Page 84 of A Matter of Murder

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Go to the address on the card. Ask for Mr. Edwards. Tell him I sent you. If you leave Meryton and promise never to come back, I’ll pay for you to start a new life somewhere else.”

“Why would you do that?”

Darcy ignored the question. “Nothing extravagant, mind you. But a fresh start somewhere where no one knows your name—or your father’s. You’ll be required to sign an agreement saying you won’t ask for more money, and you’ll never come back to Meryton or have contact with Sally and her family ever again, do you understand?”

Mr. Oliver simply pocketed the card and walked away.

“The offer is only good for a week!” Darcy called out. The other man ignored him, and Darcy sighed, already mentally composing the letter he’d have to send Edwards back in the London office. He wasn’t sure Mr. Oliver would take him up on it, but he supposed after everything that had been revealed today, Sally and her grandparents deserved to live in the village without worrying about him wanting retribution.

With a nod to the justice of the peace, Darcy went outside and looked about for Lizzie. He spotted her standing by the carriage that had brought them to Meryton, speaking in a hushed tone to Sally and her grandparents as she gestured for them to step inside. Sally seemed reluctant at first, but whatever Lizzie had said must have convinced her, for she finally nodded and helped her grandparents into the carriage. Miss Jeffries got in with them as well, and Lizzie instructed the driver to take off.

“It looks like we’re walking back to Netherfield,” Charlotte said.

Darcy turned to find her standing near the door, holding Guy’s leash. Mr. Thomas stood next to her. “That’s all right,” Darcy said. “I think I’ll need a walk after all that excitement.”

“That was rather shocking,” Mr. Thomas confessed. “Of course, I never knew Amy Burton, but I did not expect... well.”

“Nor did I,” Darcy said. “And I doubt that we’d have been able to put any of it together if not for the coin.”

“I feel awful. I didn’t even think of Tom Oliver’s father when you came to the vicarage to ask about missing persons.”

Both Charlotte and Darcy turned to look at Mr. Thomas. “Oh?” Charlotte asked.

“I’d heard rumors that he ran off,” Mr. Thomas said. “But it was so long ago, and I think I’d only heard it once from Miss Brewster and... well, she does like to gossip. But I never questioned it because Dr. Fellowes recorded the event in his register.”

“He did?” Darcy asked. He flicked his gaze to Charlotte, who looked equally surprised. “I don’t recall reading that part.”

“I’m fairly positive he did,” Mr. Thomas said. “I seem to remember an entry about the boy—Tom, of course—being put in care of another parish family on account of his father being unable to care for him and leaving the county.”

“I must have missed that,” Charlotte muttered.

“Oh, well. I suppose we know the truth of it now.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, watching as Lizzie slowly walked toward them. She looked tired, but when she saw the three of them standing together, she offered up a small smile and leaned down to pet Guy.

“I’m having them taken home, and I told the driver to go on to Netherfield. Hello, Mr. Thomas.”

“A job well done, Miss Bennet,” he said. “The both of you, really. With all that sorted, perhaps you’ve now lifted the so-called Netherfield curse.”

Charlotte laughed softly, and even Lizzie smiled. “Perhaps,” she said. “I suppose we shall see how well-attended Jane’s ball is tomorrow night. I hope we’ll see you there?”

Mr. Thomas assured her they would, and the conversationshifted to lighter topics, but Darcy couldn’t smile or participate. It was true, the dead man’s identity had been revealed and a great deal about Netherfield’s past had been explained, but Mr. Thomas’s words grated at him.

The curse allegedly targeted anyone that spent a night beneath Netherfield’s roof, and while Darcy was of the opinion that it was and always had been rumor and exaggeration, likely encouraged by Honoria Bingley to keep prying eyes away from Netherfield, the strange occurrences and accidents of the last week bothered him.

They’d solved the mystery of the dead man in the flue, but their questions were far from answered.

Twenty

In Which Lizzie and Darcy Attend a Ball, with Detrimental Results

“There,” said Agnes, sliding the last pin into Lizzie’s hair. “What do you think, miss?”

“I think you’re a miracle worker,” Lizzie murmured as she peered into the mirror. Her normally plain appearance seemed somehow elegant thanks to the coiffure that Agnes had carefully pinned into place. “You must teach me how to do that.”

“It’s no trouble. The trick is twisting the hair here, and then sliding two pins crossways...”