Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(78)

“I saw her leave myself, last night. By way of the docks.” Lizzie enjoyed the sight of Collins’s confusion. It kept her from losing her nerve, and she continued with shaky breath, “This was straight after she shot Mr. Wickham to death. She left without you, and she killed Wickham rather than allow him to join her. She knew that I was drawing closer to the truth, that I would discover she is no lady but a pirate, that she had you murder Hurst, and that when I discovered the truth, you would hang in Newgate, and that’s why she left you—”

“No!” Collins roared, and released her hands. Lizzie’s fingers were cramped from the strength of his grip—so much stronger than she’d anticipated, strong enough to stab a man eleven times—but she knew it was her only chance to act. She plunged her right hand in between the cushions of the settee and drew Darcy’s spare pistol, pointing it at Collins just as he brandished a knife.

No, a penknife.

Lizzie could tell at a glance that it was not the silver knife with mother-of-pearl inlay that her father had gifted him. This one was tarnished and its tip was bent, no embellishment whatsoever.

“Why, Mr. Collins, wherever is that penknife that my father gave you?” she asked coldly. “Did you leave it in the body of your last victim?”

“Put your pistol down!”

“Not a chance,” she said. From above, she heard a soft thud and the shuffling of feet. Her father and Darcy. Not yet, not yet.

“I see that your mother and Lady Catherine were right about you all along,” Collins spat out. “You are a foolish, obstinate girl.”

“And you’re a murderer.”

“You don’t go against Lady Catherine! She knows magistrates, dukes, earls . . .”

“Oh? Did she promise to see you made magistrate if you murdered Hurst?” Lizzie asked, her anger making it a struggle to keep her pistol-wielding hand steady.

“She has that power, yes!” Collins snapped. “And she’ll see it done! Not right away, but in five years’ time. Hurst was a liability to her, always drinking . . .” And perhaps he wasn’t entirely foolish, because his face whitened when he realized what he had admitted.

“Who’s foolish now?” Lizzie asked.

Before Collins could respond, she let out an earsplitting whistle, learned from Fred. The drawing room door was flung open, and Darcy was the first one through.





Twenty-Two


In Which Lizzie Is Vindicated, At Last



IN SHORT ORDER, DARCY divested Collins of his penknife and bound his hands. Collins glowered and spat at them, proclaiming that they’d pay, that Lady Catherine would see them ruined. Lizzie almost pitied Collins and the inevitable desolation he’d feel when he accepted that Lady Catherine had abandoned him . . . but then she reminded herself he was responsible for a murder and had set in motion events that led to Abigail’s death.

She picked up the penknife that Collins had dropped when Darcy grabbed him, holding it with a handkerchief. The blade was a buckled, tarnished silver. “Not the one you gave him,” she said to her father, showing him the cheap knife. “I bet that one’s in custody.”

“You can throw them both in the Thames,” was Mr. Bennet’s vehement reply.

“Not a chance. It’s evidence.” She inspected it, looking for traces of blood. But if he had used it to take any other lives, there was no sign. She shuddered, then placed it in her pocket. When she looked up, Darcy was staring at her with the most peculiar expression. “What’s the matter?”

“You were . . . that was brilliant. Are you all right?”

Lizzie didn’t quite know how to respond. Her pulse was still galloping, even though Collins was contained. She had felt clear-eyed and determined when she was questioning him alone, but now she trembled. Instead of responding, she handed Darcy the pistol, butt end first. “Here, you better take this before I accidentally hurt someone.”

“It isn’t even loaded,” he reminded her.

“Well . . . just in case.” Lizzie had refused to take the pistol with bullets loaded, certain that the presence of the weapon was all she’d need to intimidate Collins. Now, hearing the foolishness of her words, she looked around uncomfortably. She glanced at the clock on the mantel and exclaimed, “We don’t have much time!”

The attention on the hour prodded everyone to get moving and gave Lizzie an excuse to slide out from under Darcy’s notice. As they poured out into the hallway, a distressed Mrs. Bennet watched from the stairs, proclaiming to no one in particular, “He was always a rotten one; I said it to Mr. Bennet the day he hired him, I did! ‘I don’t know about that Mr. Collins fellow—he seems rather shifty.’ And look now. I hope he goes to prison for a very long time, I do!”

Lizzie ignored her mother, but then Mrs. Bennet said to her father, “You make certain that the judge and everyone at court know that you were the one to catch the serpent in your midst. Don’t let Pemberley snatch all the glory!”

“Mama!” Lizzie protested. “If not for Mr. Darcy—”

“In incidences such as these, we can all share in the credit as well as the blame,” Mr. Bennet assured everyone, but Mrs. Bennet continued to carry on.

At the door, Charlotte and Jane waited, Jane with Lizzie’s bonnet and her own already donned. “I’m coming with you,” she said. “Leave Mary, Kitty, and Lydia to deal with Mama’s hysterics for once!”