At that, the conversation fell away. I was wrapped up in my own thoughts about the matter. I had to agree with Fanny, who was surprisingly astute despite her usual self-absorbed manner.
Who among the people assembled was cold-hearted and bloodthirsty enough to be a killer?
“It was fortunate,” I said, “that Lt. Crawley was there to assist in the investigation of the pearls. I had thought that your father-in-law did not wish anyone outside of the family to know.”
“He said that he came to inquire about a theft,” Louisa said. “I can only presume that is what he meant.”
That was interesting. “And he did not mention the pearls specifically?”
“Not that I can recall,” Louisa replied, speaking slowly as she tried to remember. “No, not that I can think of. I merely assumed that is what he meant, I suppose, for what other theft could he be calling about? Unless there was another theft that we did not know of?”
“He might have been asking after a rash of thefts,” Miss Grant said. “There are those professional burglars that move through an area, you know, robbing the various houses before moving on.”
Before I could pursue the thought further, however, I heard my name being called.
“Miss Bennet?”
I turned to see none other than Mr. Darcy walking towards me. I confess that I was happier than usual to see him—to have a familiar face in such troubling times was a relief. “Mr. Darcy. I did not know that you were staying in Meryton.”
“I am merely passing through on my way to London,” Mr. Darcy replied. “Are you visiting your family then?”
“I was, but I am afraid that I am now engaged in a more serious matter.” I did not tell him exactly of what, for it was not my place to speak of my clients.
“Oh, Miss Bennet, who is this?” Louisa said, hurrying up.
I quickly made the proper introductions.
“Oh, Miss Bennet is such a help, is she not?” Louisa asked.
“She has assisted me in the past, or rather my aunt,” Mr. Darcy replied gravely. “Is she assisting you in a case of your own?”
“Yes, we have had a series of misfortunes lately and Miss Bennet is kind enough to assist us in the matter. We have the utmost faith in her.”
“If you wish to proceed with your shopping, Louisa, I would like to catch up with Mr. Darcy,” I said, smiling at her.
Louisa nodded and hurried off. The moment that she was out of earshot, I turned to look at Mr. Darcy again. “I cannot disclose to you the details of the case, but I am glad that you are nearby so that I might—if it is not a trouble to yourself, of course—have you on hand to assist me if needs be? I fear that I have far too many suspects and no one in the house that I can truly rely upon. I am not certain that I shall need you, but if I did…”
“Of course,” Mr. Darcy replied. “I will be on hand. It is no trouble to stay on for another day or two. Is Mr. Holmes not with you?”
“He is still in London. This case came upon me rather suddenly.”
“Ah. Well, I do hope that you will be careful, Miss Bennet. In my experience—limited as it is—those that know too much or are too intelligent are the ones in the most danger when someone wishes to get away with doing something.”
His words were wise ones, and it reminded me that I truly could trust no one involved in this case, but that did not curb my determination. I would learn the meaning behind all of the clues and I would apprehend this thief turned murderer.
Chapter Five:
A Near Miss
This case was frustrating me no end. There was so little physical evidence! I felt as though the murderer was laughing at me.
Well, I had allowed myself to be fooled once, by Miss Adler. While she may be excused, I could not allow myself to be so fooled again. I would find out who this murderer was and I would bring them to justice.
Lt. Crawley came up to me as I returned to the house, deep in thought. “Miss Bennet,” he said, “I’ve conducted the interviews at your behest. I’ve written everything down here in my notebook, if you wish to take a look.”
“Yes, I would. Thank you kindly, Lt. Crawley.”
I had just taken the notebook from him when there was a crash and an almighty scream.
Then I heard a cry of “Julia!”
I dashed into the house, Lt. Crawley on my heels.
There, at the foot of the stairs, was Julia Grant. She was lying on top of a great pile of laundry, holding her ankle. “Oh,” she said, gasping in pain. “Oh, it’s quite—it’s quite broken, I should think.”
Earnest was kneeling beside her, his face white with worry. “How in the world did you manage to fall down the stairs, darling?” he asked, the endearment slipping out in front of others due to his distress.
I turned and looked up the stairs. It was faint, but I thought I could see…
I went up the stairs and there it was—a string, tied across the top stair by use of a nail. “She tripped over this,” I said, indicating it.
“Thank goodness for the laundry,” Louisa said. “I had just set it down for but a moment. If it hadn’t been resting at the bottom of the stairs… to cushion the fall…”
It was a sobering thought. The great pile of laundry was undoubtedly bedsheets, and a great deal of them due to everyone staying in the house. They had saved Miss Grant’s life.
“I should like to speak to Miss Grant, if I may,” I said. “And if someone would fetch a doctor?”
“I shall,” Peter said, hurrying out.
We helped Miss Grant into the sitting room, where I insisted on everyone leaving. Lt. Crawley did not seem happy with this. No doubt he thought us equal partners in the investigation now.
Once we were alone, I turned to Miss Grant. “Julia—if I may call you so?”
She nodded.
“Julia, someone put that there deliberately to try and kill you.” I knelt at her feet. “You must tell me the truth about what happened yesterday. There is something you haven’t told me, something dangerous to the murderer.”
As she sat there, I thought back to what it could have been. What had she seen that I had not?
I put myself back in the moment of the scream. I was in the dining room, just exiting… I ran down the hall, past the four statues…
No, wait.
There were only three statues when Mr. Lawton had boasted of them to me earlier. How could there have been four?
I looked at Julia and I remembered what she had been wearing when we had all entered the study. “Julia,” I said, “you were already in the hallway when I got there. You were there before the murder happened.”
Julia nodded, tears springing into her eyes. “I only wanted to talk to him,” she said. “He was always so cruel to Earnest, and it just made Earnest retreat more, become more sensitive, so that made Mr. Lawton be crueler, and so on and it was all a horrible cycle. I just wanted to—to give him what for and to tell him to leave Earnest alone.
“But when I got there, the door was locked, and there was no answer inside—and then that horrible scream…
“I knew that if I was the first one there, that everyone would think that I had done it. Everybody already thought that I had stolen the pearls. I was quite awful to Mr. Lawton. I made no pretense of my dislike of him. What else would everyone have thought except that I had done it out of spite and to protect Earnest?”
I patted her knee reassuringly. “Don’t worry, we’ll sort this whole thing out.”
“I know that you will,” Julia said, smiling at me. “You’re quite clever, I can tell. But… but Miss Bennet. You must understand. I was in the hallway when the murder happened. Nobody could have gotten out of that room without my seeing them. And yet… nobody came out. Don’t you see, Miss Bennet? There was no one there…”
This whole thing was rather troubling me, as I’m sure the reader can imagine. I calmed Julia until the doctor arrived to look at her ankle, at which point I
stepped back and allowed the family to do their part in comforting her.
“I must admit that I am quite at a loss,” Lt. Crawley told me. “But then, in the militia, one rarely has the opportunity to deal with a cold-blooded murder such as this. It’s all in the heat of the moment against your enemy on the battlefield. Quite a different sort of danger, one might say.”
“Quite,” I agreed. “Pardon me. I must find a paper and pen.” I had to write to Mr. Holmes of the matter.
“The murderer must have silenced Mr. Lawton for realizing they had stolen his pearls,” Lt. Crawley went on. “If we find the thief, then we shall find our killer, I am quite certain, Miss Bennet.”
“I’m sure that you are quite certain, sir,” I replied, locating a paper and pen and sitting down to write.
Seeing that I was as good as dismissing him, Lt. Crawley finally let me alone to write in peace.
I confessed all facts of the case to Mr. Holmes, including the bit about the blood.
I simply do not understand, Mr. Holmes, why there should be such an excess of blood. It all sounds rather like a theatrical show, doesn’t it? The scream, the blood everywhere—too much blood, in fact, for one human being.
Why should someone go to such lengths, such trouble, to pour so much blood upon the scene? It seems rather fantastical to me. I thought perhaps that the blood was done to obscure some other fact, perhaps something about the carpet or some message—but I have checked the room thoroughly and there is nothing.
Thank heavens that London is but a day’s ride from Longbourn, for I received a letter in return shortly afterward. We had spent the day looking for the pearls, which no one had as yet confessed to stealing. Bedrooms were, naturally, searched first, but so far, there had been no sign of them. I was feeling quite hopeless.
“I hope you do not feel that I am failing you,” I told Louisa. “We shall crack this case, I am quite sure of it. But it might take some time. Few cases are solved in a matter of hours, you know.”
“Please, my dear, I asked you down about some pearls, not about a grisly murder such as this,” Louisa assured me. “I understand that now you must have many more deductions on your plate than you expected. You shall have free reign to do as you wish in order to figure out who committed this horror.”
Mr. Holmes’s letter was short and to the point, as was his manner, but contained an interesting note that struck me more fully than the others.
This bit about the blood that you have mentioned rather reminds me of a case that I worked some time ago. A man had taken revenge upon the two men responsible for the death of his sweetheart and her father, and upon killing them had written “rache” in blood upon the wall. This word, as you know, Miss Bennet, means “revenge” in German. This may sound a bit familiar to you. This case was the inspiration for Mr. Hope, the man Miss Bingley hired to kill Mr. Wickham.
The writing on the wall was a completely illogical thing to do. Indeed, it told us the man’s motive. Why should he do it, then? Because while we deduce facts, Miss Bennet, there are psychological reasons for why people commit crimes. This man murdered because he felt a wrong had been dealt and he wanted the world to know of that wrong. It seems to me as though this person is the same—there is a message in all that blood. It is a sign of something.
I was inclined to agree. This was a show, a bit of theatricality—but what the message?
What was the blood trying to say?
Chapter Six:
The Wrong End
I wrote back to Mr. Holmes expressing my frustrations.
You must understand that I am quite out of my mind with the lack of physical evidence this case provides. I have narrowed it down to three clues of importance: this bit of rubber that I found at the crime scene, the scream and the locked door, and then the blood.
The door, I have reasoned, was to prevent anyone from entering the room, although why, I cannot fathom. As to the bit of rubber, it reminds me of something, but I cannot yet ascertain as to what. I am going into the market to mail this letter and shall be stopping by a few shops—perhaps there is someone there who can tell me what this bit of material belongs to.
To ensure that all of my bases were covered, I asked Mary to run some errands for me. She was happy to do so in order to assist in the investigation. First, I had her to go check and see that Mr. Hillford was who he said that he was.
Mary found out that he was—and that he had come to Meryton to visit the Lawtons only a few weeks after his mother had passed away. It seemed that Mr. Hillford had waited only until all of his affairs were in order and the funeral arrangements settled before coming to visit his father’s childhood friend.
An unusual coincidence—and one that made me feel as though I were missing something. That there was something itching at the back of my mind that I could only as yet graze with my fingertips.
Mary also informed me as to how Father was doing. “He is quite a bit better than he was before when you last saw him,” she told me when we met up in Meryton. “I suspect that Mother’s fussing has spurred him into greater health in order to get her to let him alone.”
“I cannot help but fear that Mother is right and that he is beginning to put one foot in the grave,” I admitted. Mother was prone to hysterics, but Father was old. In fact, he was a good ten years older than Mother—her youth, he said, had been part of what had drawn him to her when they first met. With all of his children fully grown, he was getting on in years. I could remember how he used to go for long walks every morning, how now he rarely stirred from his chair.
“Father is fine,” Mary said firmly. “I have been looking after him with great care and not allowing Mother to work herself into too great of a tizzy over the matter. We shall be making wedding arrangements for Lydia and Kitty long before we plan for Father’s funeral.”
I nodded. “Of course, you are right. I should let you get back—I will let you know of any developments in the case. I feel that I am very close to figuring it out… that there are only some things that I should be seeing clearly that I am not, as though I am wearing fogged glasses.”
“You will solve it,” Mary said, her voice full of conviction. “I am certain of it. All the pieces will fall into place for you in time.”
I thanked her and let her go on her way back to Longbourn and set out to wander through Meryton on my own.
Meryton was busy, as usual, and many items that had been stocked for Easter were now marked down so that shopkeepers might be rid of their extra stock. I visited a few shops but was unable to find out what the bit of rubber was used for.
I began to fear that I could not solve the case without Mr. Holmes there. Was it really that I was nothing without him? Could I only be his assistant and nothing more?
I paused in front of a shop for children. Lydia and Kitty were quite old now and had never been interested in such things anyway, but perhaps my little nephew might like something. A stuffed bear, maybe?
Entering the shop, I surveyed the merchandise. There was a darling little stuffed puppy that was quite soft, perfect for a baby. I went to the counter to make my purchase—and that was when I saw them.
Dying Pigs.
I pointed excitedly behind the counter where they hung. “Sir, please tell me, are those popular? They had them when I was a child.”
“Ah, yes, quite.” The shopkeeper smiled at me. “I make them myself.”
I held out my piece of rubber. “Would this be a part of it, do you think? From one that has already been popped?”
“Why yes, miss, that is the same kind of rubber. They rather explode into bits when you let them go. Make quite the horrible sound, don’t they? Young boys come in here all the time to buy them as pranks. I shouldn’t wonder if there’s been many a spanking over these toys.”
So, this was what the rubber was—and what had produced the scream! A child’s toy! But why should a scream be needed? After all, the door was locked. Surely it would benefit t
he murderer to ensure that the death went unnoticed for as long as possible? Why alert everyone to it?
I purchased the stuffed puppy and turned to go, only to run straight into Mr. Darcy.
“Miss Bennet.” He spied the puppy. “For Thomas, I presume?”
“Yes, I thought he might like such a toy.”
“I had rather the same thought.” Mr. Darcy held up a small stuffed rabbit. “I suppose there’s no harm in spoiling the boy just a little bit.”
“I’m sure neither of his parents will object,” I said, smiling.
“Tell me, Miss Bennet, how goes the case?”
“More poorly than I should like,” I told him. “It is rather frustrating. There are few physical facts, everyone had a motive—and poor Miss Grant was nearly killed—and honestly, Mr. Darcy, I’ve been having the worst sense of déjà vu ever since I stepped into the place.”
“Forgive me for being so frank, but it is not in my nature to make pretty words when honest ones will do,” Mr. Darcy said, paying the shopkeeper for the rabbit. “I am not surprised that Mr. Lawton has met such an end. A grislier one than I think anyone dared to imagine, but when I first visited Netherfield with Mr. Bingley to see about his purchasing it, we heard quite a lot about the old man.
“He was a trial to his wife, or so I was told. Had affairs behind her back, although, of course, nobody dared speak of such things when she was alive. It seems she was often ill.”
“It makes me sick,” I said, “to think of how men so often treat their wives. I am glad that my sister Jane has found such an agreeable and sweet-tempered man as Mr. Bingley, for I shudder to think of what other possibilities there might have been.”
“Philandering is not nearly so rare as people would like us all to believe,” Mr. Darcy said gravely. “I have heard far too many a man boast of his exploits, and it is often the women who suffer. I shouldn’t wonder that there aren’t more children born out of wedlock than there are generally acknowledged. And do these men ever suffer for their actions? No. It is the women and the children who do.”
The Case of the Patriarch Page 4