Pride and Prescience (26 page)

He noticed, however, a set of fresh footprints that led to Jane’s writing desk. In size and stride length, they matched a faint older set Kendall had left when he’d nosed about the
room with Darcy a few days earlier. Perhaps Darcy’s comment to Parrish that demolition work was about to begin had inspired one last search of the desk before it was destroyed.

Another fresh set of prints, spaced farther apart, extended about halfway into the room. The trail mixed with Kendall’s prints, then doubled back to the door. Kendall’s body had fallen facing away from the desk, his head nearest the door. “He was struck as he was leaving.”

She shuddered and hugged herself. “Do you think he saw his attacker?”

Darcy studied the footprints further. “I believe Kendall returned here to break into the desk. The killer could not have sneaked in after him, because the creaking floorboards would have betrayed him. So the murderer either was hiding in the dark when Kendall entered, or Kendall was aware of his presence. They may have arrived together, or the attacker may have come in later, but Kendall would have heard him enter.”

“You’re sure it’s a ‘him’? Kendall wasn’t the only man attacked last night. Caroline Parrish—”

“A large man stabbed in the back?” He considered the possibility a moment, then shook his head. “Mrs. Parrish does have a questionable history with knives, but I doubt this her work. A woman’s hemline would have left traces in the dust, and yours are the only such marks. Her feet would have made smaller prints. Plus, according to Parrish, she was sedated last night. I think it is safe to say that a man did this.”

“Which means the killer is Bingley, Parrish, Randolph, or Hurst. We can eliminate Bingley—the very thought that he could have killed anybody, even Kendall, is ludicrous. Parrish was busy dealing with his wife and has the scars to prove it. That leaves Randolph, who was very late coming to dinner, and Hurst, who was foxed before the soup was served.”

“Randolph has no motive. He is probably the only person
at Netherfield without a connection to Kendall.” He sighed heavily, disliking the logical conclusion to which that fact led. “So Hurst becomes our chief suspect.”

“Kendall’s death does solve his financial problems. And with the convenience of one quick strike—far more efficient than eliminating his wife’s entire family.” Her gaze flickered to the corpse, then away again. The spectacle obviously distressed her. It distressed
him
, for heaven’s sake. He wished she would allow him to lead her away and return to pursue his investigation alone, but knew he could not fight her resolve.

“Stabbing is a more direct method than I would have given Hurst credit for,” she continued, “but striking his victim from behind is cowardly enough. Then afterward he drinks himself into oblivion.”

Elizabeth’s line of thought echoed Darcy’s own. Hurst possessed a pocketknife. He had cause. And Kendall, cockily pulling Hurst’s strings like a marionette, could have himself provided the opportunity for Hurst to act, could have brought him up to this deserted place to issue more threats or coerce him into searching for Bingley’s records. Then desperation had at last forced the lazy man to act.

Hurst, the murderer. Reprehensible thought! But a reasonable explanation of events.

He studied again the confusing mass of footprints surrounding Kendall. A trail of them seemed to circle the body. Upon closer examination, he realized that they paralleled a dark outline on the floorboards that had previously escaped his notice in the dim light. The line appeared to have been made by scraping a charred piece of wood across the floor. Straight lines within the circle formed a star, with Kendall at its center.

Elizabeth followed his observations. “That is most curious. Where did those marks come from?”

He shook his head in ignorance. “I cannot imagine why
Kendall or Hurst would trace such a pattern on the floor, either before or after the murder.”

“The design looks familiar—I’ve seen it before.” She frowned. “Though I cannot remember where.”

He approached the body once more. Kendall’s arms shot out from his sides; his fingers combed the dust. An unexpected but genuine surge of pity passed through Darcy. What an undignified way to die!

Kendall’s right hand caught Darcy’s attention. Scratches covered the back of it. Darcy bent for a better look, and discovered that the same symbol etched on the floor had been carved into Kendall’s skin. He hadn’t noted the mutilation immediately because unlike the back wound, these scratches had not bled.

Something shiny was trapped under the palm. He bent down and lifted Kendall’s hand, tried to pry stiff fingers away from the round article. A thin chain slid down. Darcy used it to tug the object out of the dead man’s grasp. He gasped in recognition.

So did Elizabeth. “Professor Randolph’s watch.”

“People themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever.”

Elizabeth to Darcy,
Pride and Prejudice,
Chapter 9

A
fter examining the murder scene, the constable commenced his interviews. Elizabeth, to her satisfaction, was allowed to observe. Darcy had questioned the propriety of her being present during the examinations, but she had insisted on staying, particularly for Randolph’s interview. She had spent more time in conversation with him than had anyone else at Netherfield excepting Mr. Parrish, she had argued, and thus could better judge his truthfulness. Darcy had reluctantly consented, but only after exacting a promise from her to remain unobtrusive.

She now sat off to one side, next to Mr. Bingley, who was in attendance as master of the house but otherwise content to let Darcy and the constable conduct the interrogation. She studied Professor Randolph as he answered the constable’s enquiries. What was it the archeologist had said at dinner to excuse his tardiness?
I lost track of the time
. He must have lost track of his pocketwatch as well by then—after having used it shortly before tea, during his “meeting” with Mrs. Parrish.
That meant the murder had occurred sometime between halfpast three and half-past seven.

Professor Randolph answered the lawman’s questions patiently at first, but became increasingly agitated as the same queries were repeated. “I don’t know how my watch came to be in Mr. Kendall’s possession. . . . No, I didn’t give it to him or anyone else. . . . I haven’t been in that part of the house since the fire. . . . From tea until dinner I was in my chamber, drafting a monograph—I can show you the manuscript pages, if you like. . . . Yes, I own a pocketknife, but so do many gentlemen . . . I told you, I didn’t kill him!”

The constable then brought up the pattern on the floor and Kendall’s hand, which matched the engraving on the front of his watch.

“It’s called a pentagram,” the professor said.

“A symbol of the devil, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“I hear you study that hocus-pocus stuff. Did you cast some sort of hex on Mr. Kendall before you killed him?”

“I didn’t kill him!” Randolph looked at the others pleadingly. “Mr. Bingley, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy—I swear to you, I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

When the circular line of questioning yielded no new information in more than fifteen minutes, Darcy interceded with a subtle hint that the constable complete his interviews with the rest of the household. The constable, intimidated by Darcy, complied with the suggestion. He dismissed Randolph and requested that Mr. Parrish be summoned.

Randolph paused on his way out. “Please, may I have my pocketwatch back?”

The constable looked to Darcy. “I don’t see why not. That is, I don’t think I need it anymore. Do I?”

“Perhaps I should take it for safekeeping. We can return it to Professor Randolph when this matter is resolved.”

“Just what I was thinking, sir.”

Randolph glanced from the constable to Darcy, then to Bingley, and finally to Elizabeth. He appeared unwilling to leave the timepiece behind, but unable to do anything about it. He left, but accosted Elizabeth immediately when she went in search of Mr. Parrish.

“Mrs. Darcy, may I—may I please have a word with you?”

Her pulse quickened. She could be standing with a murderer right now. Probably was. She looked about for someone to help her disengage from Randolph’s conversation, but the hall was deserted. She forced her voice to remain calm. “What is it, Professor?”

“My pocketwatch—I need it. Is there any way you might prevail upon your husband to give it back to me?”

“Mr. Darcy has his own mind. You shall have to ask him yourself.”

“He does not respect me. A petition from me will not move him.”

“Then you must wait until he is ready to surrender it.” She tried to walk past him, but he stayed her with a hand on her arm. His touch sent a chill racing up to her shoulder.

“There isn’t time to wait!” His eyes burned with intensity. “If you will not give the watch to me, can you get it to Mrs. Parrish? Urge her to carry it on her person. For her own protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“From the forces at work upon her.”

Another chill passed through Elizabeth. She had thought Professor Randolph deceitful and calculating. But now she wondered if he was actually mad. The fervor of his gaze frightened her. “What forces?”

“The forces that prey upon her mind. The watch—it’s an amulet—it can help her. You are her friend, yes? You do want to help her?”

Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to escape Randolph’s presence. “I’ll see what I can do.” Again she tried to move past him, and again he restrained her.

“You must! You must make sure Mrs. Parrish receives it. But without her husband’s knowledge. He cannot know! He won’t allow her to keep it. He no longer trusts me.”

Neither did she.

“Mr. Parrish, how well did you know Mr. Kendall?” the constable asked as Parrish took a seat. Darcy relaxed in his own chair, expecting this interview to proceed uneventfully.

“I met him in London last season, when I became acquainted with his daughter, Miss Juliet Kendall.”

“Were you and he on good terms?”

“I bore him no ill will.” Parrish spoke slowly, appearing to choose his words deliberately. “London society being what it is, assumptions were made about my intentions toward Miss Kendall—assumptions that were unfounded. When I offered my hand to the woman who is now my wife, the misunderstanding may have led to some injured feelings on the part of the Kendalls.”

“And how did you get along here at Netherfield?”

“Except for encountering him at meals, I left him to himself.” He shrugged. “I am a newly married man, sir. My attention has been elsewhere.”

The constable nodded knowingly. “When did you last see Mr. Kendall alive?”

“At breakfast yesterday. He was just finishing up when I came downstairs.”

Darcy frowned. That wasn’t correct. “What about later? In the billiards room?”

“Oh, yes! The billiards room. Thank you, Darcy—I was there so briefly, I’d forgotten about that.” He leaned back and
crossed his legs. “I last saw Mr. Kendall yesterday afternoon, playing billiards. When Darcy and I left the room, he was alone.”

Kendall had been so full of spite, Darcy didn’t know how Parrish could have forgotten his rudeness so quickly. Perhaps the power of Kendall’s verbal assaults diminished with repetition.

“How did you spend the rest of the day?”

“Mostly with Caroline. I spent part of the afternoon writing a letter.”

“Do you have any idea who might have killed Mr. Kendall, or why?”

Parrish shook his head. “Mr. Kendall was not a likable man. He was rude and insulting. I don’t think anyone here harbored the slightest fondness for him. But you don’t slay someone for uncivil behavior. The
ton
takes care of that well enough.”

“I imagine so. Mr. Parrish, how did you come by those cuts on your face? Were you in some sort of fight?”

Parrish shifted in his seat. Darcy couldn’t blame him. What man wanted to admit that his wife had physically assaulted him? Or that she was mad?

“My—” He cleared his throat. “My wife accidentally scratched me with her wedding ring. She’s not yet used to wearing it.” He looked to Bingley and Darcy as if beseeching them not to betray the full truth.

“Those are pretty big scratches.”

“It’s a pretty big ring.”

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday evening, before dinner.”

“And if I ask your wife, she’ll confirm this?”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Parrish was summoned. As they waited, Parrish asked whether the constable had many questions for Caroline.
“She’s been unwell today. I hope your enquiry won’t tax her too greatly?”

“Of course not, sir. I’ll be quick about it.”

Bingley led Caroline into the drawing room. She appeared sleepy and slightly disoriented. Parrish immediately crossed to her and helped her to a seat beside him on the sofa. He took her left hand in both of his.

“Darling, this man is concerned about the marks on my face. I told him about that silly little accident yesterday when you happened to scratch me. Remember?”

Caroline nodded.

“I assured him the injury wasn’t intentional.”

“No,” she said groggily.

“Mrs. Parrish, may I see your ring?”

Caroline appeared not to have heard the constable. Parrish lifted her hand and held it toward him.

“That’s indeed quite a ring.” The constable peered at it closely. “Hmm—looks like there are even a few bits of skin still caught in there. You need to be a little more careful, Mrs. Parrish, or your husband’ll have to buy you smaller jewels in self-defense.”

Parrish laughed politely, then turned serious once more. “As you can see, my wife is still very tired. May I escort her back upstairs now?”

“Certainly.”

He rose and assisted Caroline in doing the same. As they headed toward the door, the constable stopped him with one last question. “Mr. Parrish, you don’t by chance know what a pentagram is, do you?”