Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(43)

She knew it was unreasonable to think he’d found information about the pocket watch in just a matter of hours, but the strangeness of her encounter with Lady Catherine left Lizzie restless for something tangible to hold on to in this case. She paced the length of the small bedchamber she shared with Jane as she caught her older sister up on the events of the day (glossing over the bit about being followed and downplaying her abduction).

Jane was aghast. “I don’t know how she can be considered polite society if she had you dragged into her carriage!”

“How is it any different from Mama dragging us from dinner party to social call?” Lizzie joked, but it fell flat.

“Be sensible,” her sister said. “You don’t know who she is, or what her connection to this case might be.”

“I know,” Lizzie said, throwing herself down on the bed next to Jane. “I wish I knew more about her. Maybe then I could figure out what she wants from me.”

Jane was silent for a moment, and then she said, “There is someone you could ask. Someone adept at society gossip, who knows even the most inconsequential things that more recent members of society may have forgotten. . . .”

Lizzie sat up. “Jane, no.”

Jane’s sensible brown eyes were wide and innocent, despite what she was implying. “If you want information you can act upon . . .”

Lizzie groaned. Jane was right. The problem was that Lizzie made it a habit to never actively seek her mother’s help on anything.

“Maybe,” Lizzie grumbled, and Jane didn’t press her. Perhaps because she knew that Lizzie had no other choice.

Lizzie held out for a little while longer, wasting the rest of the evening paging through notes in her sketchbook and adding thoughts, hoping something would stick out. But when morning arrived with no word from Fred, Lizzie knew she couldn’t afford to wait—not with only three days until Bingley’s hearing.

Jane agreed to distract Lydia and Kitty with hair ribbons, to guarantee Lizzie a little privacy, which proved she really was the best of sisters. Lizzie gathered her hopeless needlework as a pretense and went and found their mother in the drawing room.

“Good morning, Mama,” Lizzie announced as she took a seat across from Mrs. Bennet.

“Oh, Lizzie!” Mrs. Bennet blinked and studied her second daughter. “I never see you anymore. What on earth have you done to that cloth?”

“I’m repairing it,” she said. “How are you? We haven’t had a proper chat in days.”

“That’s because you’re always off to goodness knows where—the firm, tea with Charlotte, talking books with your father. You ought to pay more attention to things at home. If you had, you’d know my knees ache.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to respond with sympathy, but Mrs. Bennet had launched into a litany of complaints that included her headaches, nerves, and indigestion and ended with Mr. Bennet’s obstinate refusal to see his daughters married.

Lizzie hmm’d and oohed when appropriate while stabbing her cloth and tangling her thread. She soon realized that if she waited for the perfect opening, she’d be there until evening. So she merely waited until Mrs. Bennet took a breath and said, “You know, I’ve met the most fascinating people while helping Papa at the office. I wonder if you know them?”

“I wish you wouldn’t go into the firm,” Mrs. Bennet said without missing a beat. “It is not at all a proper place for introductions to occur.”

“But better to meet young men there than not at all,” Lizzie pointed out. “For example, that’s how I became acquainted with Mr. Darcy.”

Mrs. Bennet waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. “He’s fallen out of favor, you know.”

Lizzie figured as much from the location of his desk, but her mother continued. “Mrs. Gardiner told me ages ago that inheriting the firm from his father isn’t even a guaranteed thing! Apparently he must apply himself, like anyone off the street.”

“What a novel concept. That ought to be applied at Longbourn.”

“Don’t be silly, dear,” Mrs. Bennet said, giving Lizzie a peeved look. “We might not like the fact that Mr. Collins is your father’s heir, but that doesn’t change how things ought to be done!”

Lizzie didn’t wish to argue in circles about Collins—her thoughts were preoccupied with Darcy. But her mother confirmed what she had begun to suspect, and against her better judgment she began to review their interactions thus far, seeing his condescension as bravado and recognizing the flashes of insecurity.

But why was he in this position to begin with? The duel? Lizzie had to stay focused.

“Never mind Mr. Darcy,” Lizzie said, shaking her head. “Just the other day, I encountered Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the street.”

Even this softening of the truth scandalized her mother. She dropped her needlework to exclaim, “Lizzie! Tell me you did not speak to her. Without an introduction?”

“She introduced herself,” Lizzie said, which was the truth. “I was quite surprised. I was wondering if you knew much about her.”

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Mrs. Bennet began, and then her eyes narrowed.

“What’s the matter, Mama?”

Mrs. Bennet continued to stare at her, quizzical. Then she slowly shook her head. “I know what you are up to, Elizabeth!”