As expected, Miss Simmons's alibi checked out. While the Brewers were being murdered, she was in a Skype meeting with half a dozen assistant directors, set and costume designers, and dialogue coaches in preparation for the Weekly Scripted Drama That Must Not Be Named.

The loss of her as a suspect wasn't nearly as discouraging when Hanson confirmed it before lunch as it had seemed the night before. Now they had a new suspect; in fact, they had two. Ian and Lucy Pennyworth, a.k.a. Ian Wright and Lola Dobmeyer. According to the conversation Henry and Jo had overheard in the library, they were directly responsible for Caroline's "incident" with the runaway horse—the horse intended for Jo. The Pennyworths had orchestrated the distraction so that Lola could search for the Mansfield Park manuscript.

They had not outright confessed to murder as Jo and Henry had listened in secret, but they sounded very determined to get their hands on the manuscript. They had also alluded to something that had happened on Thursday; something they could hold against each other.

Jo was quick to point out to Henry that no one had targeted her specifically, and his desire to bail out was completely alarmist and high-handed. Privately, she was beginning to worry that the longer he inhabited his nineteenth-century self, the more he was reverting to more than just outdated manners. For all his old-fashioned quirks, she had never known Henry to be sexist. She didn't like it.

For his part, Henry simply accepted their continued mission and did little to respond to her quips about his "return to the Stone Age." The truth was, he wasn't worried about her because she was a woman: he worried because she was in an unfamiliar culture and wearing a bloody great skirt. Yards and layers of fabric would impede her movements in a confrontation, not to mention block access to her weapon. She was also inexpert at operating the only "vehicles" available—Lizzie and her stablemates. Henry would have been concerned for his own safety if he was the one wearing the cumbersome dress, or if he might need to escape or give chase by driving a car, which everyone insisted he was frighteningly unskilled at doing. However, under the circumstances he understood why Jo felt defensive, and he decided it was the better part of valor to simply not argue.

They tried to get the Pennyworths alone during luncheon, but the excitement at the stables was still the only topic of conversation, much to Jo's increasing annoyance. She had gone over her memories of the incident and realized that the Pennyworths had come to the stables with everyone else, but when the horse bolted, Lucy/Lola was nowhere to be seen. Jo was irritated with herself for not noticing Lola's absence at the time. She had allowed herself to get wrapped up in the moment, and in their cover. She wouldn't let it happen again. She was also getting tired of calling their suspects one name to herself, Henry, and Hanson, and a different name the rest of the time.

After lunch, the guests went their various ways. Henry and Ian Pennyworth took their continuing discussion of Austen and the military into the library, and both Jonathan Gibson and Lola joined them. The Martins went for a stroll together in the garden, and Sir Benedict promptly fell asleep in a chair in the drawing room. Jo had no desire to smile and nod and be a wallflower for the literary debate—Henry could keep an eye on both Pennyworths for now—so that left Mrs. Bandersnatch and Caroline to choose from for company. Maybe she could claim to have a headache and go "retire," a.k.a. search the Pennyworths' room.

Jo was about to feign a pained, headache-induced expression when Mrs. Bandersnatch hooked an arm through hers. "Come, Joanna, let's do some needlework!" The woman sounded giddy at the idea. "A little girl time sounds simply divine. What do you say?"

Jo fought the urge to groan out loud. Now she really did feel a headache coming on. Instead, she gave her best attempt at a smile. "Sounds delightful."


As it turned out, "needlework" was Mrs. Bandersnatch's way of saying "gossip." That suited Jo just fine; the woman was practically interviewing herself.

"I have it all worked out," said Mrs. Bandersnatch with a self-satisfied smile. Yesterday she had asked them to call her Calliope, but Jo couldn't get past her real name, Shirley, and had to remind herself that she wasn't supposed to know it.

"Not that I'm going to ruin the surprise before the ball—my lips are sealed," Shirlliope insisted. Jo noted that the woman's lips showed no signs of sealing anytime soon. "I believe I've correctly paired every guest with their AustenChat username, as well as what they've brought for the Exhibition." She clapped and giggled in a way rarely seen in a 67-year-old housewife. "Isn't this fun? It's like a big game of Clue." Her look turned sly. "I will reveal one tidbit: I accuse Mr. Pennyworth, in the Library, with the Manuscript!"

Jo glossed over the strangeness of that crime scene image—the manuscript was old, fragile, and unbound, and would make a bad murder weapon—and skipped to Shirley's belief that the Pennyworths were the ones who had brought the manuscript. The Pennyworths, who were Jo's main murder suspects. Jo wondered how Shirley came to that conclusion.

Caroline beat her to the question. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I overheard Mrs. Pennyworth let it slip that she is shades-of-pemberley. Of course, we all know that shades-of-pemberley and CrystalBluePersuasion only joined about a month ago."

Jo nodded along like it was obvious. "Of course."

Caroline picked up the line of thought. "CrystalBlue was the one who first suggested that we add an Exhibition to our house party."

Shirley/Calliope nodded knowingly. "If there's one thing I've learned about Austenites, it's that we love a nice, polite bragfest. Isn't it obvious? The Pennyworths recently acquired the manuscript, and they were just dying to show it off." She leaned back in her chair like she had just completed a masterful checkmate. "Not that I mind. Sir Benedict and I were happy to bring our toys for the chance to see theirs. Imagine, being one of the first people to see it! We can die happy with those bragging rights."

"Don't be silly, Calliope!" Caroline replied. "Even an original Austen manuscript isn't worth dying for. Near-death experiences are nothing to joke about," she added sagely, milking her horse ride for all it was worth.

Jo silently pondered how to incorporate this new information into her case. So, the Pennyworths had orchestrated the Exhibition themselves. Shirley believed they had done it in order to show off, but Jo knew they had more nefarious motives. The Brewers had already paid for this retreat and that stupid manuscript with their lives, and the weekend wasn't over yet.


"I will allow that the militia is treated primarily as a source of eligible men in most of her novels, but you can't deny that there is an element of pro-Nelson nationalism underpinning it."

Ian Pennyworth finished his statement with a flourish, and Henry turned from him back to Jonathan Gibson. The two men had been volleying back and forth with increasing fervor for the last twenty minutes, to the point where Henry and Lucy (Lola) had dropped out of the conversation and simply started watching the debate like a Wimbledon match.

Gibson narrowed his eyes at Pennyworth and straightened in his chair, obviously preparing to deliver a decisive shot. "I usually hesitate to throw this around in conversation, but I am actually related to the Austen family." The look on his face didn't say 'hesitation' so much as 'deep and defining pride,' if Henry was any judge.

Pennyworth's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Truly?"

Jonathan nodded. "The Gibsons are descended from Jane's sister-in-law's family." He brought his point home. "I have spent years poring over family documents, and I can tell you that as far back as the Napoleonic Wars, both the Gibsons and the Austens had a much more complex view of the military than the blind nationalism you are suggesting."

Henry and Lola turned back to Ian, who raised his hands in polite surrender. "Who am I to gainsay primary sources?"

"But tell us more about this family connection!" Lola exclaimed. "I can't believe you've managed to keep it to yourself all weekend. I would have been crowing from the rooftops."

"Oh, there's not much to tell," Jonathan deferred.

Despite this statement, Henry discovered that "not much" took the better part of two hours to tell. It was a rather fascinating family tree, and Henry even recognized the names of a few people he had known, but with both Pennyworths listening in rapt attention, he wondered whether Jonathan's revelation was putting him and Caroline in greater danger—especially if his old "family documents" included the manuscript.


"So the Pennyworths are after the manuscript, they may have killed the Brewers, and now they might target the Gibsons next."

Henry nodded in agreement at Jo's summary of how things stood and commented, "House parties usually included some kind of intrigue, but this retreat has an especially high degree of authenticity in that regard."

"They should mention that on the website." Jo held her arms out slightly in a questioning gesture. "Well, how do I look?" The afternoon had been spent in their separate discussions, then later with passing what they had learned on to Hanson for follow-up. Now it was eight o'clock, and after nearly two hours of bathing, primping, and dressing, it was time for the ball.

Henry scrutinized her from hair to slippers. She wore an evening gown of rich yellow silk that divided at the waist to reveal a paler yellow underskirt. Scallops of fine lace lined the low, scooping neckline, and strings of tiny pearl-like beads ran down the divided front seams in a wavy pattern that echoed the lace. The sleeves were probably what Jo would call "puffy," but Henry thought they were very elegant. Her hair was drawn up in a more elaborate version of her up-swept style from yesterday, and a series of loops and curls were piled on her head and here and there cascaded down to brush her cheeks and neck. His eyes worked their way back to her face, and he smiled. "You look incredibly lovely," he finally stated. "However, you're missing something."

"Something like pockets?" she retorted. "Am I really supposed to dangle this fan from my wrist all night? And there's no way my phone is fitting in this particular bodice."

"Not pockets," he said, and picked up a flat box off the dresser behind him. "This." He opened the box to reveal a blue pendant surrounded by small diamonds (or so they appeared) in a silver setting; the effect was simple but very elegant.

Jo fingered the necklace with one gloved hand. "Henry, it's beautiful," she said honestly. "Where did you get it?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Abe had it in the shop. It's only costume jewelry, but very well done for all that. I don't think Miss Simmons will find anything to object to." He lifted the necklace out and set the box aside. "May I?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," she said, and turned her back to him. She felt him close behind her as he lifted his arms over her head. The next moment the pendant was resting over her heart with surprising weight, and Henry's deft fingers were fastening the clasp at her neck.

When he spoke again she could feel his breath gently tickling the hairs at the base of her neck, and she repressed a shiver.

"I have a confession," he said, his voice pitched low at such close range.

She turned her head only slightly. "What's that?"

"I suggested this color to Mrs. Yang for your gown, and fortunately she had one on hand. I had a feeling it would suit you, as would the necklace." He still spoke into the back of her neck. "To be honest, you don't merely look lovely; you look breathtaking."

That's how Henry felt: a bit breathless at the sight of her. The necklace was fastened and ready, but his hands still lingered at the base of her neck, his thumbs moving ever so slightly over the skin along her spine.

Jo realized her eyes had slid shut at the gentle touch, and she forced them open. She turned to face him, their bodies closer than usual. His eyes looked the same as his hands had felt: gentle and strangely intimate. Not exactly seductive, but like he was truly looking at her. Considering all that he had seen in his long life, and all the people he had known, she suddenly wondered how he saw her, and how she fit in.

She broke eye contact first, needing to divert attention from herself, and she took her turn to examine his costume for the evening. She noticed how his blue waistcoat matched the pendant nicely. Not only that, but it was shot through with subtle yellow embroidery that perfectly complemented her own dress. That observation broke the strange spell between them for her, and she gave him an amused look.

"Any chance you made a few suggestions to Mrs. Yang for yourself, too?"

He gave her a lop-sided grin of acknowledgement. "She and I share an appreciation for a well-matched set."

Jo chuckled a little. "Dr. Henry Morgan: medical examiner, immortal enigma, and high-class personal stylist."

"I choose to take that as a compliment."

She made a show of giving a final straightening to his jacket, shirt collar and cravat, as if they weren't carefully arranged already, and she nodded. "You'll do."

When her eyes returned to his face, she found that he had an expression that said he had something to say, but he didn't know how to begin. Curiosity and nerves were flip-flopping inside her at the question of what he was thinking, but the sudden buzzing of her phone on the dressing table spared her the answer. She picked it up and said, "Hey, Mike. What have you got?"

Henry was only a little disappointed at the interruption; the thing he'd wanted to tell her would keep. He watched with curiosity as her eyebrows raised slightly in response to whatever Hanson was telling her. "Really? Well that is interesting. Thanks." She hung up and looked down briefly at the front of her dress; she seemed to consider her own cleavage for a moment before shaking her head and offering the phone to Henry. "Do you mind?"

Henry smirked and accepted the device, slipping it inside his breast pocket. His jacket was close-fitting, but he did have a little more room for concealment than Jo did tonight. "What did Hanson say?"

"The insurance company finally came through with a full report, and guess who the owners of the manuscript are."

Henry recognized that as a lead-in to unexpected news. "Is it not the Gibsons?"

"Nope." Jo paused for effect. "It's the Martins."

"George and Sophie? Good for them." They seemed like genuinely good-hearted people, and Henry was pleased for them.

"Which means we should keep a close eye on them for their own safety," she added.

"Are you sure we shouldn't call for backup?" Henry ventured.

"Not yet." Jo's response was calm but firm. "The distractions of tonight will give us the perfect opportunity to look for evidence against the Pennyworths. We should continue as planned."

"In that case," he bowed formally to her, "Miss Martinez, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball?"

She gave a half shrug. "Isn't that sort of a given?"

He sensed a serious current beneath the tease and answered earnestly. "One thing I hope I will never do, Jo, is take you for granted. In this century or any other."

Okay, good answer. She gave him a genuinely graceful nod. "In that case, the honor is mine, Henry." She placed a gloved hand in his as he gestured her through the bedroom door, and they proceeded down the grand staircase arm-in-arm.


A/N: Have I told you lately how great you all are? Because you are. You are encouraging, and supportive, and great. Mwah.

Now that I've buttered you up, I'm letting you know that I'll be out of town for a little while. It's the kind of vacation with no internet and no laptop—heck, I'll be lucky to have a flush toilet half the time. This means that my next update won't come for at least three weeks, but rest assured! I will pick up with Henry, Jo, and the suspicious goings-on at Hopkins House as soon as I am able.

Thanks again, and see you on the flip side! ~pinky