The peacefulness of the night was shattered by the sound of a loud and constant banging noise. Several moments passed before he comprehended that he was not still dreaming; his mind couldn't make sense of why he was in this unfamiliar place. The large room was not as dark as before, allowing him to sit up and take in his surroundings. His head swam a little, and he felt disoriented, but he forced himself to take stock of himself.
He found himself in a large brick room with a dirt floor. The room had several small windows, high up on the walls, which allowed light to enter. There was a massive pair of doors, likely spacious enough to accommodate a carriage when opened. The doors were not aesthetically pleasing, but they looked to be of thick hardwood. The room's most conspicuous feature was the two enormous piles of dirty rags that stank dreadfully. He had mistaken them for haystacks before, but that was because they were quite the same size as haystacks. The stacks of rags appeared to be sorted by colour, with one pile containing mostly white or nearly white rags, while the other was made up of various colours, although mainly brown and grey.
His attempts to stand were thwarted by the room's violent swaying, causing him to stumble. As he sat down in a hurry, a tin dish of gruel almost spilled over. Next to the dish, there was a small mug filled with a golden liquid that gave off a sweet aroma. Positioned well away from the food was a chamber pot, which he was relieved to see.
The hunger inside him grew intense at the sight of the food, and he felt as if he hadn't eaten in days. He quickly scanned the area for a spoon with which to eat the thin gruel, but his efforts were in vain. Tentatively, he brought the bowl to his lips. Despite the unappetising scent of spoiled milk emanating from the food, he took a sip. The gruel was cold and the slimy texture lingered on his tongue. It did not matter, though. It was nourishment. He was injured, and he needed food in order to heal. He quickly gulped down the gruel, attempting to avoid the unpleasant taste.
He then picked up the ale and took a small sip. The taste was somewhat reminiscent of cabbage, but not entirely displeasing. He eagerly drank it down to cleanse the unpleasant taste of the food from his mouth. As he leaned against the rough, textured brick wall behind him, he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. The simple act of eating and drinking seemed to spend all of his energy. In a few moments, he told himself, he would attempt to stand again. If he could not, he would crawl if he had to, but he needed to see if those doors were locked. He needed to find out where he was.
"Good morning, Kitty. Good morning, Lydia," said Elizabeth.
The two girls jumped, surprised by their sister's sudden appearance in the kitchens. "Good morning, Lizzy," they said together.
"You are not usually awake so early," observed Elizabeth.
"Well, yes," said Lydia. "That is true. I have decided, however, that we ought to change that. Carp deem, and all that."
Elizabeth struggled not to smile at her sister's terrible pronunciation of the Latin phrase. "Indeed. Would you like to join me on my morning walk?"
Kitty's gaze drifted towards Sarah, who was lost in the rhythmic movements of kneading bread dough. Elizabeth's gaze followed her sister's. "What are you two up to?" she asked as she turned her face back to Kitty.
"We are not up to anything. We are just waiting for some of Hill's muffins to be finished baking," said Lydia quickly. "Nothing better than fresh muffins with butter."
"Of course." Elizabeth smiled at her sisters disarmingly. "Perhaps I shall wait with you. Then we can all have muffins before I go on my walk. You are still welcome to come with me. It would be charming to have walking companions."
"No!" cried Lydia. "I mean, no, you don't need to do that. The muffins have only just gone into the oven. They will not be ready for some time. If you wish, we can bring some muffins out to you when they are cool enough to handle, provided you walk your typical path."
Kitty nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "We will even wrap them up and bring butter and a knife with us, in a basket. We could have a picnic to break our fasts."
Elizabeth waited until Sarah had put the dough she was kneading to the side to rise and had gone outside before answering her sisters. "I know what you are doing. Dear Lydia, I know you are well intentioned, but you sometimes speak without thinking. We must speak to Sarah, that is true, but I will remain and lead the conversation."
"Oh Lizzy! Thank you! I thought you were going to say that you forbid us to speak with her and were going to tell Papa," Lydia exclaimed.
Kitty agreed. "I was certain of it. I am so glad you will not."
"I think we must do what we can. Sarah might tell us things that she might not tell Sir William or any gentleman," said Elizabeth. "I just do not want Sarah to be overwrought by continued interrogation from all sides, you understand? We shall just show concern for her, that is all."
The younger girls both confirmed that they understood.
As Sarah walked into the room carrying a basket brimming with eggs she had collected, Elizabeth took a step towards her. As she approached the maid, Elizabeth couldn't help but notice Sarah's slightly untidy appearance and red-rimmed eyes. "Good morning, Sarah," she said softly.
"Good morning, Miss Lizzy," said Sarah with a small smile and a curtsy.
"How are you this morning, Sarah?"
"I am well, Miss. I hope you are as well? Can I assist you with something? The bread will be awhile yet, but the muffins will be done soon, or I can fry you an egg."
"No, Sarah. I do not need anything. I just wished to know, since Mr. Witting has gone missing and he was a friend of yours, if you truly are well," asked Elizabeth. "I know it is not regular, but you can speak to me of it, if you wish."
The maid's eyes widened to saucers. "That is very kind, Miss," she said as she wrung her apron with her hands. "I shall be well. I'm sure Mr. Witting is just off visiting his brother, as Sir William thought at first. A lost hat don't mean anything, Hill says."
"I'm sure that is true," said Elizabeth with a reassuring smile. "Mr. Witting never mentioned to you any other friends or family that he might visit, did he? He did not have parents or a lover?"
Sarah blushed as red as her bright hair. "Everybody has parents, miss," she said, ignoring the second half of the question. "Or they did at some time. I never heard Kev- Mr. Witting speak of his parents, though. I don't know if they are still alive or not."
"I see, and there was no one else he cared for that you know of? I heard that he had some sort of understanding with someone, but perhaps I was mistaken."
Eager to hear the maid's response, Kitty and Lydia leaned forward with anticipation.
"Not that I know of, Miss. I am sure I wouldn't know. None of my business, who Mr. Witting might care for." Sarah pretended not to show any concern as she removed some of the eggs from the overfilled basket and placed them in another. "The new hens are laying very well. If only the old ones would keep laying, we wouldn't have to turn them into food for the hounds."
Elizabeth ignored the diversion and responded to only what Sarah said about Mr. Witting. "Of course, I was just wondering. It would be dreadful if we were all searching everywhere for Mr. Witting when he had just gone off to visit an ill relation. Well, my sisters and I will be going now. Will you set a few muffins aside for us?"
"In the breakfast parlour, Miss?" asked Sarah. Her colour faded slightly, now that she was on more familiar ground. It never was comfortable to have family members down in the kitchen. Sometimes Miss Elizabeth would pass this way when leaving for her morning walk, in order to snatch up some food, but usually no one lingered.
"I would rather you not, if you please. If you do that, my father will take them. You know how he is. No, I would much rather that you just set them aside to be called for, if you do not mind."
"Of course, Miss," said Sarah. "I'll wrap them up with a hot brick, so they'll be warm still."
"Very good. Thank you." With that, Elizabeth forcefully ushered her sisters out the back door.
"Lizzy!" cried Kitty. "You didn't ask her very much! You did not even inquire where she was when Mr. Witting went missing."
"We do not know what time it was when Mr. Witting went missing. Shall we have every person account for their movements for the twelve hours between when Mr. Darcy dismissed his valet for the evening and the next morning? Most of that time people shall not have anything to say for besides that they were asleep. It is not like the stories where there is only a half hour window in which the crime could have occurred."
"You don't actually think that Mr. Witting is just off visiting some relation, do you?" asked Lydia.
"Of course not," Elizabeth confirmed.
"Then why did you say as much to Sarah?"
"I was hoping to learn if there was an understanding between her and Mr. Witting."
"But personal servants can't marry," said Lydia, confused.
"They can if their employers allow it," said Elizabeth with a shrug. "It is simply that most do not. Pemberley is a large estate, though. I have heard of it on large estates. The various wives and mothers arrange it so they watch out for each other's children when the others are busy. Then there are a new generation of servants, already trained and used to life in service, when the older servants retire. Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Hill are married."
"But they are old," said Lydia.
"They were not always old, dearest," Elizabeth said with a laugh.
"But they never had children," said Kitty.
"They did not. It is true." Elizabeth did not say that she suspected that this was not a choice purposefully made by Mrs. and Mr. Hill, as she recalled a time in her childhood when her mother had been comforting Mrs. Hill, rather than the reverse. Despite it not being part of her duties, Mrs Hill had grown increasingly involved in caring for baby Lydia in the weeks that had followed. The strangeness of this had stuck in her mind. Looking back with more understanding, she suspected what had occurred, but could not be spoken of.
"Anyhow," said Elizabeth, bringing the conversation back onto course, "we can always talk with Sarah again later. If we harass her too much, she might shut up entirely."
"Oh!" said Lydia. "It is like when Sir Francis was on the ship and that countess was murdered. He never actually questioned anyone formally. He conversed with the other passengers and eavesdropped, but that was all. Even so, he was able to learn everyone's alibis and find out who did it. Of course, that one was easy, because once the steward told him that the earl had stumbled back to his room very drunk at midnight, the earl's alibi fell apart." Lydia stood dead in her tracks, a look of horror on her face.
"What is it, Lydie?" asked Kitty. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
Elizabeth, too, was worried, and she shook Lydia's shoulders gently.
"I am well," said Lydia, pushing Elizabeth's hands away. "I just realised something."
"What?" asked Elizabeth.
"If Mr. Witting is dead — which, pray to the Lord, he is not — we must remember what Sir Francis says."
"The three most lethal forces in the world are love, money, and fear," Elizabeth and Lydia said together, while Kitty stared at them.
All three sisters were silent for several minutes, lost in their thoughts — Elizabeth and Lydia about the implications of what they had realised, and Kitty about how to best make over her ballgown for the next monthly assembly.
"You don't think Sarah had anything to do with it, do you?" Lydia's voice was barely audible as she spoke.
"Of course not!" Elizabeth's speech was briefly interrupted as they crossed a small stream. "But…we cannot forget that servants are people. Just like people of our class, they experience love, hate, and fear. Mr. Darcy's remarks and my observations lead me to believe that Sarah and Mr. Witting were very much in love. It is still possible that someone else, maybe a former lover or someone with unrequited love for Sarah, was jealous of Mr. Witting. They may have believed that his leaving would make their path clear." Elizabeth was warming to her subject and her voice grew more confident. "Or, there might have been a woman who believed herself ill-used by Mr. Witting in some way. Mr. Darcy says he was an honourable man, but just because Mr. Witting might have believed he acted honourably does not mean that a lady would have the same perception."
Lydia gave a nod of comprehension, but Kitty's brow was furrowed in confusion. Realising that Kitty might be too innocent to understand — and not wishing to corrupt her — Elizabeth did not explain further.
"I will try to speak to Polly and Hannah," said Lydia. "I will do just as you did. I shall not be interrogative, but comforting."
"Are you certain you can do so?" asked Elizabeth. "You will not become too excited if one of them says something interesting and give yourself away?"
Lydia was quite certain that she could be discreet and begged Elizabeth to allow her to try. Reluctantly, Elizabeth agreed. "But we are in this all together. We cannot tell Papa, or let anyone who will tell Papa find out, or he will be angry. I don't enjoy going around behind his back, but Sir William and Papa are conspicuous. People might say things to us or around us that are useful. But if we are to do this, we cannot hide things from each other. Papa was right when he said that there might be danger. One of us can't go poking around without letting one of the others know what we are doing or where we are going."
Her sisters promised to obey these stipulations. As they had now walked some distance, they turned onto a path that would bring them back to Longbourn. There were only a few carriages and riders passing them as they walked that early in the morning.
"That is not a militia officer," said Lydia, after a red-coated man passed them on horseback.
Elizabeth looked at her questioningly.
"That officer," said Lydia, gesturing to the road behind them. There were two riders, one of whom was an officer. "His uniform is that of an officer from the regulars."
"How do you know that?" asked Elizabeth, surprised that her sister paid such attention.
"I am not so silly as Papa thinks," said Lydia defensively. "I pay attention to things."
"I did not say you were silly. I just asked how you know that. Where did you learn what a uniform from the regulars looked like?" asked Elizabeth soothingly.
"In the newspaper," said Lydia. She did not elaborate further. As they were almost back to Longbourn, Elizabeth could not discuss the matter further. She felt rather like a rotten sister. She knew that Lydia often asked for the newspaper after her father was finished with it, but she had assumed that Lydia was just reading the gossip pages. As they entered Longbourn, Mrs. Hill greeted them with a smile and asked them if they had enjoyed their walk, before telling them that the rest of the family was all gathered for breakfast. They went thither to join them, after requesting that the basket of muffins set aside would be brought up.
