Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(9)

The moment the door closed behind them, Charles Bingley looked to Lizzie and said, “You’re not Caroline, but you play her well. Did you really bring food?”

Lizzie opened the hamper. “Scones, cheese, and strawberry preserves.”

“Bless you, Miss . . .”

“Bennet,” Lizzie replied, and got to setting out food for Bingley. It was well-known that one must pay for everything in Newgate—food, security, privileges. Bingley was wealthy enough, but she wondered how much he’d spent already and for what.

Bingley helped himself. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Miss Bennet?”

Lizzie was momentarily disarmed by Bingley’s drawing room manners. Either he had no idea how serious the situation was or he was quite guilty and possibly mad.

“Mr. Bingley, I apologize for my deception. It goes against my nature, but it was the only way I knew how to get a chance to speak with you.”

Bingley frowned around an enormous bite of scone. “And why on earth would you want to talk to me?”

“I wanted to ask you about what happened yesterday.”

Now Bingley’s gaze turned shrewd, and Lizzie felt him evaluate her more closely, although his features never wavered from politeness. Lizzie was reminded that although he was young, he was a very successful businessman, and one didn’t achieve such things idly.

“I don’t know if I should be discussing this,” he said finally, dropping his easygoing smile. “Don’t get me wrong—George was a scoundrel, a gentleman in appearance only. I can’t say I’m upset that Louisa is free of him, but . . .”

“I wouldn’t let the magistrate hear you say so,” Lizzie advised.

“What are you, a solicitor?”

“Of a sort.”

Bingley looked to Lizzie with surprise. It seemed to her that he was taking her in fully for the first time. “And what does that mean, of a sort?”

“My father is a barrister at Longbourn and Sons. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“The firm without any actual sons?”

“Yes. I work there in a somewhat . . . veiled capacity. When I heard of your case, I was intrigued. Would you care to tell me what happened, in your own words?”

Bingley stared at Lizzie with openmouthed shock. “I thought you were with some sort of, I don’t know, ladies’ aid association, lending comfort to prisoners. But a solicitor? You are quite the unconventional young lady, Miss Bennet.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, sir.”

Bingley leaned forward, and Lizzie knew then she had hooked him. In her limited experience, people were all too happy to share when they felt important, and Bingley was no exception. “George was not on good footing; I’m not afraid to admit that. Financially, he didn’t have much—although we didn’t put it together until after he married Louisa. I did my best, giving him a position in my company, a salary, and . . . well, I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say, he did not rise to the occasion.”

Lizzie would have dearly loved to be bored with the details, but she kept silent, unwilling to derail Bingley’s speech.

“This is rather delicate, but . . . three days ago, Caroline—the one you so cleverly impersonated—called upon Louisa. Louisa was utterly distraught. George had barely come home all week. He was spending most nights at his club, and when he did come home he’d either ignore her or start an argument before running out again. Louisa was certain he planned to leave her, so she returned home with Caroline. I knew there’d be no peace unless I rounded him up, and besides, with my father dead and her husband utterly useless, I’m the only one to speak for Louisa’s reputation.”

On this front, Lizzie could sympathize. He was young, but responsible for his family. Not just for their financial security, Lizzie suspected, but for how society perceived them.

“I found him at his club, hauled him home, entrusted him to his butler, and told him to sober up, for we’d have many things to discuss in the morning.”

Lizzie winced. If this was how he had framed the events to the magistrate, no wonder he had been thrown in prison. He would require a great deal of coaching if he ever went before a judge.

“I went home, and I must confess, this situation kept me up half the night. My sisters and I have been through so much, and nothing has gotten through to him. In the morning, I was prepared to cut him off completely. I’ve threatened to tighten the reins before, but I’ve always given in for Louisa’s sake. But since she refused to go back to him, I decided that he would either have to repair their relationship or I’d demand a separation. I called upon his residence, but the butler said he hadn’t risen yet. At that, I became rather angry. I went straight upstairs and . . . at first, I thought he was still drunk, and I began to yell at him. I reached over to rouse him, and that’s when I realized he was covered in blood. I tried to revive him, and got myself . . .” He gestured to the bloodstains on his clothing. “Well, it was no use. He was gone.”

“Was his body still warm?” Lizzie asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Hurst, was he warm or cold? If he was cold, then we have a good case that he was dead long before you even arrived.”

“He was . . . well, not quite cold but definitely not alive.”