Page 36 of Conundrums & Coincidences

Standing on a spindly chair, Elizabeth peered through the grimy window. All she saw were the manor’s rooftops below. She stepped off the chair lest it collapse beneath her, and her gown caught on a large, sharp splinter protruding from a rung. Bother! It had pierced her thigh.

From behind, there came a noise. Splendid. Mice. The floor creaked. Not mice.

Turning her head, Elizabeth tried to determine who was on the landing, but it was too black out there to see anything. She did notice, though, an unexpected glow from the direction of the alcove.

Struggling to free her skirt, she called, “Miss Rigby?” Why will she not answer? The sensitive skin on her nape tingled, and she redoubled her effort to release her gown and thigh from the splinter.

The next thing Elizabeth knew, she was being roughly handled. She heard her skirt rip, then she was shoved through the doorway. After being in the sunlit room, her eyes had not adjusted to the dim light of the landing. “Please! Please do not throw me down those stairs!” Never had her fear been so strongly aroused.

Her assailant kicked aside the rug and opened a trapdoor in the floor. With a thrust, Elizabeth was forced inside. The last thing she saw before the hatch closed, leaving her in pitch blackness, was her attacker’s face in the glow of a candle from the alcove. Then she heard the turn of a key in a lock.

18

THE GARRET

“…and, honestly, she did nothing to earn a place in this competition. In the year nine, when Miss Armstrong first moved here, Miss Kensett’s grandmother, Mrs Amelia Delgrave, now deceased, called on the old lady several times and introduced her to some of the local women. Miss Armstrong made the granddaughter a beneficiary merely to honour Mrs Delgrave’s memory.”

With his back to the window, Darcy stood watching the parlour’s doorway and paying scant heed to Mr Fordham’s blather. He did notice, however, that, like him, Mr Monroe also consulted his watch a second time.

Elizabeth had yet to arrive in the parlour.

She was not even five minutes late; still, Darcy fretted. Elizabeth is always prompt, never unpunctual. She would have sent a message with the maid if she was unwell or unavoidably delayed.

He strode to the attorney’s side. “Someone should enquire into her absence.”

Mr Monroe seemed somewhat amused. “I assume you mean Miss Bennet.”

Of course I mean Miss Bennet! “Yes, and it is unlike her to be tardy. The time is now ten minutes to six, and if you do not send someone, I shall storm her apartment myself.”

“Very well, sir.” Mr Monroe beckoned Alfred and spoke quietly to him.

The footman’s eyes widened. Then he nodded to both the attorney and Darcy before turning on his heel.

“I suspect Alfred has become as fond of our Miss Bennet as the rest of us,” said Mr Monroe. “But I am sure the young lady is simply having trouble deciding which earrings to wear or some such triviality.”

“And I am sure that is not the case.” Darcy went and stared through the window, waiting for word and fearing, knowing, something was wrong.

When Alfred returned with Rachel and moved towards Mr Monroe, Darcy reached them first. “What is it? What has happened?”

“I…I already…” Rachel wrung her hands, then took a gulping breath. “I already told Mrs Vincent… As soon as Miss Bennet left the room, I ran down and told the housekeeper that someone left a message by the bedchamber door. And Miss Bennet would not let me go with her! To the garret! Why would she go there?” The maid wiped away tears with her fingers. “If anything has happened to her, I shall never forgive myself!”

Miss Rigby rushed over. “What is this about Miss Bennet?” Mr Monroe took her aside and explained.

“Alfred, come with me.” Without waiting for a response, Darcy was out of the parlour door and striding towards the staircase with the footman behind him. “How does one access the garret?”

“Sir, it will be faster if we take the servants’ passages.”

“Then lead the way.”

“Wait for me!” Mr Hadley ran after them.

When he looked behind, Darcy noticed Mr Monroe had joined their sombre parade.

The footman opened a wood panel and a baize service door, and they all filed into a warren of whitewashed corridors and staircases that had been added over the centuries. The passages were lit by either tallow candles in sconces or rush dips—reeds soaked in hog fat—that had been clipped into holders. Both sources provided only a dim glow that flickered, sputtered, smoked, and emitted a foul, greasy odour.

Even Darcy, who had an excellent sense of direction, might have become hopelessly lost without the footman’s guidance.

Finally, they reached a small spiral staircase. With each step taken, wood groaned under the men’s weight. When the four of them reached the landing, Darcy heard a gentle female voice; but it was not Elizabeth’s. Looking past the footman, he discerned a woman kneeling and holding a candle. She seemed to be talking to the floor.