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

Three

In Which Darcy Encounters Trouble at Pemberley

DARCY WAS SEATED AT his desk, poring over a lengthy contract, when a stack of folders fell onto his desk with a thwack!

He startled, a half-formed protest rising to his lips when he looked up and saw Mr. Tomlinson, his superior, smirking down at him. “More briefs,” he said. “For the Cooper case.”

Darcy didn’t express frustration in the way that one might expect—there would be no sighs or grimaces, no muttered complaints. Instead, Darcy merely blinked, then neatly picked up the files that had been unceremoniously dumped upon his desk, straightened them, and set them aside.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, then flicked his gaze back to his work.

There was a small scoff from Tomlinson, but he didn’t move. He continued to stare down at Darcy with a mocking grin while Darcy seethed.

Privately, of course.

“Composure,” his father always told him, “makes the gentleman. If you cannot control yourself, then you’re no better than the common man.”

Darcy was good at composure. Some—all right, Bingley—would say too good. There was that whole matter of Lizzie thinking him prideful and cold at the beginning of their acquaintance. And well... he had a reputation among the ton as being unfeeling and coldly logical. He wasn’t exactly proud of this, but his strong, silent composure had come in handy too many times to count.

Darcy was especially glad now, for it allowed him to take Mr. Tomlinson’s abuses with a straight face. His supervisor would like nothing more than to find fault with Darcy’s work—any reason to file a bad report to his father, who was currently traveling the Continent.

“Was there something else I can help you with?” Darcy asked Mr. Tomlinson.

“The motion for the Crawley case,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “I need it now.”

Darcy did his very best not to look in the direction of Mr. Tomlinson’s office. The motion should be on his supervisor’s desk, exactly where Darcy had left it when he first arrived— before Tomlinson, not that anyone was keeping score on that matter. “I delivered it to your office when I arrived. Sir.”

The slight pause before the sir rankled on Tomlinson—Darcy could tell by the way he scrunched his large nose just slightly. “It’s not there now. If I don’t have it in my hands in the next ten minutes, then you’ll be explaining your incompetence before our client and the magistrate!”

Darcy clenched his jaw. “Understood. Sir.”

Tomlinson stared at him a beat longer before striding away once more. Darcy waited until he rounded the corner out of sight before peeking into the leather satchel tucked beneath his desk. Inside was a packet of documents, and Darcy double-checked to ensure... yes.

The copy of the motion he’d delivered to Tomlinson was still there.

Once upon a time, Darcy would have said his ideal working environment was “ordered disarray” even if Lizzie claimed that there was no such thing. She didn’t like clutter, but Darcy had never had any trouble keeping track of any stray paper or document on his desk, and he resisted all attempts by anyone, including Lizzie, to organize his desk. It might look messy, but he knew where everything was. And when his father was around, no one had any issue with this.

But then the first missing contract had cost Pemberley their case in court.

As soon as Tomlinson returned from court, he’d marched over to Darcy’s desk and taken him to task before sweeping every file off his desk. “Clean this mess up!” he’d shouted. “You are a disgrace to the Pemberley name!”

If anyone was going to call him a disgrace to the Pemberley name, Darcy would have preferred it had been his father, not some newly appointed barrister who barked orders like a sergeant. However, he’d been racked with miserable guilt at the prospect of facing their client. So rather than argue, he’d done what he was told.

And he had found the missing contract in the mess.

But the thing was, he was positive that the contract hadn’t been on his desk at all. He knew what was on his desk, and what wasn’t. Which meant either Darcy couldn’t trust himself and his memory, or someone had planted the contract on his messy desk to discredit him.

He said nothing, of course. But he did clean up his desk, spent more time organizing and filing, and bided his time. And then a week and a half later, a report on a client’s business holdings had gone missing. Darcy hurriedly rewrote it while Tomlinson seethed and raged at him, and just as he’d nearly finished while Tomlinson loomed impatiently over him, a hopeful clerk approached, the original document in hand.

“It was on the floor, sirs,” he’d said. “Under the liquor cabinet in Mr. Tomlinson’s office.”

“Good God, man,” Tomlinson had shouted at him, almost as if on cue. “You’ve got to be more careful. Keep an eye on where you place things. And, Darcy... steer clear of the liquor during the workday.”

Tomlinson had pretended to whisper, but his voice had carried through the bullpen of desks to the other solicitors and clerks nonetheless. Then he clapped a hand on Darcy’s shoulder before striding off, and Darcy was left sitting in the middle of the firm that his father had built, so very angry that he might have nearly challenged Tomlinson to a duel, except the last time he’d done that things hadn’t quite worked out for him, and he was trying to be better.

After that, Darcy kept copies of all the paperwork he submitted to Tomlinson. He didn’t let on, though, preferring to let Tomlinson think he was getting one over on him. Darcy didn’t care if they thought him a little disorganized. But he wasn’t about to let Tomlinson throw a case and hurt a client because he enjoyed humiliating his superior’s son.

Darcy slid the copy of the Crawley motion out of his satchel and placed it on his desk. He’d stayed up half the night writing out the copy, but he was glad of it.

Now he just had to wait an appropriate amount of time before he told Tomlinson that he’d “discovered” the missing document.

One thing that bothered Darcy was that he hadn’t figured out what he’d done to bring Tomlinson’s ire down upon him. Before his father’s absence, he’d hardly noted Tomlinson’s presence beyond acknowledging him as one of the many more senior members of the firm. It could be that Tomlinson simply despised Darcy’s privilege and connection, but he couldn’t help but feel as if there were simply more to it than his name....

As he waited, Darcy became aware of a clerk walking in his direction, wearing a pinched expression. The man’s name was Perkins, and he stopped at Darcy’s desk. “Sir, I think you might want to come out front.”

“Perkins, no need to call me sir,” Darcy said. The man was older than he by five years, but Darcy was the heir apparent of the firm and that commanded a bit of respect still... at least in some people’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“That lady is here again,” Perkins said with an apologetic grimace. “And you know how Mr. Tomlinson gets...”

Now Darcy was the one grimacing. He stood, grabbing the copy of the Crawley motion—it wouldn’t do for this one to go “missing” as well. “Thank you, Perkins.”

Darcy could hear Lizzie’s voice before he could see her, and that brought a small smile to his lips before he could properly contain it. She was chatting with the clerk who sat at the front desk, inquiring about the health of his wife, saying, “I do hope she hasn’t caught the nasty cough that seems to be going around.” Her gaze snagged on the sight of him but she kept her attention on the desk clerk.

“Thankfully not, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Reeves said. “She’s feeling much better these days.”

“I am so pleased to hear that,” Lizzie said. “Please give her my regards.”

To Darcy’s knowledge, Lizzie had never even laid eyes on Mrs. Reeves... although it wouldn’t surprise him to hear they regularly took tea together. Lizzie had a way of connecting with people that Darcy often found utterly confounding.

“Good day,” he greeted her, allowing her a nod. What he really wanted to do was kiss her hand and get close enough to inhale her intoxicating scent, but the last thing he needed was to draw Mr. Tomlinson’s attention to her presence.

“Darcy!” Lizzie exclaimed, rather loudly. Inwardly, he winced. “I’m afraid that I come bearing absolutely dreadful news.”

Her tone indicated otherwise—she sounded downright giddy. “Oh?”

She dropped her voice to whisper. “Yesterday’s excursion has produced a case.”

He tried very hard not to shiver at the memory of yesterday. That fire had been downright terrifying, and when he did finally get to sleep that night, he’d dreamt that he and Lizzie were lost in a maze of confusing London back alleys while the scent of smoke and roar of flames got ever closer. “Congratulations?”

Lizzie wasn’t bothered by his lack of enthusiasm. Heaven help him, she had enough for the both of them. “Thank you. Now I came to inquire as to whether or not you— Yes? Can I help you?”

Darcy turned and was startled to find Mr. Tomlinson standing a mere three paces behind him, wearing an irked expression. “Now, Miss Bennet, I believe that is a question I should be asking you.”

Lizzie smiled sweetly, and only someone who knew her well could tell that her manner wasn’t genuine in the least. “Oh, no thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. Mr. Darcy is assisting me.”

“Is he?” The man’s sour tone grated on Darcy. “Why, if you have the time to receive visitors in the lobby during the workday, I think I ought to assign you a few more cases, Darcy.”

Darcy saw Lizzie’s shoulders square up for a fight, and he rushed to stop her. He arranged his features into a bored, distant expression. “I beg your pardon, sir. I was merely stepping out for a moment.”

Mr. Tomlinson’s falsely genial expression turned into glee. “In the middle of the workday? Your last name might be Darcy, but that doesn’t mean you get to leave whenever your...” He trailed off suggestively.

“Colleague,” Darcy supplied, the word coming out harder than he intended.

“Colleague,” Tomlinson repeated, the word dripping with disdain. “Yes, well, unless there is a legitimate reason you need to consult with your colleague, it’s back to your desk.”

Darcy could practically feel Lizzie bristle beside him. “We are consulting,” he said, before she could jump to his defense. “Mr. Bennet recently took on and won a case very similar to Mr. Crawley’s suit last year. I was consulting with him yesterday evening on the finer points of the motion, and I must have left the paperwork with him. Miss Bennet was kind enough to deliver it to me.”

Darcy held the copy of the motion aloft, and kept his gaze fixed on Mr. Tomlinson. Surely the man wouldn’t accuse him of lying in front of a lady and at least three other Pemberley employees?

Tomlinson seemed to realize that he was indeed backed into a corner. “How kind of Miss Bennet. Your father must find your secretarial services a great help in his business.”

“I beg your pardon—” Lizzie started to say, but Darcy cut her off.

“Now, I’m afraid because of my oversight in misplacing these documents, I will have to rush this over to the courts myself. You won’t object if I escort Miss Bennet back to her offices along the way?”

Tomlinson’s lips disappeared into a thin line. “I suppose not.”

Darcy nodded and turned to go. That had gone better than he’d hoped. But just as he offered Lizzie his arm, he heard Tomlinson say, “But I will have to write your father and tell him about this habit of forgetfulness.”

Darcy paused, but only for a moment. “Of course,” he said over his shoulder, not quite looking at Tomlinson. He couldn’t bear facing what he knew he’d see: smug satisfaction on the odious man’s face. Instead, he nodded at Mr. Reeves, and swept Lizzie out the front door.

“ What was that about?” Lizzie asked the moment they were out on the busy street. She leaned in conspiratorially, and Darcy felt his eyes flutter shut just for a moment. She smelled of something sweet, and of ink and tea. “You never forget a thing, and you aren’t consulting with my father on anything... unless. Are you?” She sounded suspicious, but there was a note of something frantic in her question.

“Would you object if I did?”

“No, but I would be awfully cross if you went behind my back to do so.”

“Noted,” Darcy said. “Don’t worry—Tomlinson was just being difficult. He lost the first copy of this motion, and well... you know how men like him are.”

“Oh,” she said. “Is he giving you problems?”

“Oh, not really.” The lie came easily, before he could really consider his words. “He’s just a stickler for protocol. But he is right—most junior solicitors don’t get to just walk out in the middle of the day.”

Lizzie bit her bottom lip just briefly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come drag you from your work.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

“All right, fine. I sort of did. Goodness, but Mr. Tomlinson is annoying. You had much more autonomy to consult with me on cases before your father left. Any chance he’ll be back soon? Tomorrow, perhaps?”

Darcy allowed a tiny smile to crack through his opaque exterior. “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh well,” she said good-naturedly. “One can hope.”

Darcy wasn’t certain why he felt the need to lie to her about Tomlinson. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps he enjoyed being in charge a bit too much. Either way, things weren’t likely to change any time soon. Five months ago, his father had called him and Georgiana into his study and informed them he’d be leaving in two days’ time to see to business on the Continent. Georgiana was sent to their country estate with a small battalion of servants, much to her strenuous objections, and Darcy was expected to stay in London and apply himself at the firm. He continued to live in the family town house; but at the firm, Mr. Tomlinson would be his direct supervisor, sending his father regular reports on his progress.

But even if the elder Mr. Darcy had been in London, it likely wouldn’t have helped things. Darcy knew that his father disapproved of his work with Lizzie. In his eyes, she was a troublesome young lady who had no business meddling in various legal affairs and cases. At one time, Darcy had thought the same thing. But Lizzie Bennet had as sharp a mind as any man employed at Pemberley, and Darcy regularly benefitted from her insights and unconventional modes of thinking; and if he was being honest, he was glad that she included him on her more interesting cases, for it gave them an excuse to spend time together. His father and Mr. Tomlinson hadn’t gone so far as to forbid him from fraternizing with her... yet.

“In the meantime, it’s best not to draw his attention,” Darcy said now, hailing a carriage. He was glad to see that Lizzie didn’t insist on walking again. “What exactly, though, is your case? An insurance investigation? Something about that woman he mentioned?”

Lizzie looked up at him, smugly pleased. “A bit more than that.”

Two bay mares pulling a small cab stopped in front of them, and the driver had to say, “Are you getting in or not?” before Darcy broke out of his surprised trance. He opened the door and helped Lizzie in, then gave the address for the courts before climbing in after her.

“What do you mean, a bit more than that?” he asked as soon as the carriage jumped forward with a lurch. “Don’t tell me—”

“Arson,” Lizzie confirmed. She looked far too delighted to be speaking of such a serious subject, but there were few young ladies as fascinated by crime and its legal implications as Lizzie Bennet. “Yesterday he said he thought a woman set the fire, and he was on my doorstep this morning telling me that this young lady most certainly entered the storehouse and set it on purpose. And since his brother died as a result, he’s bent on seeing that justice is done.”

Darcy was already shaking his head. “I don’t know, Lizzie. It sounds like a case for detectives, not for solicitors.”

“That’s precisely what my father said,” she told him, almost disapprovingly. “But Jack Mullins wants me. He read about Bingley’s case in the papers, and he said that since I solved a murder—”

“Don’t you mean we solved a murder?”

“Exactly.” She grinned. “Why else do you think I’ve come to fetch you in the middle of the day? I want you on the case with me.”

Darcy found that the concept of composure went out the window when Lizzie was nearby, for he grinned like a fool. “And what does your client have to say about that?”

“I hardly need to disclose every person I consult with to him,” she said.

But Darcy couldn’t help but wonder if this Jack wouldn’t object to Darcy’s involvement. “And your father?”

“What do you think?”

“He’d rather you be safe indoors doing paperwork?”

“Precisely,” she said. “Now, are you in or not? Or are you going to ask me what my sisters, my mother, and all the society papers will think?”

Darcy laughed then. He didn’t mean to be a wet blanket. Who was he to question her judgment or abilities when he’d seen firsthand what she was capable of? “All right,” he said. “But what will they say about all of this unchaperoned time spent together?”

He was joking, of course—it wasn’t as though seeing to business was the same thing as sneaking off to an empty room at a society ball, and Lizzie had made it perfectly clear that she cared more about closing a case than what the ton might say about who she was seen with. But a small shadow seemed to flit across Lizzie’s face.

Then she smiled and rolled her eyes. “What my mother doesn’t know has never hurt her.”

It was this Lizzie—coy and clever—that he found absolutely irresistible. When she was sitting across from him, in the close quarters of the carriage, consequences like Tomlinson and their reputations seemed to matter very little.

“All right. But I’m not walking all the way across town again.”