The Kellynch Murders

By Lise

Section I, Next Section

Part 1

Posted on Wednesday, 20 October 1999, at 3 : 27 p.m.

Caroline Bingley was having a wonderful time in Bath, compared to all the horrors she had had to suffer in Hertfordshire. Her friend Miss Copeland was not too burdened by the care for her invalid mother, for Mrs. Copeland had an excellent nurse, and so the two young ladies were free to do exactly as they liked. They frequented the Assembly Rooms a good deal and met so many people that they were always visiting or being visited.

"We have not seen Lord Bennington today," Caroline remarked as she and Miss Copeland were walking back from a visit to the Misses Preston.

"I heard there was another race next week and he went into Somersetshire to prepare for it," said Miss Copeland. "Tell me how you like Benny."

"Do you call him Benny?" Caroline asked curiously.

"Oh, I do. He said I could," Miss Copeland said coquettishly. "We are good friends. But you did not answer me, Caroline."

"He is very agreeable."

"Extremely so," Miss Copeland agreed. "I daresay that half the ladies in this town think so. If you want to succeed with him..."

"Diana?" Caroline cried.

"Do not be embarrassed, dear friend. I should quite understand."

"But I am not..."

"I know," Miss Copeland soothed. "It is quite below us to admit such a thing, but let me tell you a little secret. Lord Bennington needs a woman with a considerable fortune, dear Caroline. His late father was rather a rogue, you see, and he left Benny with all kinds of debts. He only barely managed to preserve his family estate from being sold. Did he not tell you?"

"No."

"I daresay he was too proud to own it. It is of course a dreadful thing to lose one's family estate because of the actions of one's father. I myself should not admit it very gladly either. Do not tell him this. He told me in the strictest confidence."

"I shall not."

"But do tell me how you feel about him," Diana pressed. "You have known him for a week now."

"I do not think a week is long enough," Caroline said evasively. "I do not want to think about such things. It will only lead to insecurity and confusion."

"Or to marriage."

"Why do you not marry him yourself?" Marriage was the last thing Caroline wanted to think about. Friendships were alright, up to a certain point, just keeping clear of any tangles.

"I do not have the money." They came upon a fashionable lady looking at something displayed in a shop window. "Miss Elliot!" Miss Copeland exclaimed.

"Miss Copeland," Miss Elliot replied, her gaze sweeping over Caroline lost some of its coldness when she saw that Miss Copeland's companion looked to be very presentable. Perhaps this was a worthy acquaintance.

"Oh, this is Miss Bingley."

"Miss Bingley," Miss Elliot curtseyed.

Caroline observed her. From afar, she appeared to be young, but from close by it was clear that she was not quite so young, even though she was still remarkably handsome.

"Miss Elliot, I hear that your cousin and his friends will be travelling into the country on your invitation," said Miss Copeland. "It will be such a loss for Bath to be deprived of all the fashionable young men."

"Indeed you are mistaken, Miss Copeland. I should not call Mr. Elliot and his band of friends fashionable, taken on the whole. Some of them are, but others..." Miss Elliot's mind saw a perfect answer to a problem that had been plaguing her for some time now. She absolutely abhorred spending time on her cousin's friends, and yet as the most perfect hostess in the county, she could not ignore them unless there was somebody else to give them attention. "Perhaps, Miss Copeland, you and Miss....-- Bingley, was it? -- would be so kind as to accept an invitation to Kellynch? You would not have to miss the company you so appreciate."

Part 2

Posted on Saturday, 23 October 1999, at 12 : 08 p.m.

Miss Copeland and Caroline had accepted the invitation and were now on their way to Kellynch Hall. It was but fifty miles but they had set out early. Caroline did not mind another change of scenery. Bath was really a small place, she reflected. She kept seeing the same faces everywhere. Most people would be elsewhere this time of the year. Although everyone was pleasing company, their conversations must be very superficial, because she could never remember what exactly they had been talking about. She did not mind. Too deep conversations were disturbing, for there would always be a link to something she did not want to think about.

On her lap rested a package that she had not opened yet. Her fingers touched the brown paper. It was coarse and practical; not something she would choose herself. The cord around it was bound tight and she could not even get her finger under it. She did not know if she should open it. It was plain to see where it came from. The package was covered with official-looking seals and stamps. She did not recognise the handwriting, however, and that puzzled her.

"Why do you not open it?" asked Miss Copeland after watching Caroline absentmindedly play with the parcel for twenty-five miles. She was immensely curious about the package that had been delivered just before they had left. It had evidently been everywhere already, because it looked grubby. Things with such vague addresses as 'Miss Bingley, Bath,' would eventually arrive, after many detours, she knew.

"I do not know," Caroline said listlessly. "It might be disappointing. I would rather not open it if it may be disappointing."

"Who is it from?"

"Oh, someone I know," she said vaguely. It had to be.

"But you will never know what she sent you." Miss Copeland naturally assumed the sender was a woman.

Caroline looked confused for a second and then smiled wryly. Oh yes, Diana thinks respectable ladies can only receive packages from women. She did not correct her friend's assumption. "No, but if I never open it, I shall never be -- I shall remain indifferent, which is what I want."

"It might please you."

"And it might not. There are three possibilities. I have a fifty-percent chance to remain indifferent, twenty-five percent to be disappointed and twenty-five percent to be pleased. The odds are too small. I shall not open it."

"I really do not know why you calculate that so coolly," Diana sighed. "I should just open the thing."

"Yes," Caroline put it aside. "Perhaps later." A few miles later she picked it up again.

"Are you finally going to open the thing?"

"No, I merely like to have something to hold."

"Perhaps there is something even nicer to hold inside the package. Shall I open it for you?" Diana offered. "I am getting sick of that package."

Caroline was getting sick of trying not to speculate too, so she handed it over. She looked out of the window as Diana cut the cord and unwrapped the paper.

"This is doubly packed. The inside package has got documents in it," said Diana in amazement. "You were afraid to be disappointed by papers? Oh wait," she said when something fell out. "There is a little something here. Looks like a man's watch."

Caroline took the watch and examined it. It was a compass.

"Here is the little note that was stuck to the outside of the inside package," said Diana, who had already read the note. "It says not to pay attention to the documents because the murderer has been caught -- which murderer? -- and that the sender does not understand why it should be sent anyway, but that it was the colonel's orders."

"Thank you for reading my private mail, Diana."

"There was nothing private about it," Miss Copeland huffed. "Why should anyone want to send you documents about murderers? Oh, here is another note. Dear Caroline. Oh my! Who is writing this? There is nothing but an unintelligible scribble at the bottom. Must be a man. Included is your statement. Please revise it if necessary. It started out so well. Why does it turn so cool now?"

"Because he is Colonel Coolness," Caroline said calmly, snatching the note from her friend's hand.

"Ooooh."

Caroline read through the note herself. Apart from the addressing line, there was nothing to become excited about. In fact, it was rather disappointing in all of its coolness. I knew it. She folded the note and stuck it into her pocket, along with the compass. She wondered about the compass. He did not mention it in his note. Was she supposed to be able to guess the significance of a compass? Well, I cannot.

"Well done, Elizabeth," remarked William Walter Elliot to his cousin as he observed the two ladies alight from the carriage. "It looks like the next few days will be fun."

"I must warn you not to misbehave yourself. You are aware of the consequences," she said coldly. "Sir Walter might not be so accommodating to you next time."

"Sir Walter --" Mr. Elliot began. "But he is entirely under your influence, dear cousin. It is you whom I should take care to please. And I am not being good to you by bringing Lord Bennington over?"

Miss Elliot narrowed her eyes. "You can go too far, Elliot." She stepped away from him to play the good hostess.

There was a cunning smile on his face as he watched her walk away.

Part 3

Posted on Wednesday, 27 October 1999, at 8 : 01 a.m.

Miss Elliot had welcomed them very cordially and they were now all sitting down to dinner. Caroline glanced down both sides of the table from where she was sitting. Most of the guests at Kellynch seemed to be male, although Miss Elliot had taken care to invite a few more local women to make it a more civilised gathering. Caroline was grateful to her. The men were without exception young, unmarried, reckless and boisterous, and she did not doubt that their conversation would sink to very low levels if they had no one to temper it. Already they were teasing and challenging each other about some upcoming event, which she deduced to be the race Miss Copeland had spoken about.

"Please tell me, Mr. Garrett," she said to her neighbour. "Why is the honour of victory so important? I cannot quite make out the conversation."

Mr. Garrett gasped. "Honour? But my dear Madam --"

Caroline let that pass.

"Undoubtedly it is a great honour to win, but there is more at stake! Palmer, who is our treasurer, assured us that there is as much as two thousand pounds for the winner and it could increase if more people decide to place a wager between now and the start of the race."

"Do you mean it is the winner of the race or the winner of the bets who receives two thousand pounds? I do not quite follow."

"The winner of the race receives that. It was my fault. I should not have said that it was a wager, because it is not, really. People donate money."

It was incomprehensible to Caroline why people would do that. "Why do they?" she frowned.

"Because it is sport, Miss Bingley," Garrett explained patiently. "I know the notion of sport is sometimes incomprehensible to a lady, but I cannot explain it otherwise."

"I am sure, Mr. Garrett, that you have a hard time explaining it to all the ladies," she said sweetly.

"Oh, I do not mind," he said generously. "Have you got a favourite yet?"

"I confess I do not know anyone taking part, except Lord Bennington, and even him I only know slightly."

"I was under the impression that you were neighbours in Bath."

"Indeed, we were, but only briefly. About a week, I should say."

"And now you are guests in the same house!"

Caroline wondered to what Mr. Garrett's enthusiasm tended, but she assumed that he was merely trying to make polite conversation. "Who do you think will win?"

"Naturally I hope it will be myself, but if I must make an honest guess, I should say...well, Benny is a great driver. So is Howe. And Elliot has laid his hands on some very good horses. He could surprise us all." He lowered his voice. "But those fellows have one handicap. Their carriages are in too fine a condition to be all too reckless with them. Someone like Puckerface, whose carriage won't mind a bump or rattle, well, I say he could be a good outsider, because he won't mind driving through mud."

"Ahh," said Caroline. "And where are you racing?"

"We shall be making a little circle. The start and the finish will both be here."

"Have all the villagers been warned to stay off the roads?"

Garrett chuckled. "They will find out soon enough. We are not likely to slow down for a farmer. We are more likely to fly by so fast that he won't see us."

Caroline was certain that she would not donate any money to this stupidity, even though some of the young men had been agreeable. It was hard to believe they could be taking part in something as foolish as this. Perhaps it is because I am female that I do not see the fun.

Part 4

Posted on Saturday, 30 October 1999, at 12 : 14 p.m.

Caroline realised that she had not written to Louisa for a long time. Perhaps Louisa would want to know where she was. There was nothing else to do anyway, since she had declined to go for an airing in one of the carriages, claiming a slight headache. Miss Elliot and Miss Copeland had accepted and she supposed they were now being driven along at great speed along a bumpy and muddy country lane with branches sweeping into their face. Caroline could imagine a more pleasant way of spending the morning.

Dear Louisa,
I attempted to write to you before, but what I had to say was too difficult to express well and I tore up about a dozen attempts. I have now decided against going into details. Many things have happened to me since I last wrote you from Netherfield. If Charles tells you I have turned out rather wild, do not believe him. Yes, it is true that I spent several nights away from Netherfield and in very odd places. However, there are excuses for it, although I shall not give them unless you do not blame me for the loss of my reputation (which I think must be lost, considering how people like to gossip). I hope I am not alarming you. I am perfectly alright. There is really nothing to worry about. I was in London a week ago but I could not visit you, for I was on an errand for Colonel Fitzwilliam. (How is he thought of in town?) I am writing you from Kellynch in Somersetshire. You will want to know what I am doing here, since I was supposed to be in Bath. Well, we accepted an invitation from a Miss Elliot and we are now at her home to attend some silly carriage race that will take place here later today. (You know how Diana likes reckless men.) It is all rather inane but at least here everybody is unmarried and they have not got the silly notion that you are nothing without a husband.

She finished her letter and folded it. Outside she could hear excited voices. No doubt the race was on the verge of beginning and she would soon be fetched to watch. Her suspicions were proven right when a footman came to deliver a message from Miss Elliot. Caroline got up and accepted her cloak from him, all the while thinking that this was the only footman she had seen so far. The Elliots must not be very rich at all, though they keep up the pretence admirably well. She joined the cheerful crowd outside and forced a smile.

"Will you wish me luck, Miss Bingley?" asked Lord Bennington.

"Good luck, my Lord."

"Benny, if you please."

Caroline caught Miss Elliot looking at her coldly. She did not know how to interpret the look, for it seemed to be Miss Elliot's favourite facial expression. "Oh, I do not think I should..."

"Miss Bingley," someone else at her elbow addressed her. "Do you think I shall win?"

She turned to face him. It was Mr. Thorpe, whom she really could not stand. "I do not know, Mr. Thorpe."

If she had to choose a winner, she would choose Mr. Howe. He was a friendly young man -- a boy, really. Her smile became a little more genuine when she shook his hand.

The start was near and the order of departure had been determined by a lottery. Not all carriages could drive off at the same time, of course, because the road would not be wide enough. To avoid trouble on the roads, the men were allowed to choose their own way to the inn halfway where they would have to collect a small proof of their having been there. The past few days there had been nothing but speculations on which route everyone was going to take. When it had been discovered that Caroline was in possession of a compass, she had been begged by more than one gentleman to lend it out to him, for their own compasses were not as trustworthy. Caroline had refused. Gentlemen were so careless with their belongings. It was bound to get lost if she lent it out.

She felt the compass in her pocket as she looked at the participants get ready for the start of the race. It could not go right, she was sure of it. They would either run into each other, or into another carriage. "Let us go up to that hill," suggested Sir Walter. Caroline had not seen much of him yet. He had only returned the day before. She had wondered what he would think of this scheme of his relatives, but it had seemed as if the presence of at least one titled person and another who was the nephew of one were enough reason to approve of the whole affair.

Miss Copeland and she followed Sir Walter and some people she was not very well acquainted with. Sir Walter, whose importance had compelled him to volunteer for this role, was to fire the shot to signify the departure, so nothing could happen until he was safely on the small hill where he had a good view. After a few paces she looked back and saw that Miss Elliot being kissed by the driver of the last carriage in the line, Lord Bennington. Caroline resumed her walk thoughtfully. It was obviously not meant to be seen by anyone, for they were half hidden by his carriage. She did not know what to think of it, except that it was not surprising. The gentleman was titled, after all, and the lady must be nearing the age of desperation. When Miss Elliot caught up with them, Caroline took a secret peek at her, but Miss Elliot looked unperturbed. Again, this did not surprise her.

Up on the hill Sir Walter received his pistol from the footman and he stood firm, holding it up into the air. The spectators chose places a bit away from him, so they would not be deafened by the shot. Sir Walter fired, and the carriages were off one by one.

Some of the spectators cheered.

"The first test will be at the brook," a Mr. Musgrove prophesised when already some carriages began to overtake one another. "There is a large pothole --"

He was right. The second of the carriages swayed, swerved and lost its axle. The driver was catapulted high into the air and landed out of their sight behind a hedge.

Some of the spectators screamed.

The following carriages all slowed down and the drivers jumped off to look what had happened. The first carriage looked back and drove on regardless.

"Stop!" Sir Walter shouted in vain. "Deuced upstart Thorpe!"

Part 5

Posted on Monday, 8 November 1999, at 3 : 41 p.m.

"Who was it?" people shouted near her and Caroline could not avoid the thought that she had known all along that something bad would come of this foolhardy scheme. She looked down on the confusion below as the first people on the hill began to make their way downwards. Caroline kept her eyes fixed on the hedge as she slowly walked down. Most people were too concerned with finding their footing in their hurry, but she had time to observe what was actually going on. The accident did not seem to have had a happy conclusion and she slowed down her pace. To view another dead body was not something she looked forward to -- though they would probably keep all the ladies away from it -- and there would not be anything she could do if the unfortunate carriage driver had indeed been killed in the accident.

Her assumptions had been correct. When she finally arrived down, as the last person, she found that the ladies were being kept away and uninformed. Although she was not anxious for any one of the men, some of her companions were, and they were not told anything. Sir Walter would not have them go near. Lest they should see his inefficiency in handling a crisis, Caroline thought. Letting them go would imply that he would have to go over himself as well.

"It was Lord Bennington," one of the Musgrove women whispered -- Caroline could not keep them apart yet. She only knew that they lived nearby and were somehow related to the Elliots.

Surprisingly enough, the news did not affect her as much as Miss Copeland obviously thought it would. Miss Copeland gasped and gripped Caroline tight, looking at her in concern. Caroline stole a glance at Miss Elliot, who looked properly shocked, but not as devastated as she would expect of someone who had been so close to Lord Bennington as to actually have been kissed by him. Caroline did not know which game Miss Elliot had been playing. Perhaps she was not playing any game. Perhaps she was just naturally reserved. Time would tell.

Sir Walter's footman -- the poor fellow -- was sent down to the village and Sir Walter ordered the ladies to be escorted back to the house for a good glass of spirits. He walked arm-in-arm with Miss Elliot, while Caroline hesitated between following them and waiting until the fainted Mrs. Musgrove had been revived by her husband's relatives. Apparently Sir Walter did not think his own daughter's condition serious enough to wait for.

"Did you see him fly through the air?" asked one boy of another in enthusiastic tones. It had not occurred to anybody to send the children away yet.

"Follow your grandfather!" a man ordered them, pointing after Sir Walter. Caroline was amazed. Sir Walter had not exactly behaved like a grandfather. Grandfathers were usually interested.

"But Papa..." the boy pleaded.

"We are all coming. Your aunt has come to her senses again."

The whole party set off for the house, while the gentlemen speculated on the cause of the accident and the ladies expressed the same things over and over again. After having heard their lamentations once, Caroline was in no mood to hear them repeated, so she took care to walk closer to the gentlemen so she could overhear what they were saying.

"I noticed just this morning that that hole in the road was getting deeper," said the younger Mr. Musgrove. "It must have been last week's rain."

"There was not that much of it," said his father.

"Still, it was getting deeper. I am glad that we did not speed through it."

"There was only one carriage that broke. It must have been the carriage. There are holes in all roads."

"He must have hit the pothole in the right way."

"The punishment for the indolent," was another gentleman's opinion.

Caroline listened to them arguing and defending their views of the cause. When it came to laying the blame, there was one gentleman who thought the defect had been in the carriage, even if he was out-argued by the advocate of the accident being a divine punishment and the gentleman who blamed it on the uneven road.

The notion of a divine punishment she gave no further consideration than a silent snort.

But despite the fact that the racing gentlemen had not spoken of anything other than the maintenance of their carriage and that it was not likely that one of the carriages had been in a very bad condition with all the attention they had devoted to them, she could not help doubting that a stupid hole could cause so much damage. After all, the first carriage had passed over the hole without any problems. She tried to recall if it had shaken or if perhaps its wheels had gone past it instead of through it. To her great disappointment she could not remember. She would have to inspect the hole to see if it was possible to avoid it, and how deep it was.

Remained the carriage. Although she did not voice her thoughts -- it was too soon for that anyway -- there was something about this accident that did not feel quite right. Perhaps I am imagining too much. Perhaps I am too influenced by the previous experiences. Of course this is a perfectly natural accident. Nobody was murdered here. Stop seeing criminal intent in everything. This is not Longbourn. This is the house of a Baronet.

Part 6

Posted on Friday, 12 November 1999, at 7 : 44 a.m.

They all sat down in Sir Walter's drawing room and they were provided with a heartening drink to restore their spirits. It was not long before all gentlemen except Thorpe had joined them.

"What happened?" cried one of the ladies.

"We do not know," replied Elliot tersely.

"It all went too quickly," said Howe, who appeared to be shaken still. "Suddenly we were upon his carriage and we saw -- God save his soul."

"Did he not check his carriage beforehand?" Caroline asked.

The men seemed very much surprised that she would ask such a question. "He did," Howe answered. "We were all busy with the maintenance of our carriages in the past week."

"It was the hole in the road," said Musgrove.

There followed some more speculations, but they did not add anything to what Caroline already knew. She observed the assembled party instead. Sir Walter obviously thought it an incredibly unfashionable thing to have happened to someone such as himself. He was fingering his cravat uncomfortably while now and then making a well-mannered and noncommittal remark. Miss Elliot looked equally displeased with the situation. Caroline seated herself next to her to find out how Lord Bennington's tragic death affected her. She must be affected in some way, if only because of the loss of her marriage opportunities. Caroline did not doubt that Miss Elliot would have liked very much to become Lady Bennington, even if she did not appear to have had any feelings for the man. "Is it not a sad thing, Miss Elliot?" Caroline asked. "To have such a promising young man taken away from us?"

"Indeed," Miss Elliot sighed, but she did not volunteer any more information.

"Many a lady will be grieving, I am sure."

"Will you, Miss Bingley?" Miss Elliot asked sharply.

"I am very shocked, but you must feel the loss deeper than I, I am sure, since you had known him longer. Did you know him well?" Caroline asked in a sympathetic voice.

"I knew him tolerably well."

"I was under the impression..."

"Which impression?" Miss Elliot asked immediately.

"Well, that you and he...-- that perhaps you and he would eventually be married one day, but I might have been wrong."

Miss Elliot drew in her breath angrily. "I had plans of that kind."

"You have my sympathies," Caroline murmured warmly. "It cannot be easy to lose a suitor." At your age.

Shortly afterwards the party broke up and Caroline retired to her room. She wondered why she was the only one who seemed to consider sabotage. Nobody of the others had mentioned it so far. Would that be because I am being influenced by the previous case? If it was indeed sabotage she could only find out by inspecting the hole in the road and perhaps by examining the wrecked carriage. Not that I know anything about carriages. The motive was not yet clear, unless it was the money. Had Lord Bennington been such a great favourite then? Garrett had told her that Benny was a good driver, but he had not said anything about him being a certain winner. But on the other hand, if Garrett had fiddled with the axle, he would not tell anyone that he saw Lord Bennington as a threat. At least Miss Elliot would not have had a hand in any possible sabotage. She gained nothing from killing Lord Bennington. She had only lost a potential husband.

She would get no further if she did not investigate a little first, and so Caroline went for a walk to the place of the accident. The hole in the road was indeed pretty deep, but she did not think that a carriage in a good condition would have any problems with it. That she would not want to be inside any carriage driving through this hole was an entirely different matter.

On her way back she encountered a groundsman. He tipped his hat and began to speak to her. Caroline was apprehensive at first, not knowing what his intention was. Half of what he said was incomprehensible, but the parts she could follow were very interesting, so she did not walk on. According to the indignant groundsman -- who had been scolded for not having done something about the state of the road -- the hole had been in exactly the same condition ever since the preceding Tuesday and many carriages had passed along this road without ever breaking down.

"So you think it was the carriage that caused the accident?" she asked.

The man spit on the ground. "I'm not saying anything, Madam. You won't hear me say things about the gentry. I don't trust them where there's money involved. However, I may think. Oh yes, I may think!" And he walked off.

Caroline stared after him for a second and stamped her foot. How incredibly vexing it was to be so ignorant about carriages! She would need a man to examine Lord Bennington's carriage closely, but she could not trust any one of them. Not until she had more certainty. And yet she needed a man. With a sound mind. She smiled suddenly.

Instead of returning to Kellynch Hall, she walked in the direction of the village with a springing step after having checked that she had enough money to send an express.

Part 7

Posted on Tuesday, 16 November 1999, at 5 : 45 p.m.

Colonel Fitzwilliam blew the ink of his signature dry and reached for the next report. Another case closed. He liked that. But if he had not had his own men, he would have worried about the conduct of officers in general, with all the reports he read. Some seemed incapable of spending a day in Brighton without getting into mischief. Considering that every rake could purchase a commission, it was no wonder.

"Your letters, Colonel, and an express."

He recognised the handwriting on the express and read it eagerly.

If you know anything about the maintenance of carriages, come to Kellynch in Somersetshire. Stay at an inn and do not say you know me.

Fitzwilliam read it several times, but he could not figure out what she meant. Why not ask a coachman? The problem was apparently not as straightforward as that, because surely she would know that he could not have the expert knowledge of a coachman? In fact, he did not know if he had any useful knowledge at all. And why must he stay at an inn? Where was Caroline staying? He was immensely curious.

It was only after a quarter of an hour that he gave any consideration what other things had come in the post. Five letters had to do with work. Number six was from Darcy. Some of what his cousin wrote drew his attention especially.

You have shown such commitment to your duties that Meryton can talk of little else.

Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned, as he did not think that he had been interesting enough for Meryton to talk about.

The fact that you sacrificed sleep to be able to keep your suspect at gunpoint was especially admired.

He had never pointed his gun at anyone remotely near Meryton, so this part puzzled him even more. Besides, he had not sacrificed any sleep at all.

That is what Meryton thinks. I am inclined to think it a gross exaggeration, although I did think you were unnecessarily zealous when you interrogated me, so perhaps it is not as far from the truth as it seems. Bingley was pretty shocked by these rumours, for he had not thought that you had really considered his sister a likely suspect. Until you sent word (until I told him otherwise), he was half worried that she had indeed done it.

"Oh, of course," he said sarcastically.

He packed his belongings and travelled to Kellynch. The place was not big enough to boast a real inn -- which first made him wonder if he was in the right village -- but there was a public house that had a few rooms available.

When asked if he was travelling, he said the beauty of the area had been recommended to him by a friend who had once enjoyed an excellent meal here, something that always went down well with landladies. "I need to recover from all the work I have done lately," he explained to her, when she was fishing for his reasons. The woman seemed to accept this as a very valid reason and left him to himself to talk in quiet tones to a group of men at the other end of the bar, no doubt to pass on what the Colonel had just said.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked around himself when he had got his drink and wondered how he could contact Caroline when he was not supposed to know her. Perhaps it had been a very foolish thing to come without knowing that he was doing here. And yet, Caroline would not send for him if it was not urgent.

It did not take long before he heard of the accident. After the landlady had satisfied the curiosity of her other customers, she came back to tell him all about it, for she was so full of it that she really had to tell it to someone and everybody else had already heard the story.

Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Some, but not all. He was quick to understand that Caroline did not think it an accident for some reason, but why she could not have sent for him openly was still a mystery to him. There was one more thing he knew now, and that was where Caroline was staying. That made it a lot easier to set up a chance encounter.

Part 8

Posted on Sunday, 21 November 1999, at 5 : 27 p.m.

An opportunity to examine the wrecked carriage did not present itself since Miss Copeland was almost always in her presence and Caroline had no time to figure out where the carriage had been towed to. She assumed it had to be somewhere near the stables and the coach house. "Mr. Elliot, where is the coach house?" she asked.

He was caught up in the arrangements concerning Lord Bennington. The deceased's relatives had been notified and he was now preparing for a funeral to be arranged in case they should send word that he was to be buried there. If word reached his relatives, if there were any, that was, for nobody seemed to know who was the nearest relation to Lord Bennington. Sir Walter had vague recollections of a 'freckled thing,' but one could not send letters addressed to someone like that. Elliot certainly hoped people knew where to find him on the occasion of Sir Walter's death. Therefore he was not in the mood to consider Caroline's question. "You should ring for the footman if you wish to order a carriage," he said curtly.

"But --" she spluttered. She did not want to order one. When he walked away, she gave up.

"Where do you want to go?" Miss Copeland asked.

"I do not want to go anywhere." She was given strange looks by everyone and she did not mention the coach house again. After all, she did not want anyone to know about her interest in the case.

Thorpe, who had driven on after the accident, had returned after completing the race, eager to know if he had won. He seemed more upset that there was no money to be won than to hear of Lord Bennington's death. He incessantly proposed to hold a new race, an idea that did not find any support anywhere, because of the impropriety of the situation. It seemed not to get through to Thorpe, who only sulked more when he could not get his way.

However, he had made one important point that nobody could ignore, even if they did not react to it. What to do with the money that had been collected? Most were tacitly agreed that this was of later care, although nobody could prevent himself from imagining himself so much the richer. How to dispose of the money would obviously become an issue of controversy when all the commotion over the accident had died down.

Caroline wondered if the money could have been a motive. Could anyone have been so thick as to believe that the race would continue after a fatal accident?

Yes, Thorpe. She did not have to think long for that. Is he also thick enough to draw so much attention to himself by bringing up the money all the time? Surely anyone devious enough to consider sabotage would also be devious enough to deflect any unwanted attention from himself?

Perhaps the accident had not been intended to be fatal.

This thought occurred to Caroline when she was having breakfast the next day and it opened up all sorts of new possibilities. Unfortunately, the company prevented her from working her ideas out and she had to save them for bed time.

What if the objective had been to put Lord Bennington out of competition, but not to kill him? It was possible. Far more possible than intended murder, Caroline thought. Still, the culprit would not step forward in that case either. He was likely to be shocked at this scheme gone wrong. For the thousandth time Caroline wondered if there had really been a scheme. Without any conclusive evidence for the cause of the accident she could not assume anything.

And without the help of a gentleman she could not get any conclusive evidence. Had Colonel Fitzwilliam received her note? Surely he would not think he could only come if he was an expert on carriages! She had realised that her note had not been very explanatory and she had considered sending a more detailed one after it, but he would perhaps never get it if he departed upon reception of the first one.

She was looking forward to seeing him again and she blushed in annoyance when she realised a few silly things about herself. If he should transport her on his horse again, she would not mind at all. But in order to accomplish that, she would have to get lost again and she suddenly realised that she had a compass, so it would be impossible to get lost. Did he give me the compass for that reason? Did he not want to find me lost again? Did he not like it? He must not have liked it then. That was a very disappointing thought.

Meanwhile, Colonel Fitzwilliam was studying ways of throwing himself in Caroline's way as inconspicuously as possible. He decided to call at Kellynch to pay his respects to the deceased, who had after all been an acquaintance of his. Since he did not know the Elliots, they would not know how far his acquaintance with Lord Bennington had gone, or how far it had not gone. He would be a traveller, incidentally hearing of his friend's death, and it would only be natural that he would seek to find out what had happened.

After breakfast he set out to Kellynch on foot. He was shown into the drawing room where he found a good-looking woman, who turned out to be Miss Elliot.

"I heard a friend of mine had died," he explained, hoping that she would not require him to say exactly what he had come to do. Sometimes it was not necessary to be specific.

She nodded. "It was a most tragic accident."

"Benny was quite a good friend of mine," the Colonel sighed.

She nodded again, but he could not detect any sympathy in her face.

"Could I perhaps see him?" he asked.

Miss Elliot's face expressed distaste. "See him?" she asked.

"To say goodbye? Do you never say goodbye to your close friends? It is a tradition in my family to always say goodbye."

"I do not think -- perhaps you should ask my cousin --" She was obviously not eager to deal with such requests herself.

At that moment, Caroline walked in with Miss Copeland. "Colonel!" she said rather flatly, due to being in company.

"Miss Bingley," he bowed."

"Ahh, Miss Bingley, you seem to know Colonel Fitzwilliam, am I correct? Could you look after him for a minute?" Miss Elliot said quickly. "I -- I must find --" she said vaguely. "I shall be right back." And she left with no intention of being true to her words.

Caroline looked at Fitzwilliam expectantly, trying not to jump from one foot onto the other.

He gave Miss Copeland a sideways glance. "Perhaps you and the other lady could show me the body of my friend, Miss Bingley."

"Oh, ghoulish," Miss Copeland cried out. "I will have none of that. Please excuse me, Caro." She left the room hastily.

"The body of your friend?" Caroline asked with raised eyebrows. "Who might your friend have been? And you know my dislike of dead bodies."

"Did I say dead?" he asked. "I came to see you."

Part 9

Posted on Monday, 22 November 1999, at 2 : 40 p.m.

Caroline stared at him.

"I told Miss Elliot I had come to see Benny because he was a good friend, but you know I came to see you. Do not look so surprised. You summoned me yourself."

Caroline breathed out. "I know that, but you were speaking of bodies."

"Have you not got a body?"

"I have a body, but not a dead body."

"I know. Otherwise you would not have spoken," Colonel Fitzwilliam said seriously. He clasped his hands behind his back and studied her. "Are you well?"

"I am well."

"You do not look well."

"Complimentary, are we?" Caroline asked sharply. She was not aware that she did not look well. Why was she not looking well?

"Piqued?"

"It is not gentlemanlike to say a lady does not look well."

"Oh, so I should say you look incredible when you look as if there are important things on your mind? What is bothering you?"

"This case..."

" I have heard it was an accident. There is no case."

"There is now. You are here. Let us go for a walk," Caroline said abruptly. "We shall go past the stables and the coach house."

"Ahh," said the Colonel. "Carriages? You do not mean to test my skills by making me do funny things with them, I hope? For I should fail you sadly."

"You do not know anything about them? Why did you come?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam was tempted to explain, but he could not. He did not know why Caroline had sent for him to help her investigate the death of someone he had not wanted her to be acquainted with. He hoped she was not doing it because she had liked the man. "I know a little," he said instead. They went outside. "Was Miss Elliot not to return in an instant? What will she think when we are gone?"

"She will be pleased," Caroline shrugged. "I do not know how you scared the woman off, but I daresay it was effective."

"I merely asked her to show me the corpse," he said innocently. "Remember?"

"Oh, yes. Did you know him well? I do not know where the coach house is," Caroline hesitated.

"This way, I think," he pulled her the other way. "I knew him, though he was not a friend."

"Why not? Did you not like him?"

"I will not tell you anything about him unless you swear to me that you did not care for the cad."

Caroline gasped. "That is a very bold statement."

"I know. And it is true, too."

"Do you call people cads easily?"

"No, only people who scheme to marry rich ladies because they cannot keep a single penny in their pockets."

"Then I wonder why he was after Miss Elliot," Caroline said sharply.

"Was he? Is she not rich?"

"The Elliots give the appearance of being so, but they are not, really," said Caroline. "One with a discerning eye can see it in an instant."

Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows. "I am amazed that your discerning eye does not seem to work in both ways," he commented.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"No, you meant something and I want to know what you meant. Did you mean you are rich but you pretend to be poor?"

"I would never admit such a thing to you. You must take me blindly and close your discerning eyes."

Caroline stopped to look at him. Before she could fix her eyes on his face, she discovered a person ducking behind a bush. She frowned, for who could want to observe them from behind a bush? It was not possible to identify the person. "Not now," she said softly. "Do not look back, but somebody is spying on us from behind a bush."

"Are you seeing ghosts?" he laughed incredulously.

"No. There really is somebody there. I am scared. Maybe there really was somebody following me this morning. I kept hearing footsteps around the corner. What do we do? The person will wonder who you are and why I am talking to you. He will think I know more than I know."

"We go into that building right behind you," Colonel Fitzwilliam decided. He advanced a step and pushed her gently over the threshold. He kicked the door shut behind him and they were in semi-darkness. "He cannot follow us here without raising suspicion, can he? And he cannot look through the windows because they are too dusty and covered with cobwebs."

Caroline silenced him when she beheld the wrecked carriage in a corner. "Look!"

"Is that Benny's carriage?"

She nodded, and wanted to take a closer look, but he pulled her back when he heard a soft scraping noise at the door.

"Quiet," he whispered. "Do not move. There is somebody at the door."

"He will know we are here to examine the carriage," she panicked.

"Nonsense," said Colonel Coolness. "Men generally do not take ladies into an old coach house to examine wrecked carriages. They usually have other intentions." He tried to figure out what would be the most natural way to embrace a woman and at the same time keep a half-closed eye on the ever-widening ray of sunlight creeping in through the crack of the door, and he dearly hoped it all looked as if he was solely concentrating on the mouth of his partner, who surprisingly enough did not protest, but he had always known Caroline was pretty sensible when it came to investigational matters.

The door was pulled shut just as quietly and Fitzwilliam paused. "All is safe. He left."

"Are you sure?"

"Hmmm...not quite. Maybe one more in case he looks through the windows?" he asked.

"Mmm...yes, it must look genuine," Caroline agreed. "I hope you do realise that this does not mean that I have bent ?"

"Nor have I, if your offer still stands."

"It does."

"So does mine."

"But I will not take it."

"Nor will I."

"Fine," she remarked.

"Indeed," he nodded.

"I warn you -- I have a strong will."

"So do I." Colonel Fitzwilliam dutifully kissed her again, to convince any possible onlookers that they were more interested in each other than in the wrecked carriage.

Part 10

Posted on Saturday, 27 November 1999, at 2 : 11 p.m.

Colonel Fitzwilliam walked towards Lord Bennington's carriage, leaving Caroline to recollect her senses. He postponed collecting his own, preferring to enjoy this feeling of warmth for another while.

Caroline saw him bend his knees to get a closer look. There was not much she could do to help him, so she walked back to the door and peered out. Dark coattails could just be seen turning around a corner some distance away. However, that did not tell her if that person had been here at the door, or who it was, for all the men in the house wore dark coats, even Colonel Fitzwilliam, as she saw with a glance in his direction.

She felt alarmed when she suddenly saw a group of three men come around that same corner and head in the direction of the building they were in. All three wore dark coats and there was no telling if she had just seen one of them a minute before. "Is there a back door to this shed?" she asked.

"No idea," Fitzwilliam replied, engrossed in studying the carriage from beneath.

"Do not be so mad as to crawl under something that could fall apart on you every second!" she exclaimed anxiously. "And hurry, for there are people coming! We cannot be found here."

"Ahh," he said with satisfaction as he apparently discovered something.

"Hurry!"

"I must take a better look. They will not come in here."

"Yes! They are coming." Caroline looked around nervously, to see if there was another door. They could not leave through the front door, because then they would certainly be seen. She spotted a half-hidden door at the back, behind the carriage. "Richard?" she tugged at his legs when he did not move. Reluctantly he slid out from under the carriage and Caroline pushed him towards the door. It was open. Quickly she pushed him out. Behind them she could already hear voices. "Just in time," she whispered.

"Let us listen to what they say," Fitzwilliam suggested.

"No, let us go," she begged. Caroline moved away from the coach house along a path that led to one of the gardens. She could not wait to be out of sight. Since Colonel Fitzwilliam could not make out what the voices were saying, he followed her. "Did you find out anything?" she asked when they sufficiently far away.

"I might have discovered more if you had not pulled me away."

"Yes," she said sarcastically. "You would have discovered what it was like to be discovered trespassing. What did you find?"

"Something very interesting." He looked et her appreciatively. "Your nose did not fail you, Caroline."

"What does my nose have to do with it?" she asked impatiently.

"It smelled foul play."

Caroline's eyes began to gleam with excitement. It was always nice to hear that you had been right. "Well? Tell me!"

"It was very interesting. The axle had been --"

"Hush!" Caroline interrupted him. "Miss Elliot! What is she doing here?"

They stood still and waited until Miss Elliot had caught up with them, her black coat flapping about her as she strode towards them with angry paces. "Miss Bingley," she said reprovingly. "Why did you take the Colonel outside?"

Caroline did not know what to say. She could not think of a lie so very quickly and to tell the truth was impossible.

"You did not return," Fitzwilliam bowed. "I asked her to show me the way to the village."

"You are quite out of your way," Miss Elliot said coldly.

"That is my fault," Caroline apologised. "I am not acquainted with the area. I thought the village was this way."

"You should not have let him go. Friends of Lord Bennington's are always welcome." She had not been very interested in Colonel Fitzwilliam at first, and had been glad to leave him to Caroline, but a conference with Sir Walter and a lengthy perusal of their books on the peerage had brought to light that Colonel Fitzwilliam was possibly related to the Earl of Matlock. Sir Walter and Elizabeth Elliot were always eager to promote their connections with the higher peerage and to entertain the son of an Earl was indeed quite something, very much worth the trouble of going out in the cold to find him to coax him back into the house again.

"Thank you, Miss Elliot," said the Colonel. "I beg your pardon, Miss Bingley, for inconveniencing you."

"You must come back into the house," Miss Elliot said decidedly. "I insist."

"What can I do but obey?" he said gallantly, offering his arms to them. With a lady at each arm he walked back to the house. "I have never escorted two such beautiful women."

Caroline glared. This gallantry to another woman was not at all offset by the pleasure of being included in the compliment and she let him know it, by gripping his arm so hard that he had to feel it. She was beginning to become utterly confused again.

However, Colonel Fitzwilliam had his hands full and could not do anything, although he did feel her grip most acutely. Neither could he tell her to release him, because that would sound rather peculiar. "I am glad you two take my arm in a civilised manner," he said instead, after having racked his brains for something to say. "I have a cousin who always leaves blue imprints on my arm." The pressure on his arm was released instantly.

Miss Elliot was a polite lady, if sometimes obviously uninterested in her conversational partners, and so she knew she ought to make a comment. "What a mean cousin you have, Colonel."

"Oh no," he replied. "She is rather sweet."

Caroline felt a pang of jealousy as they went into the house.

Part 11

Posted on Friday, 10 December 1999, at 2 : 12 p.m.

Caroline was dying to know what Colonel Fitzwilliam had found out, but she was forced to wait, for Miss Elliot first made them come into the drawing room where she immediately rang for refreshments. "Where are you staying, Colonel?" she inquired.

"Oh, I am staying at the inn."

"The inn!" Miss Elliot exclaimed with obvious distaste. "You cannot be serious."

"I am."

"But why?"

"Do you never stay at inns, Miss Elliot?" he asked.

"Not if I can help it! I have friends everywhere."

"I am relatively friendless in this part of the country."

"What, do you not know anybody in Bath?"

"I did not want to impose on them."

"I shall send a servant to the inn for your belongings," Miss Elliot decided. "You will stay here."

"Thank you, Miss Elliot. That is extremely kind of you." He caught Caroline's eyes and tried to convey a reassuring look. He would get the chance to tell her later.

A man entered the room, and Miss Elliot introduced him as Mr. John Thorpe. Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed politely, gathering from the look on Caroline's face that Thorpe was not her favourite person. Fitzwilliam had no trouble believing that when he studied Thorpe's weasel-like features.

"Have you moved in, Colonel. Did Miss Elliot our gracious hostess offer you old Benny's bed now that he is no longer here to occupy it," Thorpe chuckled. He had the very annoying habit of not pronouncing question marks. Perhaps it was because he was not expecting any answers anyway. "Hello! I just got the most wonderful idea. If you are in Benny's bed, like, you might as well take his place in the race so we can finally continue. That wretched accident destroyed all our plans. Come to think of it, I think it is an excellent idea. What do you say. I say we go for it. Shall I take up the suggestion with the lads. Do you not think it is a terrific plan, Miss Elliot. Yes, I shall go now to tell them."

Fitzwilliam saw that both ladies looked displeased. If Miss Elliot looked as if she could kill Thorpe, Caroline looked as if she would kill Fitzwilliam if he participated. Caroline's opinion mattered to him and so he felt he had to say something to put her at ease. "It would be a disgrace, do you not think so, Miss Elliot? Poor Benny has only just passed away and I fear it would be offending his spirit if the race was taken up again so soon."

"That race should never have been taken up in the first place," Caroline said sternly.

"I am glad you think so, Miss Bingley, but men are difficult to persuade and with even my cousin participating..." Miss Elliot sighed.

"I shall not participate," he said firmly. "It is not to my taste. I find my enjoyment elsewhere."

Caroline smiled.

"Then what do you like, Colonel?" Miss Elliot asked.

"I am a man of quiet and simple pursuits, I am afraid. And I am quite devoted to my work."

"Indeed!" Miss Elliot was amazed. "Such is the fate of the younger son, but do you not find it awful to have to work?"

"Oh, not at all. If I had not had a profession, I might have spent my days in vacuous idleness and bored myself to death."

"But the people one comes into contact with! They cannot possibly be of the kind one would like to meet."

Fitzwilliam smiled and glanced at Caroline. "Not all, but some are definitely worth keeping as acquaintances."

"Miss Bingley, ought the Colonel not to be glad that he is here now? Away from savage company?" Miss Elliot asked. "Miss Bingley? Miss Bingley?"

Caroline had been looking back into his eyes and Miss Elliot suddenly no longer existed.

"Miss Bingley?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. He hated to break this wonderful spell he was under, but they had to save such occasions for when they were alone and not under Miss Elliot's inquisitive eyes. Besides, Caroline seemed to have swooned.

"Ye-e-es?"

"Are you alright? You look a little unwell," Miss Elliot said.

"Acquaintances?" Caroline squeaked, her eyes unfocused as if she did not know where she was.

"You do not seem well, Miss Bingley."

"Perhaps she should lie down," Fitzwilliam said in a concerned tone.

"Yes," Miss Elliot agreed. "Lie down, Miss Bingley. I shall fetch my smelling salts." She quickly walked out of the room.

Caroline inclined on the sofa. "I feel alright," she said in a small voice. "I am floating. I think I have a fever. I feel warm."

Fitzwilliam knelt beside her and placed a hand on her forehead. "You look a little flushed, my dear," he said softly. "But I do not think it is a fever. I think you have an attack of something I had before. I did not understand it at the time, but its significance came to me later."

"Which illness was that?" she asked anxiously.

He smiled. "Do you have any whirring or buzzing in your ears?"

"Oh, yes. I could barely hear what Miss Elliot was saying."

"You will be alright," he stroked her face.

"Please tell me the illness will not bring red blots to my face," she begged.

"It will not," he vowed and stood up because he heard hurried footsteps approaching.

Miss Elliot returned and held the smelling salts under Caroline's nose. She recovered quickly and sat up straight. "Oh, my heart is all a-flutter," she exclaimed.

"Mine too," Fitzwilliam murmured inaudibly. Her stupidity endeared her to him, even. How incredibly ridiculous. But he was glad he had come -- even if they would not crack the case, he had got two kisses. He knew for certain now that he had to have her as his wife.

Part 12

Posted on Friday, 17 December 1999, at 3 : 18 p.m.

"I have ordered for your belongings to be brought to Kellynch Hall," said Miss Elliot. "This is my father, Sir Walter."

"Sir Walter," Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed.

"And my cousin, Mr. Elliot."

"Mr. Elliot," Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed again. He was also introduced to more men, but they seemed of lesser importance to Miss Elliot. The dreadful Thorpe brought up the subject of the race again and he needed all his attention to thwart attempts to draw him in. When he had finally convinced Thorpe and the others that he was not interested in carriage racing, he noticed in alarm that Sir Walter had seated himself next to Caroline. That old man!

"We have not spoken the last words on this subject, Colonel," said a sly-looking Thorpe in a private aside. "And you had better be careful -- Sir Walter likes his women young and pretty. Not too young, mind you, Colonel, but around Miss Bingley's age. Well, you can see what attracts us all in your friend. I could tell him she is spoken for -- what else could that romantic tryst possibly have meant -- but that would mean revealing what I saw and perhaps you do not want to compromise the lady, so perhaps I shall just advise him to go for it because she is not inexperienced. Unless," Thorpe said slowly and a sly grin spread across his features. "Unless you say you'll race."

Fitzwilliam suppressed the urge to wipe that sly grin from Thorpe's face. It would not do to hit the man in public, but he reserved himself the right to retaliate if Thorpe should threaten him somewhere outside some time. "I shall not race," he said coolly. He was not going to be afraid of the weasel, no matter how tough his threats were.

"As you wish, Colonel. I hope you will not regret your decision," Thorpe bowed and sidled away.

He cast a worried glance at Caroline, who was engaged in a lively discussion with Sir Walter and one of the young men. She did not seem interested in either of them -- while observing Mr. Collins's dead body she had looked more engaged than now. But I am not here to study Caroline, he reminded himself.

Instead he looked around. Miss Elliot gave Mr. Elliot a look of perfect dislike in response to something he said, to which he only laughed. It would be interesting to find out more about the relationship between the two cousins. In a family situation such as theirs it happened so often that cousins married, that it was odd that it had not happened in the Elliot family. Miss Elliot clearly did not like her cousin and yet she chose to converse privately with him at length, and they were not exhibiting any signs of breaking off their conversation any time soon.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seated himself next to Caroline's friend Miss Copeland, who was speaking to a young man named Garrett, but they were eager to include him in their discussion. For a while they spoke about the theatre, until he managed to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Who ever conceived of the idea of a race?"

"It was either Thorpe or Elliot," Garrett answered. "They both claim to have thought of it first."

"And then they asked you? Or did you volunteer?"

"Well, they brought up the subject at our club and several of us were enthusiastic. Of course there are always those who say they will join in but who will cry off at the last minute," Garrett said contemptuously. "Like the married men. The women are always against it. Miss Elliot was against it from the start, but Sir Walter sponsored the idea so she could do very little against it, except find fault with Elliot all the time."

"Why was she against it?"

Garrett lowered his voice. "Because she dislikes Thorpe, I think. His background is quite common..."

Miss Elliot did not look as if she ever lifted a finger so Colonel Fitzwilliam did not see the point of asking whether she knew anything about carriages. The footman came to inform him that his belongings had arrived at the house and that if he wished to see his room, he could now come up. Fitzwilliam decided to do so. It would give him a chance to speak with the footman. Footmen and other servants often knew interesting things about the inhabitants of the house and their guests.

The footman and a young boy struggled with his luggage and he followed them. It was perhaps not wise to ask questions in front of the boy and his stuff was too heavy for the child anyway. "Let me carry that," he said to the boy. "It is too heavy for you."

"But Sir..."

"You go down, Toby," said the footman, whose name was Edgar.

"Are there no other servants?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"No, Colonel. Well, there is Sir Walter's manservant but I don't count him among the men, and there is the men who work outside of the house."

"Ahh," said the Colonel understandingly. "The Elliots' fortune must not be as large as it appears."

"No, Colonel."

"They disguise it well."

"They won't be able to keep it up for long," the footman confided. "They had counted on Lord Bennington's fortune and they have been overspending quite a lot in anticipation of it."

"Lord Bennington was as poor as a church mouse. He had no fortune."

"Really? Well, he is dead now, poor man, so he can't be of any use anymore. Either Miss Elliot or Sir Walter will have to find another rich candidate. Perhaps that lady who's now staying here. I heard she's rich."

"And she is mine," said Fitzwilliam. "Too bad for Sir Walter. Edgar, if you were a woman, would you not think she would choose me over Sir Walter any day? With me being younger..." And he was also a lot more things he dared not voice.

"Yours, Colonel?" Edgar was still catching up. "Is it not a great coincidence to find your fiancée here?"

"Yes. But she is not my fiancée yet, so please keep it to yourself."

"You must have been right pleased to find her here, Colonel. I do think she would prefer you."

Part 13

Posted on Saturday, 1 January 2000, at 10 : 37 a.m.

"Was it not dreadful?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked the footman, who was carefully placing his belongings in his room. "The accident, I mean."

"Oh, yes. We had not expected anything of the sort and I heard from the coachmen that Lord Bennington was an able driver," said Edgar.

"Did they get at any look at the carriages before the race?"

"Oh, no. They were mightily vexed about that. The gentlemen wouldn't let them interfere. They thought they could all do it themselves, that one gentleman especially -- Mr. Thorpe. He was always shooing the coachmen and the grooms away."

"Mr. Thorpe?" the Colonel said thoughtfully. "Tell me -- you have not seen him walking around with a saw, have you?"

"No, Colonel." Edgar was puzzled.

"Pity."

"Will you be needing me any more, sir?" Edgar asked.

"No, thank you."

Edgar left the room and descended the stairs, where he encountered Miss Bingley, who was just ascending them, having claimed a slight head ache. Thinking that, as the Colonel's near-fiancée, she might be interested in knowing where he was housed, Edgar bowed. "Miss Bingley, excuse me."

Caroline paused.

"The Colonel is in the second room after the arched hallway to the right."

"Thank you." Caroline continued upwards and wondered where to find the arched hallway. She had not seen any arched hallway, but it turned out that only the entrance was arched. "Ahh...here," she mumbled and counted off two doors and knocked on the second. "I cannot be seen in your room," she said as soon as Fitzwilliam opened the door. "But I suggest we go somewhere private so you can tell me what you discovered." She appeared to be in excellent spirits.

"I have several things to tell you," Fitzwilliam said, closing the door behind him. He led her into the arched hallway. "I have no idea where this leads to, but it is worth exploring," he said, until he studied the paintings that hung on the walls. "Perhaps not so suitable for a lady's sensibilities, however. Do not look aside, Caroline."

Caroline looked aside. "Oh!"

"I told you not to look."

"And you should know that it would have had the opposite effect!"

At the end of the hallway there was a small niche with a bench, which would not be seen from the main hallway. Opposite the bench were the service stairs. "I doubt that any servants will be coming up those," he remarked. "There are so many of them that they will all be needed in the kitchen. Sit down. Alright, where shall I start? Perhaps a word of caution first. It seems that Mr. Thorpe saw us."

"Where did he see us?"

"Apparently he saw us engaged in..." Colonel Fitzwilliam coughed. It was a rather delicate thing to mention.

"He saw us engaged in the art of fooling the enemy," Caroline said brightly.

"Quite right," he said. "Caroline, there is something I have to say to you about that, but now is not the time. Let me continue. Thorpe threatened to tell Sir Walter that you were willing to be courted by him, because as you know, he needs money. He said he would tell him if I did not participate in another race."

Caroline's eyes flashed fiercely. "That...rat...is blackmailing you? How dare he? How dare he say that I would be willing to be courted by that insipid Sir Walter? The man is insipid, stupid, vain, old..."

"But he has got a nice house and I do not," Fitzwilliam said cleverly. If this was not the right moment to make the woman see reason, he would eat his hat.

"Richard, you are using underhand ways to get me to live in that shed with you."

"Admit it, Caroline. I am everything he is not. I am not insipid, not stupid, not vain, not old..."

"I should feel locked up in such a house. I could buy you a bigger one."

"What is that little inconvenience to you if you can be with me? I told you before that I do not want you to buy me a house and if I should happen to come by a house in some mysterious way, I certainly do not want you to come running to me begging me to marry you, because I shall say no."

Caroline frowned. The chances of him inheriting some property were too great. If he did, he would be lost forever. "Do you have many uncles and aunts and so on?"

"Yes, they are all very old and they all have four houses at least."

She really did not look forward to living in that tiny house with him, but it sounded as if it could not be helped.

"Before you destroy my life by refusing me, darling, give me one more kiss so I can die," he said in a low, dramatic voice. "I cannot live without them."

"That is so mean," she hissed. "You should not be bringing emotional matters into this rational discussion, Colonel Coolness!"

"You have changed me," he vowed. If he could play cool, he could play besotted as well.

"Alright. One more kiss," Caroline conceded.

"Two?" he pleaded afterwards.

"Well..." Caroline was not unwilling to oblige. It seemed to last even longer than the first one and she would not mind if he asked for another.

"Three?" Fitzwilliam begged angelically, but before she could press her lips to his, he withdrew his head and grinned coolly. "If you want it, you can get number three when we are married, but not before."

Caroline was confused at first, but she soon became annoyed. "You should play by the rules, Colonel!"

"I was only fooling the enemy," he said in a cool and composed voice. Love was not unlike war, he reflected, and he was not being mean, only devious. "Now, about that carriage...I saw that certain parts of the undercarriage had got incisions in them, as if someone had been attempting to saw them through. The person stopped at such a point that any pothole would finish the job and cause the carriage to do whatever it did."

Part 15

Posted on Saturday, 10 June 2000, at 2 : 37 p.m.

Caroline accompanied Colonel Fitzwilliam to Thorpe's room. She was not at ease with the fact that he wanted to search the room. What if Thorpe was a murderer and he found somebody going through his belongings? Would he kill the Colonel? "This is dangerous," she whispered.

"There is no law that forbids it," he reassured her. "Be my lookout."

"What do I do if he comes?" she asked anxiously.

"Delay him so I can jump out of the window."

Caroline shook her head in dismay and quickly inspected how big the drop would be. It would be far too much. "No. You would break your legs."

Colonel Fitzwilliam peered down. "So I should, it seems," he said calmly. "Perhaps I should not do it then." He liked her solicitude.

"Start searching," she urged him, looking out of the room.

Fitzwilliam began to examine the contents of the drawers systematically, taking care not to displace anything, so it would not look suspicious afterwards. He was engrossed in studying a mysterious object when he was alerted by a movement at the door.

"Quick! His servant!" Caroline hissed. "We must hide."

Instead of waiting in the middle of the hallway as he had assumed she would do so she could run away if anyone came, she had been in the room peeking around the corner and they were now both trapped. He would have to teach Caroline a thing or two about this, but first he would have to find a place to hide. "Come," he gestured and dove under the bed.

Caroline closed the door and stepped into the room anxiously, but in the split second that she had turned to close the door, he had disappeared under the bed and she did not see him anymore. "Richard?" she asked fearfully as she looked around the room in panic. "Have you vanished?"

"Under the bed!" it sounded in a muffled voice.

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"Join me."

How horrible! However, she had no choice but to do it and she slid under it inexpertly.

"Pull those skirts in," Fitzwilliam ordered in a whisper. "You do not want them to stick out."

"It smells so musty here," she complained. "And my gown! I am sure we shall be all dusty when we get out." The mattress was only a small distance above her head and she felt locked up.

"Hush!" he nudged her when the door to the room was opened. They could only lie still and hope the servant would not look under the bed. Considering that Thorpe seemed terribly untidy, there was a good chance that they would be hoping in vain, for the Colonel had encountered several items of clothing when he had scurried under the bed. He would not tell Caroline about that -- she would scream, in spite of the servant laying out Thorpe's evening wear. The blanket did not quite reach the ground. They could see the man's feet and if he dropped anything and it rolled under the bed, he would be able to see them too. He saw Caroline was watching the servant's feet as well.

They had been there for a while when the door was opened again. Just when the Colonel breathed a sigh of relief -- the atmosphere under the bed was very oppressing and dusty -- a voice spoke.

"Thank you, Potts," said Thorpe. "I shall take my nap now."

"Yes, sir," Potts said and they heard him leave the room.

Caroline had gripped the Colonel's hand when Thorpe had spoken and he was glad that she had not groaned aloud. Imagine being found under a bed with a woman. He did not know if that was better or worse than being found in a bed, but to Thorpe it would all amount to the same thing, he supposed.

The blanket was lifted and they both froze. Apparently Thorpe had pulled back the covers to get into bed. Suddenly they could see much more him, almost up to his knees now. He sat on the bed, making it sink down heavily, but the creaking obscured Caroline's soft gasp of shock upon nearly being squashed. They watched as he took off his boots and stockings, disposing them carelessly beside the bed. He stood up again and they could see the other items of his clothing fall where he stood, until his feet were hidden by heaps of textile.

There was more creaking when Thorpe got into the bed and they could hear how he pulled the covers over him, an action of which the Colonel was very glad. Fitzwilliam wondered how they were going to get out of there -- perhaps it was possible when Thorpe was asleep. If the man had not covered himself, he would not even be able to take Caroline with him.

They lay in silence, bearing the shifting and creaking of the bottom of the bed as Thorpe tossed and turned before he fell asleep. He was not asleep yet -- every time Fitzwilliam hoped to hear steady breathing, Thorpe would cough or chuckle. The chuckles were definitely mysterious, as Caroline seemed to think too. She gave him an unintelligible nudge at every chuckle. He longed to ask her what she meant, but they would give their position away if he did so.

Perhaps Thorpe would kill them if he discovered them under his bed, Caroline reflected. At any rate he would probably be angry. Or thrilled with this opportunity to blackmail them. If this news spread to London, she might as well exile herself to the Continent. She would be as good as dead. But Richard would protect her from Thorpe, although choosing this dirty hiding place was one of his less laudable actions. Were they going to be stuck under this bed forever? With no opportunity to change before dinner? Thorpe was always notoriously late. How could they run back to their rooms, dusty and all, and change, if Thorpe was always the last to arrive down for dinner? There simply would not be time, Caroline fretted, and she saw visions of her appearing at the dinner table looking flushed and with spider webs in her hair. And then Richard would have that too and it would be as if we have been lying under a bed together was written on their foreheads.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had not looked that far ahead yet. He counted on Thorpe falling asleep, but if the man did not, he realised they were in a nasty corner. However, contrary to Caroline he did not have visions of them hurrying for dinner -- he simply envisioned them missing dinner altogether and having it elsewhere, such as at the inn.

Part 16

Posted on Sunday, 11 June 2000, at 1 : 35 p.m.

After a very long time, during which Caroline had almost sneezed three times, but which urge she had been able to suppress by pressing her nose into the Colonel's arm -- she hoped her nose had not been snotty, although with all the dust a little snot did not matter much anymore -- Thorpe fell asleep.

"Quick," Caroline whispered and made to leave her hiding place.

"No," the Colonel held her back.

"You might be used to such small living quarters, but I am not!"

"Another minute to see if he is really asleep," he whispered back. After a minute or three, he crawled out from under the bed and cast a look at the bed. He frowned and pulled Caroline out, trying to keep her eyes away from the figure on the bed, whose arms, legs and chest protruded from under the covers. He did not quite succeed and Caroline stared in wonder. "Come," he pulled her towards the door. "I look much better."

"He was not wearing a night gown!" she answered.

"Well observed," muttered the Colonel as he ushered her into the hallway. Fortunately it was empty. "Where do we go?"

"Yes, do let us find another bed to lie under!" Caroline said sarcastically. "Your bed or mine? Where do we go indeed! We go to our rooms to change."

He studied her gown. "Yes, that might well be necessary. You look a little dusty." He attempted to remove one of Thorpe's handkerchiefs from where it was stuck behind a button on Caroline's gown.

"What is that?" she cried.

"A handkerchief," he answered and dropped it into an ornamental vase. "It might look odd if you went around with a handkerchief with the initials JT on it."

"Indeed," she agreed in horror. "I shall throw away this gown."

"Dear Caroline, may I remind you that a colonel does not have the kind of income on which you can afford to buy new gowns every week and that you might want to hold on to this gown?"

She gave him a haughty look. "Tell me why I should be interested in a colonel's income."

"A colonel's house -- which would be paid for out of his income -- would also lack the necessary closet space to hang up your gowns, so perhaps it is only good that you throw one away," he reflected. "Do as you please."

"Tell me why I should be interested in a colonel's closet space."

"It might be useful if you should wish to hide in his closet. It is not as dusty as under a bed, although the last time I was under my bed, it was not dusty at all."

"Why would you be under your bed?" Caroline asked in suspicion.

"To retrieve fallen cufflinks."

"Why would you drop your cufflinks?"

"Sometimes that just happens."

"How?"

"Really, Caroline. Come and live with me and you will see why." Colonel Fitzwilliam left her in her room and then went to change himself. However, as he changed his trousers, he came across the mysterious object he had found in Thorpe's room. He had accidentally pocketed it when Caroline had signalled that the servant was approaching and he studied it again. It was still mysterious and he still did not know what it was, although he had an inkling that it was a part of something that he would recognise. He did not think it was part of a saw and that was a pity. It was to be hoped that Thorpe would not miss the object.

"Colonel?" it sounded in the hallway a few minutes later. It was Miss Copeland's voice.

"Yes?" he called, realising that he still had to change.

"Are you ready to come down to dinner?"

"In a minute!"

"I shall wait!"

"Oh, drat," he muttered and began to change very quickly, with the result that Miss Copeland clicked her tongue in a very matronly fashion and adjusted his cravat. Caroline happened to come out of her room at that moment and he cringed at the look on her face. She did not like it. But then he remembered that it was not bad if she was jealous, considering that she always claimed not to want him. He stiffened when Miss Copeland's fingers accidentally brushed against his jaw.

"Diana," Caroline said sweetly. "What are you doing?"

"The Colonel's cravat was crooked," Diana explained innocently. "He really could not go downstairs like that."

The Colonel nodded coolly. "I thank you for your kind service, Miss Copeland."

"And pray what do you know of cravats, Diana?"

"Just as much as you do, I expect."

"Which is not a good deal."

"I know enough to adjust one," Miss Copeland protested. "Did I not do it well, Colonel?"

"Exceedingly," he mumbled.

"Miss Elliot?" Miss Copeland called when they arrived downstairs. "Do you not think the Colonel's cravat looks brilliantly done?"

Miss Elliot cast a cool eye at the item in question. "I cannot say that I do."

Miss Copeland looked disappointed and Caroline triumphant. Colonel Fitzwilliam manoeuvred himself next to her. "If she had ever done it before, she would not call so much attention to it," he whispered softly. Caroline's eyes flashed something at him, but he did not know what, because she was whisked off by one of the other young men whose names he did not yet know.

Over dinner, Colonel Fitzwilliam decided to frighten the murderer. "Miss Elliot, where could I get a saw?" he asked, studying the faces around the table unobtrusively.

"A saw?" she asked incredulously.

"I should like to saw off a branch and sculpt it into a work of art." He could not cut wood, but that was beside the point. Again he studied the faces, for a look of relief this time. He could not be certain, but he thought Caroline had seen something. She was focusing too much on her plate.

"A work of art?" Miss Elliot asked politely, but wrinkling her nose slightly at the idea that art could be made from a mere branch. How decidedly rural.

"Ahh, yes. It is a pastime of mine that I do not frequently indulge in, but which I enjoy tremendously. However, a knife does not suffice to cut through thicker branches. I really need a saw."

"You could ask the gardener," she suggested.

"Thank you," he said, looking at Caroline again. Her eyes seemed to be roving around the table. What had she seen? When could he ask her? He would have to wait until after the inconvenient separation of the sexes that would occur after dinner.

Part 17

Posted on Tuesday, 13 June 2000, at 9 : 02 a.m.

Richard was such a fool, Caroline reflected worriedly after dinner. With that stupid remark he was sure to have fixed the attention of the murderer upon himself. Surely that could not have been his intention? She was concerned about his safety now. The murderer would want to make certain that he stayed silent and there was no other way to shut Richard up than to kill him. Caroline feared that the Colonel had just pronounced his own death sentence.

While she would not like anybody to be killed, the thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam's near demise frightened her a great deal. How could she live excitingly if he was no longer there? Life had been so dull and predictable before he had made her his assistant. She would miss him. She did not want him to die. But she would not tell him of her suspicions. He would laugh at her, perhaps, or bully her into accepting him. Being worried about him was definitely not the same as being desperate to marry him. Certainly not. They could go on as they did, could they not? Meeting here and there and solving mysteries. They needed not live in that hut of his. This arrangement they had now was best. They were only friends.

And being a friend, she would make sure that he did not get killed.

There was no chance to warn him before bedtime, but she had already decided that she would not warn him. She was rather absent-minded during the remainder of the evening as she thought of a way to protect the Colonel during the night. That seemed nearly impossible, as they would each be in their own rooms. Finally she realised how she could do it. She would hide under his bed. Yes, she would do that. She had done it before, now. It would not be so shocking anymore.

Caroline made sure she went upstairs before him, trusting that the murderer would not attempt anything in company, and hoping that the Colonel would not be so stupid as to remain downstairs alone with the murderer. If he had not come up by midnight, she would go and look for him, she decided.

She changed into her night gown and slipped out into the corridor, clutching her hairbrush. A hairbrush made a very decent weapon, for lack of other weapons -- she did not have a razor, of course, and though she had contemplated taking the Colonel's razor, she had decided against it, because she did not know when he shaved himself. Perhaps he would notice if it was missing. Fortunately there was nobody around and she made it to Colonel Fitzwilliam's room unseen. Suppressing the urge to lie in his bed rather than under it -- for Caroline always preferred comfort over discomfort -- she sank to her knees and inspected the space below the bed first. It was empty. She got under and hoped he would not drop any cufflinks, although she suspected that he never did. It was just like him to say that when it was not true.

On second thought, Caroline realised that there was no need to hide under the bed if he was not coming for another hour or so. Why be uncomfortable? She might as well lie behind the bed and crawl under quietly if she heard him turn the doorknob. She lay down behind the bed, gazing up out of the window at the stars.

After a long time, she could hear voices outside of the door, presumably of people saying goodnight to each other, and the door was opened. Caroline had practised getting under the bed without making any noise and she did not make any sound when she hid herself. She could see the light the candle spread and she heard the Colonel humming to himself. Part of her did not want to be eavesdropping, but she had no choice. He would forgive her for it. It was all in his best interest.

Do not check under the bed! Do not drop anything! Caroline prayed, but fortunately the Colonel did not seem to be a clumsy coward. Although this relieved her, she was a little upset at him for being so negligent as not to check his room for intruders, however. I might have been a murderer! And I should have succeeded in murdering him so easily! she thought in dismay.

After what seemed like ages of pacing, undressing and dressing -- Good Lord! How many layers of clothing is he wearing? -- the Colonel got into bed. Caroline approved of his elegance in doing so, for the mattress did not descend on her nearly as wildly as Thorpe's mattress had. It was as if he did that out of consideration because he knew she was there, but he could not know that, of course. He was just very elegant by himself.

Caroline was not afraid that she would fall asleep. The floor was too uncomfortable and she had a mission. She would keep her attention on the job. She had not really thought about what she would do if there was an attempt on the Colonel's life, but she would crawl out from under the bed and she would scream. She could scream piercingly and it would scare the murderer away and it would definitely wake Richard up so he could run after the murderer and apprehend him. Perhaps she could give the mattress a push before she crawled out, so as to wake him faster. She tentatively held her hand against it. Maybe he would not feel it.

He was asleep now -- she could hear it and she prepared herself for a long wait. Had her instincts been wrong? Would the murderer not have understood? Would he not have thought that Richard knew who he was? Richard had no idea, of course, or perhaps he only said that he had no idea, but the murderer would not know that. He would be too afraid of being discovered.

Just when she was dozing off, her senses sharpened into attention once more, for there had been a soft sound in the corridor. It had been far away, but it had been a sound. Perhaps it had been a door closing, although she could not imagine that somebody would slam with doors as if to announce that he was going to murder somebody. She listened carefully and her heart beat in her throat when there was a soft noise at the door. The door was being opened -- from the outside.

Part 18

Posted on Tuesday, 13 June 2000, at 2 : 57 p.m.

Contrary to her intentions, Caroline could not scream when she heard soft footsteps approach the bed. It was as if her voice would not work. Eventually she could push herself out from under the bed. With admirable presence of mind she tore open the curtains so she would have a little light and then she shrieked at the intruder -- a shriek that was thin and high, due to her constricted throat.

The intruder had frozen when he had heard a movement behind the bed. When the sudden moonlight flooded the room and he heard a shriek, he dropped what he was holding and fled from this white-clad ghost. He exited the room with a dash.

Caroline had not seen much of him -- he seemed to be wearing something over his head -- and consequently she did not know what it was. He dropped a pillow on his way out, but she paid no attention to that. She ran to the door and was just in time to see a black shadow turn the corner at the end, by the light of the all-night candle that burnt in the corridor, its light still flickering from the gust of wind that the fleeing intruder had brought with him.

She was not so stupid as to chase a villain through a dark house with nothing to defend herself and she breathed heavily from the shock as she leant against the door post. Richard could not have missed this -- he could not -- she had even shrieked -- but why had he not jumped up? She closed the door and saw that he had not.

The Colonel lit a candle. He sat up in bed as if nothing had happened and looked at Caroline, although the adoring look in his eyes was lost in the darkness. He thought she was amazing, but apparently she did not return the sentiment. She picked up the pillow and hit him with it. "Fool!" she snapped.

"Fool?" he repeated in a puzzled voice.

"Yes, fool!"

"But why?" He thought she was here because she cared for him, not because she thought him foolish. Although perhaps it was foolish to care for her. No, it is not. She is wonderful.

"Because!" Caroline sat on the bed and breathed in deeply. "You almost got yourself murdered there because of your stupid baiting! And you had not even locked the door!" That had suddenly struck her as remarkably idiotic.

He heard that her voice was slightly panicky. "I know," he said as calmly as possible to reassure her.

"Oh, do not be so cool!" she exclaimed.

"Why are you not cool? It was my life that was in danger and not yours and you do not care about my life, do you?"

"No, I do not! Certainly not anymore now. I shall return to my own room and leave you to your murderer. Get murdered then, if that is what you want!"

The Colonel gripped her wrist. "It is not what I want and you know it. I shall not let you go to your room. It is likely that we are both in danger now. The intruder saw you and he does not know if he saw him. I do not know if he recognised you, but how many candidates are there? You, Miss Elliot and Miss Copeland. If he is Thorpe, he will know it was you."

"How does he know it was a woman?" Caroline asked, a little frightened.

"Your outline against the window. You must stay here. Please?"

"What if he comes back?"

"Against the two of us? He meant to smother me in my sleep with that pillow. He cannot do that if we are together."

"But I am not going to sleep under the bed," she protested.

"Dearest Caroline, you do not have to. Come here. Give me your hand."

She gave him her hand and was surprised when he kissed it.

"Thank you for helping to save my life," he said earnestly.

"It was nothing," she said shyly and wished he would not say such things. "You wear a night gown," she remarked illogically.

"Well observed," he answered. His thanks confused her, he noted.

"But how can I see if you look better than Thorpe?" Caroline was shocked by her own audacity. "I-I-I -- what am I saying?" she stammered.

"Do you mean you still do not know that I look better?" he asked a little anxiously. "I thought I did, but if you do not know..."

"I assume that you do," she said crossly. "Do not ask me."

"Well, at any rate you look better than Thorpe, if that is any consolation."

"Oh!" Caroline hit him with the pillow again. "I hate you."

"Sit next to me and we shall discuss the case," he said invitingly. "You are my partner."

"Can we not do that tomorrow? You said he would not return this night. I would much rather sleep," she said hesitantly. "And as your partner, I should advise you to take enough rest so you can think clearly tomorrow."

"I shall always take my partner's advice," he answered and made room for her in the bed. "Can I have a good night kiss?"

"No," she replied with a laugh. "I shall not fall for that trick! You said no more kisses until we are married and you know what I think of that. Do not try to catch me with such surreptitious tricks."

The Colonel shrugged. He was in no hurry, for he quite enjoyed this hunting as well.

In the morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam awoke and saw his partner was still with him. She was growing more and more sensible, he reflected, and she had given up those ridiculous notions about her looks and her gown having to be perfect, because she was awake and she had not run off to change.

"May I go and change?" she asked.

"You may, but please hurry."

"Why? Do I look awful like this?"

"Argh! Go, woman!" he pushed her out of the bed and examined her as she stood looking down at him in confusion. "Do you know, if you were not so terribly picky about houses, I should --"

"Yes," she cut him off. "Enough of that cheek! You would not dare and you know it."

When they arrived below, they discovered that Edgar and Sir Walter were in a frenzy -- Edgar because Sir Walter was blaming him for everything that had gone wrong, and Sir Walter because Thorpe had disappeared with the contents of the chest that contained the prize money -- a sizeable sum that Sir Walter had hoped to keep for himself in case everybody else forgot about it.

Part 19

Posted on Friday, 16 June 2000, at 8 : 52 a.m.

Colonel Fitzwilliam felt that familiar feeling of excitement and determination begin to flow through his veins again. He took control of the situation briskly for Sir Walter was obviously incompetent. "Sir Walter -- Miss Bingley and I shall investigate. I am a military investigator."

Sir Walter stopped running to and fro and his hair, which had been waving to and fro along with his body, descended neatly over the balding spot that it was meant to hide. Caroline observed it all with interest, her hands clasped behind her back. Sir Walter was obviously greatly upset by the loss of the money that was not even his, if he could forget about something as vital as his hair and appearance. Why? Had he appropriated the money? Did he murder Lord Bennington in order to appropriate the money? But what of Thorpe? Thorpe had disappeared with the money. How do they know Thorpe has disappeared? How do they know the money has gone?

"And who is Miss Bingley?" Sir Walter asked sharply. He did not think she was a military investigator. He did not think she had any official capacity.

"That is Miss Bingley," the Colonel indicated and Caroline curtseyed in acknowledgement.

"I know that," Sir Walter replied tersely.

"Then why do you ask?" Colonel Fitzwilliam opened the door to the breakfast parlour. "I think I shall hold examinations in here. Edgar? Make sure you admit them one by one and please get me some paper and two pens."

"Yes, Colonel." Edgar was happy to get away from Sir Walter.

"I shall hear you first, Sir Walter. If you do not mind."

"I want my money back -- the money that was entrusted to me," the Baronet corrected himself.

"Until Edgar has procured the stationery, I should like to see the place of the crime."

Sir Walter took Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley to his study. A big chest in a corner stood open, its padlocks lying on the ground. "See that it was stolen?"

"I see. However, the chest seems to have been opened with keys."

"Yes, the keys must have been stolen too."

"Ahh. Do not touch this. We shall examine this later on," Fitzwilliam said gravely. He returned to the breakfast parlour and cleared a space for his notes. Caroline did the same. He looked at her jot something down. "Very well. We shall start. Please begin at the beginning, Sir Walter." The man was all too likely to begin at the end.

"I woke up and the first thing I always do is go down and check if the money is still there."

"The beginning, if you please, Sir Walter. The origins of the money?"

"It was the prize money for the race."

"Then it was not really your money at all," Caroline purred.

"It has been put into my care," Sir Walter defended himself.

"Who was to receive the money now that the race has ended in an unexpected way?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.

"I do not believe we discussed that yet."

"It seems likely that it would fall to you if you took care to remain silent about it," Caroline pointed out.

The Colonel shot her an interested glance. She had a good point there. It would certainly be in Sir Walter's interest to keep silent about the prize money. He was as poor as a church mouse and he could use the money. But they should not antagonise Sir Walter so early on -- he would obstruct the investigation. "And Thorpe -- what of him? How did you discover that he was gone?"

"He has eaten breakfast and then he left. The servants saw him leave."

"What time was that?"

"It was at five."

"At five in the morning?" Caroline asked incredulously.

"Have you any idea how long it takes to prepare a decent breakfast, Miss Bingley?" Sir Walter asked her contemptuously. "I insist that the silver be polished every morning."

"And a pig must be slaughtered daily to have fresh sausages on the table," the Colonel nodded.

"I do not own so many pigs," said Sir Walter.

"A quick recapitulation," said Caroline. "The money was stolen and Thorpe left. It is tempting to ascribe the theft to him, but do we have any evidence for it, other than that it seems unlikely that somebody would steal the money and go back to bed?"

"The second question that arises after Miss Bingley's conclusion," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Is everybody in bed?"

"I had the rooms checked, Colonel," said Sir Walter, with a suspicious look at Caroline. "And everyone was in his or her bed, except for Mr Thorpe, Mr Howe, Miss Bingley and Miss Elliot."

For two people who had expected him to say except for Mr Thorpe and Miss Bingley, the Colonel and Caroline were very surprised to hear this long list of errant sleepwalkers. "Pray, where are all those people then?" he asked. "Are they missing? Except for Miss Bingley, who is here with us as you see."

"They are not missing, but there seems to have been a slight confusion as to who was sleeping where last night," Sir Walter said tightly, not quite yet over the shock of hearing that his own daughter had been so confused that she had not been able to find the room she had been sleeping in for thirty years. "They were discovered in other beds."

Part 20

Posted on Monday, 19 June 2000, at 4 : 34 p.m.

"Were they?" the Colonel raised his eyebrows. "I was under the assumption that you did not have enough rooms to accommodate all your guests and that your staff had therefore taken to lodging guests together. How could it be that there were guests who changed beds if there were not enough rooms to begin with?"

Sir Walter had extreme difficulties comprehending him. "I beg your pardon, Colonel," he said finally. "I do not have the pleasure of understanding you."

Caroline did not think it would be such a pleasure, but she kept silent.

"Excuse me for jumping to conclusions, Sir Walter. I was shown a room and I did not explore it before I went to bed, but when I did, I found I was to share it with Miss Bingley and she was no longer awake so I could not ask her about it. I did not want to make a fuss, being used to the hardships of the Army, and I went to bed assuming that it was an ordinary procedure at Kellynch, like it is in other places I have stayed at."

"I wager that they were on the Continent!" Sir Walter exclaimed in shock. "Really, Colonel! You cannot be serious in having assumed that Kellynch cannot accommodate my guests!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked very apologetic and innocent and gave Caroline an obtrusive smile. "I am sorry, Sir Walter. But I own such a small house that I have to share my own bed with any visitor, so you really must forgive me for thinking so unsophisticatedly."

She tried not to smile back and bent her head over her papers. He had a contagious smile. And a dreadfully hideous hut. She frowned. The Colonel noticed this, naturally, and laid his hand on her thigh, making Caroline's face assume a reddish tinge.

"Colonel," said Sir Walter. "I must ask you to refrain from such behaviour at Kellynch."

Fitzwilliam again looked very innocent and also uncomprehending. "What do you -- oh! Submensally, the femur thing, you mean. But Miss Bingley dropped her pencil in her lap, Sir Walter." His hand surfaced above the table with a pencil between the fingers.

Caroline was as astonished as Sir Walter. She had not dropped anything. Where he had got that pencil from was beyond her. "Thank you," she mumbled. The red colour on her cheeks was beginning to fade slowly.

"Do not mention it. I know you cannot write without your pencil. That was all, Sir Walter. I do not think I have any further questions. You are free to go."

Sir Walter was so baffled that he forgot about his breakfast and left.

Colonel Fitzwilliam coolly buttered a roll.

"I have to ask you not to do that again," said Caroline.

His knife paused. "Oh."

"You cannot even butter a roll without getting butter on your fingers," she said. "I do not like butter on my gown."

His knife resumed buttering. "Oh." He weighed her response mentally. Was that the only objection she had to it? If so, it was better than he had expected.

"Please be more eloquent."

"Oh oh."

"Some variety," Caroline asked in exasperation.

"Oh ho."

"Do I have to do something?" she exclaimed. "Something you won't like."

"Uh oh!"

"Richard, stop being a nuisance."

The Colonel put down his roll and looked at her coolly. "I should appreciate it if you did not imply to be a smaller nuisance than I am."

"But I am!"

"I do not think so. I believe you are just as irritating. Edgar?" he called.

Edgar appeared instantly. "Yes, Colonel?"

"Would you say that I am more annoying than Miss Bingley?"

Edgar stared from one to the other. He did not want to be the cause of an argument and he tried to find something diplomatic to say. "I could not say, Colonel."

"Do not mind him, Edgar. He is just miffed that I do not respond to his advances in the way that he should want me to respond. Please take a seat. I have some questions that you might be able to answer." Caroline spoke in a friendly tone, with a friendly smile on her face, winning Edgar over completely. "Well," she said when he sat down. "What happened this morning?" She decided to take over the investigation. Richard was being very childish, sitting there morosely and eating his roll.

"I was up early, doing my job, when Sir Walter came down and started a riot."

"That was when he discovered the theft?"

"Yes, Miss. He blamed me for it, but I knew Mr Thorpe had already left, so I convinced him that it might have been Thorpe."

"Aha," Caroline answered thoughtfully. "And who came up with the luminous idea to check all the bedrooms?"

"Sir Walter did. He ordered me and Sally to do that and he followed us, so we could not lie, Miss," Edgar said with a sideways glance at the Colonel, who was staring at his notes with an inscrutable expression. "We first discovered that you were not in your own room and Sir Walter was suspecting you of the crime, so when we found out where you were, we had to say that you were in bed with --"

"Yes," Caroline interrupted hastily. "I remember."

"You don't say," the Colonel said gruffly.

"Where were the others?"

"Ahh, Miss Elliot and Mr Howe?" Edgar shifted on his chair. "Sir Walter forbade me to disclose that about Miss Elliot."

"But he would not want us to suspect Miss Elliot," Caroline cooed. "It is important that we know where she was so we can clear her."

"With Mr Elliot," Edgar said almost inaudibly. "And Mr Howe was with Miss Copeland."

Caroline looked shocked. Diana? "Oh. Ahh. Well..." She racked her brains for something else to say. "I do not suppose any of them were planning to elope with the stolen money?" she asked lamely.

"They did not tell me, Miss," Edgar said politely. "But I don't think so. Mr Howe and Miss Copeland were clearly drunk, and Mr Elliot and Miss Elliot -- uhh, Sir Walter does not know this and Sally did not think it was necessary to tell him -- messed up an elopement once."

"But they hate each other!" Caroline exclaimed in shocked surprise.

"They make a good show of it during the day," Edgar agreed. "But they eloped once and Mr Elliot left Miss Elliot at an inn while he went off with the barmaid. That is Miss Elliot's version. Mr Elliot's version is slightly different. He claims that Miss Elliot mistreated him and that is why he left her. Anyway, they can get very upset if this comes up between them. I have given up betting on the right version. They will never admit the truth."

"Very interesting," said Caroline. She noted it down. It was not very likely that they had been conspiring to steal the money, then. Perhaps one had stolen the money to blame the other. That was more likely in their case. "Who do you think took the money?"

"Mr Thorpe, Miss. He is gone. The money is gone. And he was always very eager to win it."

She knew that. Thorpe had continually pressed to start the race over and when this had not occurred, he had taken off with the prize money. "Was he desperate for money?"

"I do not think he had an income, Miss. You can generally tell, what with the sort of money they give you. He never gave me anything, whereas the others give me money and sometimes old coats and boots and anything they stop liking. Thorpe had no money to give. He needed it all to keep up appearances."

Part 21

Posted on Wednesday, 21 June 2000, at 5 : 58 a.m.

"Very well, Edgar," Caroline said to the footman in an a business-like manner. "Thank you for your co-operation. Would you please show in the next person who wakes?"

"Yes, Miss Bingley."

Caroline thought that it seemed a fairly clear case. It was probably so that nobody could any interesting information to what they already knew, but perhaps Thorpe had let something slip to one of the other gentlemen. She made a list of people.

Colonel Fitzwilliam still ate in silence. Was he now degraded to the position of assistant? Caroline seemed to be taking over the case entirely and what was more stunning, she was doing it well, too. He felt rather unnecessary.

"Pride is a vice, especially when it is wounded," Caroline orated, guessing wildly at the cause of his distemper. There had to be something.

"Would you need me to take notes, Miss Bingley?" he asked in mock deference.

"Well, if you are able to produce legible notes, you may assist me in that department," she graciously assented.

He groaned.

"Was that a yes or a no?" she asked, relishing the power for once.

"A yes, because I fear I shall be pushed aside entirely if I say no. This is the only way that you will allow me to stay involved in the case."

"You have a remarkable insight, Colonel," Caroline praised. "I should be very happy if you would lend its powers to me during the case. I am sure that we should crack it in no time at all."

"Crack it?"

"Well, however you call it then."

"I feel I lost control."

"Dear Colonel. Do not worry, for I am in perfect control of you," she explained patiently. "I shall take good care of you. There is absolutely no need for you to be in control of the situation. Ha. We all know what happens if you lose control, do we not? Are you not glad that I took over? Really, Colonel! You should think before you acquire a bad reputation."

"I am sorry that Sir Walter happened to see that, but it was a well-meant gesture," he said grumpily.

"And it was well-received, but that is not the point! If you do not stop being so childish, I shall stop liking you!"

He said nothing, but considered if he would take another roll. Perhaps it was best to focus on food and not on women. They were unpredictable and food was not. He would know what a roll would do if he put his hand on it -- it would fly to his mouth and taste well. That would not apply to Caroline. If anything flew to his mouth it would either be a hand to slap him, or her mouth to kiss him, but which one he could expect was never clear. It was best to abandon women altogether.

"What are you thinking?"

"I was comparing you to a roll and I chose the roll," he replied.

Caroline opened her mouth in amazement and shut it again. That really was too ridiculous to comment on. What on earth was one supposed to say to someone who compared one to a common roll of bread? What did they have in common? Not their figure, surely? Nor the colour.

Edgar showed in Mr Garrett and thus put an end to their ruminations.

"Mr Garrett, good morning," Caroline addressed him. "I am investigating the case of the missing prize money." It was best to be brisk and forget about Colonel Fitzwilliam and his ridiculous notions about rolls.

"The case of the missing prize money?" Garrett looked baffled.

"It was stolen this morning."

"Oh, was it still there?"

"Did you not know?"

"I had not thought about it," Garrett said. "But I suppose it makes sense, considering that we did not have the race."

Caroline questioned him further and concluded that he did not seem to know anything. He claimed not to have thought about the money and he said he did not even know how much it was in total. Furthermore, he had gone to bed at the same time as Colonel Fitzwilliam -- who confirmed this and further on stayed silent -- and he had slept all night, only to wake up half an hour ago.

The next to arrive was Miss Elliot. She would be tougher to interrogate and Caroline straightened her back in anticipation. She briefly explained the situation and then asked Miss Elliot if she had been awake during the night.

"Not at all," Miss Elliot replied coldly.

"You did not hear or see anybody else?"

"Nobody."

"So you might have stolen the money and gone back to bed," Caroline said shrewdly. "I cannot imagine that you would not need money."

"My finances are none of your business, Miss Bingley."

"But I can see that the Elliots' financial resources are depleted. You cannot fool me. I have been society. Your family could do with a financial boost."

"We should never stoop to thievery."

"An advantageous marriage, then? But Lord Bennington died. If you had been increasing your spending in anticipation of his fortune, then you would have been painfully surprised by his death."

"I never had the intention to marry Lord Bennington."

"That is odd, because I think he did have the intention to marry you."

"I am not aware of such an intention and I believe you are mistaken."

"He kissed you before the race," Caroline remarked. "I saw that."

Miss Elliot coloured slightly and looked angry. "I repeat that I never had the intention to marry him."

"You are a true representative of your sex," Colonel Fitzwilliam interjected sarcastically.

"Only constructive comments please, Colonel," said Caroline, but she knew very well what he was getting at. She could not assume that Miss Elliot had wanted to marry Lord Bennington because they had kissed. It would have too many implications for her own situation and the doom scenario of living in the Colonel's shabby hut loomed up in front of her. "Colonel, would you mind leaving us so I can speak to Miss Elliot about her relationship to Lord Bennington in frank terms? You would only be embarrassed."

"If you wish," he replied and left the room. He hoped they would not start talking about him.

"Now, Miss Elliot...do you mean kisses do not mean anything to you?" Caroline lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I understand, you know."

"You understand?" Miss Elliot frowned.

"I have been kissing a man I do not wish to marry, you see. Well, actually I do, but on my terms and not on his."

"You have been deceiving him?"

"Oh, no! He knows my opinion perfectly well."

"So did Lord Bennington."

"Ahh..."

"We were only friends."

"Your definition of a friend stretches wider than mine," Caroline shrugged. She would never think of kissing a friend and she quickly abandoned this path of reasoning, because the conclusion she glimpsed at the end was rather disturbing. "And what of Mr Elliot? Do you have plans to marry him? What is in your way? I assume that there is something."

Miss Elliot looked flustered. "Well, try his character for one."

"I am not well-acquainted with him."

"He is unreliable and selfish."

And he would be as selfish as Miss Elliot, Caroline assumed. What a lovely combination. But it was remarkable that Miss Elliot should have noticed. Perhaps there was hope for her yet.

"And he has no money."

That was something Caroline understood and she nodded sympathetically, embarking on a discussion about how horrible it would be to live in a small house with no decent acquaintances.

Part 22

Posted on Wednesday, 28 June 2000, at 8 : 32 a.m.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rejoined Caroline when she had finished talking to Miss Elliot. She barely acknowledged his return, but she studied her notes extensively. He noticed that there were still no crumbs on her plate, which worried him. She should not go without eating. "Miss Bingley, please eat something. I see you have not eaten anything yet."

"Colonel, I just do not leave crumbs."

"Everyone does, even you."

"Oh! Well, then I do! I am thinking."

"Then I shall not disturb you." The Colonel got up and paced the room. "I think I shall return to London. I am not needed here."

Caroline raised her head and stared at him. "Do you feel ignored?" she inquired. "Shall I give you a bigger role?"

"Caroline!" he hissed angrily. "What are you doing?"

"I am trying to solve the case when you are only sulking and pouting!" she said in a mildly accusing tone.

He crossed his arms and stared out of the window crossly. It had been wrong to come here. It had been wrong to ever think that Caroline was interesting. She was not. He was sick of her not yet repenting for looking down on him because he lived in a small house. "I am leaving," he announced. "I shall be at my estate if you need me." He expected her to comment on that and he had said it especially for that purpose, but the reference to his estate went completely past her.

"Suit yourself," she remarked indifferently. "However, I do not think I shall need losers."

The Colonel glared at her and left the room to pack his belongings, muttering some not very nice things to himself.

"Pfff," Caroline sighed. She did not really think he would leave -- after all, had he not repeatedly expressed his desire to marry her? How could he leave the woman he desired? Or was it the dowry he desired? She coloured in anger. Never! She did not mind sharing her money with her husband, but her money should not be the only thing her husband wanted her for. That was why she preferred a rich husband. Yes, that is why. But if her only attraction was her fortune, then he would not feel he had to stay, so perhaps he would leave after all. Back to London. She recalled his words. Wait! That is not what he said! She frowned as she remembered what he had said. His estate? He has the audacity to call that an estate? Hmph! It would be too small to be an estate for mice! She recalled the little mouse she had kept a secret from the maids when she was a child. It had had a name and a hole it lived in, but she was sure that behind the hole -- which was of course the front door -- its house was much bigger than the Colonel's.

Crabbily she buttered a roll and even more crabbily she noted that she left crumbs on her plate, but less crabbily she remembered that he was not here to see it. Even so, she shook all crumbs off the roll and emptied her plate on the plate he had used. "If women are rolls, then what are crumbs?" she wondered out loud. That was a puzzle she could not solve. Perhaps they were children, but that would not work, because it was not the case that you became smaller with every child you had, as happened with crumbling rolls. That settled it. Women were not like rolls. Stupid Colonel, growing more stupid with every remark. Perhaps crumbs were remarks and a roll was a Colonel. She looked at the plate full of the Colonel's remarks and realised that she had just eaten him. "Eeek!"

She had to get out of there before she would go insane and she gathered up her papers. "Miss Bingley?" Edgar asked when she came out of the room. "Are you done questioning?"

"Oh, yes. For the time being, that is. I must think now." She stared at the stairs where a trunk was being thrown down with loud bangs, springing open as it reached the ground and making all its contents spill over the floor, shortly afterwards being followed by a gentleman in a hurry, who jumped over the mess.

"Got my horse, Edgar?" asked the Colonel.

"Yes, sir. Colonel. It is out front."

Colonel Fitzwilliam handed Edgar a generous tip. "Use this to mail me my trunk," he said with a cool look at the lady. "Awfully sorry about the mess. Perhaps Miss Bingley will be so kind as to repack it. She is awfully tidy."

The lady choked in indignation and was unable to speak until he had left the house and swung himself agilely -- he had left the door open so she had a good view of him swinging his legs -- onto the horse. "The nerve!" Edgar pocketed the money and began to gather the clothes that were strewn about at the bottom of the stairs. Caroline watched him. "I cannot believe you are doing that! Why should you clean up his mess?"

"Because he paid me for it," Edgar said with a shrug. "I do not care."

Caroline glanced at the tag on the trunk. To Colonel Fitzwilliam, Essex. "Essex? Why does he have his trunk sent to a Colonel Fitzwilliam in Essex?"

"Well, Miss, I think it must be because he is Colonel Fitzwilliam from Essex. I cannot come up with any other explanation."

"No! He is Colonel Fitzwilliam from London," she protested. "What does he mean, Essex? Is Essex not very big? There must be another colonel living in Essex."

"I do not think there will be any other Colonels called Fitzwilliam, even if Essex is big," Edgar answered.

"But it does not make any sense," Caroline complained.

Edgar thought it made perfect sense, except perhaps the fact that the Colonel had not specified any particular location within Essex. Any post sent to Edgar in Somersetshire would definitely not arrive at Kellynch, he suspected. The Colonel must be very confident of his fame and since Edgar had never been to Essex, he had to trust that Colonel Fitzwilliam was a local celebrity in that county. "Perhaps he is famous for his grand estate."

"Infamous for his shabby hut, rather," Caroline retorted. "But that is in London. Oh well, I can see why he should not want people to know his London address and that must be why he is sending it to Essex. But where in Essex?"

"Well, Miss. If you really want to know, you must travel with the trunk," Edgar said, hoping to be rid of her persistent questions very soon.

Considering that Thorpe had fled and that he seemed to be guilty of Lord Bennington's murder, she might as well focus on this new mystery and travel with the trunk, as ominous and unattractive as the phrase travelling with the trunk sounded. At least there was one bright thing about it: it sounded a lot better than travelling in the trunk.

Part 23

Posted on Friday, 30 June 2000, at 10 : 35 a.m.

Caroline, who had money to spare, hired a coachman. "Follow that trunk," she instructed him and then leant back against the uncomfortable upholstery. She had paid him handsomely to follow the trunk, no matter what. Naturally this did not include trips overseas, but in that case she would hire a skipper.

The trunk was loaded and reloaded onto a few different coaches on its way to Essex. Caroline waited for the inevitable moment that the directions on the trunk would throw the postmen for a loop, but it did not come. Even in Essex the Colonel's trunk was handled as if the directions on it were not highly mysterious. She had tried out various thoughts and solutions, but it was not likely that there was an estate called Colonel Fitzwilliam or an estate called Essex.

Grumpy from a lack of sleep -- trunks needed no sleep and they kept travelling -- Caroline peered out of the carriage when it stopped.

"Your destination, Miss," said the coachman.

She paid the coachman and saw the mail coach depart. They were next to a square green hill, which was odd, because hills were generally softer in shape. Weeds and grass sprang up from between the stones and tiles of the drive and it was not as well-tended as it could be, but the green gave it a rustic air. She wondered why there should be a drive ending in front of a hill, but a closer look revealed a dark brown door in the middle of the hill. It was a building overgrown with ivy and other plants. "I was a house once," Caroline remarked. She made out a few windows now too. How curious.

The coachman departed swiftly, having never seen such an edifice and being under the assumption that it was something to do with witches, and Caroline found herself and her baggage in front of the door. There must have been a servant to take care of the Colonel's trunk because it was nowhere in sight, or had the coachman double-crossed her? There was nobody to be seen and that meant that nobody could steal her baggage either, so she pushed against the door. It opened soundlessly and she entered a cold and dark hall. "Hello!" she called, but the only sound that returned was her own echo. Apart from that it stayed deadly silent.

Against the wall stood a low cabinet covered by a red cloth. There was a silver tray with today's post on it. Some of it was addressed to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Caroline felt a little thrill upon seeing a familiar name, but she also frowned. Was he a guest at this establishment? Who were Mrs Robertson, Lady Ffoulkes and Mr Crabb? There were letters for them as well. She dropped the letters back on the tray and caught sight of herself in the mirror over the cabinet. It gave her a shudder. There were blue rings around her eyes and the skylight in the hall gave her features a strange emphasis. It was if the mirror was haunted.

Suddenly a golden-haired young lady in a green gown appeared and paused right in the middle of a ray of sunlight coming in from one of the high windows. "Good day. I see you found our door. How may I help you?"

Her voice sounded very friendly, but Caroline did not know if the young lady approved of her coming in just like that. "I have come for Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Somewhere in the house a piano began to play a sad tune. The young lady inclined her head and listened. "Ahh, Lady Ffoulkes. Oh and the Colonel..." she smiled regretfully. "He is in Somersetshire."

He had not returned yet. Had she overtaken the Colonel on his way? He must have stopped to sleep then. Of course he would have done that. Not everyone was as stupid as she was. She had not stopped anywhere, but she had tried to sleep in the carriage, which had not worked very well. Suddenly she yawned. "May I wait for him?"

"That depends," said the green-gowned young lady, eyeing Caroline curiously. "He might not return today. He might not return tomorrow. Who can say?"

"What is this?" Caroline gestured around herself.

"Ivy Manor."

"But what is Ivy Manor?"

"It is a Manor covered in ivy."

Caroline suppressed a sharp remark. She was a guest here and she had to remember that. "Who does it belong to?"

"I have put myself in charge of running it. I am the mistress of Ivy Manor. They call me Lady Ivy," the young lady replied with a curtsey.

Caroline was certain that the girl could not be more than eighteen years old and perhaps not even that, but if she was the mistress of the house, she would have to deal with Lady Ivy. "May I wait here for Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"Certainly," Lady Ivy answered. "It is what people do here -- waiting. Lady Ffoulkes has been waiting for Sir Edwin for ever so long, but he shall never return."

Caroline gave the girl a strange look and wondered if she could still leave.

"Where are your belongings?"

"They are outside."

"They will be brought to your room," Lady Ivy decided. "I shall first show you where it is." She led Caroline to a blue-coloured room. "If the Colonel does not appear within a week, I fear I must ask you to become a paying guest," Lady Ivy said regretfully. "One of our crops failed terribly last year and we cannot be as hospitable as we should like."

Caroline sat down on her bed when Lady Ivy was gone and asked herself what she was doing there. This was certainly the strangest house she had ever set foot in. It was run by a positively medieval-looking schoolgirl whose favourite colour was obviously green and the whole atmosphere was eerie. A manservant brought her trunk and bags and she was a little surprised to see that he was not dressed in green. And why was this room blue? It was a bit of a dissonant.

She left her room to ask Lady Ivy about the meals and she discovered that most of the doors were locked. She could only move in a limited space -- her bedchamber, the corridor to the stairs, the stairs and the hall below. In the hall below there were three unlocked doors -- a lavatory, a dining room and a parlour. All the rest of the doors were locked. She had not tried the bedchambers, but she assumed that Lady Ivy and Lady Ffoulkes had to be sleeping somewhere as well. Or perhaps Lady Ivy slept in a flowerbed.

Lady Ivy sat in the parlour writing a letter in green ink. She looked up when Caroline entered. "I beg your pardon. I believe I neglected to ask your name."

"Caroline Bingley."

"I am pleased to meet you, Miss Bingley. I assume you are a Miss, considering that you are waiting for Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"I am. May I ask whom the Colonel is waiting for? You said everybody was waiting for someone."

Lady Ivy wrinkled her nose in amusement and her green eyes laughed. "He is waiting for the day that hot and cold are peacefully united in one body."

"What will happen that day?"

"A woman will propose to him."

Caroline uttered an exclamation. "Why would that be when hot and cold -- what? And whose body?"

"I am only quoting what he wrote to me the last time."

"His body, I daresay. He is coolness itself. He has not got a spark of fire in him," Caroline mocked. The sparks flew from her eyes as if to signify that she was not cool at all.

Part 24

Posted on Sunday, 9 July 2000, at 12 : 34 p.m.

Lady Ivy laid her pen aside and went to the window. Caroline took the chance to glance at the letter she had been writing. There at the bottom, in a flowing green hand, was written Iphigeneia. Unfortunately it was not followed by a last name. Well...Lady Ivy...little actress... She said nothing. We all have our youthful follies.

Lady Ivy turned energetically. "Tea is in an hour, dinner in four, but tea may be moved ahead if you are particularly starving, except then you will get this morning's scones and the servants will get the scones that are currently being baked for us. They are not going to be upset if tea is moved ahead by an hour. State your preference."

"I should prefer to have tea now. I have not eaten much on my way here." Caroline was starving.

Ivy rang the bell and arranged it. "Where did you travel from?"

"Somersetshire," Caroline replied with a grimace. "Yes, I travelled in pursuit of Colonel Fitzwilliam, but I seem to have overtaken him," she said when Ivy's eyebrows shot up.

"Why were you in pursuit?"

"Because I -- have you any idea how childish men can be?" She would almost become annoyed with him again just thinking about it.

"Oh!" Ivy waved knowingly. "My relatives -- well, I shall not bore you with them." She was supposed to be an independent woman, with no relatives at all. It would detract from her status if she turned out to have relatives -- male relatives especially. But she understood Caroline perfectly. "The Colonel did something that displeased you?"

"It vexed me terribly."

"Tsk tsk. What can we do about it? How can we punish the tedious man?" Lady Ivy cocked her head to one side.

"I thank you for your friendly concern, Your Ladyship," Caroline said after a brief pause. "But I think the Colonel should be all mine when it comes to punishment."

"All yours?"

"With all due respect --" You are far to young to understand matters of the heart. She frowned slightly. The heart?

"Is it love?" Ivy smiled. She knew what it was.

"Love! No, it is murder," Caroline said vehemently.

"You wish to murder him?" Ivy's green eyes grew very big.

"No! He abandoned an investigation. A murder investigation. He must be punished for leaving me to deal with it all alone."

"We shall dye his hair green," Ivy promised earnestly. "In his sleep."

"Why this obsession with green?" Caroline wondered. "Are you not exaggerating a very little bit?"

"I love green and you love the Colonel, therefore he will be green, to signify our co-operation." The girl clasped her hands together enthusiastically.

"I did not say I love the Colonel," Caroline protested. She would never put it that way. She would say she loved Richard. One could not love colonels. They were colonels.

"No, but I never said I loved green and you still knew I was obsessed," Ivy said shrewdly. "Ha! I think we may expect the object of your love here some time tomorrow. That does not give me very much time to brew a green dye, but it will do." A servant peered in and she got to her feet. "Tea is ready, Miss Bingley. Allow me to show you the way."

Caroline shook her head in protest upon hearing about the object of her love, but she had a headache and it hurt. Meekly she followed Ivy and had her tea without speaking much, thinking about whether she loved Richard in spite of his colonelness or his coolness. Her head spun. After tea she politely excused herself and went to bed. She was exhausted.

Lady Ivy narrowed her eyes when Caroline had left and smiled at the servant. "Oh, Colonel! You made a conquest!"

"I did?" he replied wryly. "It was not visible. Iphigeneia, my girl, you must have indulged in too much nettle soup or green mint tea."

"Maybe so! But I am right nevertheless! How big an impression did she make upon your heart, Colonel? Miss Bingley's heart is nearly shred to pieces, you rascal!"

"Would you please not stress Colonel so?" he begged. "And it does not become a young lady such as yourself to call an older man a rascal." He had arrived when Caroline had gone up to her room and Ivy had quickly informed him about Caroline's arrival. They had agreed that he would pose as the servant just to see if Caroline would notice him, but poor Caroline had been much too tired to even glance at him. He wondered what they should do now.

"I shall skip into the village and talk to Mr Arthur." Mr Arthur was the local clergyman. He could trick Richard into attending some wedding ceremony, she was sure.

"He shall try to cure you of your witchcraft," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, feeling rather strangled by the servant's outfit. Servants were obviously not well-exercised people, for he nearly burst out of the suit.

"That is his good right," Ivy answered. "But he must do something for me first."

"Please tend to your household management first, Iphigeneia."

"Does the house not look well?" she asked, sticking out her tongue.

"Well, I have to say that I am not too fond of green and may I remind you that Ivy Manor is after all the house that my father gave to me --"

"-- and that you did not want, you proud idiot," she continued. "It would have become completely overgrown with ivy inside and outside if I had not jumped in to save it."

"Our saviour," he said sarcastically.

"You ungrateful little colonel, you." She shrieked when he went after her. "I revere you, brother! I swear! I am very respectful, oh yes I am! Put me down! You are not ungrateful! You are not little! You are a grateful great colonel! Hail thee, Colonel! Noooooooooo!" Ivy screamed as he dropped her unceremoniously in the green duckweed.

He took one glance at the green crown on her head, bowed and retraced his steps back to the house. Perhaps it was time to send her back home.

Part 25

Posted on Thursday, 13 July 2000, at 9 : 07 a.m.

Caroline had not woken for dinner and it was not until the following morning that she opened her eyes. She vaguely remembered a dream in which she had hear someone hail the Colonel and subsequently curse him, but it was very vague. It was a stupid dream, for who would hail him? No, who would curse him? Why would she be dreaming about him anyway? He was not here. It was odd that she would think of him. Very disconcerting, really, and she was glad that she did not remember more of it, because she had had a dream once in which he figured most prominently, constantly saying that this was his wife Caroline and while that was not so bad, the horror had been in the fact that they had been wearing rags. Well, really, he looked quite well in rags, she could not complain about that, and later on it turned out that they had been wearing rags to a masked ball so that it was nothing to worry about, but the initial shock had almost woken her up.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had been similarly fatigued, although he did have dinner, but afterwards he went straight to bed. It was best to face the enemy with a rested mind and body.

Ivy had gone to the village to talk to the clergyman, telling him her brother had placed the organisation of his wedding in her hands and that she had come to be informed about the official details. He did not believe for one second that a colonel would place something of such importance in the hands of a girl so young, although he could not believe that the Viscount and the Colonel allowed their youngest sister to run wild either and that had still happened. But Ivy Manor's strawberries were always delicious, he had to admit. The girl had green fingers. She certainly knew how to grow decent strawberries and that he would do anything for a basket of strawberries.

Caroline heard a strange sound when she rose, but it was only Ivy's gown on the washing line, flapping in the wind amidst a man's clothing. Ivy was odd, but she was not that odd. She did not wear breeches and trousers. Caroline ran out into the hallway and then checked herself. How silly of her to think that Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived. Of course it was nothing but the clothes from his trunk that had been washed. Why was she about to run downstairs in her night gown just to discover that fact? Rather ashamedly she returned to her room and dressed with deliberate, slow movements, her energy lessened for some reason.

When she finally went downstairs, she found that three people had had breakfast. Three! When she had only seen Ivy so far. Vaguely she remembered that the girl had mentioned a Lady Ffoulkes, but that would make two.

Had the Colonel arrived?

After contemplating this thought for a lengthy period during which her heart beat perhaps once -- just enough to keep her alive -- and consequently that one beat was not enough to fuel any movements, Caroline tentatively allowed herself to dare to believe that it was not improbable that there might possibly be a remote chance of his being there.

"Eeeeeeeee hoooooooo," she inhaled and exhaled and sat down on a chair.

After another lengthy period of time during which her heartbeats sped up considerably -- but not enough to kill her -- she concluded that she was affected by the idea.

"Eeeeeeeee hoooooooo," she inhaled and exhaled again and emptied the tea pot into the sugar bowl with great fascination for the result.

This more or less rational experiment served to calm her nerves and to steady her mind. "Oh dear," Caroline remarked. She placed the tea pot warmer over the sugar bowl to hide the fact that the tea and the sugar had both become useless.

Food would not go down well with her now, she realised as she studied what was on display and then glanced at her immaculately clean plate. It would remain immaculately clean. Even if she would eat, yes, she thought proudly, remembering the mess Colonel Fitzwilliam made. Her eyes darted to the other plates and she recognised his soon enough. Two of them did not have enough crumbs. He might have eaten off those if he had only had a baby's serving, but he had a big appetite and unless his stomach had been fluttering as much as hers, which was not reasonable to suspect, because he had left her in Somersetshire to deal with a murder case all alone, he had not been eating off those two plates. The third one, however....

"Eeeeeeeee hoooooooo," Caroline inhaled and exhaled.

How could she not have noticed that?

Had her attention been diverted by the knife and fork that were placed across the plate, possibly to hide the work of art on it?

The absolutely heart-wrenching, soul-torturing, body-agonising, temper-upsetting, coolness-effacing, calm-devastating, paralysis-inducing, nerve-crumbling, finger-tingling, stomach-fluttering, eyebrow-raising, nose-wrinkling, tear-drawing, scream-inviting work of art on the Colonel's plate?

After a lengthy period of time during which Caroline both experienced and gave in to all those sensations, she jumped up, making her chair fall backwards and ran around the table to study the plate and what was on it.

The friendly bread-coloured crumbs.

The deceptively sweet-tasting, but cold and snow-coloured sugar, cutting the friendly heart in two.

The bitter, blood-coloured jam, dripping from the heart.

"Eeeeeeeee hoooooooo," she inhaled and exhaled.

There was an answer to that -- she had killed the sugar already and she was very glad she had done so. It was unbelievable how glad she felt. Arranging the cutlery in the form of an arrow, she made it point at the sugar bowl. Perhaps the jam... Yes, the jam had to be killed as well. Without further ado, she spooned the jam into the messy mix of sugar and tea, stirring it a bit with a knife to really kill it.

Then, feeling oddly invigorated and restless, she skipped out of the room in search of something indefinable.

Part 26

Posted on Sunday, 16 July 2000, at 5 : 31 a.m.

And then she saw him. Her heart began to act up again. It was very unreliable lately, very odd. Caroline stopped so she would not tax it to much. If only her heart would slow down and lower itself into its normal position, that would be very nice. Then she could call out to him. She thought about what she would call. It had to be just right, after their separation.

Colonel! No, how formal. For two people who had lain under a bed together this would be a much too formal greeting.

Fitzwilliam! No, he was not her little dog and the first part of his last name reminded her of fetching. Fetch, will ya? Fitz, fetch! Fitz, sit! Fitz, kiss! Fitzhevitshitshhhh... No. Definitely too much of a tongue-breaker.

Richard! Ahh, that had a nicely familiar ring to it. And he would not mind, having lain under a bed with her.

Down, heart!

"Richard!" she called quaveringly.

"Caroline," he bowed with a little smile.

He did that so elegantly and with such a fetching smile. Down, heart! "I-I-I abandoned the investigation," she said. Argh! Say something more personal!

"I was hoping you had solved it."

"How could I do that without you!" she cried.

"You were well on your way to achieve that," he remarked.

"Are you upset about that?" she asked.

"Not anymore." She had come to look for him and that made him quite happy, for some silly reason. "Please accept my apologies. I think I was a little upset because of the attempt on my life that you so bravely thwarted. If you are not too angry with me, would you do me the honour of partnering me again?"

"In what?" Caroline asked suspiciously. Richard was a sneaky character. Before you knew it, he would pop the question disguised under a lot of smooth words.

"Please be my partner for the rest of the case," he asked earnestly. He knew what she was afraid of. Silly girl. But she had to bend some time or she would drive him crazy. "I know Thorpe fled this way. We shall find him. And the next case, which will be The Case of the Abducted Fiancée."

"How do you know that?" she asked, impressed. "How do you know what the next case will be?"

"I am very intelligent," the Colonel replied.

"I know, but still..."

He was very glad to see her and to tease her. "Will you assist me?"

"Always. What of The Case of the Broken Heart?" she asked.

"Cracked," he answered.

Part 27

Posted on Saturday, 20 January 2001, at 8 : 17 a.m.

For Erin, who just went to bed, but who asked for another part...

Lady Ivy returned from the village to find Colonel Fitzwilliam sitting rather close to Miss Bingley. She felt she had a right to know just what was going on here. "Colonel! You have found my guest all by yourself. Well done."

Colonel Fitzwilliam was not sure he wanted Caroline to know yet that this was actually his house and that she was his guest and so he merely smiled the silly smile of a man in love. "Thank you for taking care of my partner before I got here, Ivy."

Ivy curtsied. "You can depend on me, Colonel. What was that murder investigation Miss Bingley was telling me about?" Her green eyes looked bright and expectant.

The Colonel wondered if this meant he was to have two partners during his search for the suspected murderer Thorpe. "I cannot tell you. It might be dangerous." She was his youngest sister, after all, and he had to look after her, no matter what she thought herself.

Ivy sat beside him and wrapped her arms around him, not noticing that Caroline did not like this action at all. "Tell me," she coaxed.

Caroline was shocked. He had more or less admitted to loving her and now he allowed this creature to lay her hands on him. She looked the other way.

"I already have a partner," said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Feel free to take on more," Caroline snubbed. "Loyalty does not seem to be your strongest point, Colonel Fickleness."

"Iphigeneia, get your hands off me," the Colonel ordered. "You are giving Miss Bingley the wrong idea."

"Oh, Miss Bingley did not think I was a proper young lady in the first place," Ivy said candidly. "It did not stop her from having really warm feelings for you, however. She is a clever lady who looks beyond the immediate family connections of the man she..." Ivy searched for a good word, "...thinks is the tastiest strawberry of the lot."

Both the Colonel and Miss Bingley frowned. "I am not a strawberry," the former protested.

"You are as red as one! Not only your coat, but also your face! And if I had got around to dyeing your hair green like I told Miss Bingley I would, it would even have been more visible!" said Lady Ivy. "But I am sure Miss Bingley knows what I meant!"

"No, I do not! I do not see what you mean by family connections. Are you married?" To the Colonel, Caroline meant.

"Married? My brothers will never let me!" Ivy laughed.

"On the contrary!" said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I believe they should put you up for auction at the first opportunity! You are causing too much mischief."

"Mr Arthur will come for you first!" Ivy cried.

Caroline did not know that Mr Arthur was the local clergyman and she shook her head because she had not been able to follow the conversation anymore ever since Ivy had appeared. "I think I shall return to Bath. Have a cosy time together." She got up.

Colonel Fitzwilliam grabbed a piece of her gown and pulled her back. "Sit. Ivy is my sister."

"Your sister?" Caroline cried in amazement. She looked from one to the other. That possibility had never occurred to her.

Ivy put an arm around her brother. "Do you not see any resemblance?"

"I hope not," said the Colonel good-humouredly.

Caroline was still amazed. "I never guessed."

"Instead you were becoming jealous for nothing, sister," said Ivy.

"He is my partner," Caroline said with dignity. "That was professional jealousy and I do not know whether you should call me sister, since he and I have an agreement not to get --"

"-- agreement?" Ivy cried. "That sounds exactly like something Colonel Coolness might to, have agreements with women, but I assure you that Colonel Fancymewillya does not go for agreements with --"

"Colonel what?" Colonel Fitzwilliam cried back. His sister was really begging for another dip in the duckweed. She seemed to realise this herself, because she ran away giggling. He stared after her, but let her go. "I am sorry, Caroline. I had no say in whatever my mother brought into this world, sadly enough."

"Does our partnership still stand?" she asked.

"Yes! I need your assistance."

"And you do agree that we had an agreement...?" She was not really sure that he did.

"I would rather not have an agreement, but as long as you do not want me without a house and a large fortune, I shall have to remain your partner in crime detection." Speaking rather sadly, he did not mention that he was sitting behind his house, amidst the best fortune he could imagine, which was the garden that Iphigeneia tended so beautifully for him. But well, if she sat here with him, what more could he wish for that was not ungentlemanlike thinking?

But he had underestimated his partner. "How come your sister has a house and you do not?" Caroline asked. It followed that he must have a house, especially since his sister was not yet of age. "It seems to me that before we go after Thorpe, I have to do a little crime detection of my own. Lying about one's possessions is a crime."

"If it is, then may I suggest that lying about one's feelings is also a crime?"

"I do not have feelings when I am investigating a case," Caroline said haughtily.

If Fitzwilliam had not often said and thought this himself, he would have said something different, but now he merely laughed. "That is what I thought until I found myself in deep trouble. Hush! I believe I see an enemy peeking at us from the shrubbery." He leant towards her, seeing but one solution.

"He must not get the wrong idea," Caroline agreed readily. "What if it is Thorpe who thinks we are joining forces to go after him? No, we must fool him." She leant towards him.

"We are only joining forces to..." the Colonel mumbled as his lips touched hers. He pulled away slightly to finish the sentence, although he did not really know what he was saying anymore. "...to...to...investigate...the..." What on earth were they investigating anyway?

"...kiss..." Caroline said.

Colonel Fitzwilliam did not care whether this was really an order or just a mis-hearing of the word 'case,' but he took it to be an order.

Suddenly there was a shot and a bullet flew right over his head, grazing his hat.

Part 28

Posted on Saturday, 10 February 2001, at 11 : 11 a.m.

A split second after Colonel Fitzwilliam heard the shot, he dove, despite the fact that he had been kissing. He had received a thorough education at the Military Academy for Reorientation-after-Kissing Strategies, where he had passed the intensive training programme with flying colours. Indeed, as the best student of his year, he knew exactly what to do, even if he had not followed The Master's great advice, which had been to practice the skills on a regular basis. The Colonel could not help it -- it did not happen very often that someone was shooting at him just as he was kissing.

However, The Master was not called The Master for nothing and the Colonel had not been an idle student -- the skills had been transferred perfectly well. He took Caroline with him as he dove and rolled onto the ground in a very gentlemanlike manner. They were now under the bench.

"What is happening?" asked Caroline, who had barely had the time to notice what had gone on. One moment she had been on the bench, the next she was under it.

"Someone is shooting."

At them, Caroline inferred. Why else would they be lying under the bench? Unless Richard liked it, but that would be odd, because he seemed to have hit his head in doing so.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rubbed his head. He had indeed come into contact with the seat of the bench during his roll. The Master had never provided them with live practice material and the dolls they had used had always been a little smaller than Caroline. Or perhaps this bench was really low in comparison.

He cautiously rolled out from under the bench and lay behind it on his stomach. "Stay there," he whispered to Caroline.

"Are you going to leave me here?" she demanded. He always wanted to have fun by himself.

The Master -- excellent charmer that he was -- had never paid any attention to uncooperative females because they did not exist in his world and Fitzwilliam was stumped by the uncooperative one before him. "Someone is shooting," he tried. That would scare her.

"So?"

Alright, so that did not work. He crawled nearer on his elbows and kissed her. "Stay." That sufficed for the moment, he saw. On his stomach, he crawled towards where the shot had come from. Would the shooter still be in place? He would have seen that they were no longer on the bench. What would the shooter do now?

When he reached the shrubbery, he got to his feet and pressed himself against a tree. There was no sign of anyone. Cautiously he moved forwards. Suddenly he heard a sound and he dropped to the ground. He could see a man a short distance away.

The man was peering out of the shrubbery in the direction of the bench, which was a rather useless thing to do, because he could not expect that someone would take possession of it after just having served as a sitting duck.

The Colonel crept closer and jumped on the man from behind. They struggled, with all the cries and grunts that went with a struggle. If he had thought these exclamations would keep Caroline under the bench, he had been mistaken. She was loath to embrace a villain, but she grabbed him from the other side. This made it easier for the Colonel to knock the man unconscious.

He stood panting, looking down on the immobilised man.

"Thorpe!" Caroline said.

"We are going to tie him up and deliver him to the authorities," Fitzwilliam decided. "He must be put away. Get some ropes."

Caroline ran off to get him some ropes. "Ropes!" she called breathlessly to Ivy when she came into the house. "I need ropes."

"Is my brother alright?" asked Ivy, who thought Caroline looked rather dishevelled.

"Yes. Ropes!"

"What for?"

"Ivyyy!"

Ivy got her what she wanted.

"Thank you." Caroline ran outside again, with Ivy following her.

Colonel Fitzwilliam tied Thorpe up.

Ivy looked down on them in wonder. "Are you sure he is not dead?"

"He is unconscious," her brother answered. "Get me a horse, Ivy." He waited until Ivy had returned with a horse and then tied Thorpe across the horse's back. "Would you like to do me a favour? Take him into the village and let the local constabulary lock him up. I shall be down there to make a statement after I have refreshed myself."

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Caroline walked through the village. Apart from a sore spot on his head, he was perfectly alright. The birds were singing, the sun was shining and Thorpe had been locked away after their statements. They stopped to greet the parson, who was trimming his roses.

"Good sir," Caroline interrupted the men's small-talk. "I wish to be wed to this gentleman in a mock service before tea time."

"Before tea time?" the Colonel was as amazed as the parson, but at least he could still speak. What on earth did tea time have to do with it?

"In a mock service, madam?" the parson asked after a minute. That was the strangest request he had ever had.

"I know it cannot be done in a real service at such short notice," Caroline said impatiently. "Aww?" she pleaded.

The parson was only human. "Well..." But he realised that the lady before him was only human as well. "It will be a mock service," he reminded her.

"I know."

"Colonel?" the parson inquired.

"Mr Arthur, I am completely at her disposal," the Colonel reassured him.

And so it happened that Mr Arthur performed a mock ceremony, for he realised that a mock ceremony would be better than no ceremony at all. Besides, Lady Ivy had already been to him to discuss the real wedding.

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley walked home in perfect happiness. They were not quite married and not quite unmarried, but for the moment it suited them very well and the murders were solved. They would re-evaluate the situation after tea time.

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