Page 51 of A Matter of Murder
“The most interesting bit of news was the rumored Netherfield treasure.”
Sally let out an abrupt snort of laughter. “Of course.”
“You don’t believe there’s any truth to it?”
Sally shook her head. “It’s all talk. The people of this village cannot fathom why Mrs. Bingley would prefer to be left alone in her house all those years, so they gossip. They assume the only reason a lady like her would hide away is if she had something to hide, like a dragon guarding her hoard.” Sally’s derisive tone communicated clearly how she felt about these rumors.
“But you knew differently?” Lizzie asked.
“Mrs. Bingley was lonely,” Sally said bluntly. “The loneliest person I ever met. She couldn’t let herself live, too grief-strickenby all she’d lost. If she could have gotten on alone, she would have—but she needed my grandparents, and then my mother, and then me.”
Pain flashed across her face, but only for a moment. Lizzie wondered how close Sally had been to Honoria—had she confided in Sally?
“Perhaps she didn’t have a fortune hidden,” Lizzie said, “but surely a man doesn’t end up in the flue of her drawing room fireplace without her knowing.”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about that,” Sally said, but she didn’t sound angry—she soundedbored.
“Not even a theory?” Lizzie asked.
Sally regarded her a long moment, then said, “I think you’re looking in the wrong direction, Miss Bennet. If it were me, I’d be asking different questions.”
“What sorts of questions?”
“If everyone in this village believes there’s a treasure in Netherfield, perhaps it might be best to consider whattheymight do with that information. What sorts of boundaries they might be willing to cross.”
And on that note, Sally sauntered off, leaving Lizzie with quite a bit to think about.
Thirteen
In Which Lizzie Takes a Swing and Misses
The Jeffries Print Shop was locked, with no sign of Miss Jeffries, and so Lizzie and Darcy returned to Netherfield Park, where a new horror awaited them: a garden party.
It was Jane’s idea of a distraction. “The maids need to do a thorough clean, and they can barely manage it with us all coming and going,” she whispered to Lizzie as she attempted to corral everyone outside. “Besides, Lydia and Kitty are growing so restless I fear they may start jumping on the furniture.”
Which was how they found themselves in the back gardens, sitting under the shade of a large tent, enjoying a cold luncheon spread that could have fed a small army. Everyone had been coaxed outside, even Mr. Bennet, who squinted against the sunlight as he read his book. It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon, out of doors, and Guy was happily running through the grass, but Lizzie was just wondering how soon she could sneak off to write to the Dashwoods when Lydia said, “What’s that?”
She turned to see Bingley standing before what looked like a set of lawn games, and groaned softly. Charlotte shot her a pitying look.
“This is a pall-mall set,” Bingley announced, pulling out a series of wooden mallets all painted with different colored stripes. “And today I am going to teach you all how to play.”
“Is it difficult?” Kitty asked.
“I don’t know if I like sports,” Lydia said doubtfully.
“No, it’s not difficult,” Bingley said. “And all of the ton plays this game at their house parties, so it’s a good one to learn.”
That was all the convincing Kitty and Lydia needed, and even Mary set aside her book, intrigued. Bingley looked past them to where Charlotte, Lizzie, and Caroline were sitting in the shade. “Come on, you can’t just sit there!” Bingley called. “Come pick your mallets, ladies.”
Lizzie glanced at her parents. Her father was reading, and her mother was dozing off in her chair. “I think I am all right, thank you.”
“Are you afraid to lose?” Darcy asked, arching a brow. He ambled over to Bingley, who handed him a green-painted mallet.
“It doesn’t look very difficult,” Lizzie pointed out.
“Then why don’t you come show us how it’s done?” Darcy loosened his cravat and took a few practice swings.
Nearby, Caroline let out a small scoff from under her bountifully decorated bonnet. “Unseemly,” she muttered.