“My keys have gone missing,” Mrs. Rushworth said. “I forgot all about them last night, but this morning when I was dressing, I could not find them.”
Emma sneered at her. “Pocketed by your lover, perhaps?”
“Emma!” Harriet gasped. “If you have not seen the keys since last night, Mrs. Rushworth, anybody might have taken them.”
“I was out of my mind last night, I am sure,” Mrs. Rushworth said. “Someone might have taken them right out of my hand and I would not have noticed.”
Mr. Parker shook his head with contempt. “And you were so insistent on having the keys!”
Mrs. Rushworth recoiled and hissed at him. “I hardly knew I would become so distracted!”
He curled a lip with disdain. “Did you not?”
Mrs. Rushworth ignored him and looked at Lady Susan in horror. “You must have taken the keys!”
Lady Susan held up her arms. “Search me,” she said with a laugh, as if she expected them all to have a look about her person. Sir Walter leered as if he actually wished to.
“Let us not forget, there is another key to search for,” Mr. Parker said.
Mr. Willoughby agreed. “All this squabbling is pointless if we have no solid evidence who the killer amongst us is, and nomeans of doing anything about it, anyhow. Anything other than searching for the key that Captain Tilney hid seems a dismal waste of time.”
“My nephew is right,” Lady Allen said, fanning herself as if the argument amongst them all was a physical exertion for her.
Mr. Tilney looked relieved. “Capital, let us go and do that. Perhaps small groups rather than pairs?”
“Just what I meant to suggest,” Mr. Willoughby agreed.
Sir Walter smiled cordially. “I must support my nephew, as well. Clearly trying to reason with certain persons is profitless, but I should like to find the means of our escape, indeed. Sir Edward, Mr. Bertram, perhaps you would join me in our little search, for I have a matter I would speak with you about.”
Sir Edward looked warily at his niece, but Mr. Darcy moved closer to her. “I will go with Miss Bennet; she is perfectly safe with me.” Across from them, Mr. Willoughby was nodding emphatically, and Elizabeth added her agreement.
Sir Walter looked to his nephew, who schooled his expression into instant neutrality. “Perhaps you could escort the charming Miss Woodhouse and her little friend.”
“We will search with Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet, for propriety,” Mr. Willoughby said smoothly.
Harriet demurred, choosing to go with Cathy instead. The rest of their party broke into smaller groups to search the castle, and Elizabeth accepted Mr. Darcy’s arm as he led her into the corridor. They began to meander in the direction they were meant to be searching, with Mr. Willoughby and Emma following close behind. When they were beyond the others, Elizabeth stopped and addressed her companions.
“I suppose we ought to go to our parlor, before we actually look for the key. I believe you wish to tell me something, and you may certainly say it in the presence of Emma and Mr. Darcy. I would repeat your words to them, in any case.”
“Yes, I hear your little set having been playing detective together,” Mr. Willoughby said jauntily, and shrugged his shoulders. “I overheard Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford talking about it. I believe I can help.”
As they moved through the castle, they passed the rooms they had searched the day before, and Mrs. Clay came out of the servants’ passage. She cast a wary glance at them before looking at Emma. “The answer was no,” she said enigmatically, before retreating back into the passage.
Emma went pale, and glanced nervously at Mr. Willoughby, who only gave her a charming smile in return. They continued their walk in silence until they reached the shared parlor of their new quarters, and Mr. Darcy went to stoke the fire that blazed there.
Elizabeth gestured for Emma and Mr. Willoughby to sit with her, and a moment later Mr. Darcy took the seat at Elizabeth’s side. Mr. Willoughby cleared his throat. “Surely you must have your suspicions.”
Beside her, Elizabeth felt Mr. Darcy shift on the sofa; he reached into his coat pocket, his eyes fixed on Mr. Willoughby, who reflexively held his hands up. “I mean you no harm!”
Mr. Darcy relaxed somewhat, and Elizabeth realized that he had been reaching for a weapon. She had never suspected Mr. Willoughby, though clearly he knew something. She retrieved thevinaigrette de toilettefrom her pocket and placed it on the table between them.
“It belongs to my uncle.”
Elizabeth scoffed with disbelief. “Sir Walter?”
Emma wore the same expression that she had after seeing Mrs. Younge, her eyes wide and haunted. “Mrs. Clay spoke to his valet. Sir Walter was not bathing at the time of the general’s murder, though he said that he was.”
“His hair was wet,” Elizabeth said. “But I suppose he may have dumped water over himself and washed the gunpowder from his hands. Emma, what made you think to ask about his alleged bath?”
