Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(4)

“Don’t be so hard on him. I wouldn’t work if I didn’t have to, and if I had a father such as yours . . .”

“I know,” Lizzie said, recognizing the longing in her friend’s tone.

Charlotte was the daughter of a successful merchant and a beautiful woman from the West Indies. Their marriage had been quite the scandal at the time, but they passed away when Charlotte was just a baby and she was brought up by her father’s business partner, a friend of Mr. Bennet’s. She took the job at Longbourn when she failed to find a husband by the age of twenty-three, and not only was she organized and capable, but she was a great confidante to Lizzie. “But think of this—how marvelous would it be if you and I both worked here?”

Charlotte smiled weakly back. “Quite marvelous. So find your perfect case.”

But their plotting was halted by the sound of a male throat clearing behind them. “Miss Elizabeth. Rifling through the files again?”

Lizzie started guiltily and rose from her crouched position near the file drawer. Collins stepped forward and made an admirable effort of looking down at her, which was difficult as Lizzie had a good three inches of height on him. “Mr. Collins,” she said flatly. She stared him down and wondered if he felt anything for what he had done earlier—embarrassment? guilt? remorse?

“Shouldn’t you be home sewing?” he asked in a flippant tone. His satisfied smirk told Lizzie all she needed to know about his supposed guilt—or lack thereof. “Or perhaps performing other tasks befitting your . . . position?”

When she was very angry, Lizzie found it best to count something—anything in sight—until she calmed down. She picked the gleaming brass buttons on Collins’s jacket—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven . . .

Ah, now she could respond.

“And what position would that be?” she asked.

“A lady, and an unmarried one at that.”

“I hardly think that my sex or my marital status concerns you.”

“Oh, but they might.” Collins held Lizzie’s gaze for longer than necessary, and Lizzie felt the greatest urge to try out some language she happened to overhear on one of her reconnaissance missions down by the docks. First, he had refused to do his job with Mrs. Davis, then he’d stolen her work without acknowledgment, and now he was implying some kind of budding relationship between them?

In the end, Lizzie chose insult by way of Shakespeare. It felt more dignified. “I do wish that we could become better strangers,” she said coldly.

It took Collins a moment to register her jab, and his faux polite expression darkened into open resentment. He reached behind Lizzie and slammed the file drawer shut. “These files are the confidential business of Longbourn and Sons, Miss Elizabeth!”

Lizzie felt her cheeks redden. “My father—”

“Oh yes, let’s go speak with your father about how you’re meddling with the firm’s business yet again.”

Oh, he had her there. Mr. Bennet had told her to leave Collins out of her argument, and how would it look if she marched back into his office not five minutes later, complaining that he was getting in her way? Lizzie longed to say something smart to knock the disagreeable smile off his face.

Before she could come up with something clever, the front door of the office was thrown open with a dramatic bang. Lizzie, Collins, and Charlotte all looked in that direction and saw . . . no one. But wait—no. Lizzie looked down. A short boy with the grime of a street urchin but smartly attired in a jacket and cap caught sight of her. He snatched his threadbare hat from his head.

“Beggin’ your pardon, misses,” he gasped in between massive heaves for breath. “I didn’t . . . mean . . . to startle . . .”

“Begone from these premises at once!” Mr. Collins thundered. Lizzie thought darkly it was likely the first time all week he had someone shorter than he to order about. “This is a respectable office of the law!”

“Oh, stand down, Mr. Collins,” Lizzie said, hardly able to keep her smile in check. “He’s here to see me.”

“What business would you have with an urchin?”

“Business that doesn’t concern you!” Lizzie glared at Collins again before gesturing to invite the boy into the office. “Come along, Fred.”

Fred was still panting when Lizzie ushered him to a vacant desk in the corner, so Lizzie guided him to the chair and fetched a glass of water. She had met Fred a few months earlier and so admired his observational skills that she occasionally employed him to report information to her, particularly if any gentlemen were ever led down Bow Street by a Runner. Longbourn & Sons needed all the help they could get rustling up business, and knowing who had been arrested before it reached the society papers was very useful.

Fred drank the water in a series of quick gulps. Lizzie knew she should let him collect himself before pressing him for information, but he had never before intruded past the doors of Longbourn & Sons to seek her out. A rush of excitement flooded Lizzie, the very same rush she’d felt when she had called on Mrs. Davis and uncovered the letter to her lover. Perhaps she didn’t need to access Charlotte’s drawer of inquiries after all.

Even so, in all her excitement Lizzie never could have imagined that when the boy had caught his breath, he’d look up and say, “Miss, there’s been a murder.”