Page 16 of In Want of a Suspect

“Un garçon,” she repeated, looking from face to face. “Avez-vous vu un garçon?”

The women murmured among themselves, but nothing that Lizzie could make out. Finally, the woman that Lizzie had seen the day before stepped forward. “Non.”

She regarded Lizzie with curiosity, recognition lighting up her face. One of the other women hissed something to her, but she shook her head and responded in rapid-fire French, too quick for Lizzie to translate, although she caught the wordsoldat. Soldier.

“Je cherche une femme,” Lizzie tried. If they didn’t see the boy, maybe they knew something about this mysterious woman that had apparently been inside the storehouse. “Grande, brunette... une dame?”

Her description was not much to go on. Tall, brown hair, likely a lady given her dress. But the woman from yesterday shook her head rapidly. “Il n’y a pas des dames ici, mademoiselle.”

“Please. S’il vouz plait. It’s important.” But the woman continued to shake her head. No ladies here. Lizzie wasn’t certain whether they didn’t understand her, or didn’t wish to help her. “I want to help,” she added truthfully. “Aider?”

Her words brought out a flurry of whispers, and finally one of the women produced a name. “Josette,” she said, looking between Lizzie and her friends. The other women nodded in agreement.

“Josette?” Lizzie asked. “Does she have a surname? Um, nom de famille?”

At this question, there seemed to be a bit of a disagreement. After some whispering and rapid-fire discussions, theblue-kerchiefed woman said, “Beaufort. Josette Beaufort.”

The women nodded, repeating the name among themselves. Lizzie felt uncertain—she had no way of knowing if the woman she was looking for was Josette Beaufort, but the women all seemed confident that the description she gave matched, so she said nothing more. Lizzie wished she could ask them more about this Josette Beaufort, but she didn’t know how to ask her questions in French, and she didn’t wish to press her luck. At least she had a name. “Merci. Merci beaucoup.”

And with that, there was nothing more for Lizzie to do but to turn around and head back toward the Mullinses’ storehouse and find Darcy. The Frenchwomen waved, but they closed ranks into a tight knot once Lizzie turned away.

As she passed the pile of wood where the boy had been hiding, Lizzie paused. The pile concealed bits of newspaper and a few old rags fashioned into a sort of nest, ringed by small rocks and sticks. The sight pulled at her heartstrings. She sometimes wished she could sweep up all the poor children of the streets and give them homes, but judging by the way the boy had run, he likely wouldn’t allow it. Still, some impulse to help propelled her to draw two coins from her reticule and drop them in the boy’s nest. Maybe he would find them, maybe he wouldn’t....

After a moment’s hesitation, she added her calling card as well. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t be able to read it, but perhaps someone he knew would know how, and he’d find his way back to her. She knew it was unlikely, but she weighed it down with one of the bricks so it wouldn’t blow away, and straightenedup, brushing the dirt from her gloves. There. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She found Darcy in front of the storehouse and waved to get his attention. “Any luck?” she called out.

He shook her head and strode over to her. “I’ve asked every man on this street who will talk to me if they’d seen a lady matching the description, and I got no responses that are fit for your ears,” he said with a bit of disgust. “Shockingly, not many ladies patronize the establishments here.”

“Shocking,” Lizzie echoed.

She was about to tell him what she’d discovered when a voice called, “Oy! You two!”

They turned to find Mr. Parry waving at them. He gestured for them to approach, and Lizzie and Darcy hurried over, Lizzie’s heart pounding with hope. Perhaps he’d changed his mind and would be willing to talk....

“Here,” the man said, handing Darcy the end of a rope. Lizzie traced it down to a very small, very dirty dog. The poor animal came reluctantly. His body was long, with very short legs, and he had a mess of fur on the top of his head that looked like a lady’s bouffant. He was dark cream in color, but his fur was streaked with soot.

“Mr. Mullins’s dog,” Mr. Parry explained. “That is, the late Mr. Mullins. Guy’s the name. He’s been whining all day. Wants his master.”

“Oh, poor thing!” Lizzie crouched down to say hello to the small dog, who sat without command and looked up at her withsad brown eyes. “But why are you giving him to us?”

“Simon is dead, and Jack-o doesn’t want him. Always made him sneeze, Guy did, so he stayed downstairs. Now it’s no place for him, and it’s on to the streets if I don’t find him a new home.”

“But I don’t understand,” she said, looking at Darcy. “What makes you think we want him?”

Mr. Parry shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll turn him loose otherwise. Don’t have patience for a dog myself.”

And then he dropped the leash and resumed his post.

Lizzie looked up at Darcy, who was regarding the small dog with horror. “We can’t just take another man’s dog,” he said.

“We can’t leave him! You heard Mr. Parry—he’ll be homeless unless someone takes him in. And take a look around—who’s likely to take home a stray dog?”

“He’s filthy,” Darcy protested.

“He’ll wash! Won’t you, Guy?” Lizzie patted the dog’s head. The creature leaned into her touch and whined. “Oh, Darcy. You can’t say no to him.”

“So you’ll be taking him home, then?”