Page 88 of A Matter of Murder
“The same dance you followed me to?” Caroline asked. “Because you thought that I’d framed my own brother for murdering my sister’s husband?”
“Well, I didn’t know you very well then.”
Caroline did the unthinkable: Shelaughed. “And you know me so much better now?”
“Well enough to say that you’d never hurt your brother,” Lizzie admitted. She paused, and then realized that perhaps half the chilliness between her and Caroline was her fault. After all, she’d never made much of an attempt at smoothing things over with her following that incident. She’d been too consumed with the case and all that she’d learned that night—the night she’d met Lady Catherine for the first time. “I won’t apologize for what I did—I was simply following my instincts and eliminating suspects. But I recognize now that doing so was... well. What I’m trying to say is, if I caused any difficulties in your life because of what I did, I am sorry forthat.”
Caroline raised a single brow. “Are you?”
Goodness, why couldn’t she just accept an apology? Lizzie was tempted to throw up her hands and walk away. But she couldn’t—Jane was married to Bingley now, which meant that Caroline, for better or worse, was Lizzie’s relation, too.
“Yes,” Lizzie said. “Whatever happened to your dance partner, anyway?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Caroline replied tartly.
So much for extending an olive branch.
Lizzie turned back to the dancers. Even with the officers, there were still far more ladies than gentlemen in attendance, and many of them milled about, chattering and watching the dancing. Around the perimeter of the room, servants moved unobtrusively, serving drinks, picking up glasses, and fetching fans. The mood was excited and happy, and Lizzie saw Jane’s smiling face flash by. The ball was a success.
“It’s a nice ball,” Caroline said suddenly. “Jane managed to pull it off.”
Lizzie glanced at Caroline, shocked. “She did, didn’t she?”
“She’s very good at these sorts of things. Planning events, making people feel welcome. I am glad that she married my brother, despite whatever else—”
But Lizzie never got to hear what Caroline was going to say next, because an ominous creaking sound made her look up. Standing as they were in the center of the ballroom, the enormous chandelier was directly overhead. It swayed gently, and she felt something sting her arm. She looked down—candle wax.
She didn’t understand, just then. Not until another creak sounded, so loud that almost everyone could hear it above the music, and a ripple of gasps broke out around the room. And then the candles in the chandelier began to tip and snuff out, their hot wax falling like scalding rain and causing several ladies to shriek in shock and pain. Lizzie heard Caroline shout“Look out!” and felt a hard, sharp shove to her ribs. The push knocked the air out of her lungs and sent her flying across the floor, where she tripped over her own skirts and fell to the ground...
Just as the great chandelier came crashing down on the spot where she had been standing.
Twenty-One
In Which Lizzie and Darcy Come Clean
Screams ripped through the ballroom as Darcy dropped Miss Jeffries’s hand and ran from the dance floor toward where he’d seen Lizzie just moments earlier. People were scattering every which way, and Darcy had to shove his way through, not caring who he bumped into. All he cared about was Lizzie. Lizzie, who’d been standing beneath the chandelier. Lizzie, whom he could no longer see.
“Lizzie!” he shouted. Most of the candles had been extinguished in the fall, leaving the room suddenly much dimmer than it had been only moments earlier. Candle smoke wafted in the air lazily as Darcy searched. “Lizzie!”
“Here,” came her voice, and he spun around to find her on the floor just beyond the chandelier, hem ripped and skirts splattered with candle wax.
He strode over to her and fell to his knees. “Oh, thank God!”
“She pushed me,” Lizzie sputtered. “I bet she’s been wanting to do that for a year at least, but she didn’t have to...”
Lizzie’s voice trailed off as she looked beyond him, and Darcy turned to see what had caused the color to drain from Lizzie’s face. She scrambled to her feet and ran to where the chandelier had fallen. It lay like a felled beast in the middle of the ballroom, and beneath it was a pile of peacock blue...
Caroline.
“Help!” Lizzie yelled. “Someone call for a doctor!”
Caroline was beneath the chandelier. The outer edge of the behemoth had knocked her flat. Blood pooled underneath her, soaking into the brilliant blue of her gown. Lizzie’s hand went to her neck and horror overtook Darcy. He felt as though he were watching the scene from outside his body, as if it were a dream. But then Lizzie turned and said, “I think she’s breathing—Darcy, help me get her out from under this thing!”
He lurched into action, reaching for the frame. He lifted it a few inches, wincing at the musical clink of all the crystals sliding about. It was enough for Lizzie to drag Caroline out from under the weight of the felled chandelier. She ripped at the hem of her already torn dress for a wad of fabric to stop the bleeding—Darcy could see now the terrible gash on the side of Caroline’s head, turning her blond hair dark red. But Lizzie’s bandage wasn’t enough. He dropped the chandelier with a loudthunkand shrugged off his jacket. “Here,” he said, wadding it up and handing it to Lizzie.
“Caroline!”
Darcy looked up to find Bingley running toward them, panicon his face. He dropped to his knees and reached out to his sister. “No, no, no—Caroline, can you hear me?”