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

Ten

In Which Darcy Receives a Threat, and Mr. Mullins Makes a Surprising Announcement

LIZZIE SUSPECTED.

Of course she did. She was the cleverest woman he knew, and he was an idiot for thinking she wouldn’t. Just tell her , he thought. No need to keep things from her. She’d understand, you fool. She had to contend with working alongside Mr. Collins.

He arrived home to his mostly empty town house, his guilt and uncertainty nagging at him until he wondered if he ought to turn around and go back and tell Lizzie the whole story. But when he stepped into the hall past the foyer and spotted two letters on a tray, he stopped.

There was a letter from his father.

He broke into a cold sweat at the sight of his father’s handwriting. It would be weeks before his lie about working a Pemberley case with Lizzie would reach him, but he had the feeling that Tomlinson hadn’t been sending his father glowing reports of Darcy’s work for months now. What would he say?

He looked at the second letter and relaxed when he saw it was from Georgiana. All manner of upsets and frustrations were made more tolerable with his sister’s presence, and he missed her fiercely. He stepped into the study and sank into an armchair before a roaring fire, deciding he’d open Georgie’s letter first.

Pemberley, Derbyshire

Dear Fitz,

How are you? How is your work? How is Bingley? How is London? Oh, I miss London! And you, of course. How much longer do you think Papa will be abroad? It’s endlessly boring here, and I can’t wait for the season to change and for summer to bring houseguests before I perish from monotony. Speaking of perishing, have you solved any more murders with Miss Bennet? Perhaps you will bring her here for a visit so I shall not wither away into nothing before my time.

Darcy laughed, hearing his sister’s animated voice in his head. Sometimes she had to be reminded to take a breath between questions, and she left barely a space between sentences, as if she couldn’t be bothered to lift her pen too far from paper for long.

Her letter continued on with updates from her time at their country estate, scant though they were. She’d reacquainted herself with their neighbors and spent most of her time calling on them and hosting teas, walking the grounds, and playing the pianoforte. Her one bright spot of happiness was that their father had relented that she was too old for a governess and had hired her a lady’s companion by the name of Mrs. Watts, who was “old but not elderly” and “very proper, but not a bore.”

Darcy made a mental note to write her a lengthy letter in return, and soon. Perhaps he’d confide in her—not about his troubles at work, Georgie mustn’t know about that. But perhaps about Lizzie and how she seemed to balk at allowing him near her parents. Caroline Bingley hadn’t been entirely wrong earlier that day, although it had been quite rude of her to point out how overzealous Mrs. Bennet could be. Perhaps that was it, and Lizzie was embarrassed by her mother’s less than subtle attempts to see them together. He imagined what Georgie would say about that: Who cares about her mother when it’s the daughter you fancy?

He couldn’t argue with that.

Unfortunately, any good humor that Georgie’s letter brought him immediately vanished upon opening his father’s letter. It was brief, hardly worth the cost of postage.

Fitzwilliam,

Tomlinson’s updates on your work have not been satisfactory. I expect more from you. Perhaps you have too many distractions at Pemberley? Your association with Miss Bennet appears to no longer be suitable. Renew your focus on your cases, and cease wasting time with Longbourn affairs, or I shall be required to put you under my close personal supervision.

Your father,

Edward Darcy

His father’s final sentence gave Darcy pause. His father hadn’t said a word about when he’d return to London. Did that mean that he would return to London to oversee his work... or would he send for Darcy? The idea of leaving London, of leaving Lizzie, made his heart race and his fists clench, crumpling the letter. He wouldn’t leave his home. He loved his job, and despite what Tomlinson thought, he worked hard. What did that man have against him?

He had to find out. Somehow, in between his caseload and helping Lizzie find Leticia’s murderer and the Mullinses’ arsonist, he had to discover a way to endear himself to Tomlinson.

Darcy tossed the letter into the fire and was satisfied to watch as the flames licked at his father’s words. Then he shook himself out of his spiral of anxious thoughts and rang for dinner.

He had a lot of work to get through if he was to get caught up.

“You’re late,” Lizzie observed the next morning when he arrived at Longbourn I’ll bring him back.”

Darcy watched her through the wavy glass that looked out into the main area of the office and tried to shake out any tension. Lizzie was far better at this aspect of their job than he—before meeting her it never would have occurred to him that he ought to affect various personas in an attempt to wring information from clients and witnesses. He approached every situation with his normal, straightforward attitude, making no attempt to obfuscate or curry favor. But her methods had a strange way of yielding results. He hoped this time would be no different.

As Jack Mullins followed Lizzie back to the office, Darcy evaluated him. The last time Darcy had seen him, he’d been rain-soaked and frantic, but now he appeared solemn and well-dressed, in clothing that fit him nicely, which meant he had coin enough to have replaced his wardrobe already. His expression when greeting Charlotte had been polite but restrained, and now he wore a grave look as he followed Lizzie. Darcy suspected that under normal circumstances, the gentleman was likely a very cheerful fellow—he had that air about him. But the task of burying his brother and salvaging his burned-out business appeared to have worn him down.

“So grateful you could make the time for us today,” Lizzie said as she ushered Mr. Mullins into her office.

“Of course, I’m eager to hear your news.” He spotted Darcy in the corner, and confusion clouded his face. “Hello?”

“Oh, my apologies,” Lizzie said, sounding as if she’d forgotten Darcy was there. “This is my colleague Mr. Darcy. He often helps me out on cases, especially the more important ones.”

Darcy made the decision not to rise to greet Mr. Mullins, and instead nodded at him. “My condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Mullins was clearly flustered by Darcy’s presence, but he tried to recover as Lizzie closed her office door and gestured to the empty seat opposite her desk. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing in someone else.”

“At no additional charge to you, I promise. Sometimes, for the very important cases, I like to have another set of eyes on things to ensure I miss nothing.”

Mr. Mullins appeared mollified, though Darcy wasn’t certain whether it was due to Lizzie’s reassurances or because she’d emphasized twice that his case was important. He sat, giving Darcy a single sidelong glance before looking back at Lizzie. “All right, then.”

“Excellent.” Lizzie sat down at her desk and made a show of shuffling a few notes, which Darcy knew was an act. She was the most organized person he’d ever met. She moved a pile of papers, revealing a gold and pink-topaz necklace. “Do you recognize this necklace?”

Darcy felt his eyes widen in surprise as he leaned forward, momentarily forgetting his role. That was Leticia’s necklace! He recalled she’d been wearing it the day they’d called. How had Lizzie gotten it?

“Er, no? Should I?” Mr. Mullins looked back at Darcy in confusion.

“Take a closer look,” Lizzie encouraged. “Go ahead.”

Baffled, Mr. Mullins leaned forward and took the necklace from her. He inspected it briefly, turning it about, and then handed it back. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. What does it have to do with the fire?”

Lizzie didn’t answer him. “Jack, does the name Leticia Cavendish sound familiar to you?”

“Leticia Cavendish... no. I’m pretty certain I’ve never heard of her. Is she the lady who started the fire?”

“How about Josette Beaufort?”

That name gave Jack pause. “It does sound familiar. I’m not sure where I’ve heard it, though. She’s French?”

“Yes,” Lizzie confirmed.

“Is either of these women responsible for killing my brother?”

“I can’t say,” Lizzie said. “We’ve found no evidence of a tall, brunette lady who was in the vicinity of the storehouse on the day of the fire—”

“But this Miss Beaufort, and Miss Cav—Cavender?”

“Cavendish,” Darcy corrected, unable to help himself.

“Cavendish. Why are you asking me about them? Who are they?”

“Their names came up in the course of the investigation,” Lizzie confirmed. “But—and forgive me, Jack, because I know how much you want to find the person responsible—I cannot simply accuse someone without any evidence or even a motive. Why would a lady trespass upon your property and set fire to it?”

“I don’t know!” Jack’s fist came down on Lizzie’s desk with a sharp bang. Darcy nearly leapt to his feet but a stern look from Lizzie kept him in his seat. Jack seemed to realize he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry.”

Lizzie gave him one of her patient smiles, and if Darcy hadn’t been so suspicious of Mr. Mullins at this moment, it would have been entertaining to sit back and watch her work her charm.

“It’s all right, Jack. The thing is, we have very little to go on. If you don’t know why someone would want to set fire to your business, and you don’t recognize the names we’ve uncovered, I’m afraid I have run out of leads. Your foreman wouldn’t even let us into the building to inspect the damage.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Jack said. “The building surveyor said no one but workmen are allowed in or out until repairs can be made. They’ve been working on it, but the surveyor won’t be back for another week! As it is, I don’t know if it’ll be quick enough to receive our next shipment from the mills at the end of the month.”

“So soon?” Lizzie sounded genuinely surprised, and Darcy was as well. He moved quickly.

“Time is money,” Jack said. “If I have nowhere to store the cloth, then I can’t arrange to sell it.”

“It sounds difficult,” Lizzie said, sounding sympathetic. “Have you had any trouble with your exporting business? Other clients have struggled with pirates in recent years.”

Jack waved away Lizzie’s worry. “Our ships are outfitted with carronades these days. I’m sorry, but have you investigated these ladies?”

Darcy watched Lizzie steel herself for the next part. “Yes, Jack. I have. And I’m afraid that they are quite shocked to hear of the fire and the suspicions. They are involved in relief efforts for the French émigrés in your neighborhood. But they say they’ve never been to your storehouse.”

“So that’s that? A dead end?”

“Not exactly.” Lizzie looked at Darcy, and he nodded. She refocused her gaze on Jack. “Jack, Leticia Cavendish was murdered yesterday.”

A long silence followed Lizzie’s words, and Darcy watched Mr. Mullins very carefully.

Liars tended to exaggerate their facial expressions or movements. They made a point of being shocked or devastated or made loud proclamations. But Jack Mullins did neither. His body went still, and his mouth fell open, although just slightly—his reaction was of surprise and confusion. “Are you serious?”

“Very.”

The stunned silence stretched out for a few beats longer and Darcy was surprised when the man began to tremble, and then when that trembling turned into disbelieving laughter. “Murdered? The prime suspect of my brother’s death was murdered?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say she was the prime suspect,” Lizzie corrected.

“But was she tall and brunette?” Jack demanded. “She could have been there.”

“She fits the description you gave, but I cannot emphasize enough that we have no evidence placing her there. Even if she were still alive, we could hardly bring her before a court of law without proof.”

“Is that her necklace?” Jack demanded. “Why did you ask me if I recognized it? Where did you find it? Do you suspect that I killed her?”

The thought had certainly crossed Darcy’s mind, but Lizzie shook her head adamantly. “I asked if you recognized it in case you might have a connection to her that you didn’t realize. The necklace wasn’t anywhere near your storehouse.”

“And what about the other lady? The French lady?”

“Miss Josette Beaufort,” Lizzie said. “She is quite distraught about Miss Cavendish’s death.”

Jack muttered something that sounded to Darcy like “Bloody French.”

Darcy was glad then that he was situated behind Mr. Mullins, for the thunderous thoughts that swirled in his head surely were showing on his face. Composure , he reminded himself. Even Lizzie looked aghast.

“Jack, I understand that you’re upset. Truly, I do. But you must understand my position. I cannot conjure up a suspect out of nothing. If you could comb through your memories for anything your brother might have said for any sort of motive or clue—”

“So it’s now my brother’s fault he died?”

“Jack, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“No, I think I understand.” Jack rose to his feet, and Lizzie and Darcy scrambled to follow. “I thought you could help, but if there is truly nothing you can do for me—”

“That’s not what I said! Leticia Cavendish was murdered, Jack. I don’t believe that is a coincidence! But I need your help to—”

“No need,” Mullins said. “This was a mistake. You may send me a bill for your time.”

Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. “Jack!”

“Good day, Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy.”

And with that, Jack Mullins strode out of Lizzie’s office.

Lizzie wavered behind her desk, torn between running after him and staying put. “Let him go,” Darcy advised. “I don’t think you’ll be able to talk any sense into him.”

She sank into her seat. “He actually stormed out! I’ve had quite a few clients do that, but it’s always been for trivial reasons, not because they’re displeased with my work.”

Darcy moved into Jack’s vacated seat. “Don’t take it personally. I’m sure he isn’t dissatisfied. In fact, I’m convinced he’s hiding something.”

“Just because he’s upset—”

“No, it’s not that. Stop and think for a moment. The stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life was challenge Wickham to a duel over my sister’s honor. I knew it was foolish, but I did it because I care about Georgiana. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your sisters?”

That got Lizzie to pause. “Clearly he’s upset over his brother’s death.”

“Yes, but if someone had killed Jane, you would go over every detail in your mind, every conversation, just in case there was any clue as to who was responsible.”

She considered this. “Unless someone implied that Jane did anything wrong, in which case I wouldn’t believe it because Jane has never done anything wrong in her entire life.”

“Lizzie, I will not quibble with you about your sister’s goodness, but really is this the time—”

“No, Darcy, you misunderstand me! I would defend my sister’s honor because I know she’s good.” She looked at him significantly. “Jack didn’t try to defend his brother...”

“Because perhaps he knows his brother did something wrong?” Darcy finished.

The suggestion sat between them for a long moment.

“If Simon was caught up in something bad, and it got him killed, then why would Jack hire me?” she asked.

It was a fair question. “Perhaps Jack doesn’t know the full extent of it.”

Lizzie shook her head. “Or maybe he does know the full extent of it, but he didn’t know the details.”

“What details?”

Lizzie held up the necklace. “We gave him names, Darcy! Josette Beaufort and Leticia Cavendish!”

Dread washed over Darcy. “Is Josette in danger?”

“Her cousin was murdered, and we don’t know why. I think it’s fair to say she’s always been in danger.”

“We have to warn her!”

“And what if in doing so, we tip off whoever is responsible? We suspect Jack, but don’t forget that Leticia all but implied that her cousin and Mr. Hughes might not be trustworthy.”

She was right, of course. And he hated it. “We can’t do nothing.”

“We won’t,” she said, already reaching for a sheet of paper. She picked up a pen. “I shall write to Miss Dashwood and enlist her help. I’ll tell her the details of the case and request a meeting. Does nine o’clock tomorrow work for you? I’m sure she’ll clear her schedule for us and—”

A knock came at the doorway, and the two turned to find Mr. Bennet standing at the threshold of Lizzie’s office. “Good day, Mr. Darcy,” he said. “Consulting on a case, are we?”

Was it his imagination, or had Mr. Bennet’s question sounded vaguely sarcastic? “Hello, Mr. Bennet. And... yes.”

“Was that Jack Mullins I saw leaving just now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lizzie replied, looking up from her paper and setting down her pen. “He wasn’t very satisfied with what we had to tell him.”

“Ah. An occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

Darcy liked Mr. Bennet. He always had an unbothered air about him that seemed in contrast with Mrs. Bennet’s harried nature, but he was reminded in this moment that Lizzie’s father seldom missed the important things. Now he had the feeling that Mr. Bennet was about to say something neither of them would like.

“Lizzie, I’m afraid I need you.”

“Can it wait? It seems as though the crimes we’re investigating have increased and yet we are still in want of a clear suspect.”

“As unfortunate as that is, no, it cannot wait. You have other cases, my dear.”

“Papa, this is important! A woman has died.”

“And that is very tragic, but I need you for a deposition.”

“Papa—”

“Lizzie,” he sternly. “I said you could take on this case as long as you didn’t neglect your other work. Now, is anyone in imminent danger?”

Lizzie sighed. “I don’t think so, but a woman is dead—”

“No imminent danger, good. And you, young man—I imagine you also have other cases?”

Darcy resisted the urge to pull out his pocket watch and check the time. “Actually... yes.”

Lizzie glared at him. Traitor , her gaze seemed to say.

He lifted his shoulders helplessly and thought of his father’s threat. Renew your focus on your cases.

“There,” Mr. Bennet said. “That’s settled.”

“Fine,” Lizzie said, picking up her pen once more. She looked at Darcy before he left and said, “But remember—Miss Dashwood, nine o’clock tomorrow. I’m not giving up.”

He smiled as he donned his hat. “I never thought you would.”