Page 55 of A Matter of Murder
“Well, you’d be the first to say so,” Miss Jeffries said. “When my father died, his competitors descended upon Meryton likewolves, wanting to purchase the presses at a good price. They thought they could trick me into selling below value.”
“But you saw right through them?” she asked.
“I knew that the print shop would be more valuable in my own hands,” she said, her smile only a little coy. But then her expression softened, and she added, “Unfortunately, it really does take two people to operate the presses, and I can’t do it all. It took me time to find journeymen willing to work for a woman.”
Lizzie thought that under different circumstances, if she didn’t suspect Clara Jeffries of hiding something, she might enjoy the other young lady’s company very much. They could trade stories of what it was like to be a woman in a man’s world. “So the journeymen operate the presses, and you run the business side of things?”
Miss Jeffries nodded. “I handle all the correspondence between writers and artists and publishers, as well as with our suppliers and our customers. I set most of the pages we prepare for printing, and I manage quite a few of the deliveries.”
Lizzie saw her opening and realized she might not get one quite like it. “You must be running all around the countryside, then! In fact—did I spot you this morning?”
Miss Jeffries tilted her head quizzically, and Lizzie added, “By the church, just north of the village. Mr. Darcy and I were walking the dog. I could have sworn I saw you.”
But Miss Jeffries just shook her head. “Sorry, no—it must have been someone else.”
Her tone was light and courteous, and Lizzie waited a beatto see if she’d add anything else. Liars tended to overexplain, rush to fill in details. But Miss Jeffries stayed perfectly pleasant and unbothered, and if not for the fact that Lizzie had seen her with her own two eyes in the churchyard with Sally Burton, she might have believed her.
Oh, Miss Jeffries was good.
“My mistake,” Lizzie said lightly, shaking her head. “It must have been someone who looked like you. I’m unfamiliar with the village, after all.”
But Miss Jeffries didn’t pick up the conversational thread after that. In fact, she stood, signaling her intent to depart, and forcing Mr. Thomas to wrap up his conversation with Charlotte. Lizzie accompanied them outside to see them off, along with Bingley.
“Very pleasant neighbors,” Bingley said as soon as they were out of earshot. “I must make sure Jane’s invited them to our ball next week.”
“Very pleasant indeed,” Lizzie agreed, but she wasn’t thinking about Mr. Thomas.
She was thinking about how Miss Jeffries had so coolly lied to her face, and how she might have squandered her one chance to question the other young lady and still feign polite manners.
She was thinking that Miss Jeffries was more than a liar—she was a keeper of secrets.
Fourteen
In Which Lizzie and Darcy Cause a Scene
“And then next spring, we’ll have someone out to inspect the roof. Darcy, are you listening?”
“Hmm?” Darcy said, looking up. “The roof, yes.”
Bingley gave him a look. “Yes, what about the roof?”
“It’s... a roof. Very solid. Keeps the rain out.”
“No, it doesn’t—that’s the point. It leaks. Badly. The attic after a rainstorm looks like a bazaar that sells nothing but pots and buckets.”
Darcy winced. He really hadn’t been paying attention. “I’m sorry. I got a little distracted. But yes, the roof—if it’s that bad, then I think getting it repaired sooner rather than later is wise. You can’t properly begin to address the damage from within until the exterior is secured.”
The two of them were outside, standing in the drive and looking above at the east wing. From outside, no one could tell there was any fire damage, but Darcy still shuddered when he thought of seeing Lizzie on the floor, her leg caught and thewood around her groaning. Bingley had asked him to come outside to survey the exterior of the house before the party left for the burial service in the village.
“I don’t know,” Bingley said, rubbing his chin. “I thought I was lucky to inherit this place—it was always a secret hope of my father’s, you know. He felt as though our branch had been ousted from our ancestral seat. But now that it’s mine...”
“Ownership is a curse as much as it is a blessing,” Darcy said.
“Yes, exactly.” He sighed, then tilted his head back. “And the facade—look at the stone and how it’s been eaten away. How long before it all comes tumbling down around us?”
“It won’t happen today,” Darcy assured him, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
They were interrupted by the sound of a loud voice shouting “Oy!” followed by the crunching of gravel and the creak of a carriage. Darcy startled, turning quickly to see the carriages being brought around. The groom blanched to see them standing there. “My apologies, Mr. Bingley,” he said, drawing the carriage up short. “It’s just that Arrow here has been acting a bit restless. He takes a firm hand sometimes.”