This perspective, so different from Elizabeth’s own view of Caroline Bingley, gave her pause.

How complex human relationships could be, how many layers might exist beneath the surface of what appeared simple antagonism or mere self-interest. Caroline, it seemed, had possessed more dimensions than Elizabeth had credited her with.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Darcy entered, his expression grave but controlled.

“Mr. Burnley has begun interviewing the servants,” he informed them. “He plans to speak with each member of the household separately. Bingley has already given his account.”

“How is he?” Elizabeth asked, attempting to keep her tone neutral despite her growing suspicions.

“Composed,” Darcy replied after a brief hesitation. “Perhaps unusually so, given the circumstances.”

Something in his tone suggested he had made similar observations to her own, though he would not speak them directly in Georgiana’s presence.

Before Elizabeth could pursue this line of thought, the butler appeared at the doorway, his normal stoic expression firmly in place despite the morning’s disturbance.

“Mr. Burnley requests Miss Darcy’s presence in the small study,” he announced with a formal bow.

Georgiana paled visibly. “Me? But I know nothing of... of what happened. I was asleep until the commotion woke me.”

“It is merely procedural, Georgiana,” Darcy assured her. “Mr. Burnley must speak with everyone present in the house. I shall accompany you, if you wish.”

“No, I... I shall manage,” Georgiana said, straightening her shoulders with visible effort. “Elizabeth, would you come with me instead? I should feel more comfortable with you there.”

Elizabeth was touched by this request, which spoke to the growing bond between them. “Of course, if Fitzwilliam has no objection.”

“None whatsoever,” Darcy confirmed. “I must speak with Bingley regarding the necessary arrangements. Mr. Burnley indicated he wishes to speak with me last, after completing his other interviews.”

This detail caught Elizabeth’s attention.

That the magistrate would save Darcy for last suggested he placed particular value on his testimony, or perhaps wished to discuss conclusions reached through earlier questioning.

She filed this observation away as she rose to accompany Georgiana, wondering what Mr. Burnley might have learned from the servants that prompted such a sequence.

As they departed, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Bingley through the partially open door of the main study.

He sat at his desk, ledgers open before him, his pen moving with steady purpose across columns that appeared to be financial in nature.

It struck her as a curious occupation for a man in the immediate aftermath of his sister’s death, more suggestive of a mind occupied with practical consequences than one overwhelmed by grief.

She turned away, disturbed by her own suspicions yet unable to dismiss them entirely.

The magistrate’s methodical investigation, Bingley’s controlled responses, the curious circumstances of Caroline rising unusually early, apparently to navigate stairs she had recently deemed unsafe.

.. These elements combined to form a picture increasingly difficult to reconcile with a simple, tragic accident.

The household had settled into an uneasy quiet, the initial shock of the morning’s events giving way to the sombre practicalities that follow death.

Elizabeth retired directly after dinner, a subdued affair where conversation had been minimal.

Darcy had excused himself immediately afterward, summoned to a final conversation with Mr. Burnley before the magistrate returned to Meryton.

That had been nearly an hour ago, and Elizabeth found herself growing increasingly anxious about what transpired in that private discussion.

The day had passed in a blur of quiet activity: servants moving with hushed efficiency, arrangements being made for Caroline’s body to be prepared for burial, messages dispatched to distant relatives.

Throughout it all, Elizabeth had maintained appropriate composure, offering comfort where needed and assistance where appropriate.

The sound of the door opening drew her from her thoughts.

Darcy entered, his expression inscrutable as he closed the door quietly behind him.

Elizabeth turned fully from the mirror where she had been brushing out her hair, studying her husband’s face for clues to his state of mind.

There was a tension about his mouth, a slight furrow between his brows that suggested whatever had transpired with the magistrate had only deepened his concerns.

“Has Mr. Burnley departed?” she asked, moving to meet him in the centre of the room.

“Yes, just now,” Darcy confirmed, loosening his cravat with a weary gesture. “He will return tomorrow to conclude a few matters, but the bulk of his investigation is complete.”

Elizabeth noted his choice of words, ‘investigation’ rather than ‘inquiry’, which suggested a more serious examination than mere formality required. “Did he speak with everyone?”

“Everyone present in the house at the time,” Darcy confirmed, moving to pour himself a small glass of brandy from the decanter on the side table.

He offered one to Elizabeth, who declined with a slight shake of her head.

“He was particularly thorough with the servants, especially those who might have been awake in the early hours.”

“And with Bingley?” Elizabeth asked, unable to keep a note of particular interest from her voice.

Darcy took a measured sip before responding. “Indeed. Their conversation lasted considerably longer than the others.”

He did not elaborate further, and Elizabeth found herself reluctant to press immediately for details.

Instead, she moved to the small sofa near the fire, arranging her skirts as she sat.

Darcy joined her after a moment, his larger frame settling beside her with the comfortable familiarity of established marriage.

“It has been a most distressing day,” Elizabeth observed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Mrs. Hurst seems utterly devastated. I worry for her health if she continues in such extreme grief.”

“Mr. Hurst has sent for her personal physician from London,” Darcy informed her. “A sensible precaution. Grief can take a physical toll, particularly when so sudden and unexpected.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

Elizabeth found herself unusually hesitant to speak what was truly on her mind, conscious that her thoughts might appear uncharitable given the circumstances.

Yet marriage to Darcy had taught her the value of honesty between them, particularly in matters of judgment and perception.

“Fitzwilliam,” she began, her voice softer now, “I find myself troubled by a most inappropriate feeling.”

Darcy turned toward her, his expression attentive. “What troubles you, Elizabeth?”

She hesitated, searching for words that would convey her meaning without sounding callous. “I feel a most terrible guilt because... because beneath the proper shock and sympathy one naturally feels at such a tragedy, I find myself experiencing what can only be described as... relief.”

The admission hung in the air between them, Elizabeth’s cheeks warming with shame at having voiced such a sentiment. Darcy remained silent, allowing her to continue without immediate judgment.

“It is unconscionable, I know,” she pressed on, needing to explain herself fully.

“Caroline Bingley’s death is genuinely tragic, particularly for her family.

Yet I cannot help but acknowledge that her absence removes a persistent source of tension and unpleasantness from our circle.

She was so determined to disparage my family, to undermine my position, to drive wedges between Georgiana and those who might offer her genuine friendship. ..”

Elizabeth paused, distressed by her own frankness. “What kind of person does it make me, Fitzwilliam, to feel such relief even as I acknowledge the genuine tragedy of a life cut short? To know that future gatherings will be free from her calculated barbs and manipulations?”

Darcy considered her words carefully before responding, his expression thoughtful rather than condemning.

“It makes you human, Elizabeth. Caroline Bingley made no secret of her disdain for you and your family, nor of her ambitions regarding myself. To acknowledge the practical consequences of her absence is not the same as celebrating her death.”

“Yet I cannot help but feel it speaks poorly of my character,” Elizabeth insisted. “Particularly when Georgiana shows genuine grief.”

“Georgiana possesses a particularly generous heart,” Darcy acknowledged. “And youth often brings with it a capacity for forgiveness that experience sometimes diminishes. But you need not castigate yourself for feelings that are perfectly natural, if expressed only in private.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, grateful for his understanding. “It was such a dreadful accident,” she said softly. “To think that merely missing a step in the darkness could end a life so suddenly.”

Darcy made a noncommittal sound, neither agreement nor dissent, his gaze fixed on the fire rather than on her face. Elizabeth, attuned to the nuances of her husband’s expressions, noted this curious response immediately.

“Fitzwilliam?” she questioned, turning more fully toward him. “What is it? There is something you are not telling me.”

For a moment, he remained silent, as though weighing what information to share. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully measured. “Mr. Burnley has certain... questions regarding the circumstances of Miss Bingley’s fall.”

“Questions?” Elizabeth repeated, a chill that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature creeping through her. “What sort of questions?”

“The sort that suggest he is not entirely convinced that what occurred was an accident in the traditional sense.”

Elizabeth stared at him in confusion, her mind struggling to comprehend the implication of his words. “Are you suggesting that Mr. Burnley believes Caroline’s death was something other than an unfortunate misstep? What else could it have been?”

“There are certain details that do not align with the expected pattern of an accidental fall,” Darcy explained, his tone dispassionate as though recounting facts of business rather than potential indications of something far more sinister.

“The position in which she was found, the nature of her injuries, the curious fact that she was about at an hour entirely uncharacteristic for her habits.”

“But surely these might be explained by ordinary circumstances,” Elizabeth protested. “People do sometimes rise earlier than their habit. Steps are missed in dim lighting. Falls can twist the body in unusual ways.”

“All true,” Darcy agreed. “And yet, when combined with other observations, Mr. Burnley finds the totality somewhat troubling.”

“What other observations?” Elizabeth asked, her voice barely above a whisper now.

Darcy’s pause was telling. “I perhaps should not say more until Mr. Burnley has completed his inquiries. He asked for discretion on certain points.”

“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said firmly, her initial shock giving way to determination, “I am your wife, not some casual acquaintance to be shielded from unpleasantness. If there is something suspicious about Caroline’s death, I want to know of it.”

He studied her face for a long moment before nodding slightly.

“The staircase, though polished, was not particularly slippery when tested.

The banister shows no signs of having been grasped by someone attempting to catch themselves while falling.

And most significantly, Caroline's maid told him something of interest.”

“What did she note?” Elizabeth asked, though part of her dreaded the answer.

“That Caroline's bed had not been slept in, so she did not get up early; she never went to bed, leaving her room after changing out of her ballgown. And in his examination of the body, Doctor Jones observed what appeared to be the imprint of fingers on Caroline’s arm, as though someone had grasped her firmly before her fall.”

Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face as the implication became unmistakable. “Are you saying that Mr. Burnley suspects... murder? ”

“He has not used that term explicitly,” Darcy cautioned.

“He speaks only of ’irregularities’ requiring further examination.

But yes, I believe he considers it a possibility that cannot be dismissed without thorough investigation.

Mr. Burnley is a methodical man who will follow evidence rather than speculation.

It may yet prove to be nothing more than a tragic accident, scrutinised perhaps overzealously due to Miss Bingley’s position in society. ”

“What happens now?” Elizabeth asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Mr. Burnley returns tomorrow,” Darcy explained. “He has asked that no one leave Netherfield until he has completed his inquiry. Beyond that, we must wait to see what conclusions he reaches.”

Elizabeth nodded, her mind racing with the implications of all she had learned.

The relief she had so recently castigated herself for feeling now seemed trivial compared to the darkness that potentially lurked beneath the surface of Caroline’s death.

If what Mr. Burnley suspected proved true, their circle faced a rupture far more devastating than mere social tension or disappointed ambition.

“We should prepare ourselves,” Darcy said gently, “for the possibility that what begins as tragedy may yet reveal itself as something far worse.”

As the fire settled in the grate, casting long shadows across the room, Elizabeth could not shake the feeling that Netherfield, which had so recently echoed with the music and laughter of Bingley’s ball, now harboured secrets that, once revealed, would change their lives irrevocably.

Caroline Bingley, in death as in life, remained at the centre of a storm whose full force had yet to be felt.