Mrs. Bingley’s composure flickered at this barely veiled threat. “I find that truth has a way of emerging regardless of… complications. Don’t you agree, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth found herself the sudden focus of both women’s attention, each clearly expecting her to choose sides in their undeclared war. “I believe truth serves justice best when revealed completely rather than partially,” she replied diplomatically.
“How wisely spoken,” Martha agreed, though her smilesuggested she interpreted Elizabeth’s words as supporting her position. “Complete revelation often surprises those who believe themselves safely concealed.”
Before Mrs. Bingley could respond to this provocation, the musicians struck up a waltz, providing a convenient escape from the increasingly uncomfortable confrontation. Elizabeth accepted Darcy’s immediate offer to dance.
“What have you learned?” Darcy asked quietly as they took position for the intimate dance.
“Charles confirmed our suspicions about the smuggling,” Elizabeth replied, keeping her voice low despite the music’s cover. “His father and yours were partners in avoiding customs duties on French goods. John Darcy’s principles would have threatened their entire operation.”
Darcy’s expression grew grim as they moved through the waltz’s graceful figures. “That provides a clear motive for his murder. But which party acted on it?”
“Both widows clearly know more than they admit,” Elizabeth observed, conscious of the warmth of Darcy’s hand at her waist. “And both are maneuvering for advantage through their sons’ supposed romantic interest in me.”
“You believe their sons are merely pawns in a larger game?”
“Charles certainly seems ignorant of the full scope of his family’s activities. Whether George is equally innocent remains unclear.” Elizabeth paused as they turned, noting Wickham’s intense observation of their dance. “His mother’s behavior suggests she considers him an active participant in whatever scheme she has devised.”
“And what of Rumsey’s dramatic warning? Do you believe he poses a threat or offers assistance?”
Elizabeth considered this as they completed another turn. “His words suggested warning rather than menace. Perhaps he seeks to expose the truth rather than conceal it.”
“Likely he seeks to profit,” Darcy replied grimly. “We need to observe who he approaches. Whose secrets need keeping.”
“Agreed.” Elizabeth feared Darcy could be a target—or Bingley, perhaps even Mr. Hurst. She felt remiss that she had not investigated Louisa’s husband’s background. “We need to keep our eye on him. Perhaps he has left the ballroom to speak with someone in private.”
“You shall go nowhere without me,” Darcy warned, his gaze scanning the doorways. “Bingley is near the refreshment table.”
Before they could move in that direction, Caroline Bingley tapped on a wineglass for attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. “The traditional All Hallows’ Eve flaming brandy punch is about to be served. Please gather in the center of the ballroom for this most spectacular tradition.”
The guests moved toward a large silver bowl positioned on a specially reinforced table. Mr. Hurst, already flushed with earlier consumption, stood beside it with a smug expression of anticipated pleasure. Caroline handed him a small silver ladle of brandy, which he solemnly ignited with a taper before pouring the flaming liquid into the punch bowl.
A collective gasp rose from the assembly as blue flames danced across the surface of the punch, casting eerie shadows on the faces of those gathered around. Mr. Hurst, emboldened by his successful ignition, seized another ladle of brandy and repeated the process with rather more enthusiasm than control. The flame leaped higher, causing several ladies to shriek and step back.
“Careful, Hurst!” Darcy called, moving swiftly toward the table as the flames climbed dangerously close to the silk decorations overhead.
Elizabeth could not help but smile at Mr. Hurst bellowing instructions that no one followed, Caroline frantically attempting to restore order, Mrs. Bennet declaring loudly that “nothing so vulgar would ever be attempted at Lucas Lodge,” and Lydia dancing around the edges, clapping her hands in delight at the near-disaster.
As servants rushed forward with cloths to smother the excessive flames, Elizabeth’s attention was drawn to the fortuneteller’s booth. She thought she saw Mr. Rumsey disappear behind the colorful draperies, perhaps to consult for secrets. Darcy was still occupied with the flaming punch, but Elizabeth could not lose sight of the former butler.
She made her way to the doorway where she glimpsed a woman in exotic robes, wearing a turban on her head. A sign above her booth read, “Let Madame Evro Divine Your Future.”
“Miss Bennet!” Madame Evro’s voice carried a faint accent that suggested foreign origins. “Come, child! The spirits are eager to speak with you on this most auspicious night.”
Elizabeth glanced around for Darcy, but he had been drawn into conversation with several local gentlemen. Perhaps the fortune teller could guide her toward the murderer’s identity.
“Very well,” Elizabeth agreed, approaching the draped alcove. “Though I warn you, I am not easily convinced by vague predictions.”
“Madame Evro deals not in vagaries but specificities,” the fortune teller assured her, leading the way into the curtained alcove where a small table had been set up with a crystal ball and a deck of cards. “Sit, child. Let us see what the spirits reveal.”
Elizabeth seated herself, watching as the woman made an elaborate show of passing her hands over the crystal ball, which obligingly began to glow with what appeared to be internally placed candles.
“I see great danger,” Madame Evro intoned, her voice dropping dramatically. “You seek truth about your past, but others wish it to remain buried.” Her eyes, visible through the veil, studied Elizabeth with unsettling intensity. “The fire that changed your destiny was no accident, but neither was your survival.”
Elizabeth’s skepticism wavered. These were not the generalities of typical charlatans.
