husbandry.”
“It was not half the evening.”
She chuckled. “Tell that to the wives.”
Darcy addressed Mr. Knightley. “And none of those gentlemen had read Stuart’s book.”
Mr. Knightley had followed the marital exchange with interest. “You are acquainted with the Earl of Chatfield?”
“Indeed, I have the honor of calling him a friend,” Darcy said.
“As do I, though we missed each other the last several times I was in town. I begin to believe he knows absolutely everybody.”
Darcy was inclined to agree. The earl liked nothing better than to collect a group of diverse individuals around his dining room table to see what sort of conversation resulted, and in all of the parties Darcy had attended, he had never dined with the same group of people twice. His lordship belonged to several learned societies, and counted members of still more among his seemingly endless connexions. Men of arts and letters and science, men of medicine and law, military men and men of God — from artists to zoologists, philanthropists to philosophers, one could never predict whom one might encounter at a gathering hosted by Lord Chatfield. For all his intellectual curiosity, however, the earl was a discriminating judge of character, and the fact that Chatfield included Mr. Knightley among his friends further reassured Darcy of the magistrate’s reliability.
When they reached the main hall, they found not Mrs. Knightley, but a gentlemanlike man about Mr. Knightley’s age, carrying an apothecary’s bag.
“Mr. Perry, I am glad you were able to return so quickly,” Mr. Knightley said. “I will join you in a few minutes. First, however, can you visit the servants’ hall? Mr. and Mrs. Darcy’s coach was robbed, and their groom and footman were struck unconscious. They are awake now, but we should like them examined.”
“My goodness! You were not yourselves injured, I hope?”
After the Darcys gave their assurances, Mr. Knightley directed a passing footman to accompany the apothecary to the servants’ hall. He then turned back to Mr. Perry. “When you have done downstairs, a servant will escort you to Mr. Churchill’s chamber. I will meet you there. Do you require additional assistants?”
“For Mr. Churchill? No. I shall conduct only a preliminary examination here. Should we believe a more thorough autopsy is warranted, the remains can be moved to my office and a surgeon summoned.”
The word “autopsy” commanded Darcy’s attention. Apparently, the apothecary’s patient was the deceased uncle, and there had been something peculiar about his demise.
As Mr. Perry headed for the servants’ hall, Mr. Knightley regarded the Darcys apprehensively. “I wish Mr. Perry had exercised more caution in his speech just now,” he said. “The circumstances of Mr. Churchill’s death were a bit unusual, but not a general cause for concern. If you could refrain from mentioning the autopsy before anyone else, I would be most obliged.”
Darcy perfectly comprehended the magistrate’s position: Mr. Knightley did not want to create panic or invite rampant speculation whilst he had yet to determine whether there was anything about which to panic or speculate. Nor did he want to compromise the coroner’s ability to fully probe questions raised by the postmortem examination.
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Darcy and I have found ourselves called upon to investigate several suspicious deaths, more than one of which proved to be murder.” The incidents were not subjects he and Elizabeth were themselves in the habit of discussing with others, particularly someone with whom they were barely acquainted, but he wanted to assure Mr. Knightley that he recognized what was at stake. “We understand the importance of maintaining silence on such matters, and you may depend upon ours regarding Mr. Churchill.”
“I appreciate your discretion. Murder is a crime with which we, thankfully, are little acquainted in Highbury, and I trust that remains the case. I expect Mr. Perry’s findings to confirm Mr. Churchill’s death as accidental. One merely prefers certainty.”
Mrs. Knightley, the butler informed their host, was engaged with the Westons and Churchills at present, and Mr. Knightley decided to leave them undisturbed. With apologies for what he perceived as neglect, but which the Darcys did not take as such, he consigned them to the care of the housekeeper.
“I shall introduce you to Mrs. Knightley on the morrow. Meanwhile, do not hesitate to ask for anything you require.” Mr. Knightley started to retreat, but then halted and turned to them once more. “By the bye — did you solve them? The murders?”
“We did indeed,” Darcy said.
Mr. Knightley did not reply. He merely looked pensive as he headed to meet the apothecary in Mr. Churchill’s chamber.
“As it seems a matter of justice, it shall be done.”
“I believe,” Elizabeth said to Darcy as she sat at the dressing table, preparing to go down to breakfast, “that you and I have grown alarmingly accustomed to the presence of death and mayhem in our everyday existence.”
Across the bedchamber, he paused over the letter he was writing to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Why do you say so?”
“One might expect that being set upon by thieves and arriving here in the midst of a fatal fete would disturb one’s equanimity, yet I think I fell asleep last night the moment I closed my eyes.” Indeed, by the time their servants and luggage were collected from the Crown, little had remained of the night, and Elizabeth had noticed almost nothing about their chamber save the great canopied walnut bed centered on one wall. Upon awakening, she had found herself in a spacious, well-appointed room with sturdy, centuries-old furnishings and a view of Donwell’s apple orchard in the distance.
“You were exhausted from the travel and turmoil.”
She knew Darcy had been, as well. Despite her fatigue, his restlessness had disturbed her slumber more than once during the night, and this morning his mood remained more serious than usual.
“Even so, if misadventure continues to find us whenever we leave home, people will stop inviting us to visit.” She adjusted the lace of her chemisette and pinched her cheeks to add color to them. “I doubt Mr. Knightley has any notion what he took on by encouraging us to stay. It was noble of you to warn him.”
“I did nothing of the sort.” He added a line to the end of his letter, then signed his name. “In mentioning those previous incidents, I merely sought to assure him of our discretion regarding the Churchill matter.”
“Nevertheless, I approve your conscientiousness. Mr. Knightley seems a good sort of man, and I look forward to meeting his wife.”
She turned back to the mirror and made the finishing touches to her toilette. Though more inclined to wear a simpler dress to breakfast, Elizabeth wanted to make a good impression upon Mrs. Knightley, and so had chosen her chintz morning gown, with its scalloped front-button closure from bodice to hem. With winter approaching, her maid had attached the long, ribbon-trimmed sleeves just before they left Derbyshire, for which Elizabeth was grateful. Despite the fire in their chamber, the air held a nip that she attributed to the wind rustling the leaves outside.
Darcy, too, had chosen his attire with care. The navy blue coat was among her favorites, for it complemented his dark hair and eyes, and showed to advantage the broad shoulders that never shirked a burden placed upon them.
She smoothed the curls that peeked from under her cap, and rose. “Altogether, I declare this a better experience than the last night we passed in an abbey.”
Her lighthearted reference to Northanger Abbey and the intrigue it had held elicited the smile from Darcy that she had hoped to provoke. It was slight and brief, but she was glad to see it flicker across his countenance.
