Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(10)
Lizzie nodded. “Then he was attacked at some point after you left him the night before, but likely not very long before you called. Did anyone else see him after you brought him home?”
“Banks, the butler, let us in and helped me carry him up the stairs. We took him straight to his bedchamber, and I told Banks to not even bother waking his valet. I thought George deserved to fall asleep fully clothed. Banks let me out, and I went home.”
Lord almighty, Bingley was certainly not helping his case any! “Did you see anyone when you returned?” Lizzie asked, hopeful.
“My driver let me out at the door, but I’d told my own butler not to wait up for me, and I didn’t call for my valet,” Bingley admitted. He looked at Lizzie, and she wondered if he was realizing what she was thinking—that he could have easily turned right around and walked back to his brother-in-law’s house. “It doesn’t look good, does it?”
“No,” Lizzie agreed, because she’d not lied to Bingley when she said that deception was not in her nature. “But the facts of the case still beg a closer examination. There is the matter of confirming the whereabouts of the valet, the butler, Mr. Hurst’s entire staff. They all would have had much easier access to him than you, and an entire window of opportunity where someone else could have committed the murder. And . . . well, I’m not convinced that you killed him.”
“Because the facts don’t line up for you?”
Before yesterday, Lizzie would have said she wasn’t convinced because her instincts told her something about this was not quite right. But then she recalled her father’s challenge. I must go about this logically.
Instead of answering, she stared at Bingley’s fine jacket, now hopelessly stained with blood. “I know that this is indelicate, but how many times had Mr. Hurst been stabbed?”
Bingley’s face whitened, and the hand reaching for another scone faltered. “I beg your pardon?”
“Once? Twice? More than that?”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know, exactly. There was so much blood. All over him, all over the bed. I couldn’t even begin to see. Afterwards, it seemed foolish that I thought he was merely passed out, because even his neck . . .”
Lizzie shuddered but nodded in satisfaction. “And your jacket . . . it’s quite bloodied, but the spots are . . . smeared about. I’d venture a guess that you leaned over Mr. Hurst, shook him, perhaps?”
Bingley nodded. “Why are you asking?”
She took her time answering. “If you had stabbed him, there would be more blood on you, I should think. But the blood is only on the front of your coat.”
“How the devil do you figure?”
“I have, on occasion, gone to the market with our cook. Have you ever seen a butcher’s apron?” When Bingley shook his head, Lizzie explained. “It is covered in blood, but the patterns of blood are different. When a creature is killed, there is usually a bit more splatter.”
Bingley’s face went still. “I never thought of that. You’re awfully clever, Miss Bennet.”
Lizzie smiled at the praise, but her mind was already thinking ahead. “Here’s what I propose: We must investigate Mr. Hurst’s murder ourselves. It’s the only course of action that will lead to your complete exoneration and lift the tarnish from your good name. If Mr. Hurst was the scoundrel you claim, it shall not be difficult to discover who wanted him dead.”
“Discover the true murderer,” Bingley repeated. “You know, in all the turmoil, I had rather forgotten there was a killer on the loose.”
But Lizzie hadn’t. It was rather taxing that the burden of proving innocence fell upon the accused. It didn’t seem quite fair when, in her experience, things were hardly ever as they first appeared. But she had solved that Davis case, hadn’t she? This was just a step up from that. “Well?” she inquired. “Shall we enter into business together? My first course of action shall be to secure your release. A gentleman such as yourself should not reside here a moment longer.”
“You can do that?” he asked eagerly.
“Ah . . . my father certainly can,” Lizzie admitted. Between paying Fred for the tip and today’s bribery, her reticule was quite light. Besides, she suspected that she could offer the warden the crown jewels and he would still refuse to release Bingley to a woman. “He can be here within the hour, and once you’ve had time to . . . recover, we can discuss the matter in greater detail.”
Bingley considered her proposal, and Lizzie hardly breathed with anticipation. Despite the particular challenges of Bingley’s case, she knew she’d presented a convincing argument for Longbourn & Sons. Also, Bingley had aroused in her a stirring sense of justice and keen curiosity.
“You’re very persuasive, Miss Bennet,” Bingley admitted. “However, I’m afraid I cannot hire you.”
Lizzie had forced herself to prepare for the possibility of this response, but she had not anticipated the crushing disappointment when possibility became reality. Her confident demeanor began to wilt. “It’s because I’m a lady, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no! You’re rather clever, lady or no, but you see, I already— Darcy!”
He already Darcy? Lizzie was confused, until she turned in the direction of Bingley’s gaze and realized that Darcy was not an explanation but a person—a very tall young gentleman about Mr. Bingley’s age, perhaps a year younger, who was now standing in the doorway.