Page 74 of A Matter of Murder

This seemed to make Mr. Bennet even angrier at Darcy. “Why didn’t you go?”

“Sally advised that—”

“Sally is a housemaid! You could have overruled her!”

“Sir, I don’t like it any more than you do, but Sally was the best person to guide Lizzie, and Lizzie is slighter than I.”

“You shouldn’t have let it happen! Are you this careless with your own sister, Darcy?”

“Papa!” Lizzie admonished.

Darcy went still. It was a low blow, bringing his sister into this. Especially since Mr. Bennet knew exactly what foolish lengths Darcy would go to—and had—to protect his little sister’s honor.

“Darcy doesn’t have any say over my behavior any more than you do,” Lizzie said. “So if you’re going to be angry with someone, be angry with me.”

“Oh, I am,” Mr. Bennet said. “How could you be so reckless? What would I say to your mother if you had fallen and broken your neck?”

“Tell her I was stubborn and incorrigible and I wouldn’t listen to reason—she’d believe it. But if you’re more concerned with appearances and propriety than about what I want or how I conduct my investigations, then I don’t care to take your counsel on this matter!”

Mr. Bennet stood still, looking absolutely stricken. “That’s not fair,” he said, swallowing hard. He seemed to regain some of his strength after a moment, then said, “I care about you. And I don’t want you to be hurt or killed because you insist upon poking at every single mystery you run across. There are dangerous people in this world, and they won’t care that you’re a lady!”

Darcy knew that Mr. Bennet was no longer talking about Lizzie’s trips to the east wing.

“Do you think that being a lady isn’t dangerous?” she demanded. “Safety is an illusion, Papa. If I am going to risk my life and reputation, I’d rather it be in the pursuit of what I’m passionate about!”

Mr. Bennet seemed to wilt. “I just want you to be safe.”

“You can’t protect me forever, Papa.”

“But that’s my job,” he said, and his voice broke. No one else in the room moved, and Lizzie bit her lip. Then, Mr. Bennet seemed to collect himself. “If something were to happen to you, your mother would not be able to bear it,” he said finally. Then he added, much softer, “And neither would I.”

And with that, he swept from the room. Darcy could plainly read the anguish on Lizzie’s face. She didn’t want to hurt her family or friends, he knew. But chasing after mysteries was as much a part of her as her green eyes and her love of debate, and Darcy knew she’d never back away from what she truly believed was right.

Lydia was the one to break the silence that followed. She turned to Jane and said, “You’ll still invite the officers to the ball, won’t you?”

Eighteen

In Which Lizzie and Darcy Strike an Unexpected Bargain

If something were tohappen to you, your mother would not be able to bear it. And neither would I.

Mr. Bennet’s words echoed in Lizzie’s ears long after he’d left the study, attempting to hide the pain that was so apparent in his eyes. Lizzie had never wanted to be the cause of her father’s heartbreak—she was the one he smiled at with pride. And while she was no stranger to her mother’s disappointment concerning her marriage prospects, she didn’t want to hurt her, either.

And yet, she couldn’t shake this case.

Nothing about the discovery of the coins had made much sense to Lizzie. Who would take her dog and lure her into a very specific room in the east wing? And to what end? Lizzie would have suspected Sally herself, if the other girl had not appeared to be genuinely spooked by the whole ordeal. Lizzie realized now that Sally had expected the coins to have been stolen... which meant that Mr. Oliver was right about one thing: at least one ofthe Burtons knew about them. She thought of that day in the churchyard, witnessing Clara Jeffries receiving a small bundle from Sally.

Was Sally toying with them all?

The following morning found Lizzie and Charlotte with Jane in the ballroom while Darcy walked Guy, overseeing the final cleaning before the servants began decorating. The ball was only a day away, and a small furrow appeared to have taken up residence between Jane’s brows as she directed servants and answered last-minute questions. Nonetheless, when the Fitzgeralds had sent a letter confirming their attendance, Jane had broken into a genuine smile and Lizzie had been glad for her. After all, wasn’t this what Jane had always wanted—a husband who loved her, a home of her own, and a place in society?

She likely could have done without the dead body in her drawing room, but life wasn’t always what you expected.

“What do you think?” Jane asked Lizzie and Charlotte as she surveyed the ballroom, empty save the footmen who were presently bringing in chairs and a few chaises from lesser-used rooms. “Chairs along all four walls, or just the two? Or three—we can leave the back wall clear? And should we have potted plants? I feel as though all the London balls have a garden inside.”

“Chairs against three walls—no one wants to sit so near the musicians. You can’t carry on a conversation that close to the music,” Lizzie said.

“You’re right, of course,” Jane muttered. “Mr. Grigson, just the three walls!”