Page 26 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“I shall proceed as planned,” said Mr Monroe. “First, the latest tournament results. At present, Miss Bennet, Mr Darcy, and Mr Hadley are in a three-way draw for first place. Mr Fordham is in second, and Miss Kensett trails behind. I remind you that, today included, three days remain for you to succeed. This is not only a race against each other now but also a race against time. The competition ends on Wednesday at midnight.”

He paused for a sip of tea. “Now, on to an extremely vexatious matter…the missing Japanese vase. A search is still underway in the public rooms, and it is hoped the item simply has been misplaced. However, if its whereabouts have not been discovered by midday—an hour and a half from now—a search of the servants’ quarters will be conducted under the supervision of Mrs Vincent and Mr Atwater. If that is unsuccessful, your rooms and carriages will be searched on the morrow. It goes without saying that if the article is found in the possession of either a servant or a beneficiary, the local magistrate will be summoned.”

Missing Mr Darcy’s presence, Elizabeth picked at her food and surreptitiously observed the others. Miss Rigby and Mr Hadley seemed horrified by the notion of a thief in their midst. Miss Kensett kept touching her pearl necklace, and Elizabeth imagined she was concerned that her precious parure might be a thief’s next target.

Mr Fordham, on the other hand, gave an impression of studied disinterest in anything other than the generous portions of ham, bacon, and kippered salmon he had heaped upon his plate.

While Elizabeth had been wondering whether Mr Monroe knew Mr Fordham was a collector of antiques, the attorney himself had been speaking.

“…and those of us who attended church yesterday had the pleasure of listening to Mr Smith’s sermon regarding hope. Similarly, I remind each of you to not give up, even in the midst of disappointment.” He gave Miss Kensett a look that spoke more of pity than sympathy.

“Oh yes,” said the chaperon, “do remain hopeful and expectant. Have faith. Your hope will be fulfilled according to plan…but not necessarily your plan.”

“Well put, madam.” Mr Monroe set aside his knife and fork. “In conclusion, I shall say this. Only one beneficiary will win Miss Armstrong’s considerable wealth and the deed to this lovely property. However, none of you will—or, at least, should—leave here worse off than when you arrived.” The attorney’s pointed look was directed at Mr Fordham.

Head bent over his plate as it was, the recipient of that look seemed unaware of it. Elizabeth, however, knew a measure of relief that Mr Monroe might, after all, be aware of Mr Fordham’s pastime.

At a table in the library several hours later, Elizabeth finished writing a letter to Lydia in Brighton, wishing her a very happy sixteenth birthday. She longed to tell her youngest, silliest sister to behave but knew Lydia would neither appreciate the sentiment nor heed the warning.

Setting the letter aside for the nonce, she tried to occupy her worried mind by rearranging the letters in her latest puzzle: hearts shall weave. All she could think of, however, was Mr Darcy, and she prayed he would be well. Her heart had become irrevocably woven with his.

Lounging on a window seat, Miss Kensett did nothing more than sigh and complain about the unjustness of a tournament of wit and whimsy. Elizabeth listened with half an ear and smothered each of the reproofs she could have given. She startled when the chaperon, looking uncommonly distraught, rushed in and sat beside her.

When Miss Rigby spoke, her voice was barely raised above a whisper. “I waited in the garden, as arranged. Why did neither of you present yourselves? Oh gracious! Has Mr Darcy still not come down?”

Elizabeth turned over her puzzle and matched the chaperon’s hushed tone. “No, sadly, he has not, and I am beside myself with worry. But I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. Were you expecting Mr Darcy and me in the garden? If so, I was unaware of any such arrangement.”

“Indeed, I was. He arranged for the two of you to have a private conversation there at half past twelve today. Mr Darcy was supposed to mention it to you last evening. But, now that I think of it, he retired rather suddenly and quite early, did he not? Oh dear! He must have been unwell even then.”

Elizabeth nodded and encouraged her to continue.

“Mr Darcy reiterated there was no understanding between you but admitted that he hoped… Rather, the gentleman said you had important matters to discuss and solemnly promised the competition would not be part of that discussion. As agreed, I was to keep an eye on you from a respectable distance and⁠—”

“Of what are the two of you so secretly talking?” Miss Kensett trailed a finger round their table as she circled it. “Whispering in company is indecorous, is it not, Miss Rigby?”

“Quite right.” The chaperon pursed her lips into a prim expression. Then she smiled, but it was in a manner not reflected in her eyes. “While I think of it, dear, I have been meaning to enquire about the unusual, dare I say unique, appearance of those pearls of yours.”

The lady caressed her necklace. “Whatever do you mean? What is unusual about them?”

“Ladies,” said Mr Fordham as he strolled in. “Where are the others? Has that slugabed Darcy still not shown his face? I was hoping he and Hadley might join me at the pond and try our luck at a spot of angling. They are jumping out there.”

Upon hearing that Mr Darcy had not come down and that Mr Hadley’s whereabouts were unknown, Mr Fordham merely shrugged and eyed Elizabeth’s papers for a moment. Apparently seeing nothing of interest there, he sauntered over to a sideboard.

“Fermented fruit cordial! Is that all that is on offer? Pah!” Nevertheless, the gentleman filled a glass from the pitcher, then sat within reach of a table displaying a pyramid of seasonal strawberries, cherries, and melon.

Paying him no further heed, the chaperon gestured at Miss Kensett’s necklace. “To me, those pearls appear rather lacklustre. One would expect more of an iridescent shine. May I take a closer look?”

Miss Kensett hesitated but unclasped the necklace and passed it to her.

“Natural pearls are not perfectly round and have tiny irregularities. When rubbed together,” said Miss Rigby, doing just that and holding the necklace to her ear, “they would make a gritty sound.”

Seated next to the chaperon, Elizabeth clearly heard her whisper, “Paste.”

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Kensett’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

“Paste, dear. Your precious parure is paste, with a pearly coating.”

Mr Fordham choked on his cordial.