Page 28 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“You, sir, were standing directly beneath that painting of lilacs.” She gestured towards the sideboard and above it the floral depiction on the wall. “And since I am uncommonly fond of a syringa, I could not help but notice you there.” She looked him in the eye. Hers were warm and merry and mischievous.

Simply being in her presence was causing Darcy to feel better and better by the minute. He inched closer.

“To be honest,” she said, having grown serious, “I mostly was watching Mr Fordham last evening. Unfortunately, he had his back to me while pouring your wine.” Leaning in, she whispered, “I do not entirely trust him.”

Darcy rubbed his forehead, trying to remember the previous night and striving to resist her gravitational pull. “I have this vague memory of a remark I made to someone about the wine’s unusual flavour. It was bitter and spicy.”

“You made that comment to Mr Monroe. He said his glass, poured from the same bottle as yours, was neither pungent nor piquant.”

Tearing his eyes from Elizabeth’s, Darcy sought the attorney’s whereabouts before reluctantly saying, “I really must confer with him.” He made to rise, but she stayed him with a gentle touch to his ungloved hand—a touch that sent a lightning bolt of warmth throughout his body.

“Before you go and before I forget, I would like your permission to tell my father about Mr Wickham. Lydia left for Brighton about a fortnight ago with Colonel and Mrs Forster”—she gave him a significant look—“and in the company of the militia.”

Darcy immediately understood, and he agreed that her father should know. He apologised again and again for not warning people in her neighbourhood about Wickham. “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must speak to our host.”

In the library with the attorney, Darcy paced, and he let his vexation be known while a mixture of anger and indignation overspread his countenance.

“Such ill-usage! It was bad enough that I suffered through such an ordeal, but I shudder to think how much worse it could have been had one of the ladies ingested whatever was in that wine. I cannot conceive of a more deplorable situation. Did someone incapacitate me merely to give them an advantage in the tournament?”

The previous evening, Darcy had intended to put extra effort into solving his latest enigma, for it had been putting heavy demands on his perspicacity.

“Currently, Miss Bennet and Mr Hadley are in a three-way draw with you for first place.” The attorney’s tone seemed to be asking him whether he trusted that lady and gentleman.

“Good heavens! Neither of them would commit such a heinous act—and heinous it was. I might have died.” Darcy sat then, trying to calm his breathing and subdue his indignation. “When I was thrown from my horse the summer I turned twelve, I suffered a broken arm and was given laudanum, but I baulked at taking a second dose. Since that day, I have refused to swallow or smoke anything containing opium.”

Realising he was tapping his fingers on his thigh, Darcy forced them to still; but what he really wanted to do was pound his fist on something. “I suspect that whatever was in my wine contained more than the ten-percent solution customarily found in laudanum.” He looked the attorney in the eye. “Do you suppose that whoever drugged my drink realises such a potency can accidentally—or deliberately—cause death?” He kept back his suspicions about Mr Fordham. Without proof, he would not malign the man.

Resting his elbows on the desk, Mr Monroe held his head in his hands. “I am terribly sorry you were so uncomfortably circumstanced while under this roof.” Palms flat on the writing surface then, he spoke with grim determination. “Be assured that I shall get to the bottom of this trespass against your person.”

“I appreciate your diligence.” The angry emotions, which at first had marked Darcy’s every feature, were partially subdued by the attorney’s assurance.

“And I should inform you, Mr Darcy, if no one else has done so by now, that despite a search of all public rooms and servants’ quarters, the missing vase has not been found. As you quite understandably were not at this morning’s breakfast gathering, you may be unaware that all guest bedchambers will be searched thoroughly on the morrow. I regret that such an intrusion on your privacy has become necessary, and I apologise in advance for any inconvenience it may cause. For my part, I shall be grief-stricken if the vase or a vial of whatever ended up in your wine is found in a beneficiary’s room. To think that someone Miss Armstrong trusted might be implicated in a crime!”

“If one of us is the perpetrator, Mr Monroe, I imagine they somehow have disposed of the evidence by now.”

Into the afternoon, four of the five beneficiaries had their proverbial noses to the grindstone as they slaved away at solving posers or rushed about trying to find their next. No one seemed to know the whereabouts of Miss Kensett.

As for Darcy, he finally had found the answer to his enigma:

A riddle of riddles, it dances and skips.

It is seen thro’ the eyes, tho’ it cheats by the lips.

It never is seen, but often is read.

It is sometimes a feather, and sometimes ’tis lead.

If it meets with its fellow, it’s happily caught.

But if money can buy it, it’s not worth a groat.

He had a spot of bother, however, understanding where to find ‘heart’. As far as Darcy could determine, there was nothing heart-shaped at Oakwood. The pond was an oblong. What else is heart-shaped? A strawberry or the leaf of a lime tree? Surely not.

Elizabeth’s mouth when she purses her full lips? Good heavens, I have gone mad.

The footprint of a hart? Yes, by Jove! There is a statue of a stag in the shrubbery.

No foolscap was found there. The only fool’s cap is the one I should be wearing. Think, man! What other meaning is there for ‘heart’?