Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(34)

Jane smiled slightly, no help whatsoever. “Do tell us,” Kitty begged.

“I was speaking of Mr. Collins,” Lizzie lied, although the sentiment itself was no lie. But bringing up their father’s junior partner reminded Lizzie of Charlotte. Lizzie hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell Jane of Collins’s flirtatious exchange with Charlotte or of Lizzie and Charlotte’s subsequent falling-out.

“Elizabeth! You must stop belittling Mr. Collins.”

“Yes, it’s quite dull,” Lydia agreed. “I’d much rather speak of other more interesting, more handsome young men.”

Lizzie distrusted the sly tone in Lydia’s voice. Mary began to play once more, but Mrs. Bennet said, “We’ve had quite enough for one morning, dear,” and Mary stopped with a small pout.

“We must strive to be kind to Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet continued. “If he must inherit your father’s estate, then we should bring him into the family accordingly. Don’t make that face, Lizzie. We must all do our duties. I did, although at the time I thought that Mr. Bennet might apply himself a bit more. Let that be a lesson to you all.”

“I don’t think that Mr. Collins wishes to marry any of us, Mama,” Lizzie cut in. She couldn’t bear it when her mother criticized her father.

Mrs. Bennet became alarmed. “Why? What have you heard?”

Lizzie bit down on her tongue, but it was too late. She hadn’t meant to reveal to her mother that Collins’s attention might have wandered elsewhere. “Nothing, Mama.”

It was almost the truth. Lizzie hadn’t heard anything—just seen him. But why else would he be at a public assembly, if not in search of a wife?

“This is all your father’s fault for refusing to invite Collins to dinner so that he can become properly acquainted with you all!”

“Lizzie is at the firm so often, he should marry her,” Kitty said.

“As if I’d have him,” Lizzie replied.

Mrs. Bennet tsk-tsked. “You’ll have any gentleman who asks. You should be so fortunate. . . .”

Lizzie looked down at her tangled embroidery so that her mother and sisters wouldn’t see her stormy look. She thought of the nameless woman the night before. Gentlemen get to choose, but the only power ladies have is in their refusal. Lizzie would refuse Collins and her mother. She would, if tested.

“If you’re not at the firm to woo Mr. Collins, then how are you spending your time outside of the house?” Mrs. Bennet asked, suddenly suspicious. “Jane, you told me she was visiting Miss Lucas and Mr. Collins.”

“I don’t think Mr. Collins is the gentleman—” Lydia began, but Lizzie interrupted her harshly.

“I’ve been helping Papa. And visiting Charlotte. The firm is very busy.”

“If business was what preoccupied Mr. Bennet for such long hours, we all should have new gowns this season, but have I been able to call the dressmaker? No, I have not.”

Lizzie slid her glance to Jane, who smiled a weak apology. Thankfully, a tirade about dresses and the mercurial nature of fashions was enough to shift the attentions of Mrs. Bennet and the younger Bennet sisters, at least until the maid came in with a letter on a tray.

“Miss Elizabeth,” she said, and presented the folded paper to Lizzie. Lizzie felt the weight of five pairs of eyes on her, and she turned it over and took in the return address and seal—it was from Pemberley. Her pulse quickened as she broke the seal.

The quarto sheet contained only a short note:

Dear Miss Bennet,

Please excuse the liberties I’ve taken in responding on Mr. Bingley’s behalf, but I must remind you that as his solicitor, all correspondence regarding his case must be addressed to me. Regarding your question about the pocket watch, I believe you are misguided. Mr. Banks informs me that the watch had gone missing two days before the murder, and Mrs. Hurst suspects her husband sold it himself and pretended it had been stolen. Bingley reports that it was gold, mother-of-pearl inlay, with both a minute and second hand—it would have fetched a good sum.

No mystery here, Miss Bennet.

Yours sincerely,

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy

P.S. Stop breaking and entering.

“I was let in,” Lizzie muttered, and then swiftly folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket.

“Who was that from, dear?” Mrs. Bennet asked in an appalling attempt at sounding casual.

Lizzie could hardly respond, No one of consequence, even if that was how she currently felt about Darcy. Lydia looked all too eager to spill what she’d seen of Lizzie’s comings and goings, so Lizzie decided to tell a little truth for once. “Mr. Darcy,” she said. “We briefly consulted on a case.”

“Darcy! Not the Darcys of Pemberley?” Mrs. Bennet asked.

“The one and the same.”

“Why, I had no idea that you were acquainted with a Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet appeared rather ruffled. “Well, they’re a fine family, but their manners leave rather a lot to be desired. I don’t wish you to continue this acquaintance, my dear.”

“You don’t need to worry, Mama,” Lizzie said sincerely. “I don’t wish to be acquainted with him either.”

But unfortunately for Lizzie, she still had to deal with the young gentleman, and she was not about to let his condescending letter hold back her investigation—after all, he had given her the information she’d asked for and more besides. She found it curious that the pocket watch had vanished two days before the murder—the explanation that Hurst needed money was valid enough. Perhaps the watch had been the easiest thing to sell off quickly. But a pocket watch was an outward sign of success. Lizzie thought of the fine unread and uncut books on his shelf. Of the gap in the drawing room where a piece of furniture had once been. What had induced him to sell one of his close personal belongings over any of the other fine, less noticeably missed items in his house?