“You seem very certain of all this,” she observed, studying Mrs. Winters’ face for any sign of deception.
“I know what I saw,” the woman replied stiffly. “What you choose to believe is your own affair, miss.”
They left the stillroom shortly after, Mrs. Winters having made it clear that she had said all she intended to on the matter. Elizabeth’s mind buzzed with the contradictions between the accounts she had heard.
“Let’s look for Mrs. Reynolds,” Georgiana said. “Molly’s account was confusing, and Mrs. Winters’ is unbelievable, almost as if she worked out a gothic novel in her mind, but the head housekeeper can certainly shed more light.”
Elizabeth agreed, falling silent as they approached Mrs. Reynolds’s domain. The housekeeper was not in her room, but a passing footman informed them she could be found in the linen storage, overseeing the airing of winter blankets.
They found her there, a dignified woman with white hair and an air of quiet authority, directing several maids in the careful unfolding of woolen blankets.
“Miss Georgiana,” she greeted them. “And Miss Bennet. How may I assist you?”
Georgiana performed the introductions again, explaining Elizabeth’s research interest.
“I remember your aunt Rose very well, miss,” she said. “A breathof fresh air in this house. Master John bloomed in her presence, like a plant receiving proper sunlight.”
“I understand they were happy,” Elizabeth said, touched by the poetic description.
“As happy as two people could be,” Mrs. Reynolds confirmed. “And so delighted with their little girl. Master John would walk the floors with her for hours when she was teething, refusing to hand her to the nursemaid.”
“Martha Wickham was the nursemaid?” Elizabeth asked innocently.
“Not the wet nurse, no. That was Sally Dixon from the village. Mrs. Wickham was a nursery maid—responsible for the baby’s daily care, not feeding.” Mrs. Reynolds’s tone cooled noticeably. “Though she often neglected those duties.”
“I’ve heard she was… friendly with the butler who was dismissed,” Elizabeth ventured. “Rumsey, I believe his name was?”
Mrs. Reynolds’s posture stiffened. “You seem to have heard a great many things for someone merely researching family history, Miss Bennet.”
“My father had connections in Derbyshire,” Elizabeth improvised. “He mentioned certain… irregularities surrounding the fire. I merely wish to understand the circumstances of my aunt’s death.”
The housekeeper studied her for a long moment, then dismissed the maids with a quiet word. When they were alone, she spoke in a low voice. “If you’re truly Rose Bennet’s niece, my advice to you is to let sleeping dogs lie. Some secrets are too dangerous to uncover.”
“But if there was foul play—” Georgiana began.
“Then those responsible have likely prospered these twenty years without consequence,” Mrs. Reynolds interrupted. “And would not hesitate to ensure their continued prosperity by whatever means necessary.”
The warning sent a chill through Elizabeth. “You believe we might be in danger if we pursue this?”
“I believe,” Mrs. Reynolds said carefully, “that after twenty years, one should not stir up old ashes…”
“Thank you for your candor,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I promise we’ll be careful.”
“See that you are.” Mrs. Reynolds’s gaze shifted to Georgiana. “Your brother would never forgive me if I allowed either of you to come to harm through careless talk.”
They left the linen storage and emerged into the bright autumn sunshine.
“We need to speak with Rumsey,” Elizabeth said. “He’s the key to understanding what really happened that night.”
“But Mrs. Reynolds warned us—” Georgiana began, her earlier enthusiasm tempered by the housekeeper’s ominous words.
“She warned us to be careful, not to abandon the search entirely.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “If Martha Wickham and Thomas Rumsey were involved in my parents’ deaths, I need to know. Not just for my inheritance claim, but for justice.”
Georgiana studied her with newfound respect. “Then we will be careful, but we will persist. Together.”
Elizabeth’s hands smoothed the borrowed muslin as she contemplated this unexpected alliance. Here was a girl raised in luxury and privilege, yet willing to risk her comfortable position to seek justice for relatives she never knew.
“My father counseled much the same as Mrs. Reynolds,” Elizabeth admitted. “He urged me to abandon this inheritance quest entirely.” A wry smile touched her lips. “Although he wanted me to marry a bumbling fool and forget that I could be a Darcy.”
