The ladies lingered in the corridor together, and a few minutes later the others came out of Mrs. Younge’s room,looking grim. Emma linked her arm through Harriet’s and began whispering with Elizabeth and Cathy.
“Was it very awful?” Cathy asked.
“It made me very sad. Even though she repeated the gossip about Harriet and me to the general, and spied on my aunt, too, it was a terrible sight.” Emma gave a shaky sigh and clung tighter to Harriet. “She was hit over the head with a large silver candlestick, and her head was bleeding. There was something about her… I hardly know how to say it. Some uncanny pricking in my mind, as if I ought to know the answer.”
Elizabeth felt a chill run up her spine. “I do feel that we are close; perhaps if we look over everything again.”
Just then, Mr. Tilney came to speak with them. “Sir Edward and Darcy are going to move Mrs. Younge to the cellar, which I fear is growing rather crowded. I suppose we ought to assemble everybody together again.”
Emma screwed up her face. “So that we can all bicker and shout accusations at one another again? What is the point?”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “I should rather apply myself to reviewing what we know and trying to make sense of things.”
Nearby, Mrs. Clay gave a snort of derision. “I should rather find the key to get us the hell out of here.”
Mr. Tilney smiled ruefully. “Yes, that too.”
“Mr. Tilney, you must speak to everybody,” Cathy said. “It will surely not be pleasant, but the others have already accused us of being secretive together. You have to tell everyone what has happened.”
“I think she is right,” Harriet agreed. She glanced over at Emma, who appeared lost to them, as if stuck by some great realization.
Cathy grinned at her. “Emma, have you thought of something?”
Emma snapped out of her pensive trance. “Oh! Maybe.” She went over to Mrs. Clay and whispered something in her ear.
The woman nodded and then took Emma’s hand in hers. “They will say your aunt must have taken the keys from Mrs. Rushworth, since they shared a room last night. But I can think of someone she might have opened the door for willingly. Someone I fear might have been looking for me.”
Cathy looked quizzically at Emma as she moved away from Mrs. Clay, who informed them she was returning to her duties. “Does she mean Mr. Tilney? Surely not!”
Emma pursed her lips. “No, but I will say no more. Let us go and hear what everyone has to say for themselves.”
They were a quarter hour in summoning the other guests to the parlor, and there they all convened to discuss the latest development; the news was not at all well-received.
Though Mr. Tilney made the announcement directly, Elizabeth had brought thevinaigrette de toiletteup her sleeve, and was determined to continue questioning people about it. This had to be the missing piece to their puzzle. In the ensuing chaos after Mr. Tilney informed them of another murder, Elizabeth scanned the crowd of people to determine who would be the easiest to speak to discreetly. She selected Mr. Willoughby, who was standing near Emma and Harriet, at some remove from anybody she had already asked about the object.
“Sir, I think you must have dropped this,” she said, enacting a similar charade of discovering the item as she had done the night before.
Mr. Willoughby’s eyes flashed wide at the sight of it, and he quickly covered the silver trinket with his hand before pushing her arm away. “For Heaven’s sake, put that in your pocket at once,” he said softly, not looking at her.
“You recognize it?”
He kept his gaze on the general ripple of outcry in the room, but his posture was tense. “It is not mine, so I could not have dropped it, but there can be only one other reason why you might be asking about it. Show it to nobody else, for your own sake. I will speak to you about it when I can.”
Elizabeth gave a tense nod and moved away, while Mr. Darcy stalked toward her. As they stood side by side, only partially aware of the unfolding chaos, he leaned in to whisper. “What happened?”
“I believe he knows something, and only wants some opportunity to divulge it privately.”
He gave a tight smile. “Finally; perhaps this will be just what we need. Well done, Miss Bennet.”
She felt herself blushing. “Thank you. You may praise me at greater length later. I begin to fear our companions shall eat Mr. Tilney alive if we do not interfere.”
Before they could speak up, the raillery against Mr. Tilney took another turn, and just as Mrs. Clay had predicted, Lady Susan, ever the irreverent pot stirrer, was accused of the most recent murder.
“You shared a room with Mrs. Rushworth, who had the keys,” Sir Walter said confidently, pointing at the two women with dramatic flourish.
“Yes, and you gave Mrs. Rushworth a sleeping draught last night, and then encouraged me to go seek the company of… another person,” Miss Denham said. She did not look at Mr. Parker directly, but he took a step away from her.
“I gave her a sleeping draught because she was weeping for her dead husband,” Lady Susan said bluntly.
