Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(18)

Abigail gave a small shrug, which Lizzie suspected meant that the staff had picked up on it, but no one would have openly spoken of such things.

“Did you ever hear Mr. Hurst say anything about bill collectors, or anything of the sort?”

Abigail shook her head once to the side and looked away. Lizzie forced herself to wait, and after an interminable stillness, Abigail looked back at her and said, “Mr. Hurst’s pocket watch went missing.”

A pocket watch wouldn’t even begin to cover all of Hurst’s debts, but Lizzie nodded. “When did it go missing?”

“The night he was killed,” Abigail said. “After they called the Runners and Bingley was taken away, they asked if anything else was missing or stolen in the house, and the valet said he couldn’t find Mr. Hurst’s pocket watch. The entire staff was questioned about it.”

“So they believe the killer took it?”

“It was a nice watch,” Abigail said with a tiny shrug, and then added, “I believe Mr. Bingley gave it to him, when he married Mrs. Hurst.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. If Bingley had killed his brother-in-law, stealing the watch could have been a symbolic gesture. But if someone else had killed him, someone who was owed money, a pocket watch would be worth only so much. “Thank you, Abigail. That’s very useful. Now, what do you think of Mrs. Hurst? Is she a good employer?”

“I’ve no complaints about her, miss,” Abigail said quickly. Almost too quickly.

“Have you any complaints about Mr. Hurst?”

Abigail looked away and shook her head. Lizzie immediately suspected her lack of eye contact indicated a lie but chose to move on. “What do you think of the Bingley family?”

“I shouldn’t say, miss. It’s not for the help to give opinions on their employer’s relations.”

Lizzie laughed. “But who would tell? Not me. I’m not supposed to be here myself.”

Abigail didn’t respond to that, and Lizzie resisted the urge to keep speaking. She was gifted with words, but by far the most useful lesson—and hardest—she’d ever learned was when to let silence speak. She clenched her tongue between her teeth, holding in her words until Abigail said, “Miss Bingley can be sharp.”

Lizzie snorted. “Agreed.”

“It’s not just that,” Abigail said cautiously. “Last week, I was bringing in the tea, and it was just the two of them. Mrs. Hurst was crying, so Miss Bingley asked me to pour, and I splashed just a little. She took me to task, miss. Told me if I didn’t learn how to pour a proper cup of tea, I’d find myself on the streets without a letter of reference.”

Lizzie’s eyebrows went up. It was not Caroline’s place to reprimand her sister’s maid, and yet Lizzie was not surprised she’d taken that liberty. But to threaten dismissal without a reference over some spilled tea? That was rather extreme. “Did you believe that she would do it?”

“I don’t underestimate Miss Bingley,” Abigail said. “Mrs. Hurst does everything she tells her to do. She convinced Mrs. Hurst to leave. They hadn’t even finished their tea when she was ringing her maid to pack her trunks.”

Interesting. Had Caroline convinced her sister to leave because the family was fed up with Hurst? Or . . . was there a darker reason? Lizzie thought of Caroline’s haughty demeanor and her cagey responses. What did Caroline have to hide?

From Abigail’s anxious expression, Lizzie guessed that she had regretted saying as much as she had. Before the girl could refuse her any more help, Lizzie asked, “May I see the bedchamber?”

Abigail gasped. “Miss, no one’s gone in there since Mr. Bingley . . .”

Lizzie found that difficult to believe. “No one? Hasn’t anyone cleaned up the mess?”

“Mr. Banks did, miss. He said it wasn’t right that any of the maids should have to, but we still saw the linens, when he burned them. . . .”

It was almost a shame, really. Lizzie had read a legal text not too long ago that hypothesized crucial evidence could be found in the remnants of a crime. Lizzie wondered if one day, such evidence would be enough to exonerate a man—or condemn him—in a court of law.

“You must understand that it’s important for an investigator to have a framework for the crime.” This was something her father said often. You must understand the crime before you can defend it. “It would be most helpful to see where it took place.”

Abigail didn’t look entirely convinced, and Lizzie was certain she had pushed the young maid to her limits. “Abigail, you’ve been ever so helpful. I hope that I can one day return the favor.” She removed her own calling card from her reticule and handed it to her. “Perhaps with a letter of reference, in the future. No need to say exactly how I know that you’re helpful, only that you were most attentive and discreet.”

Abigail’s right eyebrow rose, but she snatched up the card. She looked at Lizzie’s name for a long time, then said, “This way, miss. Mr. Banks will return soon.”

Abigail led her up the staircase to the second level, which contained bedchambers and a more intimate sitting room for Mrs. Hurst to entertain close guests and family. Abigail bypassed three closed doors before arriving at a door at the end of the hallway. She opened it just a crack and then took a large step back. “I can’t go in there, miss. It gives me the chills.”