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

Eight

In Which Lizzie and Darcy Discover Something Rotten on Rotten Row

JANE HAD BEEN CORRECT. Lizzie did not like her idea at all.

Unfortunately, it was the only one that made any sense, if Lizzie was to find a reasonable excuse for being on Rotten Row with Darcy that wouldn’t stress her mother’s nerves.

Which was why she found herself atop Georgiana’s gentle bay mare, inexplicably named Violet, the following day. It was a damp afternoon in Rotten Row, the sandy track that ran all the way from Kensington to Whitehall, but a good number of ladies and gentlemen on horseback and in open carriages were taking advantage of the weak sunlight breaking through the cloud cover.

This was not Lizzie’s idea of a good time, and even less so because she was currently in a riding party comprised of Darcy, Jane, Bingley, and, most distressingly, his sisters.

“Mr. Darcy, how wonderful of you to join us today!” Caroline Bingley exclaimed. Unlike Lizzie, she looked beautifully at ease on the back of a horse. Lizzie didn’t know much about the creatures, but this one was very tall and his shiny black coat gleamed in the midday sun. Caroline wore a handsome sapphire-blue riding habit and a smug expression as she expertly guided her mount to fall into step next to Darcy’s, ignoring Lizzie. “Whatever is the occasion?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed an occasion to exercise my horse,” Darcy replied stiffly, and with far less bite than Lizzie would have minded.

“You never come out and join us anymore,” Caroline said with a small pout. She didn’t even spare a glance at Lizzie, who was awkwardly holding her reins and trying to keep her seat a stride behind them. “You’re always so very busy.”

“Yes, well that is the nature of jobs,” Lizzie cut in. “They do require work.”

Caroline sniffed and continued to address Darcy. “I don’t know why you bother. It isn’t as though you need one.”

Lizzie noticed Darcy’s jaw tighten at that. He was awfully sensitive about his job lately. She couldn’t tell if Caroline’s words irked him because they were true, or if something else was bothering him—something to do with his never-ending workload and why Tomlinson was so very cross when she’d visited the day before.

“Caroline, leave the man alone!” Bingley said. “So what if he works a job? I work a job. And need I remind you that without Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, I might not be here!”

Lizzie had to smile at that, because it soured Caroline’s expression and because Mr. Bingley was never one to fail to give credit where credit was due, especially in regard to how Lizzie and Darcy had cleared his name of murder.

“I don’t know why you’d bring up such horrid memories, Charles,” Louisa Hurst said with a sniff. Although it hadn’t been quite a year since the murder of her husband, she was out of mourning and was surveying the nearby riders with a sharp eye. “Someone might hear.”

“My apologies,” her brother said. “But let this be a pleasant outing, please! It’s not often that I am joined by my sisters and dear friends on such a lovely spring day!”

Quietly, so no one else would hear, Lizzie leaned in her saddle toward Jane and whispered, “You are lucky that he is so charming as to make up for his sisters’ lack.”

Jane shot Lizzie a reproving look but could not argue with her.

Despite her displeasure at spending time with Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst, Lizzie had to admit that Jane’s idea was a clever one. She and Darcy had been warmly welcomed to join the party by Bingley, and Mrs. Bennet had deemed it perfectly suitable that Lizzie should take the afternoon off work to spend time seeing to her sister’s social life.

But Lizzie was beginning to wonder just how on earth they were supposed to find Leticia Cavendish in a park humming with society members, riding and driving their rigs, seeing and being seen. There were people everywhere she looked. Besides finding her, how were they supposed to have an open conversation with Leticia among all these witnesses?

With dexterity that Lizzie lacked, Darcy guided his horse to fall back in pace with Lizzie’s borrowed mare. “Watch your reins,” he advised. “Give her some slack.”

Lizzie’s body immediately tensed at the idea of letting this great creature have full control, but she forced herself to relax her grip. The mare took the opportunity to shake her head, making the bit and bridle jangle, but her stride seemed to loosen into something less choppy.

“See? Much better.” Darcy’s smile turned mischievous. “We ought to do this more often.”

“Not on your life,” Lizzie shot back. “I’m satisfied with where my own two legs can carry me, thank you.”

“Being comfortable astride a horse has numerous advantages,” Darcy said, and if Lizzie didn’t know him better she’d think he was lecturing her. “Not only are you in a position to travel quickly if need be, but it’s a good form of exercise and it allows one to socialize in a less structured setting.”

“Well, if I were actually riding astride, maybe I’d feel the same way,” Lizzie said, trying not to wriggle around too much in her sideseat saddle. “As it is I can’t help but feel as if I’ll slide off at a moment’s notice.”

Darcy had the good grace to look apologetic. “Ah. Well, yes... I can imagine that is awkward.”

Lizzie smiled at the acknowledgment, then changed the subject. “I am certain there are no fewer than eight of Mama’s acquaintances who will be calling on her to mention that two of her daughters were seen riding with the Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.”

“Do you suppose it will do anything to help your mother’s opinion of me?”

It would indeed—and that was what Lizzie was afraid of. She might be able to put her mother off with excuses that they were merely consulting on each other’s cases, but if the rest of society thought they were courting... well, nothing would invite their mother into their business quicker.

“Relax your shoulders,” Darcy instructed. “She can sense your tension.”

“Of course I’m tense—I feel as though I may topple off at any second!”

“Violet won’t let you fall. She’s far too well-mannered for that.”

“That makes one of us,” Lizzie grumbled. “If I do perish, I want you to promise to see to all my cases and ensure that Guy doesn’t fall into Lydia’s clutches.”

Darcy laughed at that. “You cannot fool me, Lizzie. I know that you likely already have a will in writing. Save your dramatic proclamations and let me know if you spot Miss Cavendish.”

“It’s impossible,” Lizzie grumbled, looking about. “What was she thinking?”

“I don’t know, but I look forward to asking her that when we spot her.”

Movement snagged her attention near the trees to her right. Lizzie didn’t turn her head, but she kept her eye on the bushes as Violet and Darcy’s Strider kept ambling along, smiling to herself.

“What is it?” Darcy asked.

“I haven’t wanted to alarm you,” Lizzie said, knowing that saying those words would put him on alert nonetheless, “but I believe we’ve acquired a tail. Or rather, I think I have.”

“What?” Darcy turned to look at her, most definitely alarmed.

“Try not to overreact—he’s watching us now,” Lizzie said. “And try to relax. I don’t think we’re in any danger.”

“Lizzie,” he said, his voice a warning.

“Over by the bench, between those two trees. Look to the left—there’s a bush that is a little taller than the rest.”

Darcy subtly tilted his head in the direction she indicated, scanning the scene. Lizzie kept her gaze forward and waited.

“Oh,” Darcy said finally. “Is that...”

“I believe so.”

She looked suddenly in the direction. There was no doubt about it now—their shadow was the boy from the storehouse. He wore a gray cap and the same green jacket from the other day. He immediately stiffened when he noticed their attention and vanished from sight.

“Oh dear,” Lizzie said. “I hope we haven’t scared him off.”

Darcy sighed. “I was afraid someone dangerous had taken to tailing you. Yesterday, outside of Cavendish House...”

Lizzie looked at him in surprise. “You saw him there? I only thought I saw him at Pemberley.”

“No, but it was more like I had a strange sense that we were being watched. When we came out of the house... well, I must have been mistaken. How long has he been following you?”

“I think since yesterday. I wasn’t certain as to his identity until just now.”

Darcy looked uneasy. “You should have said something. Just because he’s small and half-fed doesn’t mean he can’t be dangerous, Lizzie. Does he know where you live?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “But I think I can handle one small, half-fed boy.”

He groaned. “Yes, by feeding him and trying to get information out of him.”

“Why not? He seems awfully resourceful if he could make his way to Longbourn and tail me.”

“He could already have an employer, you know,” Darcy pointed out. “One that has ordered him to tail us.”

“He could,” she allowed. “But maybe not. Maybe he just needs a bit of help.”

“Homeless dogs and stray children. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Don’t fret. Their bark is usually worse than their bite.”

“Lizzie.”

“I promise.”

“Oh, am I interrupting?”

Caroline had fallen back to ride abreast of them, allowing Jane, Louisa, and Bingley to move a good ten strides ahead. “Not at all,” Lizzie lied, putting on a fake smile. “It’s uncommonly pleasant for early spring—don’t you agree, Mr. Darcy?”

“Indeed,” he said with a cough. “We ought to go riding more often.”

Lizzie tried not to feel delight at Caroline’s obvious suspicion. For someone whose brother had been cleared of murder because of Lizzie’s efforts, Caroline didn’t like her very much.

Then again, that likely had something to do with Lizzie investigating Caroline for said murder first.

“It is nice to see you both,” Caroline said, sounding so genuine that Lizzie didn’t trust her for a moment. “And I am sorry that we won’t be able to join you tomorrow evening.”

“What’s tomorrow evening?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, have I put my foot in it? I assumed you received an invitation. Dinner tomorrow, at the Bennets’. Louisa and I have a previous engagement, and I just hope Charles won’t have to cancel at the last minute.”

Lizzie winced. She’d forgotten to pass along the dinner invitation, of course. But how could she be expected to remember trivial things such as dinner invitations when she was on a case as important as this? “I—”

“Of course,” Darcy said suddenly. “Is that tomorrow night? You’ll have to forgive me, Lizzie—I had completely lost track of the days.”

“It is understandable, and there’s nothing to forgive,” Lizzie said, not glancing at Caroline. “We have been very busy of late.”

“It is regrettable that you cannot join us, Caroline,” Darcy added. “It seems as though we are always missing each other these days.”

“Hmm,” was all Caroline had to say to that. Lizzie bit her lip so she wouldn’t grin, but as it turned out she was too quick to celebrate, for the next thing out of Caroline’s mouth was, “I hope your mother wasn’t planning on going to too much trouble on our accounts, Lizzie. It was kind of her to extend an invitation when we are all barely acquainted.”

“I assure you, my mother takes great pains in all the dinners she hosts,” Lizzie told Caroline. “No matter the guests.”

“Oh, she is too much! But she must not overtax herself, the poor dear. I am sure she will make such a charming mother-in-law one day. She’s quite attentive. And always so involved .”

Lizzie would happily have throttled Caroline, if she could have reached her without unseating herself from Violet.

Darcy merely blinked. “I’m sure I don’t understand your meaning, Caroline.”

Before Caroline could further insult Lizzie’s family, a horrible shriek rent the air, causing Violet to pause midstep and flick her ears. A shocking silence echoed throughout the park, but only for a moment as another cry split the air and then, it seemed, everyone began to whisper or shout or call out at once.

At first, Lizzie couldn’t pinpoint the exact location from which the shriek had originated, and she looked about, trying to spot the source of commotion. When a third scream permeated the air, Lizzie’s head swiveled to the left. A footpath and hedges lined Rotten Row, and beyond that stood clusters of bushes, their leaves brown and dead, and copses of thick trees that almost—but not fully—obscured the view of the Serpentine in the distance. The screams were coming from beyond the riding track, where a woman stood at the edge of a very large bush.

Lizzie urged Violet in her direction.

“Lizzie, wait!” Darcy called out; and in no time at all he was alongside her, and then he’d pulled past her. Violet needed little encouragement to follow his horse and Lizzie held on as best she could. A few other concerned riders followed, but Darcy was the first to reach the screaming woman, a maid, judging by her uniform. Her mouth was wide open in horror, and her skirts were streaked with mud. As Darcy reached her, he gracefully leapt from his horse, and the maid clung to his arm, pointing behind her and babbling something incoherent.

Lizzie pulled back on the reins and followed the woman’s pointing finger.

Partially obscured by a ring of shrubbery, a woman lay upon the cold ground.

Lizzie couldn’t see her face, but she could tell something was very wrong with her. She was too still, and she looked crumpled, as though she’d fainted. But Lizzie guessed that by the maid’s screams, this was no faint.

“Stay back,” Darcy warned her as she clumsily dismounted, but Lizzie paid him no heed. Getting off Violet was far easier than getting on, and as soon as she had feet on solid ground, she ran past the sobbing maid and followed Darcy to where he crouched beside the woman. She heard him swear under his breath and then he turned and stood, trying to block her view.

“Is she...?” Lizzie asked, trying to look beyond him.

“Yes.” The word came out ragged, and Lizzie looked up in surprise.

Darcy’s face was stricken and pale, and he looked... hopeless. Fear thundered through Lizzie’s heart and she ducked under his arm and looked at the lifeless woman’s face and gasped.

It was Leticia Cavendish.

At first, all Lizzie could see was her eyes—blue as the summer sky, wide open and unseeing. Other details emerged slowly—her hat, knocked off her head. Her hair, lightly mussed. The gray riding habit streaked with mud on the skirts.

“But how... why...?” She turned and looked back at Darcy, who seemed fixed in place. “Darcy!”

“There’s nothing we can do,” he said, drawing her away. Lizzie let him, and closed her eyes against the horrid image of Leticia’s eyes open and unseeing, her awkward slump on the cold, dead grass.

More bystanders were approaching now, and the screaming maid was being consoled by another lady. A few men came up to Darcy, demanding to know what was going on.

“Send for the Runners,” was all Darcy said, refusing to let anyone else approach. “No one shall touch her until the Runners arrive.”

Shock and horror roiled through Lizzie as she stood next to Darcy, facing the growing crowd. A few distraught wails rose up among the gathering and at least two ladies swooned, but Lizzie guessed that had less to do with genuine shock and more with the number of handsome young men willing to catch them. Lizzie set her face grimly, not wanting to show any emotion, but as she stared at the passersby, questions began to boil up inside her. What had happened to Leticia? Who had waylaid her? And how had they managed to kill her in a park full of people?

She assessed the scenery around them. They were tucked into a pocket of the park that boasted plenty of trees and shrubbery, obscuring their position from the track of Rotten Row. Not completely hidden by any means, but hidden enough from the flow of riders that as long as someone wasn’t looking directly at them...

Lizzie turned and forced herself to look at Leticia.

She’d seen a dead body before, of course. While working to clear Bingley’s name, she’d befriended a maid named Abigail, who’d worked in the home of the slain Mr. Hurst; and Lizzie had arrived minutes after Abigail had been pulled from the Thames, drowned because she’d helped Lizzie. And she’d seen the life fade from Wickham’s face after he’d been shot by Lady Catherine de Bourgh. This was somehow both the same, and completely different. It was never not shocking to see the human form completely empty of life. Leticia was pale, as Abigail had been, although she wasn’t soaking wet, but her face was twisted into a horrible expression—shock, and anger, and... terror?

Perhaps Lizzie had too vivid an imagination.

“What are you doing?” Darcy hissed as Lizzie took a step closer to Leticia, but Lizzie didn’t respond. In the distance, she could hear the shrill of the Runners’ whistles and she knew she didn’t have much time.

Lizzie avoided looking into Leticia’s eyes, which had been so full of fire the day before, as she removed her gloves, reached out a trembling hand, and touched Leticia’s cheek. It was cool, but even her own cheeks were cold in the early spring air.

“Lizzie!” Darcy hissed, appalled.

She didn’t respond. Her hand dropped to Leticia’s neck, searching for a pulse. Nothing, but... she was still slightly warm. It was then that Lizzie noticed the redness around Leticia’s neck, which had been partially obscured by the way her riding jacket’s collar had ridden up.

Leticia Cavendish had been strangled.

“She was murdered,” Lizzie said in a whisper to Darcy, her eyes already searching the crowd. “And not very long ago.”

She surveyed the scene once more, trying to envision how this sad fate might have befallen Leticia Cavendish. She was wearing a riding habit—where was her horse? Lizzie looked about the ground, trying to discern if any hoof marks could be seen, but she saw nothing that would indicate a heavy creature. Had Leticia been lured away from her horse to a hidden grove on foot?

In the grass, a mere five paces away, she saw something glint in the weak spring sunshine.

She strode over to inspect the object, which was gold and clearly very fine. She picked it up and wasn’t entirely surprised to see it was Leticia’s necklace with its pink topaz pendant hanging from a heavy chain, the clasp broken. It appeared to be unblemished and the gems were intact. Lizzie turned it over, wondering if it was too much to hope for that it would bear an inscription of some sort, some hint at who had been important enough to her to gift her such a fine piece. But there was nothing.

Had this been a robbery, then? But if someone was so bold as to kill a woman in a busy park in the middle of the day, then why drop a valuable piece of jewelry? Unless they’d been in such a hurry to get away...

“Let us pass! Move along!”

The imperious tone of the Runners startled Lizzie, and she pocketed the necklace before she thought it through. Instinct told her the necklace was important, and she didn’t trust the Runners not to “lose” it.

Normally, whenever Lizzie and Darcy had to deal with authority figures, they were in grudging agreement that it was best for Darcy to step up and do the talking, and, once they were lulled into a false sense of security, Lizzie would dart in with her questions. But when the Runner looked between them and Leticia’s still form and barked, “What happened here?” Darcy didn’t say a single word.

Uneasiness grew as murmuring from the crowd heightened, and Lizzie realized that Darcy was incapable of assuming his normal role. She stepped forward and said, “She’s dead, sir. We heard a scream and my companion and I came riding over to see if we could assist. The maid over there found the body. We tried to see if we could offer any assistance, but...”

She felt herself falter. It wasn’t the heavy stare of the Runner that overwhelmed her as much as it was the futility of the situation. Leticia Cavendish was dead. Someone had killed her before she’d had a chance to meet with Lizzie and Darcy.

The Runner nodded sharply, seeming to take her reaction for shock. In short order, two Runners stood guard over Leticia’s body and two more began to try to disperse the crowd. Another sidled up to the man in charge and whispered, “Undertaker or doctor?”

The head Runner made a pained face. “She’s one of this lot”—nodding at the members of the ton watching on in horror. “Call a doctor.”

“Her name is Leticia Cavendish,” Darcy said suddenly. “Her family ought to be notified.”

The Runner in charge gave him a sidelong look. “And will you be willing to do that, sir? On account of you knowing her and all?”

Lizzie peered up at Darcy. His trademark stern expression was in place, but Lizzie could tell that this was not Darcy just being aloof. He swallowed hard and nodded.

Lizzie and Darcy were ushered off to the side, and someone gave up their coat to cover Leticia’s lifeless face while they waited. “Darcy,” Lizzie whispered, unsure of what she was going to say next: Are you all right? What should we do now? What does it mean for this case?

But Darcy just shook his head.

All right then, Lizzie thought. Time to step up.

“Sir,” she said to the head Runner, tightening her fist around the necklace. “That young lady was killed.”

He gave her a passing glance. “I know, I know, right upsetting, it is.”

Lizzie might have rolled her eyes, if the situation hadn’t been so serious. “Her murderer might still be in the park,” she hissed.

Now the man did look at her, and he seemed to take stock of her. He smiled in a condescending way that made Lizzie’s scalp prickle. “Now, don’t worry, miss. You’re safe enough. No one will try anything untoward in this crowd.”

Never mind that Leticia Cavendish had likely thought the same thing. “I am less concerned about my welfare than I am about a murderer on the loose. Don’t you think your men ought to canvas the park for witnesses?”

It was what Lizzie would do if she were in charge. She’d order that this section of the park be cordoned off, and that reinforcements be brought in. Then she’d have every single person questioned—who knew what someone might have seen!

The man looked affronted. “Whoever did that poor girl in is long gone. The sad truth is that it was likely some ruffian who saw her alone and took his chance to rob her. She might have struggled or attempted to fight back, and...” He shrugged, as if Lizzie could finish the story.

Except, there were about five things wrong with that theory. First of all, Leticia was wearing a riding habit, suggesting that she had a horse somewhere that had yet to be recovered and that someone would have had to lure her off of her mount. Second, no young lady willingly went behind a copse of trees with someone she didn’t know, and certainly not with any strange men that could be rightly classified as ruffians. Third, the park was crowded, and if Leticia had feared for her safety, all she would have had to do was call out or scream for help. Fourth, strangling was an intimate, personal way to kill a person—you had to get close enough to lay hands on them, and it took considerable force and time to kill them. If someone had managed to get close enough to her in order to strangle her without Leticia drawing any attention, that suggested it had been someone she trusted.

And fifth, the person had dropped the necklace. The same necklace that Lizzie was now glad she’d kept from this imperceptive man.

Lizzie turned to Darcy. “Tell them they need to search for evidence,” she demanded.

Darcy still wore that strange, wooden look. He shook his head. “I have to reach Josette. She cannot hear about this from one of these Runners.”

“But...” Lizzie trailed off when she realized Darcy wasn’t listening. He was looking around for his horse, and she realized that he meant to go now .

Behind the line of Runners stood Bingley, holding each of their horses. Darcy strode toward him and Lizzie scrambled to follow. “Darcy!” she hissed.

“There’s nothing more we can do here,” he said. “The Runners wouldn’t dare detain this many members of the ton. Most of them are probably halfway home, anyway.”

Lizzie looked about and had to admit that he was right. Many of the riders had already cleared out, and the ones that remained were looking on in a most obvious fashion. She caught a glimpse of a man walking purposefully in the opposite direction, and her heart skipped a beat—perhaps it was someone who’d seen something? But then a horse obscured her view and by the time it had passed, he was gone.

She turned back to Darcy. “What are we supposed to do? She was our only lead!”

“I need to tell Josette, and ensure she isn’t in danger,” Darcy whispered. “If someone is targeting her cousin, she could be next.”

Darcy had a point. But Lizzie couldn’t help but feel as though someone might have seen something in the park and she couldn’t give up so quickly. “Go. You’ll be able to ride faster without me.”

“And leave you?”

“I’m hardly alone,” Lizzie said, tilting her head toward where Bingley waited anxiously with the horses. “Go quickly. Call on me when you’re finished.”

They were surrounded by far too many people for Lizzie to dare reach out for him, despite her wish to cling to him for a moment, and feel the reassuring warmth of his solid chest and arms around her. Darcy held her gaze for a long moment, and she knew his thoughts were not far from her own. Finally, he nodded and mounted his horse, and kicked him into a canter, ignoring the cries of protest from other riders and the shocked gasps.

Bingley was left holding Violet. “Your sister is with Caroline and Louisa on the other side of the track,” he told her. “Louisa became dizzy when she heard....”

“That’s all right,” Lizzie said, doing some quick thinking. “Can the groom take Violet back to the stable? I need to see to a few more questions and arrangements. The young lady who was killed was connected to our case, and I need answers.”

Bingley’s eyes widened in alarm. “You intend to walk home? Miss Elizabeth, a young lady has been murdered!”

“And the killer is quite in the wind,” Lizzie responded. “I can prevail upon one of the Runners to escort me to a carriage to take me home.”

“I don’t think Darcy would like this one bit,” he said.

Lizzie appreciated Bingley’s concern, but why were some men so chivalrous when others were so rotten? Not that Lizzie knew for certain that it was a man who had killed Leticia... after all, Lizzie had met at least one female killer. But somehow it was always other men that young ladies were taught to fear, even as they were told that men were their protectors.

It made very little sense.

“Please, see to your sisters. And mine, for that matter. I’m sure Jane is very upset. I can take care of myself.” Lizzie pretended to wave a man behind Bingley’s back. “Oh, in fact, I see a colleague now. Don’t worry about me!”

“Are you absolutely certain?” Bingley asked, looking over his shoulder in the direction of Jane.

“Positively!”

Bingley reluctantly led Violet away, and Lizzie was rather relieved. There was not a chance that she’d be able to remount the horse with her dignity intact, and now she could move more easily in between the curious onlookers and the Runners who arrived on the scene. In her pocket, Leticia’s necklace felt heavy, but Lizzie was now past surveying the murder scene—she blended seamlessly into the crowd of onlookers, crossed the grassy area shielded by the copse of trees, and emerged onto the clear slope above the track. She walked with a steady gait and kept her eyes forward until she drew close to the row of hedges that ran between the slope and footpath that followed Rotten Row. With a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, she judged her moment—and made her move.

Reaching down and over the hedges, her fist closed around the collar of a shabby green jacket. The small body in her grasp froze, then began to thrash; but Lizzie had made sure she grasped the boy’s shirt beneath his jacket as well, so there was no easy way for him to shrug off her hold.

A pair of frightened blue eyes looked up at her and Lizzie looked down, stern but kind.

“Hello,” she said. “I think it’s time you and I had a proper chat.”