“Doubtless she did not, then. Nora has been with us an age. We must look for another perpetrator.”
Mrs Reynolds bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. “That is just it, sir. Mrs de Bourgh sent her to fetch some possession of hers from the old mistress’s chambers. She is the only one who has been in it, excepting Mrs de Bourgh herself.”
Mr Darcy’s expression grew thunderous, and although he spoke very calmly, we both heard the disapproval in his voice. “I remember giving orders for that floor to be shut up. I believe I asked you for the keys.”
To her credit, Mrs Reynolds did not flinch, though she was very red-faced. “Yes, sir. Mrs de Bourgh refused to give me her keys, sir. She said my orders did not include hers. I ought to have told you, but she was so very distressed about Mrs Darcy’s death. She wished to spend time in her old rooms. I thought it was the grief, sir. I do apologise.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but I interrupted. “As to the figurine, Mrs Reynolds, it was I who broke it.” I held up my hand; I had removed the bandage for dinner, but an angry red scratch remained. “I entered via the stairs from the dining parlour. The door off the landing was unlocked, and I looked around. As I was leaving, I brushed against a porcelain and it fell and broke. I put the pieces in a box on Mr Darcy’s bureau, along with a note to him explaining the accident and its cause, as he was not at home and thus, I could not explain. I had no idea another would be accused, and so quickly. You will please convey my apologies to Nora?”
Mrs Reynolds opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her expression lightened, and I knew she would not tell Mr Darcy that she had warned me against entering the upper floor of the cliffside wing. It was very good of her, though I had already admitted that she had in my note. I did not much care for secrets.
“I will, madam. I will tell her, and inform Mrs de Bourgh the truth of the matter. I am certain she will be relieved that it was not a case of theft. Thank you, madam.”
Mr Darcy’s jaw remained clenched after she hurried away.
“Will you ask Mrs de Bourgh for her keys?”
He did not answer me but stiffly held out his arm. I placed my hand upon his sleeve; I could feel his tension. I began walking with him towards the dining parlour.
“She knew Nora had done nothing wrong,” I said, conversationally. “Perhaps she did not realise I would tell you of the accident. I have seen her twice in passing this afternoon. I am certain she saw the bandage on my hand. I am also certain that she spends most of her time on that closed floor, maintaining the rooms just as they were in Mrs Darcy’s lifetime, and noticed the figurine’s absence immediately. Doubtlessly she checked the dustbins for the shards. The vases in her daughter’s former bedchamber are filled with fresh flowers, and she has a négligée laid out upon the bed. That was the most alarming touch, at least to me. It is as if she expects Anne to return.”
If he could have grown stiffer, he would have. I know he would have recoiled from my words, from me, had politeness not been ingrained. “Her grief is exacerbated by my presence, and I wonder that she would not like to live elsewhere,” I finished.
I said nothing more. I was not sorry that I had made my feelings on the situation clear. Mrs de Bourgh was actively trying to cause dissension between us. And whether it was grief or a jealous hatred or both, I could not stand by as her victim.
Mr Darcy said nothing the entire meal. I, conscious of the footmen listening, had nothing to say either. As soon as I could, I excused myself. I was nearly to the door when he spoke; I turned to face him.
“Your hand,” he said. “Is it painful? Should I call someone to look at it?”
“No,” I replied. “I barely notice it now. Just a scratch.”
And that was all.
For the first time since our marriage, he did not come to me that night.