Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(50)

Lizzie let out a deep sigh. She wanted to pull Abigail into a hug, but she didn’t move. She’d heard of households where the men took advantage, of course. There were always whispers. She thought that kind of behavior was deplorable, but she’d never considered the effect it had on the young women.

“I see,” she said quietly after a long stretch. “I’m very sorry, Abigail.”

“It’s not your fault,” the young woman said, looking at her lap. Lizzie still felt culpable somehow. It made her problems with Collins pale in comparison . . . except that none of it was right. Not one single bit was acceptable, and Lizzie didn’t know how to change it.

She reached out and took the young woman’s hand. “Abigail, I’m not angry. And we’re not going to report you. But . . . did you take anything else?”

“Just the watch, miss. I wanted a little to get by on, but nothing too expensive to raise suspicions. If anyone asked, I’d say it belonged to my dead father.”

“And have you already sold it?”

Abigail nodded quickly, and Lizzie wasn’t sure if she believed her. But did it matter? Tracking down the watch would just get Abigail even further into trouble. The poor girl didn’t need any other trials. But . . . “Abigail, do you know who might have killed Mr. Hurst?”

Abigail shook her head. “I never knew anything about that, miss.”

“But you knew he owed money, correct?”

“He had the creditors, and gambling debts,” Abigail said. “Mr. Bingley took care of those. Until he stopped, last year.”

That made Lizzie arch an eyebrow. The sums she’d seen on Darcy’s desk had been for merchants and dealers who did business with gentlemen on credit. And although people had alluded to Hurst’s mismanagement of funds, no one had spoken of gambling debts—or mentioned that Bingley had paid them. Besides, she thought that Bingley’s decision to stop giving his brother-in-law money was recent. “Do you know why?”

“I shouldn’t, miss . . .”

“Abigail, please. I’ll write you that reference letter, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“You would, knowing I stole?” Abigail’s expression was incredulous and, Lizzie detected, a hint distrustful. Her gaze darted to Wickham, as if Lizzie needed his permission.

“I would,” Lizzie said, and she meant it. “You were in an impossible situation, but you were honest with me when I asked. I trust that if you were ever in that sort of situation again, you would find other employment, with my help, rather than resort to stealing.”

To Lizzie’s shock, Abigail began to tear up. “That’s very kind, miss. More than I deserve.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Lizzie said, although she wasn’t sure if she believed everyone did. But if anyone was worthy, it was certainly Abigail.

“I don’t think Mr. Bingley stopped paying because he was angry,” Abigail said when she had gotten ahold of herself. “I think he stopped because he couldn’t afford to anymore. Mr. Bingley was over for tea a few weeks before Hurst was killed. He told Mrs. Hurst he was being squeezed on all sides and the last thing he needed was his brother-in-law racking up more debt, too.”

This lined up with Caroline’s claim that she was able to get only one new ball gown that season. But where was the money going, if not to the Hursts?

Or . . . maybe Lizzie was asking the wrong questions. Maybe instead of wondering where the money had gone, she should be asking whether there was any money to begin with. The bill of lading on Darcy’s desk for the SS Leander . . . what if that wasn’t the only ship that Netherfield had lost?

“Mr. Hurst must have been very upset,” Lizzie said, still lost in her own mental calculations.

“He was like a cat, that one,” Abigail said with a small shrug. “A little crooked, always landing on his feet. He didn’t seem overly concerned.”

But why not? Lizzie reconsidered Bingley’s account of Hurst’s final evening—Mr. Bingley had found his brother-in-law at his club, drunk. Lizzie had assumed that Hurst was drowning his sorrows . . . but she didn’t know anymore. “Thank you, Abigail. This has been . . . enlightening.”

“Will it help you solve your case?”

“I don’t know.” Lizzie needed to think through her next steps. “May I return tomorrow, with a letter of reference for you?”

Abigail seemed embarrassed, but she nodded. “Yes, miss. Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Lizzie and Wickham made to take their leave, and Wickham kept his promise to not speak. As Abigail showed them out, he smiled at her, showing his dimple. Abigail made a small squeaking sound that caught Lizzie’s attention, but then Abigail shut the door on them quickly.

“You ought to be careful where you wield that smile,” she told him as they stepped into the street.

“Are you jealous, Miss Bennet?”

“No, I’m merely thinking of poor Abigail. You were quite serious the entire time, only to trot out the charm at the very end. I hope she recovers.”

Wickham laughed as he took her arm, which was a shade more forward than he had been before they entered the boardinghouse. “I assure you, Miss Bennet, I was only being polite. I find that my attention has been captured by another.”