Page 53 of In Want of a Suspect
“Elizabeth!” her father called from the front door. “Come inside.”
“They’re gone,” she said, still looking about. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, but she didn’t see anything amiss. Her exposed skin prickled in the early spring cold.
“We’ll send for the Runners,” he said. “But come inside before you catch a chill or your mother’s nerves do her in, whichever occurs first.”
Inside, Mrs. Bennet was working herself up to full-blown hysterics, attended by her daughters, while a maid nervously tried to clean up the glass and Bingley stood before the open window as if ready to defend the Bennets from any more projectiles. Guy was barking like mad, but Lizzie was relieved to see in the mayhem that he’d leapt up on Mr. Bennet’s chair, so at least she didn’t need to worry about him cutting himself on the broken glass.
“We’re under attack! Oh, who would do such a thing?” Mrs. Bennet wailed.
“Are we about to be robbed?” Lydia asked.
“No, you fool,” Mary snapped. “Does it look like we’re about to be robbed?”
“Someone threw a brick through our window—how should I know?”
“I am going to swoon!” Mrs. Bennet cried out.
“You sound quite alert to me, ma’am,” Mr. Bennet said, following Lizzie back into the drawing room. “Now, if you all would just be quiet!”
They all hushed, except for Guy. “Sit! Quiet!” Lizzie hissed at him, and to her surprise he sat obediently in Mr. Bennet’s chair.
“Right,” he said. “Girls, get your mother upstairs, then go to your rooms and stay there. I have to fetch the Runners and we’ll need to file an official report. Bingley, would you—”
“I’ll stay right here and ensure everyone is safe,” he promised, and Lizzie noticed him looking at Jane as he said it.
“Very well,” Mr. Bennet said, casting one longing look at his newspaper before saying, “Now!”
The younger Bennet sisters escorted their mother upstairs and Jane followed. Lizzie felt a pang of regret for Jane. Her poor sister! She thought she was getting engaged tonight, and now she’d likely spend the next three hours comforting their distraught mother. Charlotte sidled up to Lizzie and whispered, “Ithink you ought to look at the brick.”
Lizzie had been far more interested in the damage caused by the projectile and trying to catch whoever was responsible, so she was surprised by Charlotte’s grave suggestion. She took a step forward, glass crunching underfoot, and found the brick where it had landed on the carpet. It was an entirely normal-looking brick, as far as Lizzie was concerned, but already her thoughts were racing—why a brick? Bricks had value when a stone would have been free and done the job just as well.
“Miss Elizabeth, I don’t think...” Mr. Bingley began, but then seemed to think better of what he was about to say. Lizzie had gotten him cleared of murder charges, after all.
When she drew close, she realized that the brick had dark marks slashed across it. As her racing heart settled a bit, she stopped cold. “Does that say...”
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Isthatconnected to your case?”
But Lizzie could not speak. Across the broad surface of the brick, someone had used a black, smudgy substance to scratch out the wordSTOP.
Bingley leaned forward to read it. His face drained of all color. “Stop? Stop what?”
Lizzie withdrew a handkerchief, embroidered with her own haphazard strawberries, and picked up the brick gingerly. Her heart was hammering in her chest now.Darcy, she thought.Where are you?
“I’m not sure, exactly, but I think I have an idea.”
Twelve
In Which Darcy Finds Himself Unavoidably Detained and Receives Romantic Advice
“IF YOU INTEND TObe a dandy and keep a social schedule, why don’t you do all of us a favor and inform us now?”
Mr. Tomlinson’s voice rang out across the office as soon as Darcy arrived at Pemberley. Any stray conversations fell immediately silent. Darcy looked up to find his supervisor standing at the threshold of his office, staring at him with a smirk.
“My apologies,” Darcy said, keeping his voice even. “I had an early appointment.”
“What appointment?”
“That’s confidential,” he said.