Page 28 of In Want of a Suspect
Darcy had long given up trying to understand the convolutions of Mrs. Bennet’s thoughts, and merely bent down and offered Guy his hand. The dog sniffed at his fingers and then allowed Darcy to pet his head. “I don’t hate him. I’ve never had a dog before.”
“Me neither,” Lizzie said. “And I think that Lydia and Kitty might start a riot if I found him a new home now, so I suppose we’re stuck with him.”
We, she’d said. That simple word warmed Darcy, drawing him out of the gray mood his encounter with Mr. Tomlinson had put him in. “My apologies,” he said to Jane. “I suppose the lastthing your household needed was a pet.”
“Don’t mind Mama,” Jane assured him. “She objects to everything that is not her idea at first, but she comes around more often than not.”
“Speaking of my mother’s objections,” Lizzie said. “I asked Jane to accompany us to call on Miss Beaufort. I would have asked Charlotte, but it seems that my dear mama caught wind that we’ve a case and believes that the amount of time we are spending together is dangerously close to improper,” she said, huffing a bit on the last word.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Jane said with an apologetic wince. “I promise that Mama shall get the tamest of reports.”
“I don’t mind in the slightest, and besides, we wouldn’t want to displease your mother.”
“Did you get the search permit?” Lizzie demanded.
Darcy raised a hand to hail a carriage and grimaced. “About that...”
Once they were all tucked into a carriage and it was rattling down the busy streets toward Cavendish House, he told Lizzie the bad news. The moment he uttered the words “official Crown business” her eyes went wide.
“How on earth is a wool merchant’s storehouse official Crown business?”
“That was my question, but as you can imagine, it went unanswered.”
“Why didn’t Jack disclose this? In fact, why hire me if the Crown is already involved?”
Darcy waited for her to come to the conclusion herself. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “You think he’s hiding something.”
“Either that, or he doesn’t know,” Darcy acknowledged. “But I think it’s clear that we won’t be granted entry into that storehouse anytime soon.”
Lizzie sighed heavily at the setback and looked out the window as the streets of London slid by. “Let’s not say anything to him just yet. Although I’ve already written and said we were pursuing a lead with a Miss Beaufort. Let’s hope our visit proves enlightening.”
Darcy had a theory that he’d been mulling over since the afternoon before, and he ventured to share it now. “We may not have a clear suspect yet, but there are a few details that aren’t sitting well with me.”
“What details?”
“This fire... it happens where French émigrés happen to be living and working. And they give you the name of a wealthy young lady with French parentage. Then, the British officers the other day, and now hearing that the storehouse has something to do with Crown business...”
“You think this has something to do with the war?”
Darcy sighed. “Perhaps. It just seems as though there an awful lot of connections to French factions, and then to hear the Crown is involved somehow...”
Lizzie’s eyebrows furrowed together, and for the first time all morning, she looked unsettled. Darcy didn’t blame her. It was one thing to get caught up in legal strife and various miscarriagesof justice here at home, but neither of them was particularly interested in involving themselves in the war between England and France.
“What does that mean?” Jane asked, sounding worried.
“I don’t know quite yet,” Darcy admitted. “And we have no idea if it’s true, but...”
“What connection could a wool merchant have with the war?” Lizzie muttered.
“Are the Mullins brothers radicals?”
“Not that I know of. But, Darcy, you can’t think that perhaps the storehouse was burned down by French sympathizers?” Lizzie asked. “Just because Miss Beaufort is French?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But you’ll see—Miss Beaufort is quite English, despite her name and parentage.”
It wasn’t very long before they pulled up in front of a town house, and Darcy noticed the surprise on both Bennet sisters’ faces. The home was grand, and in a very respectable neighborhood. Darcy knew what Lizzie was thinking—not likely the sort of place a sympathizer of Napoleon might live.
“Let me do the talking,” Darcy instructed. “She might not be overly pleased to see me, but at one point in time she did trust me. Perhaps we can get to the bottom of this and clear her name before the gossip spreads.”