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

Seventeen

In Which Lizzie and the Dashwoods Make a Series of Inadvisable Decisions

“LIZZIE, I DON’T THINK he’s coming,” Marianne whispered.

Lizzie repressed a sigh, even though she knew Marianne was right. “Just a few minutes more.”

It had not been difficult to convince the Dashwood sisters to join her on a nighttime stakeout of the Mullins Brothers storehouse. Marianne and Margaret had been downright eager, and Elinor reluctant, and then there had been the small matter of telling Margaret that she wouldn’t be joining them. The row that ensued had made Lizzie’s arguments with Lydia look like child’s play, but eventually Elinor and Marianne had overruled their younger sister, and she had sullenly agreed that Lizzie’s case was too important for her to rat them out to Mrs. Dashwood.

Which was how they’d found themselves sneaking out of their respective homes in the middle of the night and meeting on a darkened street corner before making their way to the Mullins Brothers storehouse. Lizzie had not given up hope that Darcy would appear at the Dashwoods’ shop or meet them there—had he not gotten her message? Had something happened to him, or to Henry?

The worry was eating her alive.

“Lizzie, I think we really ought not to wait any longer,” Marianne said. “We run the risk of getting caught.”

Lizzie knew she was right. And what’s more, she could feel Elinor and Marianne’s nervous energy as they huddled together, just out of sight from the storehouse down the street. They’d been standing there for more than a half hour, their cloaks woefully insufficient against the early spring chill, which still held the bite of winter.

If Darcy wasn’t coming, there was no use wasting precious time. “All right,” she conceded.

“I just want to state for the record that I am not fond of this plan,” Elinor hissed.

“Noted,” Marianne and Lizzie said in unison. Nonetheless, the trio approached with caution.

Earlier, Marianne had made Lizzie draw them a crude map of the storehouse, its entrances, the scaffolding surrounding it, and the nearby buildings so they’d know how to approach in the dark. Lizzie wasn’t sure what to expect when they got inside, but they decided they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

“Ready?” Marianne asked.

“Ready,” Lizzie confirmed, pushing Darcy to the back of her mind.

“I suppose,” Elinor said, resigned.

The trio kept to the shadows close to the buildings, creeping up to the alleyway between the storehouse and the blacksmith, where Lizzie had first spotted Henry. They slipped farther down the alley, taking care not to stumble over the uneven ground. Just like the last time she’d been here, the scaffolding and flimsy wall was still erect around the side of the building, but the smell of newly cut wood hung in the air.

Lizzie searched for the best spot to get past the wall while the Dashwoods kept watch. Even in the alley they were too exposed to risk lighting any of the candles they’d brought with them, so Lizzie had to go by feel alone, search for any weakness or possible foothold for climbing over. She found a gap between two boards and pushed. The wall wobbled but held.

“Here,” she whispered.

But she’d no sooner uttered the words than a weak light lit up the darkness. All three ladies stilled, and Lizzie’s heart flew into her throat.

“Oy, who’s there?” called a voice.

Lizzie recognized the voice—it was Parry, the foreman. They’d known there was a chance that someone would be standing guard, but they hadn’t seen him at all in their reconnaissance. From the direction of his voice and the weak light, he was at the front of the building, but the light was moving closer to them.

“Go,” Marianne whispered. “I’ll distract him!”

Before Lizzie could question her, Marianne was trotting toward the street. “Marianne!” Elinor hissed after her, but her sister disappeared around the corner.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Lizzie refocused her attention on the foothold she found. It was at approximately hip height. “Elinor, give me a boost.”

“Hurry,” Elinor said, kneeling in the mud to offer her knee and hand to Lizzie. In the distance, they could hear the sound of Marianne’s voice calling out a greeting. She sounded merry, and although Lizzie couldn’t quite make out what she was saying as she hoisted herself up on Elinor’s knee, she could hear Marianne’s words slur together.

Elinor let out a small grunt, but Lizzie worked quickly. From there, she wedged her foot into the foothold and stretched to reach the top of the fence. She wobbled, but her fingers couldn’t quite reach. As she braced her palms against the rough wood, she felt her center of balance tip.

“Got it?” Elinor huffed.

“Not... quite!”

“Hold on.” And before Lizzie could guess at what would come next, Elinor’s hands came beneath her foot and she lifted Lizzie the last little stretch she needed to grasp the top of the wall—and just in time, too. Elinor let go with a small “oof” but between her grasp on the top of the wall and her foothold, Lizzie was able to push up with her leg and pull up with both arms. Muscles she had not realized she had screamed in protest, and once she had lifted herself up, Lizzie realized that she now had to find a way over . And then down.

“Surely you’re jesting!” Marianne protested. “Why, a big building like that and there’s nowhere for a lady to relieve herself inside?”

Lizzie had to gulp back a laugh. Marianne sounded drunk.

“No,” came Parry’s gruff response. “Move along.”

Lizzie kicked her free foot over the edge of the fence, gritting her teeth as the hard edge of the board cut into the softness of her belly. But luckily for her, the drop was not far, for there was a platform a mere two feet down on the other side. She fell shakily onto it.

“No? But surely you aren’t being entirely forthcoming?” Marianne’s voice sounded cajoling. “I know you don’t let in just anyone off the streets, but I am not just anyone, sir!”

“Lizzie?” Elinor whispered.

Lizzie’s heart was racing but she sat up and peered over the edge. “Fine!”

“You’re trouble!” Parry said, sounding louder. “You look like you come from around here, but that don’t mean you’re not trouble like the rest of them.”

“How dare you!” Marianne exclaimed, and Lizzie noticed that she sounded closer, too. She rose to a crouch and looked toward the street. The corner of the building obstructed her view, despite the advantage of her elevation, but she could see light bobbing about, like a lantern being carried by someone approaching.

“Elinor!” she whispered, looking down. “You have to come up! Now!”

“I can’t!” came the scandalized response.

“See here,” Marianne shouted. “Do you mean to march me up this street, sir?”

That was as good of a warning as any.

Lizzie missed Parry’s response. She kneeled on the platform of the scaffolding and reached her hand down to Elinor. The other young lady looked wildly about, as if there were any other option to be found in a dark alley. Out of the corner of her eye Lizzie could see the lantern light drawing closer. “Hurry!”

Elinor was taller than Lizzie, with longer legs, so she hoped it would be enough that she could reach and pull her up. But Elinor’s foot could not reach the foothold that Lizzie had used without getting hopelessly tangled in her skirts. Lizzie looked on desperately as she heard Parry say, “I aim to march you ’round the perimeter of this buildin’ and see what sort of distraction you believe yourself to be!”

Elinor heard his words, too. And in a move that shocked Lizzie, she reached down, pulled her skirts up to her waist, exposing her drawers, and placed her foot in the hold. Then, she hopped from her other foot, giving herself the boost she needed to catch Lizzie’s outstretched hand.

Lizzie had thought she was prepared to haul Elinor up, but despite being rather willowy in build, Elinor was much heavier than Lizzie had anticipated. She gritted her teeth and clenched Elinor’s hand while Elinor’s other hand came to clutch Lizzie’s wrist in return. Using the exhilaration that came with the fear of being caught, Lizzie hauled Elinor up until she was close enough that Lizzie could grab her waist and pull her over the wall. They dropped onto their bellies on the gritty platform and tried to breathe silently as they heard Marianne protest, “Sir, what is down this dark alley? I hope you aren’t about to take advantage of a lady! I warn you, I shall scream.”

Parry didn’t respond immediately, but Lizzie could sense his confusion as she heard his boots tromp down the alley and saw the light from the lantern throw wild shadows against the wall. Elinor and Lizzie stayed absolutely still. They were out of sight and Lizzie was certain that as long as they didn’t move or make a noise, they would be safe.

“Thought I heard something,” Parry said finally, although he seemed to linger in the alley.

“Rats,” Marianne pronounced with disgust. “Or stray cats, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Parry said. “Either way, you best move on now. There’s no privy behind this fence, and this street is no place for a so-called lady after dark.”

“You’re no fun!” they heard Marianne say, and Lizzie could easily imagine her pout. But the sound of their voices was moving away, and Lizzie felt her shoulders relax, even as the muscles in her back and shoulder still burned.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I shall recover,” came Elinor’s response.

“Excellent.” Lizzie slowly rose to her hands and knees and began moving gingerly. “I think there’s a ladder.”

As quickly as they dared, Elinor and Lizzie made their way down to the ground, making as little noise as possible. As Lizzie had suspected, repair work had already begun on the storehouse, and the wooden frames of the windows had been replaced, although the glass had yet to be installed. From the inside, new wooden shutters blocked out the night, but Lizzie quietly tested one by pushing on it. It was latched, but the latch was easy enough to flip open by shimmying the blade of Elinor’s pocketknife between the crack in the shutters.

“Here,” she whispered, indicating that they ought to climb through the opening. “Do you need a boost, or—”

“I think that I’ve had enough boosts for the evening,” Elinor replied. “Although I am not sure I feel comfortable breaking in through a window.”

“We’ve already climbed their fence,” Lizzie pointed out. “And there isn’t any glass.”

“I was just supposed to stand watch! Perhaps I’ll keep watch out here.”

Lizzie hoisted herself up on the windowsill. “Best not. Out there, you had plausible deniability—you could claim you were simply out for an evening stroll. On this side, you’ve already trespassed.” She dropped down onto the wooden floor of the storehouse and turned to face Elinor. “Besides, the shutters weren’t locked. We broke nothing.”

She could sense rather than see Elinor’s eye roll. “And I suppose you’re the legal expert.”

But despite Lizzie’s stretch of the truth, Elinor followed her, and soon both ladies were standing in the storehouse, Lizzie gently closing the shutters behind her. It was completely black inside, and there was no adjusting to the gloom when there was no light to be had. A memory rose, unbidden, of the last time Lizzie had found herself shut in absolute darkness, in the records room at Pemberley & Associates. Darcy had been at her side, and she had followed him into Pemberley without thinking things through properly, and they’d been locked inside with no way out. But they’d held hands for the first time, and if Lizzie concentrated, she could still feel the warmth of his hand around hers, and the strength of his presence, which filled up all the dark corners and put her at ease, even as he was struggling not to panic at his own claustrophobia.

The scrape of a tinderbox jolted Lizzie back to reality.

“Sorry,” Elinor said, lighting a candle. “But we aren’t getting anywhere without some light.”

“You’re right,” Lizzie said, forcing her thoughts to the matter at hand and away from the memory of Darcy and his intoxicating scent. She withdrew her own candle from her pocket and lit the wick on Elinor’s flame. “I hope Marianne managed to get away.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Elinor whispered as they moved carefully through the storehouse. There were tables and a workbench on this end, and beyond that, stacks of crates huddled in the dark. “If anything, she’ll be peeved that she missed out on this little venture and complain about it for a week.”

“I will not!”

The whisper from ahead made both Elinor and Lizzie jump, but then Marianne herself appeared between the stacks of crates, hair in disarray and skirts streaked with mud.

“Marianne!” Elinor and Lizzie both exclaimed in a whisper.

“If you thought I was about to let you two do the fun bits after I did the hard work, then you both don’t know me at all!” She joined them and withdrew her own candle from her pocket.

“How did you get past the guard?” Elinor asked, lighting her candle.

“As soon as we got back around the front, he left me on the street,” she said. “But then there was a whistle, and he went running in the other direction. I was able to squeeze under the gate he’d been guarding and walked right through the front door. But we better hurry. It could be that someone is here for whatever they’re hiding.”

That got the three of them moving.

The storehouse consisted of an open space on the first level where they received crates of wares—mostly wool broadcloth and linen from the weavers in the countryside—before it was shipped to its final destinations all around the world. Lizzie knew from Jack that they kept back a percentage of their wares to be sold here in London, in the Western Exchange, where the Mullinses had booths. There had been a system, she recalled, of sorting, labeling, and processing the wares.

But in the dark, all the crates looked the same.

“We need to open one of these,” Lizzie said to Marianne. “Can you find something—”

“Here,” Marianne said, and there was the sound of her skirts rustling followed by the metallic clang of something. Lizzie heard Elinor say, “Oh dear,” and then Marianne returned in the circle of light, grinning and wielding a crowbar. Elinor followed, carrying both her candle and Marianne’s, and she and Lizzie held up the light while Marianne went to work, trying to pry open the nearest crate.

“These crates aren’t damaged, so they’ve been delivered since the fire,” Lizzie observed.

“If not for the stink of smoke, you wouldn’t know that a fire had taken place,” Elinor agreed, looking at the newly laid wood planks on the floor. “Where did the fire break out?”

“Toward the back, I think,” Lizzie said. “We can go looking there next.”

“Priorities,” Marianne reminded them with a grunt as she leveled her weight onto the crowbar. The lid gave way with a loud squeak and all three ladies pressed close, eager for a good look.

“Careful of the nails,” Elinor warned as Marianne lifted the lid and Lizzie hoisted the candles, only to reveal...

“Cloth,” Marianne said dryly.

“All right,” Lizzie said. “So, he’s a dealer in wool. Well, we knew that. I mean, of course there is cloth here.”

“We don’t have time to open every crate,” Marianne said.

“Let’s keep looking,” Lizzie said, afraid that Marianne was right.

From there, they split up. Lizzie tried to focus on what she could see, making note of how many crates were stacked on the main floor, memorizing the painted labels on the sides of the crates, and noting their position. Toward the back of the storehouse, soot streaked the brick walls of the perimeter of the building, and tools and building supplies were stacked near a brand-new desk, table, and cabinet. It was a makeshift office, and Lizzie guessed that the builders hadn’t had time to erect walls and a door here yet. Marianne tried to open the cabinet, but it was locked, and there was nothing to find in the desk drawers. Elinor walked very carefully, almost catlike, around the perimeter of the storeroom, almost as if she were hoping to get a clear view of the entire operation.

It was when Elinor had disappeared from view and Lizzie was growing more and more frustrated that she heard what sounded like a faint crunching. Then Elinor’s voice called out in a loud whisper, “Here! I think I found something!”

Marianne and Lizzie both hurried toward her. Elinor was in the far corner of the storehouse, near a contraption that looked like a large box encased with ropes that hung from the ceiling. Lizzie lifted her candle and tried to look up to see where the ropes were attached, but her flame was too feeble.

“There’s a bit of broken glass back here,” Elinor said, drawing her attention to the back wall. “And see here, all the floorboards have been replaced? I think there might have been a wall concealing all of this at one time—do you see where there used to be studs here?”

“Scorch marks on the brick here, too,” Marianne added, looking at the back wall.

Elinor held up a shard of glass, and beneath the soot, it glinted in the candlelight.

“It looks like a bottle?” Lizzie asked, uncertain.

“Indeed,” Elinor agreed. “And there’s more.”

The ladies peered at a pile of rubbish that had been swept aside, beyond the scorch marks on the brick and the freshly replaced wooden floors. There were charred hunks of wood, a few broken bricks, and heaps of broken glass, all appearing to be from bottles. Some of it was burnt, but Marianne plucked one piece that wasn’t.

“This remind you of anything?” she asked them.

Lizzie stared at the broken bottle. “Well, a bottle, of course.”

“But what sort of bottle?” she asked.

Lizzie looked at the sisters. “A spirits bottle,” Elinor said.

“Oh.”

Marianne’s triumphant smile flashed bright in the weak light. “Exactly. What sort of storehouse of linen and broadcloth would have this much broken glass?”

“It’s not totally unreasonable to find some broken glass,” Lizzie said, but her heart was beginning to thump with excitement. “In fact, anyone could argue that a group of working men kept a store of spirits for after the workday. Perhaps not the most prudent move, but hardly illegal.”

Marianne raised the shard to her nose and snuffed. “Spirits for certain. But I think... maybe brandy?”

“How can you tell?”

“Marianne has a very keen sense of smell,” Elinor explained, as though it pained her.

“And it’s saved my life before, thank you!” Marianne looked about. “I am fairly certain that this is a brandy bottle. Good brandy, too. Now tell me, why would a storehouse keep a large collection of fine brandy? Not for their day laborers.”

“Perhaps they’re distilling it?” Lizzie suggested. She couldn’t believe that she’d been wrong and there was no evidence of graphite here. What if they’d taken this terrible risk of breaking in for nothing?

“I don’t see a distillery,” Elinor whispered. “But I think there’s something upstairs.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because of the lift.”

“Come again?” Marianne asked.

“A lift,” Elinor repeated. “They’re like dumbwaiters, but large enough for people or goods. You see, you place boxes of cargo within it, and then you pull on the ropes—they’re attached to pulleys somewhere above, I imagine—and then the whole thing lifts itself. I’ve never seen one in person, actually. I think the wall that used to be here concealed it from view from the rest of the storehouse.”

Suddenly, Lizzie remembered what Henry had said—he climbed the tree and saw through the windows. If they’d been moving illicit goods, they wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave the shutters open on the first floor. But if Henry was in the tree, and they left an upstairs shutter open... “Of course,” she muttered. “They’re moving their illicit goods upstairs. They must have been using this lift to bring them up.”

“Heavy goods,” Marianne noted.

“Does it look like it was damaged in the fire?” Lizzie asked. The tremendous crash—what if that had been the contraption falling, and not some explosion caused by graphite?

Elinor stepped closer, holding her candle aloft. “Likely. All the wood has been replaced or repaired. You see, the ropes here are connected to that support, which looks new. And this over here...”

Marianne’s and Lizzie’s eyes met while Elinor continued speaking about lifts and inventions, and in unison their gazes shifted upward. “We need to get upstairs,” Marianne said.

Lizzie and Marianne went searching for the stairs in opposite directions, Elinor scrambling after them. Lizzie would have settled for even a ladder, but Marianne and Elinor found an open doorway leading to a staircase, tucked away in shadows near the office area. “Lizzie!” Marianne called out, just a touch too loud. Lizzie turned and was about to join the Dashwoods when the unmistakable sound of a door swinging open stilled her.

Acting instinctively, all three ladies immediately blew out their candles. Lizzie ducked behind the cabinet in the office area, and looked to Marianne and Elinor, whom she could just make out, thanks to the light shed by the newcomers. She waved at them to go, for there was no way for her to make her way to them without walking across an exposed swath of the storehouse floor. Marianne hesitated for a moment, but then the sound of approaching footsteps convinced her. She and Elinor stepped into the stairwell and closed the door.

Lizzie had no time to feel relief. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her position was far too exposed for comfort. Peering around the cabinet, she saw the figures of three men approaching, carrying heavy lanterns. One was Jack Mullins, and one, she thought, was Parry. But she couldn’t get a good look at the third man’s face.

“I want it all out, tonight,” Jack was saying. “And then consider us closed for business.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” came the stranger’s voice. “You can’t simply decide enough is enough.”

“I didn’t decide anything, if you’ll recall!”

Lizzie felt a cold fear wash over her—not because the men were drawing closer but because Jack sounded scared .

“You, your brother, doesn’t matter. You’re indebted now.”

“I’m in debt all right! No thanks to you!”

“I wasn’t the one who torched the place! But you’ll have far bigger worries if you displease her yet again.”

Her? Was he referring to the lady that Jack claimed set fire to the building?

As much as Lizzie would have loved to sit and puzzle out the mystery, they were getting far too close for comfort. She began to edge her way around the side of the cabinet that was still cast in shadow—and just in time, too. The trio of men stopped mere paces away from where Lizzie had first hid, the stranger so close to Lizzie’s last hiding spot that she might have been able to reach out and touch his coat if she’d still been there.

“I’ll turn you over to the Crown!” Jack said suddenly. There was a small waver in his voice. “Unless you let me walk away, I’ll do it!”

The strange man laughed. It was the low, delighted laugh of a man who found amusement in Jack’s panic, and it chilled Lizzie. “No, I don’t think you will. If you do, that hole you’ve dug yourself will become your grave.”

Something about that turn of phrase sent a shiver down Lizzie’s spine. It wasn’t just the dark imagery, though. She’d heard someone say that before.

“I’ll expose your operation,” Jack said, though he sounded less certain. “Goods are one thing, but I never signed up for—”

“Shut up!”

Lizzie’s blood ran cold.

“What’s that smell?” the stranger asked.

“Well, I don’t know if ya noticed, but we had a wee fire last week,” Parry said sarcastically.

“No, I don’t smell old smoke. It’s as if... someone just blew out a candle.”

Lizzie let out the softest exhale, her only outward sign of panic.

The men were quiet and very, very still. “No one’s here,” Parry said finally. “I’ve been guardin’ the place myself all day. No one in, no one out.”

“And you never once stepped a single foot away from the gate?” the stranger demanded.

“I was always within sight!” Parry lied, and even if Lizzie hadn’t known the truth, she would have suspected it from the panicked note to his voice. “Sir, I would never—”

“Quiet!” the man ordered.

Lizzie had been trying to ease away from the cabinet and toward the stacks of crates, but part of her knew it was useless. There was no place to hide where she couldn’t easily be found, and no way of getting to the other side of the storehouse without exposing herself. She was moments away from discovery. Her only hope would be to use the shadows of the storehouse to her advantage and try to make a run for it. It would give the Dashwood sisters enough time to hopefully find whatever was upstairs and make their own escape.

Above her, there was a tiny creak.

“Someone’s upstairs,” Jack whispered.

“Quiet,” the stranger ordered. “You better not have set a trap for me, boy.”

“I didn’t!” Jack protested. “I swear! I don’t want to hang any more than you do!”

There was another creak. She heard the stranger say, “Upstairs, but quietly,” and she readied to make her move.

The trio of men had just started up the stairs when Lizzie launched into action. Since they already suspected they weren’t alone, she chose speed over stealth, making a run for the front doors. If she could escape into the night, raise the alarm, and bring the Runners back to the storehouse before the men could hurt the Dashwoods, then they had a decent chance of getting out of this unscathed.

A grunt of surprise, followed by the stranger’s voice shouting, “There!” let her know that that she had been spotted, and she heard the footsteps of someone racing after her. At the same time, she realized she had miscalculated the distance she needed to cover between her hiding spot and the door, and just how many obstacles were in her way. She was forced to detour around them, slowing down her progress. She didn’t dare look back, though, weaving in between crates and holding her skirts high enough to jump over a stack of tools and bricks until finally the door was in sight.

But doing so had cost her precious time, and her pursuer had seemed to know exactly what was in her way and what her destination would be and opted not to follow her. Instead, he retraced his own steps and loomed suddenly to her right, intent on cutting her off. Above, Lizzie heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being fired, and she instinctively screamed.

“ Don’t shoot! ” the stranger bellowed, and then she felt an extraordinary flash of hot pain break across her entire head as she was violently pulled back by her hair.

Lizzie managed one more scream, and then the man threw her to the ground.

Climbing over the wall and pulling Elinor up after her had not hurt as much as it did to be yanked by one’s hair and tossed like a rag doll. Lizzie tried to get to her feet, but before she could fully regain her faculties, the man was hauling her up sharply by her elbow and threw her roughly against three stacked crates. He took a step between her and her escape, and, inexplicably, began to chuckle.

“Miss Bennet. I must admit, even I did not think you’d be so foolhardy. Yet you continue to surprise me.”

It was at that precise moment that Lizzie placed his voice, but even still she had to raise her gaze to his leering face in order to confirm it really was him, so great was her disbelief.

“Mr. Tomlinson?”