Page 23 of A Matter of Murder
“Just temporarily,” Bingley assured him. “And we’d keep them very safe.”
“And we’d only need the last... oh, eighty years or so? Perhaps one hundred, to be on the safe side?”
Mr. Thomas thought for a moment, and finally nodded his assent. “All right. I suppose the whole purpose of these records is to have them in case... well, not in case there is a murder victimwe need to identify, but in case anyone comes along and wants to know the history of the village. But please be careful with them.”
“Of course,” Darcy said, eagerness thrumming through him. It was not a very exciting lead, but at least he wouldn’t be returning to Lizzie empty-handed. “Thank you. Do you mind if we go now?”
“I make my rounds to the farms north of the village today,” Mr. Thomas said. “And if I don’t leave soon, I’ll never be back before dark. But I’ll write you a note to take Miss Jeffries, saying that I give my permission for you to take the registers.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said, reaching out to shake the vicar’s hand. “Thank you very much!”
Bingley and Mr. Thomas then discussed the final details of the dead man’s burial, setting a date for a service two days from then. Mr. Thomas wrote a quick note on a slip of paper and folded it tightly, writingMiss Clara Jeffrieson the outside before handing it to Darcy, and the two took their leave.
“He’s an agreeable one,” Bingley said. “It’s rather nice having some youthful energy in the parish. And his sermons don’t put me to sleep, either.”
“While I’m happy for you on that count, for once I wish we’d encountered an old, stodgy vicar,” Darcy said, following Bingley to the carriage. “Someone with a long memory for every mundane detail about his parish who could say, ‘Oh, you found a body in your chimney? It must be old Jimmy Hackett—we always wondered what happened to him!’”
Bingley snorted. “And have your mystery solved in a moment? Now where’s the fun in that?”
Seven
In Which Lizzie Extends a Rather Impulsive Invitation
Jane was acting odd.
Normally, Lizzie’s older sister was sweet and easygoing, and she very rarely made demands. Which was why Lizzie was so perplexed when Jane had not only insisted upon accompanying them into the village along with Charlotte but had also proposed a last-minute change of plans. Arguing for propriety was one thing, but trying to direct the course of the investigation...
Something was amiss.
“Jane, is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” she said. “Now, once we are inside, please don’t make any overt mentions of murder, dead bodies, or any other indelicate topics. Do remember to hold your shoulders back and smile.”
She sounded so much like their mother in that moment that Lizzie nearly stumbled. “Might I remind you that we are looking into a suspicious death, and I only agreed to come with yourather than go to the vicar because you said that ladies have the best gossip!”
“Hush!” Jane said, already reaching for the door.
Lizzie had little time to do anything but cast a puzzled look at Charlotte, who appeared as baffled as she, before a bell tinkled overhead, drawing the gaze of every lady within the small shop, including two women behind the counter wearing green aprons.
“Good day!” Jane squeaked.
Lizzie stared at her sister. Jane neversqueaked.
No one spoke immediately—in fact, Lizzie got the sense that there had been conversation just a moment ago, but now it was quickly hushed upon their arrival. The moment stretched out into awkwardness until finally one of the green-aproned ladies said, “Good day, Mrs. Bingley.”
But that was it. No follow-up questions, no offers of help locating buttons or a bolt of silk. Not even a banal comment upon the fine weather they were having! Lizzie eyed the other women of the shop with suspicion and realized they were doing the same.
So the news had spread.
Next to her, Jane shifted uncomfortably, and Lizzie remembered her sister’s orders. Well, if she couldn’t ask questions directly, she could play the part of visiting sister, and perhaps pry information out of the ladies that way.
“What a charming shop!” Lizzie exclaimed. “Jane, you described it so perfectly in your letters, I feel like I’ve been here before.”
The shop was, in fact, nothing special. It contained the requisite ribbons and silks, buttons and needles, and bolts of fabric alongside yarn and other various notions. Compared to the haberdashery that the Bennet ladies frequented in London, this one was rather small. But Lizzie noted the way the two women behind the counter—likely the proprietors—seemed to take her comment with matching smiles. They had the same dark hair streaked with gray, and shrewd eyes, and Lizzie guessed they must be sisters.
“Is there anything I can help you find, miss?” the younger-looking one asked. Her face was framed by curls while her sister favored a more severe style with little embellishments.
“Hair ribbons,” Lizzie said. “Mrs. Bingley told me you had a lovely selection?”