Page 2 of A Matter of Murder

“What am I supposed to do, sit on my hands?” Lizzie was thrumming with nervous energy. It wasn’t often that she faced an opponent who even recognized her as an opponent, let alone a moderately clever one.

“Do nothing,” Mr. Bennet told her firmly. He refused to hand the letter back, too. “And let’s hope she grows tired of this charade and moves on.”

But she hadn’t. Several days later, another letter arrived, this one only slightly longer.

My dear Miss Bennet, do you not think that your talents are wasted at such a firm as Longbourn & Sons? After all you’ve accomplished, why do you shackle yourself to men who would have you spending your time on contracts when you could be doing so muchmore?

And there it was again, that thrill of excitement... but there was a pinprick of worry there, too. How had Lady Catherine known that her father had her drafting and reviewing contracts? She had looked down at her desk, busy with tidy stacks of contracts and correspondence. Had Mr. Tomlinson told Lady Catherine about Lizzie’s workload before his arrest? But how would he have known?

Or had Lady Catherine found herself another spy?

Her father and Darcy were made even more uneasy by this note, but they said little. Lizzie was in favor of going to the Dashwoods to see if they could track the letter’s origin, but Mr. Bennet had not wanted to involve them, preferring to write to Mr. Graves, the aforementioned emissary of the Crown, for answers. Mr. Graves had written back a curtDo nothing, and that had been that until Lizzie had come home from a fitting at the modiste—Mr. Bingley had proposed to Jane by this point, and the Bennet sisters were all to have new dresses—to find a letter in the front hall, addressed to Lizzie.

Remember, Miss Bennet, that women always have more choices than they think they do. You can either spend your days toiling for men who don’t appreciate your talents, or you can do something that will leave a far more lasting impact. Intrigued? Meet me behind St. Clements three days hence, midday. Come alone.

Lizzie’s heartbeat had thrummed in her ears when she’d read the words, and she’d wasted no time in summoning Darcy and her father to Gracechurch Street to show them the message. “This is it,” she’d told them. “Our chance to finally catch her.”

But neither Darcy nor her father had been convinced. “It’s a trap,” Darcy said, real fear in his eyes as he skimmed the note. “After all she’s done, she’ll hardly just meet you in broad daylight!”

“I concur,” her father said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked more tired these days, and Lizzie wasn’t certain whether it was because of the threat of Lady Catherine or Mrs. Bingley’s constant chatter about Jane’s upcoming nuptials. Perhaps both. “That woman has tried to kidnap you not once but twice.”

Logically, Lizzie knew they were right to be worried—and Lady Catherine’s multiple kidnapping attempts notwithstanding, she knew it wasn’t the best idea to simply comply with a summons from a stranger, even if they had been properly introduced. But Lady Catherine had evaded her twice now, and Lizzie didn’t want to give her a third opportunity.

“Graves has been tearing London apart for weeks with no luck,” Lizzie argued. “Agreeing to a meeting may be our best chance at apprehending her.”

“Perhaps if we all went along and hung back—” Darcy began to say.

“You mean to use my daughter as bait?” her father demanded, and Darcy shook his head.

“No—”

“Yes,” Lizzie said. “Use me as bait.”

“Absolutely not! I forbid it!”

Mr. Bennet didn’t often go to the trouble of forbidding things, so Lizzie was genuinely shocked when he showed no sign of relenting. He did write to Graves, of course, and the shadowy man came to Gracechurch Street and left with Lady Catherine’s note and a promise that he himself would stand in the church all afternoon if he had to. But Lizzie knew it wouldn’t work.

And she’d had the bitter satisfaction of being proven right days later when Graves returned to tell them he’d waited six hours, but she’d never shown. After that, Lady Catherine had gone strangely silent. Mr. Bennet had been satisfied that they’d finished with the whole dreadful business, and Darcy had been somewhat sheepishly relieved... but Lizzie had only grown more and more frustrated.

None of them imagined what would come in the next letter.

And that was why Lizzie, her mother, Charlotte, and Darcy now stood before Netherfield Park, a carriage with Mr. Bennet and the rest of her sisters not far behind.

“Don’t be fooled,” Darcy said now in response to Bingley’s remark about Lizzie’s unwillingness to leave London. “We practically had to force her into the carriage.”

Lizzie shot him a sour look. “You’re one to talk about forcing me into the carriage.”

She pretended not to notice her sister or Charlotte wincing at her tone.

Mrs. Bennet was, as usual, oblivious to the mood. “OhLizzie, don’t be cross with Mr. Darcy for insisting that we all get out of London! I’ve been trying to convince Mr. Bennet that we ought to take this trip weeks sooner.”

“Be happy you had what little honeymoon you got,” Lizzie said in an undertone to Jane.

Jane looked desperate for a change of subject. “Speaking of Papa, where is the other carriage?”

“Oh, they weren’t a quarter mile behind us last time we stopped,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Mr. Darcy’s horses are far superior to those that Mr. Bennet rented for the journey.”

Lizzie scowled at her mother’s indelicate praise. Ever since Jane’s engagement had been announced, her mother had not been subtle about her compliments to Darcy, and at least half the comments touched upon his wealth, as if insinuating to Lizzie that she must not let such a suitor slip from her grasp. It was a wonder Mrs. Bennet hadn’t proposed marriage to him herself.