Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(22)

“The coroner and the butler implied that Mr. Bingley must have used some trickery to conceal the crime, and came back in order to appear innocent, but you and I clearly have our doubts.”

“Yes, we do,” Lizzie agreed, thinking of the snagged button clenched in her fist. It must belong to the killer, but she wasn’t prepared to believe that person was Bingley. When Wickham did not say any more on the subject, Lizzie decided to take a risk and show her hand. “I think that someone killed him in the night, after Bingley left, and before he came back the following morning.”

Stating this suspicion aloud seemed to give it shape and power in Lizzie’s mind, and she stood taller.

Mr. Wickham glanced at her, as if he were sizing her up. “But who?”

Doubt didn’t color his question—oh, it felt wonderful to be believed.

“I have suspicions.” She willed herself not to draw attention to the object still clutched in her hand. “But I cannot disclose my opinions until the investigation has concluded.”

This was a polite excuse, of course. Lizzie would not disclose her opinions to the authorities without proof, preferably proof that could not be ripped from her by a man, no matter how attractive and attentive he might be. Suddenly, Lizzie became all too aware of how they stood, close enough to be mistaken as a couple. Mr. Wickham was watching her, and he appeared . . . fascinated.

“I understand, Miss Bennet,” he said. “You have your professional duties, and I have mine.”

Lizzie wasn’t sure if he was humoring her or if he really felt that way. She decided to take a risk and ask, “Are you really going to take me before the magistrate for breaking and entering?”

Mr. Wickham’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but the devilish smile—and the accompanying dimple—did not falter. “I don’t believe there would be a valid case against you. Why, you said yourself that a footman let you in and that the Bingleys hired you to look into the case. Is Mrs. Hurst not a Bingley? The most the butler could accuse you of is being in a room where you were not welcome, and, well, that’s not against the law. It’s just poor manners.”

“You aren’t teasing me?” she asked, scarcely daring to believe her luck.

“Miss Bennet, if we were to continue our acquaintance, I promise you would know when I was teasing you.”

Lizzie felt herself flush, right there on the street as carriages rattled by and a dour-faced matron shuffled past, casting a suspicious glance at the two of them. But once her embarrassment passed, relief flooded in. She would not have to explain to her parents why she was in possession of a criminal record!

“Thank you, Mr. Wickham. You’re a good deal more helpful and courteous than most men I’ve encountered over the course of this case.”

He accepted this comment with a slight nod and then said, “May I accompany you home?”

“Oh, I don’t live very far—” Lizzie began to say, but Wickham interrupted her.

“Miss Bennet, you just said that I am a gentleman. A gentleman would not leave a young lady to wander the streets alone.”

Lizzie found she could not argue. “Fine, but I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us—I live on Gracechurch Street. Do you know it?”

“Cheapside!” he exclaimed. “My own stomping grounds.”

Something about being from the same neighborhood made her smile as they continued to make their way east and the streets began to grow more crowded. They stuck out less as they left the finer neighborhoods, and Lizzie found that Mr. Wickham was pleasant company. He inquired after how she had gotten the case, and Lizzie glossed over the truth by saying a mutual friend had connected them.

“It’s rather progressive of Mr. Bingley to hire you,” he remarked. “I would think that he would do business with a stuffy old firm.”

Lizzie sighed. “Oh, he does. His solicitor is a Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Associates, although Mr. Bingley means for us to both work the case.”

As she spoke these words, Wickham’s arm stiffened. When she glanced his way, his pleasant expression had hardened somewhat. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

“Acquainted would be putting it nicely,” Lizzie said. “He’s Bingley’s close friend, although I am of the opinion that he has no interest in discovering the true murderer. His legal strategy appears to be a passive defense.”

“You disagree with it?”

“The best defense,” Lizzie declared, “is an offense. I plan to find the real killer.”

“I’ve heard of Darcy,” Wickham said, and something Lizzie couldn’t quite name strained his voice. Not outright contempt and not quite suspicion.

“What have you heard?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t say too much.” Wickham sounded nervous, Lizzie realized with a jolt. “Just that the firm’s reputation is sterling, except perhaps . . .”

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps it’s not.” Wickham shrugged, and Lizzie waited for him to elaborate. After a few prolonged moments, it was clear that he wasn’t prepared to say any more. “Promise me you will be careful, Miss Bennet.”

“My, how refreshing,” Lizzie remarked. “A man who urges me to be careful rather than tells me to stop meddling.”