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Despite the interlude of a night’s sleep which helped the trauma of yesterday’s incidents recede slightly, the mood in the Bennet household remained sombre the next morning. Mrs Bennet kept to her room, though her distraught wailing was easily heard by the rest of the family down in the breakfast parlour as she gave vent to her feelings:
“Oh... Oh... to have gone to the ball enjoying the full glory of Bingley’s special regard... and with the hopes of a marriage proposal in sight... and then to have it replaced by shame and scandal! Oh, we are all ruined! Ruined!”
As soon as breakfast was over, Mr Bennet escaped to his library and Mary to her pianoforte whilst the younger girls took themselves with alacrity into the garden. Jane and Elizabeth removed to the morning parlour where the former took up some embroidery, her countenance betraying nothing of her thoughts or feelings. Elizabeth fidgeted with a book, longing to speak to her sister about what had happened at the ball. At length, she laid the book aside and attempted to broach the subject, but Jane was swift to direct the conversation onto other avenues. Of Bingley, she would not speak at all, though Elizabeth knew that her sister must have been suffering greatly from his apparent rejection.
Elizabeth returned to her book with a sigh, but her mind soon wandered again. Though she could not discuss the matter with Jane, she could not prevent herself from mulling over the events of the ball. She thought of Darcy and his decision to conceal her role in Wickham’s deception... what had possessed him to act thus? She felt indebted to him now and the feeling made her uneasy. She turned her thoughts hastily away from that gentleman and focused instead on the mystery of the stolen tiara. She wondered if Forsythe had made further progress in Wickham’s interrogation. Had he managed to persuade the highwayman to confess his secrets?
Remembering Wickham’s cheerful insolence at the ball, Elizabeth was doubtful of Forsythe’s chances of success. But without the highwayman’s cooperation, how was one ever to discover the answers? Thus far, Wickham had employed the same method to rob repeatedly, each time thwarting all attempts to prevent or capture him. What was his secret? How did he steal the items and remove them from the dining rooms at each of the balls with no one witnessing the act? Was he a magician? How otherwise might he have caused the tiara to disappear last night when he had had no opportunity to remove it from the room, and the place—as well as his person—had been thoroughly searched?
Elizabeth pondered this conundrum. It was a well practised crime and one which Wickham had perforce absolute confidence in. He had shown so little apprehension last night despite the great risks he was taking. An image of him at the dining table rose to mind: his blue eyes amused, his figure relaxed, as he reached to help himself from the roast chicken...
The roast chicken.
Elizabeth sat bolt upright. Wickham had seemed uncommonly interested in the cooked bird—indeed, he had seated himself repeatedly near its location on the table, and when his identity had been discovered, he had taken time to snatch it from the table and carry it with him when he attempted to escape through the windows. Elizabeth had assumed his act to be driven by a search for a convenient nearby weapon—indeed, Wickham had used the roast chicken with great effect on one of the Bow Street runners—but now she wondered if there was also a more furtive reason.
She sprang up from her seat, much to Jane’s surprise, and said, “I must go to Netherfield at once!”
Luckily, one of the horses at the farm was available and Elizabeth was soon travelling at great speed on horseback towards Netherfield Park. She arrived at the front of the country manor and dismounted, throwing the reins of the horse to the startled footman who met her at the door.
“Take me to your master at once!” she announced. “I have news of great import to give him.”
“I am afraid the master is not at home, madam,” said the footman. “Perhaps you would like—”
“I will see Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth looked up to see Darcy standing at the top of the front steps. He was wearing an olive-green riding coat and buskin breeches tucked into polished Hessian boots. He looked very different from the dashing buccaneer he had resembled last night, though his dark eyes held the same expression—an expression that Elizabeth could not quite define.
“I am afraid that Bingley had to go to London this morning on an urgent matter of business,” said Darcy, making her a bow as she came up the steps to join him. “His sisters are also presently out of the house. Perhaps I might be of assistance?”
Elizabeth hesitated, then nodded and followed him into the interior. Once in the foyer, she wasted no time in revealing the reason for her visit.
“Has Wickham confessed the location of the stolen tiara?” she asked.
“No.” Darcy’s mouth tightened. “He refuses to cooperate.”
“’Tis no matter,” said Elizabeth excitedly. “I believe I know the whereabouts of Mrs Rochdale’s headpiece.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps you could conduct me to Mr Forsythe and we could apply to Wickham for confirmation of my theory—”
“I am afraid Forsythe has departed for Newgate Prison already and taken Wickham with him,” said Darcy.
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “Well, in that case... can you take me to the kitchens?”
“To the kitchens?” Darcy looked at her in surprise.
“Yes, for we may yet be in time to retrieve the tiara!”
Darcy looked even more surprised at her pronouncement, but he asked no more questions, simply summoning a servant to lead them both down to the main kitchen. The servants all stopped and stared in shock as they entered. A scullery maid dropped a plate which shattered on the floor, and Cook at the chopping board nearly sliced off the end of her finger.
“Sir! Madam!” Nicholls the housekeeper bustled up, her hands fluttering in agitation. “Is aught the matter?”
“Rest easy, Mrs Nicholls,” said Darcy. “There is nothing the matter. However, I believe Miss Bennet would desire a word with you.”
“What has happened to the food from the ball?” asked Elizabeth without preamble. “Where do you keep it?”
“It’s been discarded, ma’am,” said Nicholls, looking puzzled. “Some of it’s been given to the pigs and dogs, some to the chickens, and the rest’s been thrown into the tip outside.”
“All of it?” Elizabeth asked. She turned dismayed eyes to Darcy and her shoulders drooped. “Then we are too late.”
“Nay,” Cook spoke up. “Not all o’ it. Some ’twere put into the soup, there.” She nodded to the big pot bubbling on the fire.
“Oh, what ingredients have you selected?” asked Elizabeth. “What of the roast chicken? Did you not throw the carcass away?”
Cook shook her head. “No, best stock yer get from t’roast chicken carcass,” she said complacently.
Elizabeth hurried over to the bubbling pot. “Can I make use of a ladle, Cook?”
By now, all the servants had stopped their work and come forward to watch in curiosity. Elizabeth lifted the lid of the pot and stepped back slightly as steam billowed out. She inserted the ladle and carefully stirred the soup, dredging the depths until she felt the ladle encounter a sizeable object. Slowly she lifted it out and deposited her catch on the plate provided. It was a chicken carcass, the bones boiled almost clean of meat. Elizabeth prodded it with the ladle, turning it over to reveal the centre cavity.
It was empty.
A wave of disappointment washed over Elizabeth. Had she been wrong? She had been so sure of her theory...
“Try t’other one,” said Cook.
Elizabeth looked at her eagerly. “There is another?”
“Aye. Two roast birds I did fer the ball yest’day.”
The ladle went back in the soup again and this time, when it came up, Elizabeth caught the sparkle of jewels even before she had emptied the contents on the plate. The meat had not completely boiled off the bone on this carcass—nevertheless, it was easy to see the diamond tiara carefully wedged into the centre cavity of the chicken.
“Well, blow me down!” exclaimed Cook, whilst the other servants gave cries of surprise as well.
“Very ingenious,” commented Darcy. “So this is how Wickham has been perpetrating his crimes—by stealing the items and concealing them within the food on the table.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “This is the method by which he has been able to hide the stolen goods effectively and remove them from the vicinity without fear of discovery. It is a simple matter for him to return to the kitchen later that evening and retrieve the concealed items. In small, private balls where it would not be easy for him to disguise himself amongst the guests, he may have prevailed upon a local servant to help him. Indeed, with his charm and good looks, he could easily gain entry by the seduction of a kitchen maid...”
At this, there came a muffled sob nearby and a young maid turned and fled from the room.
Darcy gave Elizabeth a dry smile. “Unfortunately, your theory appears to bear fruit, Miss Bennet. I commend you on your shrewd thinking.”
Elizabeth returned his smile, feeling inordinately pleased for some reason to be receiving a compliment from Darcy. They waited as Nicholls carefully rinsed the tiara clean of all traces of soup and oil, then dried it with a soft cloth. It was soon restored to its former sparkling glory and looked none the worse for wear for having been boiled in chicken stock for a few hours. Darcy took it to his chambers for safekeeping, then insisted on escorting Elizabeth back to Longbourn.
She was surprised by his gallantry and hardly knew what to say as they started on their journey. However, she found—to her surprise—that she felt more at ease with Darcy than she had expected. They rode companionably side by side, their horses’ hooves making soft, rhythmic thuds on the ground. Darcy handled his big stallion expertly, reining in the spirited animal to keep pace with Elizabeth’s gelding, and seeming content to ride in silence. Elizabeth, however, could not hold her peace. For Jane’s sake, at least, she felt compelled to ask after the master of Netherfield.
“Will... will Mr Bingley be long in town?” she asked. “I am surprised he would leave so soon after the ball.”
“It was an unexpected matter of some urgency, I believe,” said Darcy. “He planned to return this evening. He will be delighted to learn of the recovery of Mrs Rochdale’s tiara. It will go some way towards mitigating the damage done last night.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then said, “We enjoyed the ball very much, in spite of the events that occurred. I hope... I hope Mr Bingley will not take the incidents too much to heart?”
“Bingley does feel things too keenly at times,” said Darcy grimly. “He has a warm, unguarded heart, which is as quick to embrace love as it is to wallow in disillusion.”
Elizabeth glanced at her companion sharply. Was Darcy alluding to Bingley’s feelings for Jane? She wished that she dared to pursue the subject further, but delicacy prevented her from asking more probing questions.
They turned their horses into the main gates of Longbourn and slowly approached the house. Elizabeth was surprised to feel a faint twinge of disappointment at the thought of ending the ride. She had not thought it possible that she would enjoy a solitary interlude with Mr Darcy, but for some reason she could not fathom, there was a strange sort of pleasure in being in his company.
They stopped their horses by the front door and Darcy dismounted, then assisted her down from her mount. Elizabeth caught her breath as he lifted her from the saddle, conscious of their closeness and his hands around her waist. She stared up at him, surprised to see a softness in his dark eyes as Darcy gazed down at her.
Then the door to the house was flung open and Mary rushed out, pursued by Kitty and Lydia.
“Lizzy! They want to take it from me!” wailed Mary, her eyes wide with distress.
“Lizzy! It is evil! Tell her she must dispose of it!”
“Aye, or we will all suffer illness and death!”
Elizabeth stepped away from Darcy. “What is it? Of what do you speak?”
Lydia pointed to the music box clutched in Mary’s arms. “Mary’s cursed music box! She must destroy it, Lizzy, or we shall all suffer the consequences of the curse!”
“I will not—I do not subscribe to such hysterical superstitions,” said Mary.
Lydia stamped her foot. “How can you speak so, Mary? Did you not see those other guests at the ball last night? Was that not proof that the music box is cursed? They all fell ill not moments after the music box was opened—”
“As a matter of fact, I can offer an alternate explanation for the bouts of sickness,” said Darcy suddenly.
They all fell silent and looked at him in surprise.
“You mean, it was not due to my music box?” asked Mary hopefully.
Darcy inclined his head. “No, indeed, I believe those guests fell ill due to partaking of some tainted cheese.”
“Tainted cheese?” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, in the course of Bingley’s search for components for his costume, he came across a supplier selling cheeses from the New World. Bingley took a liking to the cheese and duly purchased some to be served at the ball. I noticed the platter on the table last night but did not realise its significance until I spoke to Forsythe this morning. He related that Wickham had not touched the cheeseboard. Since I recalled that Wickham was the only person at that end of the table who had not been struck down by sickness, I deduced that it was the cheese which caused the illness.”
“An illness from cheese? I have never heard of such a thing,” said Elizabeth.
“It is not from the cheese, per se,” said Darcy, “but from the milk that the cheese was made from. Indeed, in the New World, it is known as ‘milk sickness’, for it happens most commonly when contaminated milk is consumed.”
“The milk is poisonous?”
“Only in this instance, because the cows which produced the milk happened to feed on a plant known as the white snakeroot. This plant contains a poison which is transferred to the milk and any dairy products produced. The symptoms of the disease are violent trembling, intense abdominal pain, vomiting... and, in severe cases, death.”
“But those are exactly the symptoms observed at the ball yesterday!” said Elizabeth. “Are you saying that it was all just an unusual coincidence?”
“That is exactly what I am saying,” said Darcy. “And to corroborate my theory, the cook at Netherfield revealed that Bingley’s Great Dane, which consumed some of the leftover cheese, immediately exhibited similar symptoms of trembling and vomiting. I am pleased to say, however, that he has recovered—as have the other guests at the ball. It seems that the amount of poison in the cheese was luckily below the fatal level.”
“So my music box had nothing to do with it?” asked Mary, an expression of delight spreading over her face.
“But... but we know it is cursed!” insisted Lydia, unwilling to relinquish her position. “We read about the curse and then we saw people succumb with the exact same symptoms as the curse prophesised—”
“It is easy to see what we want to see, especially when our minds are swayed by prior prejudice,” said Darcy. “But I highly doubt that the music box harbours a deadly jinx.”
Lydia made a sound of frustration, then flounced back into the house, with Kitty at her heels. Elizabeth blushed at her younger sisters’ rudeness. It was slightly mitigated, however, by Mary’s profuse thanks, and Elizabeth was surprised to see Darcy listen with patient courtesy to her sister’s pedantic gratitude. It was a kindness she had not expected of him. Mary soon followed the younger girls back into the house, but Elizabeth remained on the front steps—staring after him—long after Darcy had made his farewells and ridden away again.
