Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(53)

Lizzie looked up then. And would they investigate? Or would they learn that she was recently sacked from the Hurst household and with Mr. Hurst recently murdered make assumptions about who she was and what she might have done?

Lizzie pulled her arm from the man’s grasp. He looked surprised, but before he could say or do anything, Lizzie was already walking back up the street, fighting her roiling stomach and stoking the anger inside of her. She ignored the shouts from behind her, turning briefly only once to confirm that no one was following her. She headed northwest, now more determined than ever to follow through on her plan to confront the Bingleys.

It took Lizzie nearly an hour of walking before she found a carriage that could take her to the Bingleys’ address, probably because she looked a fright with her dirty clothes and thunderous expression. She spent the drive trying to collect herself but found that the more she tried to distance herself from what she had just seen, the angrier she got. By the time the carriage dropped her in front of the Bingleys’ town house, Lizzie was in no mood to be trifled with.

The butler did not even try to hide his disapproval as Lizzie swept into the house without waiting to be invited in. “I’m here to see Mr. Bingley,” she enunciated, ignoring his scowl at her mud-splattered hem.

“Right this way, miss,” he responded, although she could tell it pained him to do so. But he led her straight to the drawing room, where Caroline looked up from her seat next to the fireplace and Louisa stared out the window at the scattering of rain.

“I said—” Lizzie began, but the butler cut her off.

“Miss Bingley, this young lady insisted on being seen.”

“Miss Bennet,” Caroline proclaimed, as if Lizzie’s name were poison on her tongue. “You look a fright. Have you walked all the way from Cheapside?”

Lizzie opened her mouth to unleash all of her pent-up anger upon Caroline and her snobbery but was interrupted by a soft cry of surprise.

She turned and noticed a girl about her age. She had the complexion of someone who didn’t spend a lot of time out of doors, but her cheeks were rosy and her dark hair was a lovely mahogany shade that actually quite reminded her of . . .

“This is Miss Bennet?” the girl said, rising to her feet to greet Lizzie.

Lizzie looked to Caroline to make the introduction, which she did grudgingly. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, allow me to introduce you to Miss Georgiana Darcy. Georgie, this is Miss Bennet.”

Georgiana grasped Lizzie’s hand, much to Lizzie’s surprise. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Bennet.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Lizzie said, but her voice sounded faint to her own ears. “Are you any relation to Mr. Darcy?”

“My brother,” she confirmed, and Lizzie realized the resemblance. Aside from sharing the exact shade of hair color, they had the same long nose—although Georgiana’s was perfectly straight. Despite her eagerness to be made known to Lizzie, she seemed shy. She fidgeted as she said, “Fitz has told me so much about you! I can hardly believe that we are finally meeting.”

“Neither can I,” Caroline muttered.

Lizzie was stuck on Fitz. Darcy’s sister called him Fitz? Don’t laugh, she warned herself. Heaven only knew what Fitz had told his sister about her.

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance,” Lizzie told her, and under normal circumstances she would have enjoyed getting to know Miss Darcy, although she hadn’t even been aware of her existence. If Lizzie had been asked beforehand, she would have expected someone haughty like Caroline, but Georgiana hadn’t even looked at Lizzie’s dirty dress once. Curious.

“Have you come to harass Charles?” Caroline cut in. “Or me? Perhaps you’d like to take a turn at Louisa, grieving as she is?”

As if on cue, Louisa let out a strange hiccup that Lizzie supposed was a show of grief.

“I’ve come with developments on the case,” Lizzie said, not taking the bait.

“Oh!” Georgiana said with surprise and great interest. “We should call for Bingley and Fitz, shouldn’t we, Caroline?”

Caroline sniffed, not trying to hide her skepticism. “Have you followed me about some more? Discovered who was calling upon Louisa last Thursday?”

“There’s been another murder,” she snapped, letting the words douse any humor that had been left in the room.

Georgiana gasped, and Louisa looked up. Caroline grimaced. “Is it someone we know?”

“Abigail Jenkins,” Lizzie said, her throat closing in around the young woman’s name. Unbidden, the memory of Abigail, water-soaked and still, flashed in Lizzie’s mind. She closed her eyes to try to banish it, and when she opened them again, Caroline and Louisa were exchanging blank looks.

“What does this have to do with my brother?” Caroline asked.

Lizzie ignored Caroline and asked Louisa, “Why was Abigail dismissed?”

Louisa gaped at the question, and Caroline stepped in as if on cue. “It isn’t polite to discuss domestic troubles in front of company.”

“Oh, I believe what’s considered polite and impolite is fluid when speaking of murder.”

Caroline stood to face Lizzie. “Perhaps that’s your problem, Miss Bennet. You believe that there are exceptions when there should be none.”

“I hardly see how caring about the life—or death—of another human being should be considered an exception!” Lizzie’s voice shook, and she was truly in danger of bursting into tears.