“Mr. Radcliffe is visiting Rosings for a few weeks,” I put in, because Mr. Darcy looked like he wanted nothing more than to wring Mr. Radcliffe’s neck.
For a minute, the air was heavy with potential disagreements and even violence, then my husband blew in the door behind us, sending the cool air whirling around, and misinterpreting what was said.
“Were you talking about Mrs. Collins?” he asked jovially.
There was a moment of silence as Mr. Radcliffe struggled to know what the polite response was to this. By the look he darted at me, he thought it was a manifestly ridiculous suggestion.
Luckily, at this moment Mr. and Mrs. Bingley came around the corner to greet the visitors and the awkwardness was smoothed over.
I prided myself on my composure, but even I felt a bit of nervous trepidation wondering how this Christmas visit was going to go. Mr. Darcy was looking angrily at Mr. Radcliffe, and that gentleman’s handsome face was carefully not looking at Mr. Darcy. And Sir Francis had just the nervous sort of giggle that would please Mr. Darcy the least.
It was just then that Sir Francis launched into a long story about some exploits he and his friends had gotten up to “down at University.”
I could feel Lady Catherine’s eyes boring into me as he completed the story.
He was a foolish trickster, but had he been the one to let Wilberforce and Julia free?
As the visitors moved into the sitting room with Anne, I took the opportunity of falling in with Sir Francis.
“How are you enjoying Rosings?” I asked politely.
His amiable smile drooped a bit. Sensible and quiet, apparently I had always had the sort of face men felt they could Tell Things To.
“Miss Anne de Bourgh is an angel,” he said fervently. “But there is a serpent in paradise. I don’t believe Mr. Radcliffe has the slightest true interest in her.”
“Oh?” I asked, keeping my voice low, but my heart began to beat faster.
“I believe he is just here for her fortune,” Sir Francis hissed, two spots of color appearing on his cheeks.
“What makes you think that?” I asked composedly.
“He says a lot of pretty words, but I can tell he doesn’t mean any of them,” Sir Francis said.
I looked down the hallway at Mr. Radcliffe’s thick dark hair and broad, handsome smile.
Was it true or was Sir Francis just jealous of Mr. Radcliffe’s charm and suavity?
It might be true.
“And,” he added bitterly. “He is always going out of his way to make me look bad.”
I wondered. I didn’t know Mr. Radcliffe very well, but I felt a shiver of fear go down my spine as I looked at his profile. He looked like a ruthless sort. He must like risk, because, although he kept his hands to himself, he still talked to Lizzy, and his eyes were wolfish when he thought no one was looking. He clearly liked dangerous games. Had he let Wilberforce free to cast blame on the silly Sir Francis?
5
“Make your choice wisely and do not marry to disoblige your relations.”
-Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Ileft the others in the sitting room while I hurried to catch Lady Catherine’s lady’s maid Bertram, who had been employed for a long time and was in all ways Lady Catherine’s dogged enforcer.
“Is it possible the acrostic necklace was misplaced somewhere?” I asked delicately.
Bertram was a tall, sour-looking woman in her early 50s, with a head of harsh gray hair tightly pulled back from her face, a gimlet eye, and a tendency to quote the Bible like it was a rock she wanted to throw at you.
“Certainly not,” she said. “All of her rooms have been searched from Top to Bottom. I should hope, Mrs. Collins, that I know whether a necklace is stolen or has been Merely Misplaced.”
“Certainly,” I agreed, not put out by her. “Who do you think could have gotten in Lady Catherine’s rooms? Who had access to them?”
