Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(27)

She slowly became aware of the stares from other clerks and solicitors and realized Charlotte would not be returning to her desk anytime soon, at least not while Lizzie lingered. She straightened, went to her father’s office, and knocked on the door.

Muffled voices came from within, and Lizzie wondered if he was with a client. She began to slink away when she heard footsteps, and the door opened. Her father appeared, ushering out a wiry young man with a lime-green-striped waistcoat and aggressive sideburns. He smelled powerfully of tobacco snuff, and Lizzie held back a sneeze. He gave Lizzie a cursory glance before turning back to Mr. Bennet and saying, “Thank you, sir. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

“Yes, very soon,” her father agreed, and the young man was off. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lizzie looked to her father.

“Who was that? A new client?”

Mr. Bennet looked at her, distraction written across his tired face. “Lizzie. What troubles bring you to my door? Please don’t tell me you’ve found another conspiracy involving one of Collins’s clients. One per week should keep me sufficiently busy.”

“No new conspiracies,” Lizzie said sadly, at least none that she was ready to divulge. “But Papa, who was that?”

“Come in,” he said, and Lizzie entered his office. He closed the door after her. “That was Mr. Ashbury. I was interviewing him for the position of solicitor.”

Lizzie sat down hard on the seat Mr. Ashbury had just vacated. “But, Papa!”

“He comes very well recommended,” her father continued. “Eton educated. A contender, to be sure.”

And what about me? Lizzie wanted to ask. Was she not a contender? Lizzie felt silly for thinking that her father would wait patiently until she had solved her next case to offer her the job. He was interviewing other people and hadn’t even told her! It felt like a betrayal.

“Is your mind made up, then?” she asked, mouth dry.

“Oh, no. I’m still considering. Now, what can I do for you?”

Don’t hire that man, she wanted to say. But she refocused on the task at hand. “I was hoping to ask your advice.”

“I’m due in court in an hour, but I think I can squeeze in a few moments for my daughter.”

Lizzie wasted no time. “How does one secure a confession from a guilty person?”

Her father paused in replacing the spectacles back on his face. “We are speaking hypothetically, Lizzie?”

“Of course, Papa,” she said. This conversation would be entirely hypothetical . . . until Lizzie decided to do something with the information.

“In theory, one would maneuver the questioning to such a point that the truth seems to be the better option than lying,” her father said. “One cannot force a confession—not only is it unethical, but they often do not hold up before the magistrate.”

“Because they are dishonest?”

“Yes, and because it pits you against the witness. You always want to be working with your witnesses, not against them.”

Lizzie did not believe that any circumstance would arise in which she’d find herself working with Caroline Bingley, but she filed away this advice. “And how does one convince a witness that telling the truth is the best option?”

“It would depend upon the circumstances of the crime.”

“Say that a witness believes that they are protecting someone they love by withholding the truth,” Lizzie suggested.

“That is the most difficult scenario.” Her father sighed. “Love is a very powerful motivator. I would advise you—er, anyone—to learn as much as they possibly could about the witness and why they were obstructing the truth. Knowledge is power.”

“What if they were motivated by greed?” Lizzie wondered, thinking of her theory that Caroline had manipulated circumstances to free her sister and maneuver herself to control the entire Bingley family fortune.

“Then you must discover what they want, beyond immediate power and money. And what they fear.” Her father replaced his spectacles and leaned forward. “All questions can usually be answered by learning as much as you can about your witness.”

In other words, Lizzie needed to learn more about Caroline and her motivations. She sighed. It was just as Jane said. She didn’t know for certain, and drawing room gossip would only get her so far.

“You’re not still pursuing that Bingley case, are you?” her father said, interrupting her train of thought. “I heard that he’s employed a solicitor at Pemberley and Associates to take on his case.”

“Pemberley? Really?” Lizzie said, feigning surprise.

“Stuffy place,” Mr. Bennet grumbled, “but apparently the family has personal connections with the senior barrister.”

“Mr. Darcy?”

“I believe so, though I doubt he’d be taking on the case himself. He’s elderly, and is rumored to be on his way to retirement. Oh well, a firm that size is likely to have multiple barristers and solicitors, all cogs in a wheel. Now, I must continue my preparations to go before Weatherford.”

“Oh, the dour one?” Lizzie asked. She’d never had the pleasure of meeting this particular High Court judge, but she remembered all of her father’s stories. Weatherford had proved to be quite the thorn in her father’s side over the years, and she suspected that though he complained, Mr. Bennet enjoyed the intellectual challenge. He was the only judge her father seemed to respect.