked her into a corner. For one breathtaking moment she wanted to forget all the reasons she was mad at him and kiss those smug lips. But then she rallied and took in a deep breath. By the time she let it out, her armor was back up.
“If that’s the case, you might want to pack your bags.”
Four
In Which Darcy Wins the Aforementioned Wager, Much to Lizzie’s Annoyance
Darcy really had thought for a moment that she was going to kiss him.
But then he’d seen a flash of determination in her eyes as she called his bluff, and he knew that he was foolish to think it would be that easy.
Lizzie whirled away from him just as the door opened behind him and Bingley and Mr. Bennet entered, followed by Grigson and a tall, lanky man of about thirty-five, who swaggered after them with distrustful eyes. Darcy hadn’t given much thought to what sort of man the local constable might be, but if he had, he supposed he would have imagined a hard-working farmer type, with an earnest expression and a worried mouth, who would be shocked by the discovery of a body in the finest manor in the county but ultimately defer to the good judgment of the solicitors in attendance.