A Matter of Murder (A Lizzie & Darcy Mystery #2)

Chapter 1 In Which Lizzie and Darcy Arrive at Netherfield Park at Last

One

In Which Lizzie and Darcy Arrive at Netherfield Park at Last

“Oh, Netherfield Park at last!” Mrs. Bennet cried as she stepped out of the carriage that had come to a stop in front of the

elegant manor house. She clasped her hands beneath her chin as she took in the sight. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

Miss Elizabeth Bennet stumbled out of the carriage after her mother, tripping over her small dog, Guy, as he made his own

hasty escape. Mr. Darcy’s strong hand was there in an instant, steadying her as she regained her bearings after six hours

of travel. Six interminable hours, during which her mother had barely stopped talking long enough to take a breath. Darcy squeezed her hand gently and

gave her a subtle wink, as if he knew that she had been contemplating throwing herself out of the moving carriage just before

Netherfield Park came in sight.

She rolled her eyes slightly, then turned to her mother and whispered, “Mama, please!”

But Mrs. Bennet was unperturbed. “Three stories, Lizzie! Have you ever seen such a large and distinguished estate? And to think, my Jane is the mistress of it all!”

Lizzie stepped forward so that Darcy could offer a hand to her best friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, who alighted from the carriage

far more gracefully than Lizzie had. Charlotte came to stand by Lizzie and murmured, “Well, it is impressive, you have to admit.”

Netherfield Park announced itself with towering ionic columns, and the entrance was large enough to drive a phaeton through.

It was palatial compared to the town house on Gracechurch Street that the seven Bennets—and Guy—shared. Well, six Bennets

now that Jane had married Mr. Bingley and left the family home for good.

“It’s very large,” Lizzie conceded. She wasn’t one to be carried away by extravagance, but she was finding it hard to be impervious

to the grandeur of the estate when it belonged to Jane, her sister who had, up until very recently, shared a bedchamber with her.

Darcy, however, did not seem fazed in the least. “It’s very well appointed.”

“Well appointed?” Lizzie repeated incredulously, but she didn’t get a chance to say more, for the front door was thrown open

and there was Jane herself, coming to greet them with Bingley by her side.

“Mrs. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet shouted, and fell upon her daughter, kissing and hugging her as though it had been years and not

six weeks since Jane’s wedding.

For this display of emotion, Lizzie couldn’t exactly fault her mother—she had missed her older sister more than she had thought possible.

She was thrilled for Jane, and a bit in awe of the wealth she now possessed.

It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.

However, not a week after her nuptials, she and Bingley had departed from London, creating a distinct, Jane-shaped hole in Lizzie’s everyday life.

Mrs. Bennet finally released Jane and moved on to Bingley, and it was Lizzie’s turn to fling herself at her sister, no more

gracefully than her mother had. Jane was radiant—she wore a new dress of cream lawn, and her cheeks were pink, and her curls

appeared extra bouncy. Lizzie was achy, sweaty, and dusty after such a long day, but Jane embraced her just as fiercely. Her

sister smelled familiar—violet water and fresh linen, but now there was another crisp scent under that familiarity, something

that smelled refined and expensive.

“I’ve missed you,” Jane whispered in her ear.

“And I you,” Lizzie said. “Come back to London.”

Jane just laughed as she released her. “I think you’re going to love it here, Lizzie. This old house is full of so many rooms,

you couldn’t even begin to imagine.”

Bingley also turned to Lizzie and greeted her with an enthusiastic grin. “Jane said that prying you and your father away from

your work would be quite a Herculean task, so don’t think we don’t appreciate your sacrifice.”

“I would do anything for Jane,” Lizzie told him, “even spend a summer in the countryside.”

Her bright smile couldn’t quite hide her sarcasm, however.

While it was true that she had missed her sister, and she would most certainly have dropped everything if Jane had called, this summer sojourn had not been her idea—she’d been strong-armed into it, and the chief perpetrator of such strong-arming had been none other than Darcy himself.

Darcy, for his part, looked utterly oblivious to her frustration. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was greeting Jane

with the utmost civility. Anyone else might have thought he looked a bit on the dour side, but that was just his permanent

expression these days.

The last time Lizzie remembered seeing him truly smile was after solving the case of the Mullins Brothers’ storehouse fire

three months earlier. Not only had they discovered the true reason for the fire, but they’d unspooled a smuggling ring, stopped

an innocent young lady from marrying a true villain, and uncovered a Crown secret. To be sure, it had been a minor secret, and the Crown’s emissary had made certain that they wouldn’t be able to brag about solving the case, but it had still

been a success.

The only dark spot, of course, had been Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

It still gave Lizzie chills to think that the woman was at large, and responsible for yet another murderous plot. Even more

so when she thought about how that plot had included her own kidnapping. But Lizzie had been able to push aside her fears

and lingering questions and bask in the satisfaction of another case closed, with Darcy by her side.

Until the first letter had come.

It had been delivered to Longbourn & Sons a week after the conclusion of the case. It arrived on a creamy expanse of parchment,

lavish in its wastefulness considering the brief message it contained:

You’re clever, but not as clever as I.

She’d known who it was from, even without a signature, and she’d shown it to Darcy, naturally. And her father. And Charlotte.

And, well . . . everyone, really. She wouldn’t admit it now, but receiving a letter from the woman herself had sent a thrill

up her spine not unlike the one she’d felt when she’d first heard the news that Charles Bingley had been hauled off to Newgate

for murder. Or when Jack Mullins had grasped her hand and had told her his storehouse fire was arson.

“She’s taunting you,” Darcy had said.

“Baiting,” Mr. Bennet corrected as he studied the missive. “She wants to see how you’ll react. You mustn’t give her the satisfaction.”

“What am I supposed to do, sit on my hands?” Lizzie was thrumming with nervous energy. It wasn’t often that she faced an opponent

who even recognized her as an opponent, let alone a moderately clever one.

“Do nothing,” Mr. Bennet told her firmly. He refused to hand the letter back, too. “And let’s hope she grows tired of this

charade and moves on.”

But she hadn’t. Several days later, another letter arrived, this one only slightly longer.

My dear Miss Bennet, do you not think that your talents are wasted at such a firm as Longbourn & Sons? After all you’ve accomplished, why do you shackle yourself to men who would have you spending your time on contracts when you could be doing so much more?

And there it was again, that thrill of excitement . . . but there was a pinprick of worry there, too. How had Lady Catherine

known that her father had her drafting and reviewing contracts? She had looked down at her desk, busy with tidy stacks of

contracts and correspondence. Had Mr. Tomlinson told Lady Catherine about Lizzie’s workload before his arrest? But how would

he have known?

Or had Lady Catherine found herself another spy?

Her father and Darcy were made even more uneasy by this note, but they said little. Lizzie was in favor of going to the Dashwoods

to see if they could track the letter’s origin, but Mr. Bennet had not wanted to involve them, preferring to write to Mr.

Graves, the aforementioned emissary of the Crown, for answers. Mr. Graves had written back a curt Do nothing, and that had been that until Lizzie had come home from a fitting at the modiste—Mr. Bingley had proposed to Jane by this

point, and the Bennet sisters were all to have new dresses—to find a letter in the front hall, addressed to Lizzie.

Remember, Miss Bennet, that women always have more choices than they think they do. You can either spend your days toiling

for men who don’t appreciate your talents, or you can do something that will leave a far more lasting impact. Intrigued? Meet

me behind St. Clements three days hence, midday. Come alone.

Lizzie’s heartbeat had thrummed in her ears when she’d read the words, and she’d wasted no time in summoning Darcy and her father to Gracechurch Street to show them the message. “This is it,” she’d told them. “Our chance to finally catch her.”

But neither Darcy nor her father had been convinced. “It’s a trap,” Darcy said, real fear in his eyes as he skimmed the note.

“After all she’s done, she’ll hardly just meet you in broad daylight!”

“I concur,” her father said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked more tired these days, and Lizzie wasn’t certain whether

it was because of the threat of Lady Catherine or Mrs. Bingley’s constant chatter about Jane’s upcoming nuptials. Perhaps

both. “That woman has tried to kidnap you not once but twice.”

Logically, Lizzie knew they were right to be worried—and Lady Catherine’s multiple kidnapping attempts notwithstanding, she

knew it wasn’t the best idea to simply comply with a summons from a stranger, even if they had been properly introduced. But

Lady Catherine had evaded her twice now, and Lizzie didn’t want to give her a third opportunity.

“Graves has been tearing London apart for weeks with no luck,” Lizzie argued. “Agreeing to a meeting may be our best chance

at apprehending her.”

“Perhaps if we all went along and hung back—” Darcy began to say.

“You mean to use my daughter as bait?” her father demanded, and Darcy shook his head.

“No—”

“Yes,” Lizzie said. “Use me as bait.”