Page 51 of In Want of a Suspect

“I was reading in the papers that the French don’t have enough graphite of their own,” Charlotte added. “They’re desperate for our supply. With such advantages, we can surely hope for a quick British victory.”

Graphite. Why did that sound familiar?

“Indeed, England has some of the best deposits of graphite in all the world,” Mr. Bingley agreed. “Now that it has become so dear, the Crown guards its supplies closely.”

Lizzie gasped. Mr. Hughes owned a graphite mine! But what had he said about it? The vein had run dry, and now his mining days were over.

Jane looked at her, worried. “Are you all right, Lizzie?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She took a sip from her glass, and then said, “And where are these cannonballs made, Mr. Bingley?”

“Oh, I don’t know precisely—but I believe there is a munitions factory here in London.”

“Are you taking an interest in firearms, Lizzie?” Mr. Bennetasked. “I admit, I would prefer it if you chose less dangerous hobbies.”

“I’m just curious about the graphite,” she said, casting a glance at her older sister. She had promised Jane that tonight would be about her, and yet she couldn’t help asking Mr. Bingley, “Is all the graphite in England controlled by the Crown?”

“Yes,” Mr. Bennet answered instead. “Smuggling it is a felony.”

Lizzie dropped her fork, which held a small bit of boiled potato, so great was her surprise. It clattered onto the floor, whereupon the potato was quickly claimed by Guy.

“Are you quite all right?” Jane asked.

Mrs. Bennet glared at her. “Lizzie! Is that dog in my dining room?”

“Sorry, Mama,” she murmured. And then, “Oh, look, here comes the pudding!”

That was enough to distract the dinner party, and by the time everyone had been served and compliments were given, the conversation moved on. But Lizzie was still thinking of graphite, and carronades, and most of all, she was thinking of Mr. Hughes.

Mr. Hughes owned a graphite mine in the Lake District that was supposedly defunct.

Darcy had not been able to obtain a search permit for the Mullins Brothers storehouse due to official Crown business.

Were these two things related? If Mr. Hughes was moving his graphite through the Mullins Brothers storehouse, it couldexplain the secrecy and danger. But surely such an operation had to be illegal. And if a tall, dark-haired young lady, who was either Josette or Leticia, had discovered that Mr. Hughes was selling his graphite to the French... well, that was a secret worth killing for.

But why would Jack Mullins hire her to find an arsonist if the Crown was investigating his storehouse?

Unless... their suspicions were true and Jack Mullins wasn’t aware of such an investigation.

A chill went through Lizzie then, and she missed Darcy fiercely. He would tell her if her imagination was running away with her. He would also be the first to tell her that the last thing they needed was to run afoul of the Crown if it was investigating felonies and possibletreason.

Where was he?

“Shall we go through?” Mrs. Bennet asked, startling Lizzie out of her thoughts.

She looked around the table and realized that everyone was finished with their pudding, but Mrs. Bennet was not willing to wait on her account—this was the moment that she’d been waiting for all evening. She looked downright gleeful as she ushered the ladies away from the table, leaving Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley with their drinks.

Then Mr. Bennet said to Bingley, “It’s just the two of us—unless you desperately want a brandy, how about we follow them?”

“No!” Mrs. Bennet cried, spinning around.

Bingley and Mr. Bennet looked at her, startled.

“No,” she repeated, smiling. “Mr. Bennet, you simply must offer Mr. Bingley a drink! I will not have him saying that our hospitality is lacking!”

Beside Lizzie, Jane clutched at her hand. Lizzie squeezed it reassuringly, although she couldn’t help but feel a wave of sympathy for her father—for all her mother’s careful, diligent planning for this evening, she seemed to have failed to inform her husband to be prepared for any opportunity for Mr. Bingley to ask for Jane’s hand.

“Well, all right,” Mr. Bennet said. “But I have to warn you, this English brandy can’t hold a candle to the French stuff.”