Page 5 of In Want of a Suspect

“Lizzie,” Darcy said again, and his voice sounded desperate. “Please, come. There’s little you can do for Mr. Mullins now.”

She knew he was right, but that still didn’t lessen the heavy weight of despair in her chest. Poor, poor Jack. And Simon... She shuddered to think at how horrifying it must be to be swallowed up by smoke and flame. She was so lost in her dark imaginings that it didn’t register until Darcy murmured, “Thank God,” that fat drops of rain had started falling. “This will help keep it from spreading, at least,” he offered.

Lizzie nodded, but it was a small grace.

The men kept running inside with their buckets, but a stupendous crash from inside the building seemed to rattle the entire street and sent them all back out into the street once more, coughing and shaking their heads. Lizzie wondered what thesource of the crash had been—the second floor falling in? Some essential building support? Whatever it was, it didn’t deter the men. Lizzie and Darcy watched until they were thoroughly soaked and the men’s movements grew less frantic. Heavy smoke hung in the air despite the downpour, but the fire appeared contained, much to everyone’s relief.

“We should go,” Darcy said. “There’s nothing more to be gained here today.”

Lizzie nodded in agreement, knowing that Jack Mullins wouldn’t be thinking about his permitting issues now that his business was ruined and his brother dead. But she couldn’t just walk away, either.

“I just need to... Wait for me a moment?” she asked.

Darcy released her arm, and nodded his understanding. Lizzie sloshed through the mud and puddles to where Jack sat on an overturned crate, the rain making the soot run down his face in gray rivulets. He held his wet jacket around his shoulders, but his face was blank as he watched the men go in and out of the smoking building.

“Mr. Mullins?” Lizzie asked. “Jack?”

He looked up at her slowly, and no recognition lit his face. Lizzie felt half-drowned and she knew her bonnet would never recover. She pushed the brim back and said, “Jack, it’s me. Lizzie Bennet.”

“Oh.” Jack didn’t appear to register her words. He stared blankly at her.

“Jack, I am so sorry,” Lizzie said, realizing now that someurge to comfort him had propelled her to approach, but the same urge hadn’t given her the words to express her condolences. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to write to me. Or come call. If I can help in any way...”

She trailed off, uncertain how to continue. She felt helpless in the face of such a tragedy. She could argue a case in court, scour documentation, brainstorm a legal loophole, but in the face of such a terrible disaster, she could do nothing.

Jack didn’t acknowledge her words, and didn’t show any sign of saying anything in return, so she offered him a weak smile. “I’ll go now. But remember—I’m here if you need me.”

She had gone only three paces when she felt a cold, clammy hand grab her wrist. She turned in surprise and found Jack staring down at her, his forehead creased with urgency. He gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt.

“Jack?”

“You can help,” he whispered. “You have to find the woman who set the fire.”

“A woman?” Lizzie asked. She hadn’t yet pondered how the fire had started, let alone whether someone had set it.

“Yes,” Jack insisted. “You have to find the woman who killed my brother.”

Two

In Which Lizzie Receives an Early Morning Caller, and a Rather Unconventional Case

A REASONABLE PERSON MIGHThave written off Jack Mullins’s plea as the grief-stricken reaction of a man still in shock, and while Lizzie did consider herself quite reasonable, she couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath that followed his request.

“Jack,” she said, but then took a moment to sort through her thoughts. Why did he think awomanhad set the fire? Had he seen her do it?

But before she could decide which of these questions to ask first, one of the men approached. “Jack! We need you!”

Jack turned and nodded at the man. Then, to Lizzie, he said, “I’ll call on you soon.”

And with that, he was gone.

Lizzie trudged back toward Darcy, noticing the squelch in her boots. Her stockings were soaked, and the thought of walking the long way home was suddenly incredibly tiresome.

“What happened?” Darcy asked in concern tinged with suspicion.

“He told me that someone set the fire,” Lizzie said. “A woman.”

“A woman?” Darcy parroted. “Why?”