Page 2 of In Want of a Suspect

“First of all, it’s not unfamiliar—I told you, I’ve been there before! Second, I am hardly alone when I have you.”

At that, Darcy finally cracked a small smile, and Lizzie felt a thrill of triumph rush through her. Getting Darcy to smile was akin to writing a perfectly elegant, unimpeachable sentence in a brief, one no sour solicitor at a competitor’s firm could find fault with. But as he was Darcy, he was not content to let her win this argument. “My point still stands—I don’t see how a permitting disagreement in the Western Exchange requires a visit to the gentleman’s storehouse.”

“Gentlemen,” she corrected. “Mr. Mullins—Jack—and his brother, Simon, co-own the business. And besides, we have a history—the Mullins brothers were my first case.”

“The one where the man died and his business partner tried to take the assets?” Darcy’s forehead creased as he drew up the memory, and Lizzie smiled. Despite his grumbling, Darcy always listened, and, what’s more, he remembered what she told him.

“Yes, and his sons came to Papa to get the business back,” she continued. “The brothers sued the man. There was some nonsense involving paperwork and missing files, but, well, we got that all cleared up in no time!”

She smiled brightly at Darcy, but he was shaking his head. “Missing files, hmm?”

“They were recovered!”

“You are good at recovering missing or lost things,” he noted. “Do you think you can recover your sense of direction?”

He indicated up ahead, where the street dead-ended into a brick wall. Lizzie stopped sharply. “Oh. That’s new.”

“Is it?” Darcy asked, dubious.

“Come on, we’ll go around.” She pulled Darcy down a nearby alley, sidestepping dank puddles. “And don’t look at me that way—you were happy for an excuse to leave the office and get out, too! Besides, it’s just a little alley, and I’m sure once we come out up here...”

Lizzie trailed off, because unfortunately for her and for Darcy’s opinion of her navigational skills, when they emerged onto the street, Lizzie was completely lost. This street was full of storehouses and work yards, with laborers—mostly men—focused on their tasks or coming and going. Lizzie and Darcy stuck out like a sore thumb in their finely made clothes, andLizzie’s dainty boots didn’t stand a chance against the muddy trenches of the street. A nearby blacksmith looked up from his outdoor fire and stared at the pair of them with obvious disgust.

“Right,” said Darcy, and asked more gently, “do you know where we are?”

“No,” she finally admitted. It had been three years since she’d last seen Jack Mullins and visited the storehouse he and his brother had inherited from their father. London’s streets had changed in that time as new buildings and businesses had sprung up, and the skies were just cloudy enough that she was no longer certain which direction she was facing.

“There’s nothing more to it then,” Darcy said gravely. “We must ask for directions.”

“I have a feeling that if we were to approach anyone on this street, they’d tell us to walk directly into the Thames,” Lizzie muttered. As much as she despised the notion that she needed a male chaperone to conduct business, she was glad she’d wheedled Darcy away from his desk now. It wasn’t just in the courtroom where the presence of an unaccompanied lady drew ire and the wrong sort of interest.

“Look ahead,” Darcy urged.

At the end of the block, two spots of red stood out. Officers, some of the many that had flooded the streets of London lately—even more so than usual. It seemed that Britain was always engaged in one war or another, usually with the French, for as long as Lizzie had been alive. But the latest news fromthe Continent of Napoleon’s advance had everyone on edge, and Lizzie’s youngest sister, Lydia, in a constant state of hope that she would find love with a handsome war hero.

Lizzie allowed Darcy to take the lead as they navigated through the muddy streets in the direction of the officers, who would surely be honorable enough to steer them in the right direction. One was tall and stout and stood like a man who knew he was in charge. His companion was slight and Lizzie’s height, and seemed to keep one half step behind the taller officer as they strolled down the muddy streets, their backs to them.

Lizzie and Darcy picked up the pace to catch up to them and were still a good distance away when the pair halted and seemed to have an exchange with someone ahead of them. Lizzie couldn’t see who they were talking to, but she saw the taller officer raise his hand and bring it down to strike something. A woman cried out in fear, and the sound jolted down Lizzie’s spine, spurring her on.

“Lizzie! Wait!” Darcy called.

But Lizzie charged forward, and caught up with the officers just in time to see the taller one shove a small pushcart laden with various worn-out odds and ends. Its wheels had become mired in the muck of the streets, and a rail-thin woman strained to push it out of the officers’ way. She wore a shabby brown dress with a faded blue kerchief holding back her hair, and her frantic gaze skittered between the officers and her sad-looking wares as she struggled. The shorter officer cleared his throat to say somethingas the taller brute growled in frustration, but Lizzie interrupted.

“Excuse me!”

The taller officer stopped his rough manhandling of the cart and looked behind him at Lizzie and Darcy.

Lizzie caught a flash of annoyance on his face as he took them in. It was tempered only slightly when he registered the state of their dress and realized he was speaking with a gentleman and lady. “You’re an awfully long way from home, aren’t you?” he asked.

Lizzie felt her training kick in, even if she would have liked to roll her eyes. She had found that a kind and sympathetic attitude went much further than impatience or authority, no matter how ridiculous the other party was acting. “We are indeed, but we’ve business to tend to, and it seems like we might have taken a wrong turn. How fortunate we were to run into yougentlemen.” She made sure to emphasize the word, as if it might remind them to find their manners. “We were hoping you might give us directions, after you are finished assisting thislady.”

Lizzie’s not-so-subtle hints went unregistered. The poor woman looked between them all, uncomprehending. The tall officer raised his eyebrows. “What business?” he asked Darcy.

Lizzie sensed rather than saw Darcy assume the haughty, bored posture of the privileged and powerful son of one of London’s most powerful barristers. “I’m afraid that’s confidential. But please, don’t let us interrupt your civic duty to assist this lady with her cart.”

“Lady,” the officer echoed disdainfully. “Dirty French, more like. They’re worse than the rats.”

“She is not a rat!” Lizzie shot back. “She is a human being deserving of respect.”