Page 52 of In Want of a Suspect

“I shall happily receive it anyway,” Bingley assured, and Mrs. Bennet shooed the girls out of the dining room and down the hall to the drawing room.

“Honestly,” she seethed. “Your father is trying his best to send me to an early grave.”

The ladies sat in tense silence in the drawing room, not allowed to even converse. They could just make out the murmur of the gentlemen’s voices in the other room, but no amount of shushing or holding absolutely still rendered their voices audible enough to make out the conversation. Lizzie sat next to Jane, who had gone as pale as a sheet and was squeezing her hand tightly.

“It’ll be fine,” Lizzie whispered. “You know that Father won’t say no.”

“I know, but what if Mr. Bingley doesn’t even ask at all?”

“Shush!” their mother hissed.

“Mama, this is silly—there’s nothing we can do but wait. And besides, won’t it look rather suspicious if they join us here and we’re all just sitting in total silence?”

Mrs. Bennet seemed to consider this, then relented. “Mary, the piano.”

Mary rolled her eyes but dutifully took her seat at the bench and began to pluck out notes. Lizzie tried to hide her wince.

“What’s going on with you this evening?” Charlotte whispered from Lizzie’s other side.

“What?”

“First of all, you and I both know that Mr. Darcy wouldn’t still be in court at this hour, and you got a peculiar look on your face when Mr. Bingley began to discuss that business of carronades at dinner.”

“I did not,” Lizzie lied. She didn’t want to ruin Jane’s evening with talk about her case.

But Jane nodded. “You did.”

“Fine,” Lizzie relented. “But it’s probably nothing. Someone involved in our case owns a graphite mine, that’s all. And it got me thinking—”

But Lizzie didn’t get a chance to say anything more, for the drawing room door opened and Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley appeared, Guy trotting on their heels.That had to have been the quickest glass of brandy ever consumed,Lizzie thought. The gaze of every lady in the room turned to them, and Mary abruptly stopped playing.

“Er, hello?” Bingley said.

“Hello.” Jane was the only one to reply.

“What are you all staring at?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“Nothing!” Mrs. Bennet said. “Mary, why’d you stop playing?”

“I thought—”

“Never mind what you thought, keep playing!”

Mary picked up her shapeless tune once more and Mr. Bingley sat in the chair opposite the settee, where Lizzie, Jane, and Charlotte were seated while Mr. Bennet took his usual chair and, with a surreptitious look around, reached for his newspaper.

An inscrutable look seemed to pass between Jane and Bingley.

“Well, then,” Mrs. Bennet began. “What did you two speak about—”

But Mrs. Bennet’s matchmaking plans were abruptly cut short by the shattering glass that ripped through the drawing room.

At least four of the ladies screamed, and Guy immediately began barking, a high-pitched, alarmed yip that made Lizzie leap to her feet. Jane and Charlotte remained seated on the sofa, and Bingley had instinctively jumped in front of Jane, his arms raised protectively.

The drawing room window had been broken, letting in the cool night air. Glass littered the carpet, sparkling in the lamplight, and in the center of the room lay a heavy object—the projectile that had broken the glass. Beyond the broken window,Lizzie could hear the sound of running feet on the cobblestones outside.

Without thinking, she picked up her skirts and bolted for the front door, ignoring the ruckus behind her and the crunch of glass under her slippers. She flung open the front door and ran down the steps, eyes searching for any sign of the vandal in the night. Next door and across the street her neighbors were emerging from their houses, and she ignored their inquiries as she stumbled out into the street and looked left, then right.

Whoever it was, they were gone.