his horse throw him? It looks a most unsound animal, if you want my opinion.”
Elizabeth did not want her opinion, but she did wonder when Mrs. Norris had formed it. “When did you happen to see his horse?”
“I saw it—” She glanced down the lane. “I saw it when he arrived in the village. Everyone passes White House on their way to the Bull.”
Indeed, Mrs. Norris could not have a more convenient situation for the gathering of village intelligence. A well-timed peek through her curtains could yield a day’s worth of news. Elizabeth decided to offer her a bit more, and see what resulted. “I understand Mr. Crawford died of a gunshot.”
“Indeed? How dreadful. Well, I expect his libertine ways must have caught up with him. Died in an argument, no doubt, over some lady or other. One wonders who the other gentleman is.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said slowly, “one does.” Considering that her niece’s husband was such an obvious suspect, Elizabeth would expect Mrs. Norris to be less vocal in her speculations. “I am certain, however, that he will be found.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Norris blinked. “Is he still at large?”
“So far as I know.”
“Oh, my.” She glanced up and down the lane, no doubt hoping to spot a friend to whom she could immediately impart the news.
“How is Mrs. Rushworth?” Elizabeth asked. “Is she at home?”
“Mrs. Rushworth?” she repeated absently, still looking round. At last, she returned her gaze to Elizabeth. “Maria is presently at Sotherton with her husband.”
“Oh? I understood she lived with you. I must have been mistaken.”
“She has been staying with me — such a good-hearted girl, to keep her poor aunt company. Kindness and thoughtfulness itself, I am sure. But she had matters to discuss with Mr. Rushworth this morning.”
“I had hoped to call upon her today. Perhaps I will try again later, after she returns. Is Sotherton far?”
“It is ten miles. I intended to accompany her, but she would not hear of it. I am sure she thought only of my comfort. It will indeed be a long journey — the roads are narrow and toss one about even in the best of weather. But once at Sotherton, all is ease. It is one of the largest and finest estates in England, you know. An ancient manor. Mr. Rushworth is a man of some consequence.”
“I did not know. Perhaps Mr. Darcy and I will call upon both Mrs. Rushworth and her husband, to improve our acquaintance with them.”
“Perhaps you had better not. As I said, it is a tiresome journey.”
“Then maybe we will have an opportunity to converse with Mr. Rushworth the next time he visits Mansfield.”
“Mr. Rushworth does not come to the village often. He was a frequent visitor to Mansfield Park whilst courting Maria, but after they wed, they spent all their time in London and other fashionable spots. Of late, however, I believe he has largely been at home.”
“With such an estate as you describe, I can well imagine Mr. Rushworth prefers it above any other location — especially now, as hunting season approaches. I have always heard Northamptonshire reputed as fine country for sportsmen.”
“Oh, it is. The finest! And Mr. Rushworth loves to hunt and shoot. He is forever talking about his hounds.” She glanced up the lane again, focusing on something past Elizabeth’s right shoulder. “Oh — there is Jacob Mauston.”
Elizabeth turned to see a laborer coming down the road, carrying with him a box of tools.
“If you will excuse me,” Mrs. Norris continued, “I must speak with him about some work I would like done.”
“By all means.”
Mrs. Norris first reentered her house, returned with a key, and locked her door. “One cannot be too cautious,” she said as she passed Elizabeth.
Indeed, thought Elizabeth as she watched Mrs. Norris bustle toward Mr. Mauston. In this village, one could not.
“When my aunt has got a fancy in her head, nothing can stop her.”
“Consider, Darcy, how much Lady Catherine stands to gain from Mr. Crawford’s death.” Elizabeth lifted the hem of her skirt and picked her way through a particularly muddy patch of road as they walked down the lane past the village green. Overnight rain had made for a damp, slow walk to Mrs. Norris’s house, where they hoped to find Maria Rushworth at home following her previous day’s journey to Sotherton. “As she said, she now can pass off Anne as a widow. Provided Meg does not draw attention to herself, no one in society need ever know that Anne’s first marriage was invalid, whereas if Mr. Crawford were still alive, the scandal would have inevitably been exposed. Even if she fails to complete the alliance with the Sennex family, Anne’s reputation is partially preserved. In fact, she looks like a romantic heroine — her windswept courtship and elopement brought to a premature, tragic end by her groom’s sudden death. She will be a figure of sympathy, not scorn.”
“His death is a fortunate coincidence for my aunt, nothing more.”
“Are you entirely certain? Mr. Archer went off in pursuit of Mr. Crawford that night. And, I recall the following morning, observing a streak of golden residue on the lower leg of his trousers. Perhaps it was pollen from some plant in the grove.”
“Or anywhere in the village. The rain has been so abundant that the weeds are, as well.”
“Why are you so quick to eliminate him as a suspect?”
“Mr. Archer is a highly reputable London solicitor. He deals exclusively with the aristocracy, and charges fees that render him immune to the temptation of increasing his coffers by dirtying his hands with anything so tawdry — not to mention risky — as murder.”
“Could he not have hired a third party to complete the business?”
Darcy released an exasperated sigh. “I suppose he could have. But there are other individuals who are far more likely to have committed the deed.” They had arrived at the gate of White House. “Including a certain discarded mistress who lives here.”
They passed through the gate to the front door, which appeared to have recently been worked upon. Elizabeth noted that a second lock had been installed.
“Have you the earrings?” Darcy asked. The jewelry formed the pretext of their call.
“In my reticule.” She glanced at him archly. “In the absence of a muff pistol.”
They knocked on the door and were greeted by the maid, who bade them wait in the entry while she announced them. Voices carried from the morning room.
“Well, you simply must try again.” The tones belonged unmistakably to Mrs. Norris.
“Perhaps I do not want to try again.” Petulance. Definitely Maria.
“Do not be ridiculous. Anything is better than divorce, and now that Mr. Crawford is dead, it will be easier to persuade Mr. Rushworth to reconcile. You should have tried harder yesterday. Why did you not?”
“Because he was as stupid and dull as ever, and the whole visit only reminded me of why I left him for Mr. Crawford in the first place. Also, his mother was in the room the entire time, standing watch — the old dragon. We could not have a private word. Even could I tolerate living with Mr. Rushworth again, she would never allow it. I do not think he uses the necessary without her permission.”
“Next time I shall come with you to divert her. I ought to have gone yesterday and never should have let you persuade me otherwise.”
“There will be no next time.”
“Maria, I managed matters once with Mr. Rushworth; I will manage them again.”
