Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(20)

“Well, Abigail, it appears your imagination is not as active as I thought,” he said darkly. “Send Roger for a Runner at once!”

Abigail cast Lizzie an apologetic and terrified look before she left, but Lizzie didn’t blame her in the least for saving her own skin. However, being marched up Bow Street by a Runner for breaking and entering was the very last thing that Lizzie needed. How on earth would she explain this to her father? Impersonation and trespass would hardly convince him to hire her—he couldn’t know about this!

“Please, sir,” Lizzie began, “my name is Elizabeth Bennet. Allow me a moment to explain.”

“Hurry, Abigail!” Mr. Banks thundered as he dragged Lizzie across the room and out into the hall. She heard distant rustling as the rest of the house caught on to the excitement.

“Mr. Bingley has hired me to look into the crime,” Lizzie began to say, and by the darkening of Mr. Banks’s expression, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

“I doubt that. Mr. Bingley is a gentleman and he will answer for his crime, not try to wiggle his way out of it.”

“You believe he did it?” she asked.

The butler was so surprised by Lizzie’s question that he sputtered, “Who else would have?”

Many people, Lizzie thought. “Did you see Mr. Bingley out that night?”

“Of course, you impertinent—” He cut off when he realized that he was playing right into Lizzie’s hands. “Oh, no you don’t!”

He marched her down the stairs and to the foyer, where Abigail stood in the open door. “He’s coming, sir,” she said, careful not to meet Lizzie’s gaze.

“Good,” Mr. Banks said, and shook Lizzie’s arm. “You’ll answer for this!”

Lizzie’s grip on the button tightened as she tried not to panic. “I always do.”





Six


In Which Lizzie Gains an Unexpected(ly Handsome) Ally



THE RUNNER WHO ARRIVED to escort Lizzie from the Hurst household was not what she expected.

The men she was accustomed to seeing run toward crimes were usually former boxers, quick on their feet but uncomfortably muscular and often bearing the abuse of their former profession across their faces. This Runner was young, first of all—Lizzie would have put him at nineteen or twenty. And handsome. She did not blindly judge young men on their looks alone, but one did not live with Kitty and Lydia without picking up on such things.

His dark blond hair was slightly longer than the fashion, and it curled against his forehead in such a way that Lizzie longed to remove her gloves and run her fingers through it. His features, although serious as Mr. Banks leveled charges against Lizzie, were very attractive. He had a strong jaw, and a perfectly shaped nose, and just a small bit of stubble that she was surprised to find alluring, and at one point, he smiled politely at Mr. Banks, and Lizzie caught the flash of a dimple in his right cheek.

It really was too bad that he thought she was a criminal.

When Mr. Banks finished detailing how he’d caught Lizzie snooping about in the house, the young Runner nodded and said, “I’ll see to this, Mr. Banks. Thank you for calling.”

The butler grudgingly released her, and the Runner offered her his arm as if they were at a ball. But Lizzie was certain the gesture was meant to ensure that he had a good grasp on her in case she decided to flee. While Lizzie was an avid walker and believed in rigorous exercise of both mind and body, she doubted she’d get very far. The young man was fit, and Lizzie felt a hard ridge of muscle below her hand. Lean and strong.

She took his arm, and he led her from the house and down the street. The moment they were out of earshot of Banks, Lizzie declared, “For the record, the footman let me in.”

“Under false pretenses, I take it?” he lobbed back.

“Well, yes, but otherwise he might not have let me in at all.”

He laughed suddenly. “Do you often enter other people’s homes on false pretenses, miss?”

“Well . . . ,” Lizzie hedged, thinking of the Davis case, “to be perfectly honest, yes. But I’m not a criminal.”

“All criminals say that,” he replied, and guided her not ungently from the square to a busier street headed east.

“But can all criminals say that they are employed by a reputable law firm?”

Ah, this surprised the Runner. He took his eyes off the street ahead and looked to Lizzie. “You?”

“Oh yes,” she said, seizing upon her opportunity. “Are you familiar with Longbourn and Sons?”

“I’ve heard the name,” he said.

“My father is Mr. Bennet, Esquire. He owns the firm. Occasionally I am employed—discreetly, you understand—to look into more delicate matters.”

This was a slight exaggeration on the number of hours she spent proofreading and rewriting contracts, but the Runner didn’t need to know that. And then, even though it was most improper to do so, Lizzie added, “I’m Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Mr. George Wickham. It’s a pleasure to make your unexpected acquaintance, Miss Bennet.”

Lizzie had him interested now, although he was still propelling her in the general direction of Bow Street. “Likewise. You see, Mr. Wickham, this is all a dreadful misunderstanding. Mr. Bingley has asked me to make inquiries into Mr. Hurst’s tragic death, in order to prove his innocence.”