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

Nine

In Which Lizzie Consults an Unconventional Source

THE BOY’S NAME WAS Henry.

It had taken Lizzie a few minutes to convince him that she wasn’t about to hurt him, haul him to the workhouse, or report him to the Runners, and another minute more to convince herself that he wasn’t about to run off before she finally released him. The boy’s eyes were wide, his face grimy, and his clothes were baggy, as if he’d begged for—or, more likely, stolen—them. He seemed no more comfortable standing in the middle of the park than Lizzie would be in the middle of a ballroom, so Lizzie said, “How about some mince pies?”

The boy’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.

Lizzie took a gamble. “I know a good street vendor. Come along.”

She began to walk toward the park’s exit, hoping that if the boy had followed her halfway around London, he’d probably be willing to follow her a few blocks to a warm, free meal.

She was right.

Lizzie was silent as they walked to the closest market, and then found a vendor of mince pies whose hands and apron looked the cleanest. She bought two pies and took a seat on a nearby rough-hewn bench. Henry watched warily, out of arm’s reach but he sat on the far end of the bench when Lizzie held out one of the pies, and accepted it with a nod, then wolfed it down.

Lizzie waited until his last bite before she said, “Now, maybe you’d be so kind as to tell me exactly why you’ve been following me?”

The boy froze, and then when he realized that she wasn’t angry, he broke into a bashful smile. “You left your card,” he said.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “That I did.”

Henry shrugged, as if it was neither here nor there if she asked him stupid questions, but what he didn’t realize was that he’d revealed something very interesting to Lizzie: he could read.

And now Lizzie was truly intrigued.

She’d had her fair share of interactions with street children and paid a number of them to run errands and keep an eye on various matters for her. One of her favorites, Fred, was now apprenticed to a printer, which was no small feat for him considering that before last year, he hadn’t even known how to spell his own name.

Henry, she suspected, had not grown up on the streets.

Lizzie handed him her untouched mince pie, and he happily bit into it. “Do you live near the Mullins Brothers storehouse?” she asked.

“Don’t live nowhere,” the boy said around his second bite.

“But you hang about there at times? And you notice things.”

Henry neither confirmed nor denied, but he stopped eating and regarded her warily.

“Perhaps you’ve seen that woman before, the one who was murdered in the park?”

“The French lady,” the boy agreed. “She’s nice to people like us.”

People like us? “Children who live on the streets?”

Henry nodded. “Grown-ups, too.”

Lizzie thought back to the previous day. Josette had admitted to helping refugees, but through a relief society. Had Leticia taken things one step further and gone to meet the émigrés in the streets? “Are you sure it was she, and not her cousin? They look alike.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “There was only ever just one lady. She brought us food. And one time, mittens.”

“Do you mean she brought them to you, where you lived?”

The boy nodded again, looking at Lizzie as if she were extremely dense.

Leticia Cavendish was a do-gooder, then. And more likely to help people where they were rather than dispense aid from a drawing room.

But why?

Perhaps she was a kind person. Or it could be that she had an ulterior motive. Lizzie thought of the challenging stance that Leticia had adopted when Lizzie and Darcy had revealed the reason for their visit, the way she seemed to needle Josette and Mr. Hughes. She hadn’t been fearful at all but rather almost amused.

What had been her angle?

Henry had finished the second mince pie and was watching Lizzie warily. Lizzie found herself at a loss for words. Why on earth had this little boy decided to follow her? He appeared both hungry for her attention and skittish of what she might ask next.

Which led her to wonder... had he seen something?

“I don’t think the men who own the storehouse that burned much like the people Miss Cavendish was helping.”

“They don’t like anyone,” Henry countered, matter of fact.

“Oh?”

Lizzie waited. It didn’t take long for Henry to fill the silence. “Everyone knows not to sleep on their side of the street. They kick at us and throw rocks. Sometimes buckets of filth.”

Lizzie tried to control her sharp intake of breath but was unsuccessful. A part of her wanted to say, But surely not Jack! Instead, she said, “I’m sorry, Henry. That was very wrong of them.”

“Do you have the dog?”

“The dog... Guy?” Lizzie asked.

He nodded.

“Yes, I took him home. Mr. Parry said no one wanted him, and he was going to turn him out into the streets.”

Henry nodded, and looked down. “That’s good, miss,” he mumbled, sounding sad. “He’s a good dog.”

Lizzie was at a loss as she realized that if Henry were a dog, she would think nothing of sweeping him up in her arms and taking him home with her. But he wasn’t a dog, he was a human boy. And it was the cruelest of ironies that some people treated dogs better than other human beings.

“You can always call on me if you need anything, you know,” Lizzie began to say.

But she didn’t get very far before Henry jumped to his feet and ran, faster than she thought possible. By the time she got to her feet, he was gone.

When Lizzie arrived home at Gracechurch Street, she was dissatisfied and distraught by the day’s events. Therefore, her mood was not helped when Jane met her at the door with a worried expression.

“Darcy’s here,” she whispered to Lizzie as she stepped inside, “and Mama has been questioning him in the drawing room for almost a quarter of an hour!”

“She’s asking him what his intentions are!”

Lizzie looked beyond Jane to see Lydia with her ear pressed to the closed door. “Lydia, stop eavesdropping!”

She pushed past her youngest sister and let herself into the drawing room.

Darcy was seated in the corner, looking incredibly uncomfortable, while Mrs. Bennet leaned forward in her chair, clearly in the middle of interrogating him. Darcy leapt to his feet upon spotting Lizzie, and Mrs. Bennet spun around to glare at her daughter.

“Mama! What are you doing?”

“How nice of you to join us, Elizabeth. I was just speaking with Mr. Darcy about your outing today.”

“Oh?” Lizzie looked at Darcy, trying to discern whether he’d told her mother about Leticia.

“Am I to understand that he took you and Jane to the scene of a murder ?” Mrs. Bennet screeched.

“That’s hardly fair, Mama! We didn’t know that Rotten Row would become a murder scene when we set out.”

Mrs. Bennet turned to Darcy. “I cannot approve of you exposing my daughters to such things, sir!”

“I assure you, Mrs. Bennet, if I had known that such a thing would happen, and in Hyde Park, no less—”

“Darcy, please!” Lizzie interrupted. “Even you cannot predict when a suspect might be murdered! Besides, Bingley was there, too, and you don’t hold him accountable, do you?”

Unfortunately, bringing up Mr. Bingley had been the wrong choice, for it seemed to remind Mrs. Bennet of marriage. “Mr. Darcy, you are spending an inordinate amount of time with my daughter, are you not?”

Lizzie tried to silently communicate with her eyes that Darcy should not answer that question, but he clearly didn’t receive the message, for he responded with, “Er... yes?”

“And do you think that it is appropriate for you to do so when you have not called on Mr. Bennet and expressed your intentions? Even your friend Mr. Bingley calls frequently.”

“Mama!” Lizzie admonished. “I’m a solicitor now, which means I must conduct business with all sorts of people—some of them gentlemen, and, yes, some of them unmarried gentlemen. They cannot all come to Papa and ask for permission for me to merely have a conversation with them.”

“Yes, but you’re doing far more than having a conversation with Mr. Darcy, aren’t you? You’re... working! Together . So much time spent in each other’s company—what will people think?”

“I don’t care what the gossips say, Mama! I care about solving my cases.”

“Wait until your father hears about this,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Not a single one of you has any compassion for my nerves! This enterprise of yours is too much—you’re in and out of the house at all hours, young men coming and going, and now you’re arriving home unchaperoned when you were supposed to be with Jane.”

Lizzie was not normally one without a rebuttal, but her mother’s words stole the breath from her lungs. Her mother wouldn’t bar her from working, would she? No, she couldn’t. Papa wouldn’t let her. But what if—

“Mrs. Bennet, if I may,” Darcy cut in. “I apologize for any distress I might have caused you. I assure you that wasn’t my intention, but I can see how the events of the day might be... alarming. What can I do to reassure you?”

Mrs. Bennet put both hands to her forehead. “I am not unfeeling, Mr. Darcy. I want nothing more than for my girls to be happy and cared for.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“But you must understand my position. I only catch glimpses of you, if ever, and my dear friends tell me they see you about town stepping out with my daughter; and in the meantime I have to pretend that I know anything about it!”

“Mama—”

“Hush, Lizzie! Mr. Darcy, we must see more of you socially. You’ll come to dinner tomorrow.”

“Of course, Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy said. “I would be delighted.”

“Mama. May I please consult with Darcy?” Lizzie asked through gritted teeth. “As you may be aware, our case has taken a dire turn.”

Mrs. Bennet waved her hand, “Of course, of course. But, Lizzie—leave the door open, please! And Lydia and Kitty will stay in the hall.”

Mrs. Bennet sailed out of the drawing room triumphantly, leaving Lizzie and Darcy mostly alone.

Lizzie sank into the nearest chair. “Well, that was a nightmare. I’m sorry about her.”

“I wasn’t aware our association bothered her quite that much,” Darcy said quietly, taking the seat next to her. “You do realize that I am not averse to calling and coming to dinner?”

“It’s not our association,” Lizzie reassured him, eager to steer the subject away from social calls and the inevitable expectations that followed. “It’s that we are here speaking of a murder case rather than... well, never mind. How did it go with Josette?”

It was as though a veil passed across Darcy’s face and he appeared even more somber than he had when she arrived. “It was awful, Lizzie.”

Lizzie bit her lip, but she wasn’t sure what to say. He took a moment to collect his thoughts and then continued. “She was surprised to see me, of course. Her butler very nearly didn’t let me in. Mr. Hughes was calling, and so I had to tell them both that Leticia had been killed.”

Lizzie could imagine the scene—the surprise, then shock. The shouted questions and disbelief. She reached out and took Darcy’s hand in hers.

“Mr. Hughes thought I was playing a prank on Josette—as if I’d ever joke about someone’s death. Josette was in a state of disbelief. Then the Runners arrived, along with the doctor they’d called and the wagon with her body, and well. That was that.”

“I’m sorry,” Lizzie whispered.

She couldn’t read Darcy’s expression just then—she sensed anguish, but something else lurking under the surface. Was there something more to his relationship with Josette that he wasn’t saying? But before she could think of a way to broach that topic, he shook his head. “Where were you? I seem to remember a conversation in which you implied you’d stay with Jane and Bingley and come straight home.”

“Was that implied? I don’t recall—”

“Lizzie! Leticia was murdered in broad daylight.”

“You’re right, sorry. But remember our little shadow?”

“The boy? You spotted him?”

“I did, and I managed to have a conversation with him. He claims not to have seen anything, so don’t get too excited. But he told me that Leticia has visited them in the streets before, talking with other refugees and bringing aid. I asked if he was sure if it was Leticia and not her cousin, and I didn’t get a straight answer either way, but... I think I can imagine Leticia not being content to dole out aid from some parish hall, but I don’t know if Josette would have the constitution to venture to the docks.”

“Agreed,” Darcy murmured. “Josette was a child when she left France, but if Leticia only recently joined her in London, perhaps she felt a greater connection to her fellow French émigrés and wished to visit them where they worked and lived.”

“Which places her very near the storehouse,” Lizzie concluded grimly. “So how did she get caught up in the mess of this case?”

“I would suggest asking Josette, but considering the circumstances, I think that would be... too much.”

Lizzie agreed, but she really did want to know more about the young woman. In the hall, she heard a creak, followed by a smothered giggle, which reminded her of their little audience. Which reminded her of her mother. Which reminded her...

“I have an idea,” she told him begrudgingly. “Prepare yourself.” Sighing heavily, Lizzie called out, “Mama?”

Not ten seconds later, her mother poked her head into the doorway. “Yes, my dear? What is it?”

“May Darcy and I consult with you for a moment?”

“Consult? Why, Lizzie, what a funny way you have with words. I shall ring for tea, and call in your sisters, and we can all have a nice visit—”

“No, Mama, I really do mean consult. Darcy and I have a question for you about our case. I think you may be able to shed some light on... a potential suspect.”

“I shall call for tea,” Mrs. Bennet repeated firmly, “and you two shall sit down in a civilized manner!”

Which was how Lizzie and Darcy found themselves sitting across from Mrs. Bennet as she poured tea and beamed at them. Lizzie took a tiny sip, and said, “Mama, do you recall that we went to visit Cavendish House yesterday?”

“Indeed. I trust it was a nice visit?”

Darcy grimaced, and Lizzie rushed to say, “It was a little sad, actually. Mama, did you know Mrs. Cavendish has passed away?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “It was in the papers—what was it, six months? Such a sad life she had, poor woman. She lost both of her children, you know?”

Lizzie saw Darcy lean forward just the tiniest bit. “And can you tell us about them?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Lizzie—it was so long ago.”

“You mentioned that her daughter ran off with a Frenchman,” Lizzie prompted.

“Yes, it was quite the scandal at the time! She left in the middle of the night, and they didn’t marry until they were in France, from what I heard! This was before their troubles, of course.”

By troubles, she meant the Revolution.

“And they had a child?” Lizzie prompted. “Josette Beaufort.”

“Is that her name? I do recall hearing about the girl, although not until years later when she returned to England. You see, what with all the unpleasantness happening in France, I believe her mother was never able to return to England. She died without ever having reconciled with her parents. Some attempts were made, of course, to get her and her child out of France, but well... such an unpleasant topic for tea, Lizzie!”

“Attempts?” Darcy asked.

“The Cavendishes were very wealthy, Mr. Darcy. They hired many people to try to return their daughter and granddaughter to them, all unsuccessful—why, even her son went in search of his sister.”

Darcy and Lizzie glanced at each other. Leticia’s father?

“What happened to him?” Lizzie asked.

Mrs. Bennet had just taken a sip of her tea, so they had to wait for her to swallow, lower her teacup, and delicately pat her lips with a handkerchief. “Oh, I don’t know—there were some rumors that he found himself a French wife and decided to stay, but I can’t remember. He was always a bit of a radical, I think. Either way, he never returned and I definitely remember reading that he’d passed.”

“And... did he have any children?”

“How should I know?” Mrs. Bennet harrumphed. “So much interest in the past! I don’t see how any of this ancient history is helpful for your case!”

“You’ve been incredibly helpful, madam,” Darcy reassured her. Mrs. Bennet preened at the praise, and then proceeded to take up the next quarter of an hour asking Darcy about the health of his sister, his father’s travels, and their country estate.

Meanwhile, Lizzie was thinking. Leticia was the child of Mrs. Cavendish’s lost son, but she had grown up with Josette, which implied that Leticia’s father had reunited with his sister after all. And for whatever reason, they’d decided to stay in France rather than return to England—perhaps it had been safer to stay put than to risk life and freedom making the journey across the Channel to England. But why, then, had Josette found her way to London while Leticia had been left behind? And what had brought Leticia to England now?

When Mrs. Bennet was satisfied with her social visit with Mr. Darcy, he finally stood to take his leave. Lizzie saw him to the door. “I wish you could stay—I still have so many questions.”

“If I impose upon your mother’s hospitality any longer, she’ll start planning a wedding,” Darcy joked.

Lizzie’s eyes widened in shock. “Never mind! We’ll sort it out later.”

“Lizzie, I was only joking—”

“We must speak with Mr. Mullins!” she interrupted, not eager to discuss her mother’s hopes and dreams for her future. “I want to question him without him realizing we’re questioning him.”

Darcy didn’t immediately agree, and Lizzie could tell he wanted to say something. Please don’t bring up my mother , she thought, and was relieved when he nodded and said, “I’ll be curious to see his reaction to the news that Leticia Cavendish is dead,” he said, setting his hat upon his head. “Can you arrange a meeting for tomorrow? You can ask him questions under the guise of updating him about the case.”

“I’ll write him this evening,” she said. “But can you come as well?”

He hesitated, but then nodded. “See if Mullins can meet in the morning, before I have to report to Pemberley.”

His caginess gave her pause. “Darcy, is there something going on at work?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything is fine—why do you ask?”

Because he hesitated whenever she brought up Pemberley. Because Mr. Tomlinson had seemed quite insistent that she not bother him. And because after nearly a year of working together, she had a sense for when he wasn’t being entirely truthful.

But she smiled. “Never mind. I shall see you tomorrow.”