Page 14 of A Matter of Murder

Darcy had a feeling this constable would not be such a man.

“Darcy, Miss Bennet, this is Mr. Oliver,” Bingley said. “Mr. Oliver, my friend and solicitor Mr. Darcy, and Miss Bennet—”

“Where’s this so-called body?” Mr. Oliver interrupted.

Darcy stood aside and pointed at the shrouded body on the hearth. “Right there.”

Darcy could read the shock in the man’s expression, although he seemed to be working hard to hide it beneath a tremendous scowl. If Darcy had to guess, he’d say Mr. Oliver likely hadn’t fully believed there was a body in the house and had been upset to be called away from his evening. But as he came to a crouch beside the body, it became undeniable.

“Did you touch it?” he finally asked.

“Naturally,” Darcy responded. “I had to, in order to pull it—him—down from the chimney. But no one has moved it since.”

“And why would you pull him out of the chimney?” Mr. Oliver asked.

“It was blocked,” he said. “We were trying to light a fire.”

“And don’t you have servants who will unblock chimneys for you?” he asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“My sister wanted to light a fire, you see,” Bingley explained. “She said she felt a draft, even though none of us could, so we rang for a maid. And the maid was having trouble, and then Darcy stepped in, only he was having trouble, too, so he began to look up the flue, and well... here we are!”

Leave it to Bingley to fill the awkwardness with plenty of details.

“Is that so?” Mr. Oliver asked, looking between the gentlemen and Lizzie as if they were all guilty.

“Perhaps the means of discovery are not nearly as important as what follows?” Mr. Bennet suggested. “Identification and an inquest, perhaps?”

“It’ll be a short inquest,” Mr. Oliver said with a scoff. “Unless this bloke looks familiar to any of you?”

Beside Mr. Bennet, Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“No,” Darcy said, resorting to the clipped tone he used when dealing with an unreasonable opposing counsel. “That’s rather the point—we’ve only just arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley have been in residence for only a month. This fellow has clearly been dead for quite some time.”

“Well, I don’t have the first clue who it could be,” Mr. Oliver said. “This place has been closed up for fifty years, and old Mrs. Bingley, God rest her soul, wasn’t keen on visitors.”

Now it was Darcy who wanted to roll his eyes. “I agree that fifty years is a rather long window of time for something like this to occur, but you’re the local constable—you must know about the history of the village and the estate. Have there been any disappearances over the years?”

Mr. Oliver shook his head. “None that I’m aware of.”

“Any strange rumors, or unknown guests in Netherfield Park that you can think of?” Mr. Bennet prompted.

Mr. Oliver straightened up and shoved his hands into his pockets somewhat defensively. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve been the constable for fifteen years, and my father was constable before me. Don’t you think I’d know?”

Damn. Darcy had been rather hopeful that the local constable would have at least something to go on. “Without an identity, the investigation will be more difficult,” he said with a sigh.

“Perhaps he was a chimney sweep,” Mr. Oliver suggested. “And he got stuck.”

Lizzie actually snorted, and Darcy worked to keep his own expression neutral.

“Doubtful,” Mr. Bennet pronounced. “Even if a chimney sweep had the misfortune of becoming stuck in this flue, he wouldn’t have been left there.”

“And he was wrapped in this,” Darcy said, pointing at the tattered remains of the shroud. “Which implies he was dead before he was placed in the chimney.”

“Placed,” Mr. Oliver echoed. “Placed by whom? The old lady?”