In Want of a Suspect (A Lizzie & Darcy Mystery #1)

Two

In Which Lizzie Receives an Early Morning Caller, and a Rather Unconventional Case

A REASONABLE PERSON MIGHT have written off Jack Mullins’s plea as the grief-stricken reaction of a man still in shock, and while Lizzie did consider herself quite reasonable, she couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath that followed his request.

“Jack,” she said, but then took a moment to sort through her thoughts. Why did he think a woman had set the fire? Had he seen her do it?

But before she could decide which of these questions to ask first, one of the men approached. “Jack! We need you!”

Jack turned and nodded at the man. Then, to Lizzie, he said, “I’ll call on you soon.”

And with that, he was gone.

Lizzie trudged back toward Darcy, noticing the squelch in her boots. Her stockings were soaked, and the thought of walking the long way home was suddenly incredibly tiresome.

“What happened?” Darcy asked in concern tinged with suspicion.

“He told me that someone set the fire,” Lizzie said. “A woman.”

“A woman?” Darcy parroted. “Why?”

“He didn’t say.”

Darcy didn’t prod her, which Lizzie appreciated. She didn’t volunteer the information that Jack Mullins wanted her to find the person, but Darcy was no fool. He simply shook his head and said, “Let’s see if I can hail a hackney.” But the rain seemed to have driven everyone indoors, for he was unsuccessful, even the closer they got to Cheapside. And so they trudged in the rain, silent, until they finally arrived at the top of Gracechurch Street, and Lizzie paused to say goodbye. Darcy was normally quite the gentleman and would insist on seeing her to her door, if not inside, but ever since her mother had taken note of Darcy’s and Lizzie’s unconventional business partnership, she’d not let up about when Darcy was going to start formally courting her. Try as Lizzie might to persuade Mrs. Bennet that there was a difference between courtship and a working relationship, her mother failed to see it. And so they’d taken to parting up the street, out of view of the Bennets’ front window.

“You won’t do anything rash, will you?” Darcy asked.

“Me? Never.” But she couldn’t stop thinking about Jack’s words— you have to find the woman who killed my brother. They stirred up questions inside of Lizzie that wouldn’t be silenced easily.

Darcy’s smile was more of a grimace. “Well, if you should change your mind, then you know where to find me.”

She was too tired to even protest, but she did impulsively grab his hand and pull him close to her. She brushed her lips on his cheek in a chaste peck. “Thank you for today,” she said.

Darcy’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but a small smile appeared on his lips. “Next time, we’ll take my carriage.”

“So you admit there will be a next time.”

“With you? There’s always a next time.” And before Lizzie could say anything more to that, he tipped his hat and said, “Good evening, Miss Bennet.”

“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a chuckle, and turned to make the short walk to her front door.

As she let herself in and fended off her mother’s cries of dismay at her bedraggled state, Lizzie thought about Jack’s peculiar request. She considered every angle as she bathed and attempted to scrub the scent of smoke from her hair. She ruminated on how one might connect arson with murder charges as she tossed and turned that night in bed. She thought about it so much that even the ever-patient Jane rolled over after the clock struck four and said, “Honestly, Lizzie!”

The following morning, she was weary and still brooding over the question of arson and Jack Mullins while mindlessly buttering some toast when a knock came at the front door. Lizzie, her younger sisters, and her father all looked up in surprise.

“Who could that be?” Lydia demanded.

“Maybe it’s Dar-cy!” Kitty sang, widening her eyes comically in Lizzie’s direction.

Lizzie threw down her napkin. “Not this again.”

“Ooh, is it Darcy?” Lydia asked. “Has he finally come to ask Papa—”

“It’s not Darcy,” Mary announced, leaning back in her chair to look out the window. “This fellow is shorter.”

“Is he handsome?” Lydia jumped up from her seat and was followed by Kitty to the window, where they both peeked shamelessly through the curtains. “Lizzie, have you thrown over Darcy because he refuses to propose?”

“I haven’t thrown him over!” Lizzie glared at her youngest sister as she stood. “And who says I want Darcy to propose?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Girls, come away from that window,” Mr. Bennet said, also standing. “How about I put us all out of our misery and go answer the door?”

“I’ve got it, Papa,” Lizzie assured him, and rushed out into the hall. She beat even the housemaid to the door, and threw it open to reveal Jack Mullins.

He was dressed in fresh clothes that fit him poorly, and his skin had a gray pallor that suggested he’d not gotten much sleep since she last saw him. Despite her request that he call on her, she hardly expected that he’d call so quickly—and at her home, not at Longbourn.

“Mr. Mullins!” she exclaimed, then stepped aside. “Please, do come in.”

“You called me Jack yesterday,” he said quietly as he entered the home and removed his hat.

“Yes, well... yesterday was an unusually terrible day.” They’d called each other by their Christian names when they were following his father’s business partner around London, trying to discover his plot. It had felt natural to call him Jack in the chaos of yesterday; but in the cool, pale light of morning, standing in her own foyer with her sisters and father in the next room, Lizzie fell back on formalities.

“Lizzie, who is this?” her father asked, attempting to sound gruff and not quite managing as he entered the hall and firmly closed the dining room door on the eager and curious faces of Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.

“Papa, you remember Mr. Mullins?” she asked, cringing at how high her voice sounded.

“Of course, of course,” her father said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Less than pleasurable circumstances, I’m afraid,” he said. “May we speak?”

Mr. Bennet nodded and ushered him into the drawing room rather than his study, and Lizzie followed. When the door had been closed behind them and Lizzie rang for tea, Mr. Bennet looked between Jack and Lizzie and said, “Why do I have a feeling my daughter is already in the middle of these less than pleasurable circumstances?”

“Mr. Mullins wrote to me three days ago,” Lizzie said, deciding to start at the beginning. “He wanted a consult on some permitting issues—is that correct?”

Jack nodded.

“And I decided to visit the storehouse yesterday, but when I got there, it had caught fire. And... Mr. Simon Mullins perished in the fire.”

Jack sat stoically in a stuffed chair, head bent. Mr. Bennet closed his eyes briefly. “My God, I am sorry.”

“Thank you,” Jack said quietly, but offered no more.

As much as Lizzie wanted to leap directly to Jack’s peculiar request the night before, social tact—and her own instincts—told her to wait for Jack to bring it up. “Is the building a total loss?” she asked gently.

“Most of our wares were destroyed or damaged,” Jack said, seeming to come alive a little more at the change of subject. “The brick seems to be solid enough, although the second floor is unstable.”

“You and Simon were still living above the storehouse?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“Yes. We were still saving to buy a place of our own. Now all that money will have to go into rebuilding.”

“I’m sorry,” Lizzie murmured. “Have you anyplace to stay?”

“I’m letting a room here in Cheapside until repairs can be made,” he told her. “Hopefully not for long. Thank God for the rain yesterday, and the quick thinking of my foreman.”

“Thank God,” Mr. Bennet echoed. “I imagine permitting issues are the least of your worries now, so you’ll be here about insurance?”

“No,” Jack said. “Or rather, yes. I’ll need copies of the insurance documents, seeing as mine burned. But I also would like to hire Miss Bennet.”

“That is no problem,” Mr. Bennet said, glancing at Lizzie. “Lizzie has been my protégée for the last year. She’s more than capable of handling your case.”

“I want Miss Bennet to find the person who set the fire.”

Lizzie knew why Jack had come, but it still made her heart race to hear the words. Her father seemed to sink back into his chair, but he didn’t look particularly surprised. His hand came up to rub his temple, and he said, “I think you ought to explain, Mr. Mullins.”

“The fire was no accident—a young lady set it. She was in the storehouse minutes before the fire broke out. My brother, our foreman, and I were discussing shipments for the upcoming week when we spotted her. Parry and I went after her but she took off at a run—suspicious! Simon tried to cut her off near the entrance. The next thing we knew, we heard a crash and something breaking, and as we investigated we saw that a fire had broken out. Parry and I tried to put it out before it could spread, but when it became apparent that it was out of control, I searched for my brother—”

Here, Jack’s voice broke and he buried his head in his hands as if he were ashamed to show emotion. Lizzie looked about and found one of the handkerchiefs that Jane had just finished embroidering—it was filled in with roses. She plucked a stray thread from it and offered it to Jack, who accepted with a nod.

“He had collapsed behind a stack of shipping crates and wasn’t moving,” he said finally. “I tried to get to him. The flames... and Parry...”

Lizzie recalled how she had seen the man, presumably Parry, pull a struggling Jack out of the burning building. It was a small comfort, but she rested her hand on Jack’s arm. “You did all you could. It sounds as though Parry saved your life.”

Jack wiped at his eyes, but didn’t respond directly to Lizzie. “I want you to find that lady, Miss Bennet.”

Before Lizzie could respond, Mr. Bennet leaned forward. “My daughter is a solicitor, not an investigator.”

“Papa,” Lizzie said, but her father held up a hand.

“Perhaps you need a referral to an investigator. We have a few to recommend. And if it comes to it, and you identify this woman, we can be of assistance with bringing charges against her.”

“I read about the case you solved last year,” Jack said, addressing Lizzie. “You were able to clear Mr. Bingley’s name and implicate the true murderer.”

“That was an unusual case,” Mr. Bennet protested.

On this, Lizzie was inclined to agree with her father. For one, she was trying to clear someone’s name, not find a mysterious lady who might or might not be responsible for arson. But both cases had involved untimely deaths, after all. “It was a unique case, but that’s not to say that I am not capable of helping Mr. Mullins, Papa.”

“You’re certain that none of you accidentally knocked over a lantern or a candle? I am not trying to be difficult, but these are questions anyone will ask. It is unusual and confusing to find a strange woman in your storehouse, but who’s to say that she didn’t wander in by accident, and then flee when she saw you? Any one of you could have started the fire.”

“No!” Jack was adamant. “No one had any business just wandering in when our doors were closed. And we wouldn’t be so careless as to leave a lit candle where it could easily be knocked over. She was up to something, and she’s the cause of the fire, I am sure of it!”

“And if I find her,” Lizzie said, attempting to cut to the chase before her father could distract Jack, “and it was just an accident?”

“Then it was an accident,” he conceded. “But I’ll still have questions for her.”

Lizzie wasn’t sure she was comfortable with his dark tone, but she couldn’t find fault with his words. If one of her sisters were dead as a result of a tragic accident, Lizzie would do everything she could to ensure that answers were found and those responsible were brought to justice. Unfortunately, even if the woman’s intentions were innocent, if she had caused the fire, then she could be liable in a court of law for Simon Mullins’s death.

Lizzie didn’t relish the thought of attempting to bring a vindictive case before a court, but she wanted to do more than draft briefs for her father and present wills before magistrates. She wanted cases that interested her, and she wanted clients who wanted her expertise.

“I’ll do it,” she told Jack.

“Wait one moment,” her father protested. “You have a rather full caseload, if I recall correctly, and my faculties haven’t deserted me yet.”

“Papa, Mr. Mullins has lost everything—surely this case takes priority!”

“I will not argue that,” Mr. Bennet said, more to Jack than to Lizzie. “But I am not certain that Lizzie is best equipped for the investigative role.”

“You cannot claim that as a solicitor I don’t act as an investigator at times,” Lizzie argued. “Not only must we find this lady, but a legal expert must confirm that there is enough evidence of a crime to bring before the magistrate.”

Mr. Bennet’s gaze narrowed, and Lizzie knew he was crafting a counterargument, but before he had a chance, Jack stood up. “I want Lizzie! No one else!”

Before Lizzie could respond to that, the door to the drawing room burst open. “Is it finally happening?” a loud voice cried.

“Oh no,” Lizzie murmured.

It was Mrs. Bennet.

Mrs. Bennet appeared to have dressed in haste—her skirts were uncharacteristically rumpled, and she was quick to tuck strands of hair under her cap. Her cheeks were pink, and she was as giddy as a child as she looked from Lizzie to Mr. Bennet to Mr. Mullins with unconstrained excitement. “Well?” she demanded.

Lydia and Kitty stood behind her, the traitors, trying and failing to suppress giggles.

“Mother, this is a business meeting, not a social call!” Lizzie sprang forward in an attempt to shut the door in her mother’s face, but Mrs. Bennet anticipated her move and stepped past her.

“Marriage is business,” she said before turning to her husband. “Well?”

Mr. Bennet merely sighed. “You mistake the situation, my dear. Mr. Mullins wants to hire our Lizzie, not marry her.”

Lizzie could have happily melted into the carpet as Lydia and Kitty burst into a peal of giggles behind their stricken-looking mother. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Lizzie agreed. “So now, if you don’t mind...”

And then she pushed her mother out of the room, despite her protests. “My apologies,” she said, turning to face her new client once more. She was certain her own cheeks were flaming but decided to carry on as if this were an entirely natural interruption. “I don’t often receive business calls at home, and my mother is easily confused!”

“I am not, Elizabeth!” Mrs. Bennet shouted through the door.

“It’s quite all right,” Jack said, although it was clear by his stunned expression that he hadn’t expected his words to be mistaken for a marriage proposal. “I suppose I was speaking rather... passionately.”

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Mr. Bennet asked once more, much to Lizzie’s annoyance.

“Lizzie is dogged, and she thinks outside of the box. I know it’s been three years since we last worked together, but without her I wouldn’t have the business I do. Or, rather, did.” He had to clear his throat a few times before continuing. “I want someone who is willing to investigate—and litigate.”

Mr. Bennet didn’t appear to take offense. It was no secret that he preferred studying and writing in his comfortable office to tracking down witnesses and taking statements.

In the end, he simply sighed and said, “And I trust you’re prepared to take on the financial burden of a potentially costly investigation?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised. “Just find that lady.”

Lizzie asked a series of follow-up questions about Jack’s and Simon’s whereabouts the day before, their routine, and anyone who might have had access to the storehouse. Then she took a detailed description of the lady Jack claimed to have seen, but unfortunately for her, Jack didn’t give her much to go on—the lady was tall, in a gray dress, with brown hair. Lizzie tried not to feel a bit discouraged that he was describing hundreds of ladies in London. You always had to start somewhere.

Jack gave her the address of his temporary lodgings and took his leave soon after, and Lizzie watched him make his way down the street before closing the door behind him. She felt infused with purpose, and excited for the day ahead. Her fingers itched to make a list of tasks. She needed to change clothes. She needed to take a proper look at the scene of the crime. She’d have to report back to the office, tell Charlotte to reschedule her appointments for the next few days, and then go to Pemberley....

“So you were at the scene of the fire last night,” Mr. Bennet said. It was not a question.

“Er... yes?”

“What a coincidence,” he remarked.

“It was! He wrote me with questions about permits, and I could have responded, but then it might have delayed the matter another day or two. I had the time, so...”

“Indeed,” Mr. Bennet said. “And I trust you didn’t walk all the way to the Mullinses’ storehouse alone?”

Lizzie winced. “Well, not exactly...”

Mr. Bennet fixed her with a pointed look. “Tell Mr. Darcy that if he’s going to accompany you on cases and get your mother’s hopes up, he ought to have the decency to at least walk you to the door afterward.”

And with that, Mr. Bennet returned to the dining room and his cold breakfast.