Page 25 of A Matter of Murder

“All the caretakers over the years are accounted for,” added the woman in pink. “And the previous Mrs. Bingley didn’t accept visitors.”

“It’s a waste if you ask me,” said strawberry curls. “My gran used to tell me stories about all the parties at Netherfield when she was a girl—the ballroom was the most beautiful room she’d ever seen.”

“How’d he die?” asked the teenage girl, drawing gasps from those around her.

“Gwen!” her mother scolded, but Lizzie noted that none of the other ladies looked away. They stared at Lizzie expectantly.

“That’s the mystery,” Lizzie said, shaking her head sadly. “We have no way of telling whether it was a tragic accident or—”

“Nonsense!” said a woman by the button displays. She juttedher chin out defiantly. “My John heard it from Mr. Jones that the man’s skull was cracked—his death was no accident!”

The solicitor in Lizzie wanted to point out that a cracked skull did not preclude an accident, but she knew that semantics would only be wasted on this audience. “Accidental or not, it is tragic. If only we knew the circumstances...”

“This is proof,” the defiant woman said. “Proof that Netherfield Park is cursed, just as we all thought!”

There it was. Lizzie tried not to smile in victory.

“There’s no such thing as curses and you know it, Julia Watkins,” the woman in pink said primly.

“Then what do you call the streak of misfortune that befalls everyone who spends one night under that roof?” Mrs. Watkins asked.

“We don’t have to listen to this nonsense,” said the mother of the teenage girl, but her daughter was listening with rapt attention, and she herself made no move to leave.

“Misfortune?” said the lady in pink. “The previous Mrs. Bingley was an eccentric, but any rumors of a curse—”

“Her husband was thrown from his horse!”

“A tragedy—”

“And then all her servants took ill!”

“Coincidence—”

“And she let no one into the manor for decades, just her caretakers!” Mrs. Watkins was getting worked up, and now she turned to Jane. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bingley, but you see—that manor has history. And all these years no one knew whatyour husband’s great-aunt was up to, despite many offers of help and company, and now to hear there was a body hidden in the walls...”

“I—” Jane looked uncertain, and cast a desperate glance at Lizzie.

“Scandalous,” whispered strawberry curls.

Jane seemed to crumple. Before she could respond, the bell tinkled once more, and everyone turned to see a formidable woman enter the shop. She was not tall, but she held her head high and her silk dress was very fine—as fine as anything Lizzie would see at a tea party in London. Immediately, she noticed how every other lady in the shop seemed to bow their head slightly toward her... even Jane.

“Good day,” the newcomer said frostily, gaze landing upon Lizzie and Charlotte with sharp curiosity. Lizzie stared back. This woman reminded her uncomfortably of Lady Catherine—self-assured of her own importance and power, expecting everyone else to acknowledge it. But Lizzie refused to pay deference.

“Good day, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Jane said finally, stepping forward. “How lovely to see you again. May I introduce my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

Mrs. Fitzgerald’s gaze swept from Lizzie to Jane, her stony expression unmoving. After a very long pause, she stepped neatly around Lizzie and Jane, brushing right past Charlotte, and went to the counter as if she hadn’t heard Jane’s greeting. “Miss Brewster, I’ve come for the brocade I ordered.”

“Of course, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” said the sister behind the counter, hurrying to retrieve the order.

Jane stood frozen in the center of the shop, her pale face drawn. Lizzie had never seen anyone cut Jane. Jane! Her sister, who was the sweetest, most sensitive—

Jane turned on her heel and nearly ran out the door.

By the time Lizzie and Charlotte caught up with her, she was five storefronts away, wiping furiously at her eyes. “Jane!” Lizzie called. “Wait for us!”

Jane whirled around to face her. “Why did you bring it up? I told you not to!”

Lizzie stopped, shocked. “Jane. Everyone knew. It was obvious. Not saying anything—”