Page 53 of A Matter of Murder
“Someone from the village who wanted the Netherfield treasure?” Lizzie asked.
“Or any of the many other valuables in the estate. Think about it—even if there wasn’t a pile of silver somewhere in the house, those walls still hold a great number of easily pawnable objects.”
Charlotte wasn’t wrong—crystalware, the tea sets, the art, the many figurines and collectibles. Where had they all been while Honoria Bingley lived out the last fifty years—tucked away, or in plain sight, under a layer of dust?
“But the fact that he was discovered with a silver coin in his pocket suggests that he did discoversomesilver,” Lizzie said slowly. “Unless it was planted.”
“And why would it have been planted?”
“Any number of reasons. Someone wanted to frame him. Or perhaps make it only appear as though he were a burglar.” Lizzie sighed. “Oh, it’s useless speculating. The Burtons claim to know nothing, and Mr. Oliver says no one he can think of has gone missing. Yet they antagonize each other in broad daylight.”
Beyond them, Bingley let out an enormous whoop of victory as he knocked Darcy’s ball farther away from the wicket, and his own landed quite near. Darcy grimaced, and Caroline rolled her eyes at the display, but Bingley’s good cheer was infectious. He turned to them and shouted, “Ladies, you’re up next!”
Lizzie found her ball and measured the distance between where it lay nestled in the grass and the next wicket. She took a swing, sending her ball (and a clod of grass) flying. It landed nowhere near her target.
She shrugged and turned to Charlotte. “I hope you have better luck than I did.”
Charlotte sent her ball toward the wicket with an easy swing, and she allowed herself a small smile in triumph when it landed closer than Lizzie’s. “The question I find most intriguing is, what does Sally Burton know?”
“There’s something about her,” Lizzie said as they ambled toward their balls. “She’s so cool and collected every time we speak. Not at all what I’d expect from a housemaid who has just discovered the remains of a man in the house she practically grew up in. That would rattle most people.”
“Do we think she was involved or just knows something?”
Lizzie shook her head. “I would be shocked if she were involved. I think she’s too young. But then again, I suppose anything is possible. No, it seems more likely that her grandparents know what happened, and she knows what they know, and she’s keeping the family secret. To what end, though?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” Charlotte muttered.
“Which implies she’s protecting someone, or something.”
“Her grandparents?”
Lizzie thought about the elderly couple she’d met that morning—it hardly seemed possible that either of them could be capable of causing a death, but they hadn’t always been elderly. And they likely knew more about Honoria Bingley’s secrets than anyone else. What if they were paid to keep quiet about... well, whatever they knew?
But if they did have any amount of the Netherfield treasure, why was Sally working as a housemaid still?
“Ladies!” Bingley called out, sounding winded. “Your turn again!”
“I don’t think they’re paying attention, Charles,” Caroline said.
“Come on, Lizzie,” Lydia whined.
“All right, all right,” she said. “Where’s my ball?”
“Isn’t it back there?” Caroline asked.
Lizzie turned and looked about in the grass for the wooden ball but didn’t immediately see it. She looked back in the direction of her last swing. She had hit the ball this way, and it had landed... where, exactly? She was loath to admit it, but Caroline was right—she hadn’t been paying very good attention. “I seem to have misplaced it!” she called to the rest of them, eliciting a round of groans.
Fortunately, Lizzie was saved from having to continue her losing streak by Guy yipping in excitement. When she turned toward the house, she saw Mr. Grigson leading two newcomers toward them across the lawn. The game was quickly abandoned as Bingley and Jane strode forward to offer greetings, and Lizzie saw with some surprise that one of their guests was none other than Miss Jeffries, who was accompanied by a young gentleman in all black, wearing a vicar’s collar—so this must be the young new vicar.
“Thomas!” Bingley called out in his overly familiar way, confirming Lizzie’s hunch about the man’s identity. “And Miss Jeffries. What a lovely surprise.”
“I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced,” said Miss Jeffries,although as her eyes took in the scene before them, she didn’t appear to be the least bit sorry.
“Nonsense, you’re very welcome,” Jane said, brushing frantically at her flyaway hairs. “Please excuse our casual appearance—you’ve caught us in the middle of a game.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bingley,” Mr. Thomas said, giving her a slight bow. “I was walking home on my rounds, and I encountered Miss Jeffries on her way to Netherfield, so I offered to accompany her.”
Darcy joined them, wiping at the light sheen of sweat on his brow, and Bingley and Jane made official introductions. Lizzie studied Miss Jeffries as they went through the social niceties. She looked much the same as she had earlier that morning in the graveyard, only now she was smiling, and instead of a basket on her arm, she held a satchel.