Page 61 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Elizabeth watched this display with growing unease.

Mrs. Jenkinson’s behaviour oscillated between seeming devotion to her late patroness and an almost celebratory acknowledgment of the change her death would bring.

It was deeply unsettling, particularly in light of the deliberate poisoning that had occurred.

“She would never have permitted it, you know,” Mrs. Jenkinson said suddenly, focusing on Mr. Hislop with unexpected intensity. “Your interest in Miss Anne. Lady Catherine had other plans. Always other plans.”

Mr. Hislop’s expression remained steady. “My concern at present is solely for Miss de Bourgh’s comfort in this difficult time,” he replied with quiet dignity.

“Is it?” Mrs. Jenkinson smiled strangely. “How convenient, then, that the obstacle to any deeper interest has been so suddenly removed.”

A shocked silence fell over the room. Elizabeth felt her breath catch at the impropriety, the near accusation in the companion’s words. Before she could respond, Anne’s voice, faint but surprisingly steady, broke the silence.

“That is enough, Mrs. Jenkinson.” Anne struggled to sit upright, Georgiana helping her. “My mother is barely cold, and you speak of... of advantages from her death. It is unconscionable.”

Mrs. Jenkinson’s face fell, her momentary animation giving way to apparent remorse. “Forgive me, Miss Anne. The shock has unsettled my mind. I spoke without thinking.”

“You will retire to your room,” Anne continued, her voice gaining strength with each word. “Now.”

The companion hesitated, then curtseyed stiffly. “As you wish. Though I hardly think it proper for Mr. Hislop to remain while I am dismissed.”

“Mr. Hislop has shown nothing but appropriate concern,” Anne replied, a faint flush of colour returning to her cheeks. “I find his presence comforting.”

Elizabeth stepped forward. “I shall summon a maid to accompany you, Mrs. Jenkinson.”

As arrangements were made for the companion’s withdrawal, Elizabeth noted how Anne’s gaze lingered on Mr. Hislop, a complex mixture of gratitude and something deeper evident in her expression.

For his part, the young man maintained a respectful distance while clearly remaining devoted to her wellbeing.

Once Mrs. Jenkinson had departed, Anne seemed to deflate slightly, as though maintaining her composure had required tremendous effort. “I cannot believe it,” she whispered. “Mother, gone. So suddenly. So horribly.”

“It is beyond comprehension,” Elizabeth agreed gently, taking a seat beside her. “Are you able to speak of how you feel?”

Anne’s hands resumed their restless twisting of her handkerchief. “I hardly know myself. Grief, certainly. Shock. But also...” She faltered, guilt shadowing her features. “Also a terrible sense of... possibility. Is that monstrous of me?”

“It is natural,” Elizabeth assured her, covering Anne’s cold hands with her own. “Your relationship with your mother was complex. Such feelings do not diminish your grief or make you unfeeling.”

“Mr. Hislop said something similar when I first regained consciousness,” Anne admitted, glancing toward the window where he had respectfully retreated to give them some privacy. “He has been... remarkably understanding.”

The door opened to admit not a maid but Mr. Hargreaves, accompanied by Darcy. The magistrate’s expression was grave but not unkind as he surveyed the room.

“Miss de Bourgh,” he said with a small bow, “I regret the necessity of disturbing you at such a time, but I must ask you a few questions.”

Anne straightened, composing herself with visible effort. “Of course. I understand the importance of your investigation.”

“Perhaps the others might step outside momentarily?” the magistrate suggested, glancing at Kitty and Georgiana.

“I should prefer my cousins to remain,” Anne replied with unexpected firmness. “And Mr. Hislop as well, if you have no objection.”

Mr. Hargreaves raised an eyebrow but nodded. “As you wish. First, I must ask: to your knowledge, did your mother have any enemies who might wish her harm?”

The questioning continued for nearly an hour, the magistrate’s inquiries gradually shifting from Lady Catherine’s potential enemies to Anne’s own movements during the evening, her relationship with her mother, and even pointed questions about her inheritance.

Elizabeth observed how Mr. Hislop tensed visibly when the magistrate’s questions verged on implying Anne might have had motivation to seek her mother’s death, though Anne herself answered with remarkable composure.

“One final question, Miss de Bourgh,” Mr. Hargreaves said, consulting his notebook. “Your companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, was assisting with the tea service. Did you observe her handling your mother’s cup specifically?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Anne’s face. “I was not attending closely,” she admitted. “Mrs. Jenkinson always tended to Mother’s comforts. It would have been natural for her to ensure Mother’s tea was served precisely as she preferred it.”

The magistrate made a final notation, then closed his book. “Thank you for your cooperation. I shall not trouble you further tonight, though I may have additional questions tomorrow.”

As the hour grew late, the investigators finally prepared to depart, allowing the remaining guests to leave and the household to seek what rest they could after such a traumatic evening.

Mr. Hislop, who had remained a steadfast presence throughout the questioning, finally made his reluctant farewell.

“I shall call tomorrow to inquire after your wellbeing,” he told Anne, his voice low but carrying clearly to Elizabeth’s ears. “Please send word if you require anything at all, at any hour.”

Anne nodded, the faintest ghost of a smile touching her lips. “Your kindness has been... exceptional, Mr. Hislop. I shall not forget it.”

As Elizabeth watched him depart, she reflected on how tragedy sometimes revealed the true nature of those around them.

In Mrs. Jenkinson’s case, it had exposed unsettling contradictions and barely concealed resentments.

But in Mr. Hislop, it had revealed a steadfast character far deeper than his enthusiastic talk of horses had previously suggested.

The contrast was striking and, in the context of a murder investigation, potentially significant.

Elizabeth stood at the window of her private sitting room, watching as a constable methodically examined the garden beds below, presumably searching for signs of discarded poison.

The morning sun cast cheerful light across the scene, at odds with the grim purpose of the man’s careful inspection.

Inside, the house hummed with unusual activity as investigators moved from room to room, opening cabinets, examining drawers, questioning servants.

Darcy House, once her sanctuary, had been transformed overnight into something resembling both a crime scene and a fortress under siege, with strangers scrutinising every corner while the family moved like ghosts through their own home.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, turning from the window as Darcy entered, his face drawn with fatigue.

He had been up most of the night, first with the magistrate and then making arrangements for Lady Catherine’s body to be prepared for transport to Rosings.

“They are searching the kitchens now,” he informed her, crossing to her side. “Harrison is supervising to ensure nothing is disturbed unnecessarily, but Cook is distressed at the implication that poison might have originated in her domain.”

“Poor woman,” Elizabeth murmured. “She has served your family faithfully for years. It must be terribly wounding to have her territory invaded in such a manner.”

Darcy gazed out at the garden where the constable continued his search. “The household feels the insult, though they understand the necessity.”

Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. “How is Anne this morning?”

“Composed, surprisingly so. She is with Georgiana in the library. Mrs. Jenkinson attempted to attend her, but Anne requested she remain in her room until required.” A faint frown crossed his features.

“Something appears to have altered in their relationship. Anne mentioned that Mrs. Jenkinson made some inappropriate remarks last night.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, remembering the companion’s unsettling behaviour. “She seemed almost... celebratory about Lady Catherine’s death, speaking of Anne’s newfound freedom in a manner that disturbed us all.”

Darcy’s frown deepened. “Curious. She has always been so devoted to my aunt’s wishes.”

“Perhaps too devoted,” Elizabeth suggested thoughtfully. “There was something feverish in her manner, as though years of repressed thoughts were suddenly bursting forth.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Harrison entered, his usual impeccable demeanour slightly strained. “Mr. Hargreaves requests your presence in the medicine room, sir, madam. They have completed their examination there.”

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Darcy before following the butler.

The medicine room was a small chamber adjacent to the housekeeper’s sitting room where remedies for common ailments were stored.

As they entered, they found Mr. Hargreaves and a constable carefully examining the contents of a cabinet.

“Ah, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” the magistrate greeted them, setting down a small blue bottle. “Thank you for accommodating our thorough search. I realise it is an intrusion upon your privacy.”

“We wish only for the culprit to be found,” Elizabeth replied. “Whatever access you require is freely given.”

The magistrate nodded, gesturing to the neatly arranged shelves. “A well-maintained collection of household remedies. Mrs. Wilson appears most organised.”

“She is,” Elizabeth agreed. “Everything is clearly labelled and strictly accounted for.”