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

Twenty

In Which Lizzie and Darcy Object to a Wedding

THE JOINT FORCE OF Lizzie’s and Darcy’s voices echoed in the church, causing all five people at the front to start in alarm.

Josette and Mr. Hughes looked back at Lizzie and Darcy as they ran down the center aisle, and the clergyman looked up from his reading in bewilderment. In the front pews on either side of the aisle the witnesses, a plainly dressed man and woman, who appeared to be a valet and a maid, twisted around in shock.

Mr. Hughes got over his surprise first. “What is the meaning of this? How dare you? This is a private ceremony!” He took a menacing step toward them, even as Josette attempted to hold him back.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said to Josette. “But I—we—cannot let you do this.”

“There is no letting me do anything,” Josette informed him in an icy tone. “You have no say in the matter.”

“True,” Lizzie said, panting and holding her side where running had exacerbated her larger bruises. “What I think Darcy means is that we are in possession of some information you might find relevant about your future husband.”

“This is preposterous! What information? I want these two gone!” Mr. Hughes made the demand, looking about the church as if he expected armed guards to arrive and escort Lizzie and Darcy from the premises.

“Oh dear,” said the clergyman. “Are you certain it cannot wait? I was just about to—”

“No.” Darcy pulled the letter from his jacket and thrust it toward Josette. “Before you take any vows, you must read this.”

Josette glanced disdainfully at the letter. “I will do no such thing!”

“Your grandmother wrote it,” Darcy said.

Josette stilled—as did Hughes. Lizzie watched him carefully. He looked upon the letter with hungry eyes, and for a moment she was afraid he’d make a grab for it.

“How are you in possession of a letter from my grandmother, Darcy?”

“It’s the letter she wrote me before she died. I regret to inform you it only reached me yesterday, after I left your residence.”

“Really, my dove—” Mr. Hughes started to say, but Josette held up a finger to silence him. She plucked it from Darcy’s grasp and unfolded it.

Lizzie watched Mr. Hughes while Josette read. He shifted back and forth, glaring at them, while waiting. Lizzie didn’t think that his squirming was due to wedding jitters—he knew what Josette would find.

Finally, Josette looked up. “So?” she asked.

“That letter was waylaid,” Darcy told her, “by a man I believe to be working with your fiancé. I had no idea that your grandmother had died before this week, and I didn’t have any inkling she’d written me before you implied as such yesterday.”

“Well done,” Josette said. “Is that what you want me to say? I am glad that you’ve finally received her letter, many months later. But does it warrant an interruption to my wedding?”

Lizzie grew impatient. “Did your cousin tell you who was courting her?”

Josette scowled at them both, but there was pain in her expression. “Leticia spoke of many men. She was very charming.”

“But she never spoke of having a particular suitor?” Darcy asked.

“No!”

Lizzie plunged her hand into her pocket and produced Leticia’s necklace. She held it up, and the gold shone in the candlelight. “She never said anything about who gave her this necklace?”

Josette’s eyes widened when she saw the necklace. “Where did you get that?” She stepped forward and tore it from Lizzie’s grasp.

“I found it near her body in the park.”

The clergyman gasped, looking at Lizzie with something like fascinated horror. Mr. Hughes focused the intensity of his gaze on her, and she returned it. “Whoever killed her tried to take it from her but dropped it.”

“It’s not worth much,” Josette said. “It’s gilt and paste.”

“I have to disagree with you. I found the jeweler who made it, and I can assure you he deals with gold and gemstones, not gilt and paste. And it’s no mere necklace—it’s a locket. He showed me how to open it.”

“Stop!” Mr. Hughes ripped Mrs. Cavendish’s letter from Josette’s grasp. “Leticia is dead. I demand that you leave right this instant! You’re not welcome here!”

“All are welcome in the house of God—” the clergyman began.

“Oh, do shut up!” Mr. Hughes snapped.

“Richard?” Josette asked. Her voice was small, confused.

“If you push gently on the filigree and press down on the topaz, it opens,” Lizzie said. Her heart was pounding as she waited to see if Josette would do so.

“Enough!” Mr. Hughes took Josette by the shoulders. “I don’t know why they’re interrupting our day, but we have wedding vows to exchange —”

Darcy made to grab Mr. Hughes. “Don’t lay your hands on her!”

“Stop!” Josette screamed. Her voice echoed in the empty church. “All of you, stop it this instant!”

They all stilled, unsure of what to do next. Lizzie could feel the angry energy exuding off Mr. Hughes in waves.

“Open the locket,” Lizzie urged her. “It’ll all make sense once you open it.”

Josette looked down at the necklace. She had to feel the smooth weight of the gold in her hand. She had to realize this was no trifling trinket. Slowly, Josette pushed on the filigree, and with a small click the necklace opened.

Mr. Hughes lunged to take it from her, but Darcy held him back. “‘To L.B., with all my love and adoration. R.H.,’” Josette read in a small voice. “R.H. You.”

“Josette, it’s not what you think—”

“The jeweler named your fiancé as the man who commissioned it,” Lizzie told her, knowing that her words were likely breaking Josette’s heart. “A year ago.”

“A year!” Josette snapped the locket closed. “Explain yourself, sir!”

“She meant nothing to me! It’s you, Josette, you’re the one—”

Josette drew back her hand and slapped him.

The clergyman cried out in surprise and everyone gasped. The force of Josette’s blow sent Mr. Hughes stumbling back a couple of steps. Josette was breathing heavily as she glared at her fiancé. “You! She wouldn’t tell me who, but I knew someone had broken her heart!”

“There’s more,” Darcy said urgently. “Mr. Hughes has been involved in a smuggling scheme. We believe he’s been selling his graphite to French smugglers in exchange for French goods. Just this past night we found the French contraband and apprehended those involved, including a man who worked at my father’s firm. They can all testify that Hughes was involved—”

“This is ludicrous! Are you going to believe them?”

“Your case,” Josette said. “The fire...”

“We think that Leticia found out,” Lizzie explained. “She didn’t set the fire, but she was there when it started. She was angry when she saw what was going on—she broke some bottles of brandy, and when a lamp was knocked over...”

“But why would Leticia do that? Why... why would...?”

“She must have grown suspicious of Mr. Hughes,” Lizzie said, staring the man down. “Isn’t that right? She knew you were shifty, to form a secret attachment to her, only to throw her over in favor of her cousin. But, Josette, you didn’t know he was so unscrupulous, did you? And so Leticia went looking for proof that he was untrustworthy.”

“And when the fire happened, when Simon Mullins was killed, his brother blamed Leticia,” Darcy continued. “And in a way you were right, Josette. We did cause her death because Jack Mullins hired Lizzie and we followed the investigation right to your door. Leticia knew what was going on. She told us about Mr. Hughes’s graphite mines, and she was going to meet us. She had information she wanted to pass to us.”

“She told us to meet her in Hyde Park,” Lizzie continued. “But someone got to her first.”

Lizzie looked at Mr. Hughes, who protested, “I didn’t kill her! You’re mad! Both of you! Josette, you can’t believe this!”

“You knew she would be in the park,” Josette said. “I told you of her plans that evening! But you...”

She didn’t finish her sentence, and Lizzie decided now was the time to share what Mr. Dupont had told them. “You arrived at Cavendish House only twenty minutes or so before Darcy. How long is the ride from Hyde Park to Josette’s house, Darcy? Short enough to kill Leticia and then pop in on Josette for a quick call?”

“You shut up! How dare you ruin our wedding day with such a cruel accusation!”

Josette began to shake. “No, Richard, you shut up!”

“Be reasonable, darling,” Mr. Hughes implored. “It won’t do if you start acting hysterical now!”

“Oh, I assure you sir, I am far from hysterical!” Josette shouted. “But if you like, I will show you hysteria! Is it true?”

“Of course not, none of this is true!”

“How dare you!” Josette hissed. “How dare you treat Leticia as though she could be cast aside for anything better! How dare you treat both of us that way!”

Lizzie stepped forward and gently took Josette’s arm. “Josette, I’m so sorry—”

Josette was breathing heavily, and Lizzie relaxed her grip. It turned out to be a mistake, for suddenly Josette let out a strangled cry and launched herself at Hughes, shocking them all by knocking him down. She began to hit him—mostly slaps and a few weak, ineffectual punches to his face and chest that, once he got over his surprise, he was able to fend off rather easily.

Lizzie and Darcy rushed forward to pry Josette off Mr. Hughes, although Lizzie was a bit slower about it than Darcy, and she did not begrudge the other lady a swift parting kick as they lifted her away. Josette’s maid hovered behind them, likely aware that she ought to offer comfort of some kind but seeming uncertain as to how to go about doing it.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy told Josette, his voice soft and tender. “I’m truly sorry. We won’t let him get away with it.”

“You bastard!” Hughes snarled as he lurched to his feet, blood gushing from his nose.

“Oh my, you landed a rather good hit,” Lizzie told Josette. “Well done—”

Click.

Lizzie went utterly still.

The pistol was pointed at her face, and it hovered a mere breath from her right cheek.

“Dear God!” proclaimed the clergyman, and it wasn’t entirely clear if he intended to take the Lord’s name in vain or was invoking prayer.

“Thank you, Winston,” Mr. Hughes said, his voice sounding quite nasal.

In all the commotion, they’d clearly forgotten about the valet. Now he held a pistol to Lizzie’s temple, and she released her grasp on Josette and held her hands up in what she hoped was a placating manner. “Don’t shoot.”

Beside her, Darcy had gone still, but she could feel the tension in his body as if it were her own.

“Stand back,” Hughes ordered Darcy. “At least five paces or I tell Winston here to shoot. And he never misses.”

“Come now,” Lizzie said. “Surely you won’t shoot me in a place of worship? Reverend, how much penance might one expect for murdering a lady in cold blood in a church?”

Unfortunately for her, the clergyman was quite overcome by shock and merely shook his head in disbelief at the turn of events.

“With me, Josette,” Mr. Hughes said. “Come along, don’t dawdle.”

“What are you doing?” she asked around choked tears.

“I’m saving our lives,” he said. “Honestly, this whole ordeal might have been dropped if Mullins hadn’t insisted upon an investigation.”

“How do you... but...”

Poor Josette had had her entire life upended in the space of a quarter hour, on what she thought was to be her wedding day. Lizzie didn’t blame her for being confused. “He’s in far too deep to back out now, Josette. Whoever is at the head of this smuggling operation won’t let him stop.”

“Full marks, Miss Bennet,” Hughes said sarcastically. “Would you like a pat on the back?”

“No, but I’ll settle for having your man point his weapon elsewhere.”

“Lizzie,” Darcy whispered in warning, and suddenly Lizzie got her wish—the pistol swung from her to Darcy, who’d been attempting to subtly sidle closer to her. He stilled, and Lizzie’s heart leapt in her chest.

“No,” she whispered.

“We are leaving,” Mr. Hughes told Josette. “We sail for France this evening.”

“No!” Josette seemed horrified at the prospect. “I’ll not go back there!”

“Too bad,” he said. “I can’t speak French, so you’ll have to come along.”

Josette struggled to pull out of Mr. Hughes’s grasp, and Lizzie felt torn between rushing after her and running to Darcy. “Will that be far enough?” Lizzie called out, remembering Tomlinson’s words in the storehouse. You’ll have far bigger worries if you displease her yet again. Perhaps whoever this woman was, reminding Hughes of her would stop him. “Or will the lady that Tomlinson reports to come after you, even in France?”

Hughes stopped dragging Josette toward a side door long enough to look back at Lizzie. He wore a mocking smile. “Don’t worry, Miss Bennet—I think that she will be far more interested in you than in me. Lady Catherine de Bourgh doesn’t forget those who cross her, and this will be your second time, won’t it?”

Lizzie could do nothing but stand in numb shock.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh was the head of Tomlinson’s smuggling operation?

So great was her astonishment that she didn’t realize that Josette was shouting, that Darcy was speaking urgently, that the clergyman was trying to intercede, or that Josette’s maid was weeping in terror. She didn’t hear a thing, until Hughes said, “Shoot them as soon as we’re gone.”

Josette’s cries escalated in a crescendo, and Lizzie knew that she ought to be horrified to hear their deaths ordered so casually. She ought to be putting her mind to work, strategizing her way out of this. Trying to reason with Winston, at the very least.

Instead, she looked to Darcy and Darcy looked at her, and she had the most insane thought that if this was how she was to die, then at least Darcy was by her side.

And then she decided that she would rather like to live.

Without allowing herself time to think, she slammed her body into Winston, striking his arm holding the pistol so that it jolted up, and then she was falling right on top of him. The pistol went off with a tremendous bang, and gunpowder filled her nose, making her cough and her eyes water. The sound was so much louder than the shot back at the storehouse had been, and louder than the shot that had killed Wickham. Those pistols had been fired from a distance, and this one had discharged right above her right ear. For a moment, she couldn’t make sense of what followed because of the ringing in her ears and stinging in her eyes. But Winston was scrambling to get out from under her, and she elbowed him hard in the gut. He groaned, and then there seemed to be shouts all around, from every corner of the church. Or perhaps that was just the echo?

Lizzie decided she was most certainly dazed.

Then, through the gun smoke and commotion, there was Darcy leaning over her, wild with worry. His hands pressed against her cheeks and hair, and then they made their way across her body checking for injury. She groaned.

“Lizzie, oh God, Lizzie. What a bloody foolish thing to do, you lovely, stubborn, headstrong girl!”

She smiled through the pain. “I think you forgot obstinate.”

“I was working my way up to it,” he said.

He helped her sit up, and Lizzie was rather alarmed to see that the church, which had been mostly empty mere moments ago, was now swarming with men. Men in dark jackets and laborer’s caps, all wielding pistols. Fear hammered in her throat once more, but it didn’t seem as though they were interested in Lizzie and Darcy. Instead, the closest man had restrained Winston, and beyond that, as the ringing in her ears dulled, she could hear Hughes strenuously objecting to being detained.

“Josette?” Lizzie asked.

“Fine, I think,” Darcy said, allowing only a quick glance in the direction of the rectory.

“Darcy, I know that I have been through quite a lot and suffered a number of injuries, but I didn’t think any were quite so serious as to incite hallucinations.”

“Are you seeing things?” he asked. “Someone call a doctor!”

“Are all these men real?” she whispered, looking around. “They’re not a delusion?”

“They are real,” Darcy confirmed. He slumped with relief. “Good heavens, Lizzie, you scared me.”

“And did Mr. Hughes say that Lady Catherine was responsible for the smuggling?”

“He did.”

She sank back into his arms. “How? I thought the navy caught her.”

“I don’t know. But one problem at a time, love. Can you stand?”

Not if he didn’t stop calling her love—Darcy’s pet name for her was making her weak at the knees. Darcy helped her to her feet and kept his arm around her as she took in the scene. There were at least twenty men milling about the church. Three alone were restraining Mr. Hughes while another held a weeping Josette. Another man was seeing to her maid, and two more were speaking with the clergyman.

“Splendid!” came a jovial shout that cut through the church and the chatter.

Lizzie and Darcy turned to see a man who appeared neither young nor old, with hair that was neither blond nor brown, striding down the center aisle toward them. Unlike the rest of the men, who were clothed in dark colors, he wore the red jacket of an officer.

And it was because he was wearing that jacket that Lizzie realized she’d seen him before.

“You,” Lizzie and Darcy said at the same time.

“Yes, me,” he agreed, smiling with true delight. “I suppose it’s time we’re properly acquainted now, isn’t it?”