Page 31 of A Matter of Murder

“Aye. She lived in a cottage not very far from the house withher husband. She was the only one spared, because she didn’t spend her nights under a cursed roof.”

Darcy knew Lizzie well enough to know she wouldn’t accept this faulty logic, but she didn’t argue. “Well... how fortunate for her?”

“It was the old vicar who put it together,” Miss Jeffries said. “On account of him having to preside over so many funerals. He said the common thread between them all was that they laid their heads down under that roof after Geoffrey died, and it was all on account of Honoria. Her presence—or her silver—cursed the house.”

Charlotte’s lips pursed in disapproval, and Lizzie’s expression clouded over. “And why was he so quick to blame her? Why not Geoffrey or Francis for leaving? Or why not blame their parents for neglecting the estate to begin with?”

“Because it’s easier to blame the outsider,” Charlotte said before Miss Jeffries could reply. “Isn’t it?”

Miss Jeffries had the decency to look chastised. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No, but the entire village has, haven’t they?” Lizzie asked. “They all blame Honoria for the curse?”

Miss Jeffries neither confirmed nor denied it, but Darcy suspected he knew the answer. Of course they’d blame the recluse, the woman who’d come from away with her wealth, and then denied sharing it with her husband.

“What about Francis?” Lizzie asked. “Did he not return when his brother died?”

“Bingley’s grandfather died at sea,” Darcy said, able to fill in this bit of the story. “He left behind his pregnant wife at a port town, and his grandmother brought up his father with help from her family, and then Bingley’s father founded Netherfield Shipping before he died.”

Miss Jeffries nodded. “Aye, Francis had passed by that point, and Honoria inherited it all. Everyone wondered whether she’d remarry, but after the smallpox outbreak, she rarely left the estate. No one wanted to work there. Honoria rarely had visitors, and if she did, they all left before sundown.”

“What a lonely life,” Charlotte said, profound sadness in her voice.

“She was a nice lady,” Miss Jeffries added. “She sent Sally down to buy books and sheet music, and Sally would say that Mrs. Bingley always sent her regards.”

“Sally,” Lizzie repeated. “Of course—but she’s far too young to be the housekeeper. Her grandmother?”

Miss Jeffries nodded. “That position has been passed down in her family, and she’s the third generation to work at Netherfield.”

“That is a very tragic story,” Darcy said. “And I can see why rumors of a curse have grown. However—”

“However,” Lizzie interrupted, “a curse is not proof of anything. And we still don’t know who the dead man might be.”

“And that’s why you want the registers?” Miss Jeffries asked.

“It’s a lead,” Darcy said.

“It’s likely too late anyway,” she said in a dark tone.

Despite his pragmatism, a shiver ran down his spine. “Because you believe that we’ll all perish in the near future?”

“No, because I heard what Mrs. Jones was saying about the body when Mr. Oliver brought it to her husband—the man was unrecognizable.”

Oh. Darcy felt a flash of embarrassment for getting caught up in talk of curses.

“However,” Miss Jeffries continued, “it may just be a story to you, but we’ve seen what happens, haven’t we? My gran warned me to never stay in the manor after dark, and I’m not about to disobey her now, God rest her soul.”

“Those deaths sounded awful,” Lizzie said, sounding sympathetic. “But they happened nearly fifty years ago. No one has died recently.”

“Well, I suppose that for the last fifty years no one has visited Netherfield Park to put the theory to the test.” Miss Jeffries looked at the three of them, and added, “Until now.”

Nine

In Which Lizzie and Charlotte Find Themselves in a Precarious Position

When Lizzie, Darcy, and Charlotte returned to Netherfield Park, they found the family parlor in chaos.

The party was not quite ready to set foot in the drawing room once more, despite its thorough cleaning. Jane and Mrs. Bennet were arguing about menus, and Caroline sat close to them in an overstuffed chair, looking put out as she made the occasional interjection. Lydia and Kitty were shouting about dresses and decorations with Guy in between them, and Mary was hiding in the corner, book in hand. Bingley stood in the middle of the room, trying to intercede between Caroline and his wife.