Page 54 of A Matter of Murder

“You’ve brought the registers?” Darcy inquired.

“Indeed, Mr. Darcy. All three of them, and I’ve sewn them in cardboard so that they’re easier to read. Mr. Thomas made me aware of your eagerness.”

Lizzie couldn’t quite tell whether that was meant as a reprimand of some sort, but Mr. Thomas said, “Whatever we can do to help clear up this terrible business. I know I speak for the entire county when I say how glad we are that you’ve taken up residence at Netherfield, and I am only sorry that certain... ah, unpleasantness... has disrupted your stay.”

Bingley smiled gratefully. “Well, we are certainly happy tobe here. And as for any unpleasantness, as you put it... Darcy and Miss Bennet have untangled more than a few such cases in their time, and I have no doubt they’ll prevail yet again. Please, come inside.”

Bingley ushered their guests into the house, and Lizzie, Darcy, and Charlotte followed. The study was darkened and the air a bit stuffy. Bingley called for refreshments, and Miss Jeffries set the satchel on Bingley’s desk and withdrew three volumes, bound in cheap cardboard.

“Here we are,” she said, and though she smiled, Lizzie sensed there was something stiff about her features. She had assumed that Miss Jeffries’s hesitation the previous day had been on account of her not being acquainted with them before they’d come into her shop. But now that she was here, Lizzie couldn’t shake the feeling that Miss Jeffries didn’t want to hand over these registers.

But why?

“They go back to 1689,” Mr. Thomas said. “Or at least, these volumes do. I took the liberty of assuming the earlier volumes would be less relevant to your interests.”

“It’s highly unlikely the remains have been in the flue that long,” Lizzie confirmed. “They showed no sign of smoke or fire damage, and we presume that the fireplace was in use prior to Honoria’s arrival.”

Darcy reached for the nearest book and withdrew a penknife from his pocket, sliding it between the pages and slicing them open. When he opened the book, the spine creaked in thatdelicious, new book way, smelling of ink and paper and promise and... well, maybe Lizzie was getting carried away.

“I’m not sure how useful these will be in helping you identify your dead man,” Mr. Thomas said. “And Dr. Fellowes used shorthand at times—I confess I’ve had trouble translating it, although I wrote down what bits I have been able to discern.”

Mr. Thomas handed them a quarto sheet with neat, even handwriting. Lizzie took it and immediately showed it to Charlotte. “Thank you, sir. And this is incredibly helpful. Miss Lucas is our legal secretary at Longbourn and Sons, and if there’s anyone who can help us make sense of it all, it’s she. She’s brilliant.”

“She exaggerates,” Charlotte said quietly.

“I do not. More than one case has depended on her thorough notes and her knack for remembering details in records.”

Mr. Thomas looked surprised but also intrigued. “You work as a legal secretary, Miss Lucas?”

“Yes,” she said, but tentatively. Lizzie also waited to hear what the vicar’s next words would be—not all gentlemen approved of a lady with a career.

But Mr. Thomas looked impressed. “That is not easy work. I confess sometimes I get overwhelmed with all my correspondence, and I am just a country vicar. You must be very organized and astute to work in a legal firm.”

Now Charlotte blushed lightly. “I’ve found that a good management system is essential.”

“Ah. Can you offer me any advice, then, as a professional?”

Charlotte hesitated, and Lizzie looked at Mr. Thomas insurprise. He was regarding her friend with curiosity and... admiration? She had to bite back a grin.

Was Mr. Thomas flirting with Charlotte?

“Well,” Charlotte began, “I devised a system of ordering all incoming correspondence by priority...”

While Charlotte detailed her organizational efforts to a charmingly receptive Mr. Thomas, Miss Jeffries turned to Lizzie. “Mr. Thomas tells me you work as a solicitor, Miss Bennet.”

“Yes,” Lizzie confirmed, surprised that Miss Jeffries was bringing it up. Most of polite society tended to ignore that aspect of her life. “Back in London.”

“How intriguing. That must be a very difficult job.”

“No more difficult than running a print shop all on your own,” Lizzie pointed out.

Miss Jeffries simply smiled. “It is my passion, and my father’s business before me. I could no sooner abandon it than I could renounce my own name.”

“I feel quite the same,” Lizzie said, and found herself studying the other young lady. “But at least I have my father as my mentor—tell me, is it very difficult running the shop alone? The presses are mammoth.”

“Well, that is why I hire journeymen,” Miss Jeffries said, and then leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “although I do know how the machines work.”

Lizzie laughed politely at her joke. “I never doubted you did.”