Elizabeth dropped the scrap of fabric on the table, and wiped her hands down her gown.
“There was something else that Harriet and I thought of last night,” Emma mused. “Can we be sure Mr. Rushworth was the intended victim?”
Lady Allen gasped. “Why, I had never thought of that! How vastly clever!”
Emma preened a little at the compliment and gave them all a look of challenge. “Well? Mr. Tilney, when did you alter the place cards? Was someone else meant to sit where Mr. Rushworth was seated?”
“Probably. I retrieved all the place cards without looking at where they had been; I hardly thought it mattered, when I meant to mix them up anyhow. But I kept it the same as it would have been, alternating between the sexes, so it would have been one of the nine men at the table who had been placed there. No, one of eight, for I would still have sat at the head of the table.”
Mr. Darcy leveled a dubious gaze at Mr. Tilney. “It was notsucha random arrangement.”
“Perhaps not, but we were blended enough that I am sure we all spoke to people who are not in this room, which was my object. Miss Smith, Miss Woodhouse, I daresay you found Mr. Willoughby’s company agreeable, and Miss Bennet, you were not averse to speaking again with Mrs. Rushworth.”
Emma frowned at Mr. Tilney. “It was Mr. Willoughby who gave us the notion that Mrs. Rushworth is not the only person with motivation to harm another amongst us. He is charming, perhaps too charming, but is he not someday to inherit from two different people in this castle? He is related to Sir Walter Elliot, whose previous heir was killed in a duel… and to you, Lady Allen.”
“If he was being blackmailed for something as insidious as murder or attempted murder, like some others, I may consider that a real possibility,” Elizabeth said. “And it must depend on whether the killer was in the dining room before or after the place cards were changed.”
“We cannot rule out either possibility, though one thing is certain,” Mr. Darcy said. “Whenever the killer went into the dining room, either they are without an alibi for a short time, or they have an accomplice who will vouch for them.”
“I believe I must begin a new page.” Cathy retrieved fresh paper and a pencil and began to fill the page. “Things we must discover. Firstly, whoever dropped thevinaigrette de toiletteand was in the secret passage. Secondly, the owner of the handkerchief. Third, who was unaccounted for in the hour before dinner. When did they lay the table, Mr. Tilney?”
“I cannot think more than an hour before. I shall ask Mrs. Younge,” Mr. Tilney said.
“If the poisoner came in after the place cards were changed, they must have done it before they went into theparlor,” Elizabeth suggested. “They could not have done it after. Who was already downstairs by that point?”
“Let me think,” Mr. Tilney mused. “I believe only Lady Susan and Miss Denham, Darcy, and the Rushworths. So it could not have been Mrs. Rushworth. When I returned to the parlor from making the switch, you had come down with the ladies, Sir Edward, and then a few minutes later, Sir Walter, and then other gentlemen not long after. Yes, I recall thinking it funny the ladies should be the most prompt.”
Cathy continued writing down the relevant information, then mused aloud. “So if Mr. Rushworth was the intended victim, it must have been Mr. Crawford. The handkerchief must be WF, a fragment of his name.”
“But he could not have been in the passage,” Elizabeth reminded her sister. She sighed with frustration. “I was sure we were close to figuring it all out, but there must be something missing. Obviously the general and the captain were killed for what they knew, but Mr. Rushworth knew far less than most people, and I can see no reason for any other man here to be singled out for any reason, excepting yourself, Mr. Tilney, and you could never have been the target. Forgive me, but it makes no sense.”
“I am well aware of the danger I am in,” Mr. Tilney replied, holding up his hands. “It is the primary reason we have taken up such unconventional lodgings, for none benefit more from such safety in numbers than myself.”
“I still think you are mad for inviting us all here in the first place,” Sir Edward said.
“You would never have met your other daughters,” Mr. Tilney said, looking rather wounded. “Miss Bennet will meet her mother, the princess. And besides, I do love a good houseparty. I had imagined by now that we should all be bathing in champagne and dancing the night away after the triumph of serving my father some long overdue justice. You would all have loved that as well as me, I am sure.”
“We certainly would have,” Cathy agreed. She looked askance at Sir Edward. “Are you not glad to have met us?”
“It has been the honor of my life, but blackmail makes for a strange house party.”
“A very strange house party,” Lady Allen said, fanning herself anxiously. “I cannot see how any of us can trust one another. There is sure to be a great deal more squabbling, everybody accusing one another. I wonder if anyone else will be killed!”
Sir Edward moved to comfort her, but her uneasiness seemed to affect them all.
Mr. Darcy finally broke the moment of silent tension. “I think we must continue trying to discover the truth, and we must proceed discreetly. Unless we uncover more definitive evidence, we are not likely to all agree on who the culprit is. But if we can uncover enough proof, we shall at least be able to make a case to the magistrate, once we have found a means of leaving the castle.”
“And we can only accomplish that after we either find where Captain Tilney hid the key, or wait for the arrival of the royals, and hope they send us a skilled blacksmith.” Elizabeth sighed and warily shook her head.
Emma finished off a third pastry and leaned back into the sofa with an irritated groan. “Ugh! We are going in circles, I fear. I have no talent for solving mysteries. I should rather have preferred the house party Mr. Tilney imagined!”
Elizabeth stood and began to pace, frustrated by a sense of wanting to do something, to make some discovery that put all the pieces into place; she felt as though the answer were just out of reach. She had no wish to hide away here for fear of murder, for it would solve nothing. “We must be doing something, I cannot bear to be so idle.”
Sir Edward chuckled indulgently. “You have been denied your morning walks, poor Lizzy, and now you are restless indeed. But we ought to do what we can. We shall drive ourselves mad with endless debate.”
Elizabeth continued her pacing, and as she moved past Mr. Darcy, he reached out as if to capture her attention. “It is not a long walk back to your previous rooms, but we could go and see if anyone stepped into my little trap.”
She grinned at him. “The ashes, yes! It was clever of you to think of it.” She explained to their companions how Mr. Darcy had sprinkled ashes in front of the entrance to the secret passage in their former parlor.
