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“I-I am sorry to bother you, sir,” she began, only to be instantly interrupted.
“Please get to the point, Miss Bennet. I am not in a mood to carry on a long conversation.” At this pronouncement he tried to shift his upper body and ended up crying out in pain. Startled, Elizabeth took a step back.
Once he had given up on that endeavour, he spoke through gritted teeth. “I assume from the letters I receive almost daily that you wish to know if I have any news on the villains who murdered your brother. If so, the answer to that is no. And, as you see, I have been unable to conduct business for some time now.”
Even though disappointed, Elizabeth could not ignore his situation. “Before we speak of the investigation, allow me say that I am very sorry for your predicament. Would you mind telling me how you were injured? Was it a result of being involved in the investigation?”
“Inadvertently it was, if you consider I was trying to conduct interviews along the highway where Lord Morgan was killed. You see, I had just called on the residents of a farm on the north side of the bridge, a man and his grandson, to see if anyone had seen or heard something that might help the investigation.”
Mr. Stone ran his fingers through his unruly hair, pushing it off his face, before continuing, “In any case, I was about to call on the farm on the eastern side of the highway when my horse decided, without informing me, to jump a small stream of water we happened upon instead of walking through it. I lost my seat, and when I hit the ground, my leg and foot were severely wrenched—not to mention I landed in the water.”
Elizabeth winced at that assertion, though the constable was too preoccupied with his pain to notice. Thus, he continued, “Therefore, I am forced to lie in this wretched bed until the doctor decides I can get up and about again.”
“I shall pray that your injuries heal swiftly, sir. In the meantime, since I am already here, I would like to take up the cause of investigating my brother’s death since you are unable. Did you have any luck with your one interview?”
“I have a feeling that the lad who lives with his grandfather at the farm on the northern side might have seen something; however, the old man seems determined to keep him from talking. I cannot say that I blame him, for the boy is only ten. At any rate, I decided not to press the issue and chose to bide my time, hoping eventually the grandfather’s conscience would bring him around.”
“Have you notes concerning whom you spoke to and what was said?”
“Whether or not I do, it would be very dangerous for you to interview prospective witnesses. As I stated in my last letter, please accept that I am doing the best I can and let me continue to do my job.”
“Clearly, you cannot do your job at present,” Elizabeth countered, making Mr. Stone roll his eyes. “And how long did the doctor say you may be required to rest? A month? Two or three?”
“Two months.”
“There, you see! Surely you cannot begrudge me doing whatever I can to further the case whilst witnesses can still recall what they saw or heard.”
“Investigating crimes is dangerous work for a man, much less a woman. If those who killed Lord Morgan are still in Derbyshire and learn of your involvement, they may fear you identifying them and decide to solve that problem by doing away with you.”
“I understand the danger; however, I plan to investigate as covertly as possible and always have someone accompany me. At present that person is my manservant, Mr. Hill. You met him when he retrieved the bodies of … of those killed.”
Mr. Stone recalled the elderly servant and was not impressed. “I am not disparaging the man’s character, but Mr. Hill is too feeble to be of any use to you were you attacked.”
Elizabeth was aware of how frail Mr. Hill was, but she would not let Mr. Stone know she agreed with his assessment. “I believe you underestimate Mr. Hill’s capabilities; he is an excellent shot with rifle or pistol, both of which he carries. Furthermore, I also carry a pistol and know how to use it.”
Still, he hesitated, so she continued to press her case. “At least let me read your notes. I may perceive something you have missed and if I do, I will gladly point it out.”
Mr. Stone could endure no more of Elizabeth’s pleas. “I suppose it could not hurt for you to see my notes or to allow you to call on those living nearest the bridge, providing you report back to me,” he murmured. “Let them think your questions are on behalf of your family’s need to understand what happened and not part of my investigation. Furthermore, I insist that you allow Harry to drive you.”
“Who is Harry?”
“Harry Wilburn. He was the constable in Lambton before he retired. When no one wished to replace him, I was appointed constable for both Lambton and Sheffield. Harry assists me with small tasks, such as transporting prisoners when I need extra help. Age may have slowed him down, but he knows every inch of Derbyshire and can drive a carriage with the best of them.”
Elizabeth was about to argue against needing help but suddenly thought it best not to press her luck. “You have my word.”
“Then may I expect a report by Friday? Do you feel that will give you enough time?”
As it was now Tuesday, Elizabeth responded, “I believe three days will suffice.”
“Good! Ask Tom to come back in. I will have him fetch Harry so that I may inform him of your need for a guide.”
Not long afterwards, Elizabeth and Mr. Hill walked out of the constable’s house with the notes she wanted to read in hand.
“Well, Mr. Hill,” she said, sighing. “You and I need to let rooms at the local inn, have something to eat and then rest for the balance of the day. I mean to spend the afternoon reading these notes so that we may begin investigating David’s death tomorrow morning.”
Matlock House
A drawing room
