Page 28 of A Matter of Murder

“Well, we might not have any solid leads,” Lizzie said, “but I feel as though I’ve learned a fair amount about the people of Meryton this morning.”

She told him about their encounter with the ladies in the haberdashery, and the rumors that swirled around Netherfield Park. By the time she finished recounting her impromptu announcement of a ball to be held at Netherfield, Darcy was beginning to understand why Jane was somewhat frantic to get back to the estate.

“How will a ball solve the issue of Jane’s ostracization?” he asked. “If they think the estate is cursed—which is absurd—then why would they come to a ball?”

“For the spectacle,” Charlotte explained. “The one thing society enjoys above all is a diversion.”

“And if it’s bound to end in scandal, all the better,” Lizzie added. “None of them will miss it, not even Mrs. Fitzgerald. I’m certain of it!”

“And how do we ensure it doesn’t end in scandal?”

Lizzie looked at him as though he were very silly indeed. “By solving the mystery of this dead man’s identity and proving that whatever the cause, it’s not something anyone needs to worry about now. Once everyone realizes that there is no curse, then Jane can get on with charming them.”

Darcy didn’t say what he was thinking, which was that if the ladies of Meryton had rejected Jane over something as trivial as rumors about a house she’d inherited, then they likely weren’t worth knowing. He did not pretend to understand why ladies cared so much about such connections, but he knew they did—and he could tell that seeing Jane vindicated was important to Lizzie.

The Jeffries Print Shop was on the opposite end of the high street from the church, in a small storefront with rather dusty windows. A new-looking sign hung above the door, painted green with gold lettering, incongruous with the tired appearance of the building. But when Darcy held open the door for the ladies and they stepped inside, they found it quite busy indeed.

The air in the shop was warm but not oppressively so, and it smelled of ink, dust, and oil. Two men labored in the back of the shop on a printing press, not even bothering to look up from their work. A small breeze drifted into the shop with their arrival, rustling newly printed papers hung on lines that zigzagged through the shop. A young lady stood amid the pages, hanging new sheets as they were printed.

“Oh, hello,” she said, turning to greet them. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” Lizzie said, smiling. “We’re told that you are in possession of the parish registers?”

It was a curious thing—the young lady’s polite smile seemed to freeze, and something more guarded took its place. “Really? Who told you that?”

“Mr. Thomas,” Darcy said, withdrawing the letter ofintroduction the vicar had written. “I’m Mr. Darcy, and this is Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas. We’re staying at Netherfield Park—Miss Bennet is Mrs. Bingley’s sister.”

“Oh,” said the young lady, looking to the men running the press. One of them nodded at her and she left them to their work and approached the trio. “This wouldn’t have something to do with the body that was discovered there last night, would it?”

“Does the entire village know about it, then?” Lizzie asked.

“Afraid so,” said the young lady cheerfully. “I’m Miss Clara Jeffries, the owner of this establishment.”

“Owner!” Lizzie exclaimed.

Miss Jeffries raised her chin a hair. “Yes, owner. My grandfather established the business, and I took it on when my father passed.”

“That’s wonderful,” Lizzie said. “I mean, about owning the business—not about your father’s death. My condolences.”

Darcy regarded the young lady, who didn’t look to be that much older than they. It must take a fair amount of fortitude to run a business like this, especially in a small village such as Meryton. And to do it as a young, unmarried lady must be all the more challenging.

“Miss Jeffries, we were told that you were in the process of printing copies of the parish registers for Mr. Thomas. It’s imperative that we inspect them, and we’ve gotten Mr. Thomas’s permission. He wrote a note for you.” Darcy handed her the note and watched as she took it and read it.

Miss Jeffries didn’t scowl exactly, but her brow furrowedand the lines only deepened as she read. When she finished, she looked up and said, “I’m afraid I’ve gotten behind on this project—we’ve received an order for sheet music from a publisher in London. I haven’t finished printing the new one.”

“That’s all right,” Darcy said. “We can take the handwritten registers and muddle through ourselves.”

But Miss Jeffries shook her head. “Mr. Thomas’s note says that you’re allowed the ones that have been printed, if you pay for the printing costs. But I’m afraid I need the originals if I am to finish the job in a timely manner.”

Darcy didn’t want to be perceived as forceful, but this was the only decent lead they had, especially since Lizzie hadn’t gotten anywhere with the ladies of the village. “Can we—”

“It’s all right,” Lizzie said sweetly. “We can come back, if that would be easier for you?”

“I can deliver them,” she offered, and Darcy thought that was surprisingly generous, until she added, “If you’re willing to pay for the printing costs up front, of course.”

“Of course,” Darcy echoed. Investigations often had a common language, and it was money. “I’m happy to settle things right now, if you wish.”

Miss Jeffries didn’t even try to hide her pleasure. “Thank you, sir. That will be fifteen shillings.”