Page 68 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Mrs. Jenkinson’s breathing had grown increasingly laboured, the rattling sound of it filling the small room as Elizabeth carefully searched through the companion’s personal effects.

She found it tucked inside a small drawstring bag, a silver vial nearly identical to the one that now contained only traces of poison.

The twin containers would have been indistinguishable to casual observation, allowing Mrs. Jenkinson to switch between them as circumstances required.

“Two vials, precisely as you theorized,” Elizabeth confirmed, holding up the second container with its legitimate contents. “She must have kept them marked in some fashion only she would recognise.”

Darcy nodded grimly. “A small difference in the stopper, perhaps, or a minute variation in the design that only she would know to look for.”

Elizabeth turned back to Mrs. Jenkinson, who lay now in the stillness that preceded death, her eyes still open but unfocused. Despite everything the woman had done, Elizabeth could not help but feel a complex mixture of horror and pity at this inglorious end to a life defined by twisted devotion.

“She truly believed she was protecting Anne,” Elizabeth murmured. “Through murder and manipulation and control, all justified as care.”

“A perversion of devotion,” Darcy agreed quietly. “The path from protection to possession is shorter than we might wish to believe.”

They maintained their vigil in silence after that, unwilling to leave the dying woman alone in her final moments despite her crimes.

When the end came, it was with a last shuddering breath that seemed to carry with it the weight of years of misguided purpose.

Mrs. Jenkinson’s features relaxed in death, the fierce determination that had animated them throughout her confession fading into an unremarkable blankness.

Footsteps in the corridor heralded the arrival of Dr. Winters, followed shortly by Mr. Hargreaves, whose normally measured pace had quickened to something approaching haste. The magistrate took in the scene, his gaze moving from the body on the floor to the vial in Elizabeth’s hand and back again.

“It appears I have arrived too late to prevent another tragedy,” he observed, though his tone suggested he had already anticipated such an outcome.

“Mrs. Jenkinson has taken her own life,” Darcy confirmed, his voice steady despite the extraordinary circumstances. “But not before confessing to the murder of Lord Joseph and the attempted murder of Mr. Hislop, which resulted in Lady Catherine’s death through mistaken identity.”

Mr. Hargreaves raised his eyebrows slightly, though his expression remained otherwise impassive. “Indeed? A full confession, you say?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth affirmed, stepping forward with both vials in her hands.

“She admitted everything, including her methods. She carried two nearly identical vials, one containing actual smelling salts, which she used openly, and another containing arsenic, which she administered to her intended victims.”

The magistrate accepted the vials, examining them with careful scrutiny. “Remarkably similar in appearance. One might easily mistake one for the other in a moment of confusion or haste.”

“And it was a case of mistaken cups last night,” Elizabeth explained, relieved to finally articulate the full truth.

“Mrs. Jenkinson intended to poison Mr. Hislop’s tea, knowing he took it with lemon and no sugar, exactly as Lady Catherine had recently begun to do…

something Mrs. Jenkinson was unaware of.

Lady Catherine took the cup Mrs. Jenkinson had prepared for Mr. Hislop. ”

Dr. Winters, who had been examining Mrs. Jenkinson’s body, looked up with grim confirmation. “The symptoms are consistent with arsenic poisoning, identical to those displayed by both Lord Joseph Sturt and Lady Catherine.”

Mr. Hargreaves nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as he considered this information. “And you discovered this deception how, precisely? Your note mentioned suspicions, but not such definitive conclusions.”

“We observed the pattern,” Darcy replied. “Two gentlemen who showed interest in Anne, both targeted in the same manner. Mrs. Jenkinson’s excessive devotion to Anne’s ‘welfare’ as she perceived it, her determination to control every aspect of her charge’s life, including potential suitors.”

“When we confronted her with our theory about the mixed-up teacups,” Elizabeth added, “she broke down completely. The confession that followed was detailed and unambiguous.”

The magistrate considered this for a long moment before nodding decisively.

“A tragic business, but it appears the matter is resolved. I shall require formal statements from both of you, naturally, but the physical evidence and the circumstances of her death lend considerable weight to your account.”

He turned to Elizabeth, his expression softening slightly. “I must confess, Mrs. Darcy, that there were those who wondered whether you might have had reason to wish Lady Catherine ill, given your... complex relationship. I am gratified to find such suspicions entirely unfounded.”

Elizabeth felt a weight lift from her shoulders at this official acknowledgment of her innocence. Though she had never truly feared being accused of the crime, the knowledge that such speculation had existed was disturbing nonetheless.

“Lady Catherine and I had our differences,” she acknowledged quietly, “but I would never have wished her such an end. She was family, despite everything.”

Mr. Hargreaves inclined his head respectfully. “Indeed. And it seems the true culprit has administered her own justice, however unorthodox the process.”

As the magistrate began directing his constables in the removal of Mrs. Jenkinson’s body and the collection of evidence, Elizabeth moved to stand beside Darcy near the window.

The morning sun continued to shine with inappropriate cheerfulness, illuminating the ordinary garden below, where life proceeded in its usual fashion despite the extraordinary events unfolding within these walls.

“It is over,” she said softly, more to herself than to Darcy. “All of it.”

Darcy’s hand found hers, his fingers closing around hers with gentle pressure. “The immediate danger, yes. But there remains the task of telling Anne, of helping her understand what has happened. And then, the longer process of healing from these wounds, for all of us.”

Elizabeth nodded, knowing he was right. The resolution of the mystery brought justice but not peace, not yet.

That would come later, after the shock had faded and the grief had been properly acknowledged.

For now, it was enough to know that the threat had passed, that no more lives would be lost to Mrs. Jenkinson’s twisted devotion.

The rest would come in time, as it always did, through the steady comfort of truth and the patient work of rebuilding what tragedy had damaged.