Page 10 of In Want of a Suspect
And he had found the missing contract in the mess.
But the thing was, he was positive that the contracthadn’tbeen on his desk at all. He knew what was on his desk, and what wasn’t. Which meant either Darcy couldn’t trust himself and his memory, or someone had planted the contract on his messy desk to discredit him.
He said nothing, of course. But he did clean up his desk, spent more time organizing and filing, and bided his time. And then a week and a half later, a report on a client’s business holdings had gone missing. Darcy hurriedly rewrote it while Tomlinson seethed and raged at him, and just as he’d nearly finished while Tomlinson loomed impatiently over him, a hopeful clerk approached, the original document in hand.
“It was on the floor, sirs,” he’d said. “Under the liquor cabinet in Mr. Tomlinson’s office.”
“Good God, man,” Tomlinson had shouted at him, almost as if on cue. “You’ve got to be more careful. Keep an eye on where you place things. And, Darcy... steer clear of the liquor during the workday.”
Tomlinson had pretended to whisper, but his voice had carried through the bullpen of desks to the other solicitors and clerks nonetheless. Then he clapped a hand on Darcy’s shoulder before striding off, and Darcy was left sitting in the middle ofthe firm that his father had built, so very angry that he might have nearly challenged Tomlinson to a duel, except the last time he’d done that things hadn’t quite worked out for him, and he was trying to be better.
After that, Darcy kept copies of all the paperwork he submitted to Tomlinson. He didn’t let on, though, preferring to let Tomlinson think he was getting one over on him. Darcy didn’t care if they thought him a little disorganized. But he wasn’t about to let Tomlinson throw a case and hurt a client because he enjoyed humiliatinghissuperior’s son.
Darcy slid the copy of the Crawley motion out of his satchel and placed it on his desk. He’d stayed up half the night writing out the copy, but he was glad of it.
Now he just had to wait an appropriate amount of time before he told Tomlinson that he’d “discovered” the missing document.
One thing that bothered Darcy was that he hadn’t figured out what he’d done to bring Tomlinson’s ire down upon him. Before his father’s absence, he’d hardly noted Tomlinson’s presence beyond acknowledging him as one of the many more senior members of the firm. It could be that Tomlinson simply despised Darcy’s privilege and connection, but he couldn’t help but feel as if there were simply more to it than his name....
As he waited, Darcy became aware of a clerk walking in his direction, wearing a pinched expression. The man’s name was Perkins, and he stopped at Darcy’s desk. “Sir, I think you might want to come out front.”
“Perkins, no need to call me sir,” Darcy said. The man wasolder than he by five years, but Darcy was the heir apparent of the firm and that commanded a bit of respect still... at least in some people’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“That lady is here again,” Perkins said with an apologetic grimace. “And you know how Mr. Tomlinson gets...”
Now Darcy was the one grimacing. He stood, grabbing the copy of the Crawley motion—it wouldn’t do for this one to go “missing” as well. “Thank you, Perkins.”
Darcy could hear Lizzie’s voice before he could see her, and that brought a small smile to his lips before he could properly contain it. She was chatting with the clerk who sat at the front desk, inquiring about the health of his wife, saying, “I do hope she hasn’t caught the nasty cough that seems to be going around.” Her gaze snagged on the sight of him but she kept her attention on the desk clerk.
“Thankfully not, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Reeves said. “She’s feeling much better these days.”
“I am so pleased to hear that,” Lizzie said. “Please give her my regards.”
To Darcy’s knowledge, Lizzie had never even laid eyes on Mrs. Reeves... although it wouldn’t surprise him to hear they regularly took tea together. Lizzie had a way of connecting with people that Darcy often found utterly confounding.
“Good day,” he greeted her, allowing her a nod. What he really wanted to do was kiss her hand and get close enough to inhale her intoxicating scent, but the last thing he needed was to draw Mr. Tomlinson’s attention to her presence.
“Darcy!” Lizzie exclaimed, rather loudly. Inwardly, he winced. “I’m afraid that I come bearing absolutely dreadful news.”
Her tone indicated otherwise—she sounded downright giddy. “Oh?”
She dropped her voice to whisper. “Yesterday’s excursion has produced a case.”
He tried very hard not to shiver at the memory of yesterday. That fire had been downright terrifying, and when he did finally get to sleep that night, he’d dreamt that he and Lizzie were lost in a maze of confusing London back alleys while the scent of smoke and roar of flames got ever closer. “Congratulations?”
Lizzie wasn’t bothered by his lack of enthusiasm. Heaven help him, she had enough for the both of them. “Thank you. Now I came to inquire as to whether or not you— Yes? Can I help you?”
Darcy turned and was startled to find Mr. Tomlinson standing a mere three paces behind him, wearing an irked expression. “Now, Miss Bennet, I believe that is a question I should be asking you.”
Lizzie smiled sweetly, and only someone who knew her well could tell that her manner wasn’t genuine in the least. “Oh, no thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. Mr. Darcy is assisting me.”
“Is he?” The man’s sour tone grated on Darcy. “Why, if you have the time to receive visitors in the lobby during the workday, I think I ought to assign you a few more cases, Darcy.”
Darcy saw Lizzie’s shoulders square up for a fight, and he rushed to stop her. He arranged his features into a bored, distantexpression. “I beg your pardon, sir. I was merely stepping out for a moment.”
Mr. Tomlinson’s falsely genial expression turned into glee. “In the middle of the workday? Your last name might be Darcy, but that doesn’t mean you get to leave whenever your...” He trailed off suggestively.
“Colleague,” Darcy supplied, the word coming out harder than he intended.