Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(35)

Lizzie stewed in her questions until after luncheon, when Mrs. Bennet retired to her rooms and demanded that Kitty and Lydia wait upon her. Then she shared Darcy’s letter with Jane while she went for her bonnet. “I’m going out.”

“For how long?” Jane was never one to tell Lizzie what to do, but Lizzie knew that she was putting her sister in an awkward position by forcing Jane to continually lie for her.

“I need to find out what happened to Mr. Hurst’s pocket watch. Its disappearance might have something to do with his death.”

“You’re going to go back to the Hursts’, after you were marched away by a Runner? Lizzie, be sensible!”

Lizzie sighed as she pulled on her gloves. “I suppose I’ll have Fred help.”

“Fred? Or Mr. Wickham?”

Lizzie stopped straightening her bonnet. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“You don’t really know him,” Jane reminded her. “How do you know he won’t take advantage?”

“If he were going to take advantage, he would have had ample opportunity!”

“I don’t mean that way . . . well, yes, I do. But that way is not the only way men could take advantage.”

Lizzie was all too aware, still stinging from Collins’s blatant theft of her own work. “Are we to be mistrustful of every young man we meet?”

“No,” Jane replied. “But we ought to be cautious until a man’s character is known.”

“I may not have been acquainted with Mr. Wickham for very long, but in that time, he has walked me home rather than turn me over to the magistrate. He came to my aid when I called, escorted me to a public assembly, and home once more. He’s shaping up to be quite the gentleman.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Lizzie snapped back.

To Jane’s credit, she did not grow irritated with her sister. All she said was, “Try not to be out too late. Mama will be paying more attention to your comings and goings now that she knows you’ve been talking with a Darcy.”

Lizzie didn’t respond as she departed. Everything offended her today: the cheerful spring sun that warmed the streets with the promise of summer, her mother’s desperate wish for her to marry Collins, her younger sisters’ interferences, Jane’s worry. Her instincts were usually spot-on, and she was unaccustomed to running into a dead end.

No more supposing or guessing, she told herself. She had information, yes. Hurst was in debt, and his problems had made a target of his wealthy brother-in-law, who was the perfect scapegoat for Hurst’s death. But the only piece of evidence she had was a button that could belong to anyone. The missing pocket watch could illuminate the case, if she could find it.

Lizzie made her way down to the streets of her Cheapside neighborhood, looking to places that Fred liked to haunt during the day, picking up work as an errand boy for shopkeepers, merchants, and shoppers. She trusted his instincts and work. She knew where she stood with Fred. She didn’t want to entertain Jane’s concerns, but ever since she’d spoken them, Lizzie couldn’t help but recall how Wickham had evaded her questions last night—she had ignored it at the time, because she was focused on Caroline. Wickham was charming, and he got results . . . but how?

Lizzie wasn’t certain, but she consoled herself with the simple fact that when it came to talking to people in service and tracking down (possibly stolen) goods, a young orphan who slipped in and out of sight might be a better choice than a Runner.

Lizzie found Fred arguing a fee with the butcher’s assistant and pretended to inspect the tray of delicacies in the bakery shop next door until he noticed her and gave her a barely perceptible nod. Fred and the butcher came to an agreement, and Fred approached her. “An errand, miss?”

“A job,” Lizzie said in a hushed tone. “I need to find a pocket watch. It was stolen, probably under a week ago.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Did someone steal from you, miss?”

“Oh, no. The watch in question belonged to Mr. Hurst. It’s a curious thing—the Hursts’ maid led me to believe that it was stolen during the murder, but I have it from the Bingleys that Hurst had been complaining about it being stolen right before he was killed.”

The butcher came out and spotted Fred speaking with Lizzie. “Oy! Get on, or you won’t get paid!”

“Walk with me, miss?” Fred asked, and Lizzie nodded, following him down the street. They didn’t quite look like they were together, Fred keeping a proper distance between them and barely looking at Lizzie as he said, “And you think that whoever stole it might have had reason to kill him?”

“Or, he sold it himself,” she said, “and if that’s the case, I want to know whom he sold it to. But I can’t go into a pawnbroker’s shop myself—I’ll draw too much attention.”

Fred’s features scrunched up in suspicion. “What’s a fine gentleman like him doing pawning his own watch?”

“He needed money, badly.” After a brief hesitation she added, “I have it on good authority his brother-in-law was struggling to keep up with expenses.”

“Won’t be easy,” Fred said, “finding one watch in all of London. Especially if it was stolen.”

“But you can make inquiries?”