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

Eighteen

In Which Lizzie Takes a Beating and the Dashwoods Discover the Mullins Brothers’ Secret

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MR. TOMLINSON LEERED DOWN at her, seeming amused by Lizzie’s shock.

“But,” Lizzie said, “what...? Why?”

“Not as smart as you think you are,” he observed. “There’s a reason why I didn’t want Darcy consorting with you, and it’s not just because you’re damn meddlesome!”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is consulting , not consorting ,” Lizzie said, which earned her a hard slap across the face.

“Shut up,” Tomlinson spat.

“Darcy knows I’m here,” Lizzie said, and prayed that it was true. “So whatever you’re going to do, you won’t get away with it.”

“Darcy is a self-centered child who can’t see what’s right in front of his eyes, so I doubt very much that he’ll manage to save you this time,” Tomlinson said, and the assurance in his voice made Lizzie even more frightened than she already was.

“You don’t know—”

Another slap. This one sent her head spinning and brought tears to her eyes. “No, Miss Bennet, you don’t know.”

He yanked her to her feet once more and Lizzie stumbled. It felt as though her ears were ringing, and above her she heard a loud clatter followed by some shouts. “That will be your friends getting rounded up, I imagine. I do hope that bullet hit at least one of them.”

That, more than anything, brought Lizzie’s anger bubbling to the surface, and Lizzie did the only thing she could—she gave Mr. Tomlinson a swift kick in the shin.

She knew that her assault would likely anger him rather than cause injury, but it still felt good to kick that horrid man. He sucked in a sharp breath, and then shoved her against two stacked crates. They were heavy enough that they didn’t tumble as she crashed into them, but Lizzie felt her feet go out beneath her. Now her ears were truly ringing.

“If you want to play it that way, Miss Bennet, then we can,” Mr. Tomlinson said, taking an ominous step closer. “I admit that I’ve often wanted to smack that smug expression off your face. You won’t be able to charm the magistrates with a broken nose.”

He drew back his foot to kick her and Lizzie instinctively curled around herself. His boot connected with her upper arm with stunning force, pain blooming from her chest to the tips of her fingers, and Lizzie couldn’t help it—she cried out. She had to get on her feet. She had to defend herself somehow. But how could she when she could barely catch her breath and her feet were sprawled out and her skirts tangled and Tomlinson was standing above her, an eager grin cracking his face in two?

“This was easier than I thought it would be,” he said, sounding pleased. “Jack Mullins didn’t want to kidnap you—said it would be too difficult. But you walked right in.”

Lizzie coughed, feeling every single ache and pain and her body as she struggled to her hands and knees. “You wanted to kidnap... me? Sir, I’m flattered.”

He shoved her back to the ground, and Lizzie was only grateful that he’d pushed her rather than kicked her. “Shut up. You won’t be making jokes soon enough when she gets her hands on you.”

She? Lizzie would have been afraid, if everything didn’t already hurt so much. Above her, she heard heavy footsteps and felt a spike of fear for Elinor and Marianne. At least they had each other... but they were facing two men, not one.

“And what is your part in all of this?” Lizzie asked, choosing not to try to get up just then. In fact, lying still was nice. Almost pleasant, if not for all the aches and bruises. “You’re orchestrating whatever business is going in and out of this storehouse?”

“Shut up,” Tomlinson snapped.

But Lizzie was never one to take orders from unreasonable men. “I don’t know all the details, but I think I can make a few guesses. You’re involved in some sort of illegal smuggling ring. You work at Pemberley, so surely you must be familiar with Josette Beaufort. She’s engaged to Mr. Hughes, who claims his graphite mines are spent.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you will shut up .” Tomlinson took another step toward her, and Lizzie flinched, preparing herself for a blow—but it never came. So she kept going, speaking almost as quickly as she put the pieces together.

“But I don’t actually think they are! I think he’s selling graphite illegally. I think he’s selling it to the French! You’re a solicitor; you know that doing so would be treason. Hughes couldn’t exactly make that sort of deal out of his own buildings—graphite mines are too closely watched. So he dragged the Mullins brothers into it. They receive shipments of cloth from the countryside on a regular basis—no one would question a few extra crates, correct?”

Tomlinson was glowering at her, and Lizzie decided to try to sit up slowly. Her muscles screamed, but Tomlinson didn’t stop her. He seemed to be looking toward the entrance, as if waiting for something—or someone.

“It all started to fall apart when the storehouse was set on fire, didn’t it? Did you lose some of your product? Perhaps just the idea of losing out on a convenient place to stash whatever you’re dealing was a big enough blow. And then Jack came to me, asking me to find the woman who set the fire. He was trying to find out who was responsible for his brother’s death and for getting them into this mess. Am I right?”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Your sense is addled.”

“You look scared,” Lizzie said. She wasn’t certain if he was, or if she was merely dizzy. “Is it because I’m close to the truth?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! You think you’re so clever and you’ve worked it all out, but she’s much smarter than you and she’s been watching you this entire time! You never suspected, did you? And now because you’ve been so stupid, you’ll never see Darcy or your family again, you idiotic girl!”

What on earth did he mean? Lizzie felt like her thoughts were moving through a thick syrup. “Darcy knows where I am,” she repeated. “And so does my father, for that matter.”

“I don’t believe you,” Tomlinson hissed, crouching down so his face was disconcertingly close to her. “I think you’re a fool who decided to poke her nose where it didn’t belong and—”

Thwack!

Tomlinson fell forward, right into Lizzie’s lap. She cried out in alarm and attempted to shove his heavy body off of her, and he didn’t struggle. Lizzie looked up.

Elinor Dashwood stood before her, holding a crowbar, wearing a stricken look.

“Good job, Elinor!” Marianne cheered. “Now, the rope—tie him up! Lizzie, are you all right?”

Lizzie was speechless as Elinor grabbed some rope and approached Mr. Tomlinson. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. “Do you suppose I start with the hands, or the feet?”

“Hands,” Lizzie said faintly, and recovered her wits enough to push herself into a kneeling position and roll him over. “Here.”

They quickly bound Tomlinson’s hands and then his feet. Elinor looked nervously at the back of his head. “Did I kill him?”

“I don’t think so,” Lizzie said slowly. Her head still felt a bit fuzzy, and she kept hearing the echo of the thwack of Elinor hitting him across the back of head. There was no blood, and Lizzie could feel the rise and fall of his chest when she rolled him over. “I think he’s just lost consciousness.”

“Are you done?” Marianne asked anxiously.

“Yes,” Elinor said, and gave Lizzie her hand. “Can you stand?”

“I think so,” Lizzie said, getting to her feet with an unladylike grunt. The act of standing was incredibly painful, but once she was on her feet, Lizzie found that the aches were quite manageable. “Nothing broken.”

“Good,” Marianne said. “Now we have to decide what to do with these three.”

Lizzie could see now that Jack and Mr. Parry were standing nearby, hands bound and mouths gagged, although their feet remained free. They were standing rather nicely in place... and Lizzie realized it was because Marianne was two paces away, wielding a pistol in each hand.

“How on earth did you manage this?” Lizzie asked, rubbing her aching head. Her ears were still ringing, and every small sound was making her jumpy.

“I have my ways,” Marianne said.

“We set up a trip wire,” Elinor said at the same time.

“Ah.” Lizzie looked at Jack and shook her head. “I see.”

“You don’t look so good,” Marianne said, sounding alarmed. “Did you hit your head? Brandon says that when one hits their head very hard, it can be dangerous. You aren’t sleepy, are you?”

Lizzie wasn’t sure who Brandon was, but she shook her head, which did cause it to ache. “No. But am I hearing things, or is a dog barking?”

All three ladies went still, and then Lizzie heard it again—and judging by Marianne and Elinor’s reactions, they heard it, too. Hope flamed in Lizzie’s chest.

She hobbled toward the door but hadn’t made it halfway when Guy came tearing through, barking at the sight of Lizzie. “Guy!” she cried out, bending down to pet the dog. But he was too excited to stop—he zipped around the storehouse, circling the Dashwoods and their captives as if it were his job to keep them all in order. A moment later, three frantic gentlemen came tumbling through the door.

“Darcy!”

He ran straight to her and threw his arms around her. She hugged him back; so great was her relief that she didn’t even care that his embrace was putting pressure on her newly forming bruises. “You came,” she said.

“I will always come for you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry we were delayed.”

She looked beyond him to his companions. A gentleman with curly brown hair wore an appalled expression and wrapped an arm around Elinor’s waist, and the darker-haired gentlemen with spectacles stood next to Marianne, who didn’t let her attention slip from Jack and Mr. Parry despite the commotion of their new arrivals.

“Mr. Farrows and Mr. Brandon,” Darcy said by way of explanation. “Associates of the Dashwoods, apparently. We thought you all could use some help.”

“How on earth did you get roped into this?” Elinor asked Mr. Farrows.

“Ah, well... a little bird told us that you were planning on doing something dangerous tonight,” Mr. Farrows said, avoiding Elinor’s gaze.

“Margaret!” Marianne exclaimed. “That brat!”

“She was reasonably worried,” Mr. Brandon told her, although he seemed less distressed than Mr. Farrows to find them in a darkened storehouse in the middle of the night. Then again, Marianne did look rather fierce, wielding those two pistols.

She scowled at him, though Lizzie didn’t sense any anger in her stance. “It’s always nice to see you, darling. But we are not some damsels in need of rescuing.”

“Clearly,” Brandon replied. “But you mistake the situation, beloved. This isn’t a rescue mission. We are simply here to inquire if you need assistance.”

“ I’m happy to see you,” Elinor said to Mr. Farrows.

“Are you all right? All three of you?” Darcy asked.

“Elinor and I are fine,” Marianne answered. “I’m afraid that brute roughed up Lizzie a bit, but don’t worry, Darcy—Elinor hit him in the back of the head.”

Darcy’s entire body tensed as he looked directly at Mr. Tomlinson. “It’s him,” Lizzie confirmed. “He’s involved in this somehow. I’m not quite sure, exactly, but I think he’s responsible for whisking the goods away to the buyers.”

Darcy didn’t relax—in fact, his body seemed to tremble with barely controlled fury, and Lizzie knew that Darcy was trying very hard not to lose his temper. “He’s not worth it,” she whispered. “Besides, now you can haul him off to Newgate, where he belongs.”

Darcy blinked a few moments, his expression utterly unreadable.

And then he leaned down and kissed her.

It was not one of the gentle kisses he usually bestowed upon her in stolen moments when no one was about to witness their impropriety, nor was it as tentative as their first kiss. This was a hungry kiss, almost rough. As Lizzie’s lips parted and she returned it, she felt all his fear and anguish, and utter relief in that moment.

They finally separated when both needed to draw breath, and the shock of it all left Lizzie panting lightly. But also, every bit of her was engulfed in heat, and all she wanted to do was draw his lips back to her own for more....

“Ahem,” Marianne said, not subtle in the least. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, Lizzie, I really think you ought to see what we found upstairs.”

“Right,” she said, and she knew without looking in a mirror that her cheeks were flushed. “What’s that?”

“Go,” Mr. Farrows urged them, taking one of the pistols from Marianne. “I’ll guard these criminals.” The criminals in question glowered but were unable to speak thanks to their gags.

Elinor gave him a quick, grateful smile, and then gestured at the group to follow her. “Back here, near the lift.”

“The what?” Darcy asked.

“You’ll see,” Lizzie assured him. “It’s like a very large dumbwaiter.”

They brought their lanterns to the back corner, where it was much more apparent that the floor and wooden trim had been replaced recently. In the better light, Lizzie could see that the brick around the repaired lift was still scorched black and all the wooden planks of the floor and ceiling had been replaced.

“The fire clearly started back here,” Elinor continued. “It burned fast and hot, and there was some damage to the floor above.”

“Can you tell what started it?”

“I cannot say definitively,” Elinor admitted, “but I can hazard a guess that I’d be willing to stake my reputation on.”

She strode over to where they’d found the pile of refuse, and picked a glass shard up and held it aloft. “I believe these bottles held spirits, and when they broke, they acted as an accelerant.”

“Isn’t this a wool storehouse?” Brandon asked. “Why would there be spirits here?”

“Because the Mullins brothers were smuggling French contraband,” Marianne said with wicked satisfaction.

“I was working up to that,” Elinor said, giving her sister a long-suffering look.

“Sorry!” Marianne didn’t appear to be sorry, though. “I got excited.”

“Do go on,” Elinor told her.

“Well, while we were sneaking off upstairs, I wondered—why on earth would the Mullins brothers need such an elaborate contraption?”

“To move heavy crates upstairs,” Lizzie said.

“And why keep their stores up there when that was where they lived?”

Darcy looked at the lift. “Because they didn’t want anything illegal down here, in plain view of their workers or any visitors.”

“Come see,” Marianne said, leading them to the stairs. They opened up into a large room that appeared to be a makeshift living area. On the far wall, the same side as the lift, there stood a mess of crates that had clearly been moved to the second level with the assistance of the contraption, for they were far too large to have been carried up the stairs. Marianne walked up to the nearest one and reached inside. She lifted a glass bottle, and Lizzie saw it was filled with amber liquid.

“Brandy,” she announced.

Brandon took the bottle from her and inspected the label before letting out a low whistle. “ French brandy.”

“There’s more,” Elinor said, leading them to another crate, almost identical to the ones downstairs. She shoved the lid off. “This one has silks. Smoke damaged, but...”

“I’m guessing French?” Darcy asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Marianne said. “Now, I am no expert, but Mama has a gorgeous pelisse made from French silk that Papa gave her before it was impossible to get and—well, never matter. But I believe we’ve found your illegal goods.”

“Not graphite,” Lizzie murmured. “I thought for sure Mr. Hughes was involved.”

“Lizzie, only you would be disappointed by uncovering a smuggling ring,” Darcy said.

“Yes, because it’s not proof of treason,” she said with exasperation. “Although... good work, ladies.”

“Chin up,” Darcy said. “This is still more than enough to put those scoundrels downstairs away.”

“But why were we denied a search permit?” Lizzie asked. “The Crown has to suspect something here.”

“Perhaps they had their own investigation? Either that or Mullins is paying someone a large amount of money to look the other way—” He stopped speaking abruptly, and his mouth hardened into an unforgiving line. “Not Mullins. Tomlinson.”

Lizzie didn’t want Darcy to harden into the scary person he’d been downstairs, but she had to ask. “You don’t seem especially shocked to find him here.”

“I broke into his office this afternoon,” he said proudly.

“You did what ?”

“Yes, right before I quit my job.”

Lizzie rubbed her temple. “I know I’ve hit my head, but did you just say you quit your job ?”

He grinned. “That’s not the best part—I found proof that Leticia and Josette have a secret. Mrs. Cavendish wrote me about it. Only, I never got the letter because Tomlinson intercepted it.”

“What secret?” Lizzie demanded.

“Leticia and Josette are cousins, but Leticia isn’t related to Mrs. Cavendish at all—she’s entirely French. And before she died, it seemed that Mrs. Cavendish suspected that Leticia had a secret beau.”

Lizzie needed a moment to make sense of this new information. “Wait—are you saying that Mrs. Cavendish worried that Leticia couldn’t be trusted?”

“She didn’t say it in so many words, but she was worried that he’d find out Leticia’s secret and ruin Josette’s reputat—”

“Richard Hughes!” Lizzie spat out.

“What?”

“He gave Leticia the necklace, Darcy! At the jeweler’s—he got the locket to open! It said ‘to L.B.’—Leticia Beaufort, of course , he knew that she wasn’t a Cavendish—‘with all my love and adoration, R.H.’! The jeweler said the necklace was commissioned a year ago, but Mr. Hughes has neglected to pay for it!”

“But he’s engaged to Josette!” Darcy shook his head, and then stopped just as quickly. “Oh God.”

“What?”

“Leticia didn’t inherit a single penny from Mrs. Cavendish! It all went to Josette.”

“And so he threw Leticia over for her cousin?” Lizzie asked. “How... diabolical.”

“More likely for her cousin’s fortune,” Marianne said practically. “It was likely a plot to steal Josette’s fortune, if Leticia was still wearing his token of affection. And perhaps Mr. Hughes decided he didn’t want to share with Leticia after all.”

“Oh, you’re able to follow all of this?” Mr. Brandon asked Marianne.

“Yes, darling, I’ll explain it all later,” she said, patting his shoulder fondly. “Now, in case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got three of those villains tied up downstairs. We could ask them a few questions, if that would help?”

“Right,” Lizzie said, with one last glance at the French contraband. “I suppose the least Jack Mullins owes us is the truth.”

Downstairs, Tomlinson was still unconscious, but Jack and Parry were very much alert and glaring at Mr. Farrows. Jack began to struggle against his bonds when Lizzie approached. She held up her hand, and he stopped. “I’m going to remove your gag, and then we’ll have a civilized conversation. But if you scream or tell me a single lie, I’ll have this gentleman gag you once more. Fair enough?”

Jack nodded eagerly.

Lizzie unknotted the gag, and as soon as it fell away, Jack began speaking. “Lizzie, you have to believe me—I never had any part of this! I never meant for anyone to get hurt!”

Lizzie held up a finger, and to her surprise, Jack quieted. “Did you know about this plot when you hired me?”

“I... yes. But Lizzie, it’s not that simple!”

There was little Lizzie liked less than being played a fool. “Explain.”

“I didn’t know what Simon was doing. You can ask Parry—he’ll confirm that it’s true. Our business has been slow lately—nothing dire, but... not good. And then, all of a sudden, we have money again, and there are all of these crates everywhere that Simon says to leave alone, he’ll handle them. He was being secretive, so one day I looked inside one, and I thought, well—that’s definitely not broadcloth. But I didn’t know what to do—and so finally, I decided to confront him.”

“And?” Lizzie prompted.

Jack gulped. “The day of the fire, I found Simon and Parry moving crates from upstairs, and Simon told me he had to—we’d lose the business unless we held the crates. He didn’t say who owned them or who we were holding them for. I told him it had to stop, but Simon said it was too late for that, he couldn’t stop. And then...”

Lizzie waited for him to go on, but he seemed to have lost his voice. He swallowed hard, twice.

“And then Leticia Cavendish showed up,” Darcy said.

Lizzie looked to him in surprise, but Jack said, “I had no idea who she was or why she was there, I promise you—but she saw what we were moving. One of the crates was open. That day it was... brandy. She grew incensed. She picked up bottles, and she started hurling them every which way, screaming at us. You know the French, they’re hysterical and violent—”

“Enough,” Lizzie told him. “I could say the same thing about a good many British. You don’t think that a displaced Frenchwoman who has lost her home might become upset upon finding that you were smuggling French goods?”

“She’s the reason for the fire,” Jack insisted, a fire in his own eyes. “Simon went to grab her, to stop her... a lamp was knocked over. The fire spread—the brandy. She escaped, but Simon...” Jack was crying now, and Lizzie didn’t think that his emotion was contrived. “He was trying to save the goods. He wouldn’t listen to reason.”

“Simon died because the fire spread,” Lizzie stated. “But the fire was an accident.”

“It was her fault! It never would have started if she hadn’t been there!”

“And you hired me to find her so you could get revenge,” Lizzie deduced. “Did you kill her?”

“No!” Jack hiccupped. “Lizzie, I never killed anyone, I swear it on my brother’s grave! I simply wanted her to pay . I’m not upset she’s dead, but I would have settled to see her in Newgate.”

Lizzie looked to Darcy, unsure whether she should believe him. Darcy looked shaken, and behind him the Dashwood sisters watched the scene with solemn eyes.

“Where were you two afternoons ago?” Darcy asked.

“Here! I swear to it—and Parry can vouch for me!”

Lizzie looked at Parry, who was glaring at her with so much hate that a lesser woman might have faltered. “Is this true? Nod or shake your head, and if you lie, I’ll ensure you face the highest penalties under the law for smuggling!”

Parry nodded.

The fire was an accident. A horrific, tragic accident. But the consequences of the fire had brought upon more heartache—all of which could have been avoided if Jack Mullins had just been honest with her from the outset.

“When you told me that the woman was dead, I got scared—clearly she’d been punished for what she’d ruined, and I don’t want to be involved with people who will kill a lady like that! But then Parry got word that another shipment was coming in last night, and I had to take it or they’d kill me! I never wanted any of this!”

“Who is they?” Lizzie asked. She pointed at Tomlinson. “This man?”

“He’s a part of it, but he’s not at the top,” Jack said, and Parry nodded his vigorous agreement. “We never saw anyone else, I swear, Lizzie—just him.”

Lizzie looked down at Tomlinson. He was awake now, and he glared up at Lizzie with such hatred in his eyes that Lizzie shivered. What had he said? She’s much smarter than you. She’s been watching you this entire time.

“Who is your boss?” she asked him, crouching down to look him in the eye.

Mr. Farrows loosened Tomlinson’s gag so he could reply. But as soon as it fell from his mouth, he spat in Lizzie’s face. “Go to hell, you b—”

Darcy decked him.

In short order, Mr. Farrows and Marianne had Mr. Tomlinson gagged and Elinor handed Lizzie a handkerchief. “Don’t worry, that’s the least of what he’s done tonight,” she reassured her friends. “I shall survive.”

“Lizzie, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Jack said. “You have to believe me. That man wanted to kidnap you, and I said that it was a bad idea. I was trying to protect you!”

“I do believe that you never meant for this to happen,” Lizzie said. “But you didn’t protect me. You put us all in danger tonight.” She nodded to Mr. Farrows, who stepped forward to gag Jack once more.

But then something came to her.

“Wait! I have one question. You said the day of the fire, one of the crates was open and that day it was brandy. But when you first looked into the crates, and it wasn’t broadcloth—what was it?”

She expected him to say brandy, or silks. But Jack shook his head, as if he were disgusted by the memory of it even now. “It was rocks, Lizzie. Black rocks! Brandy I could understand, silks we could fence—but rocks! What is the sense in that?”

“I knew it!” Lizzie turned to the Dashwoods triumphantly. “Mr. Hughes is connected!

Beside the sisters, Darcy had gone pale. “Lizzie, we have to hurry.”

“We ought to call the Runners,” she agreed. “They’ll want to apprehend him, and I’m sure the Crown will have something to say about his smuggling. Perhaps they suspected all along and just didn’t have sufficient—”

“No, Lizzie—we have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because Josette is marrying Mr. Hughes at dawn.”