Page 56 of In Want of a Suspect
“But why—are you all right, sir? Should I call someone?”
“No need, I’m out now. The time, Randall!”
“Half past eight—sir, where are you going?”
Darcy had already pushed past him and rushed to his desk. He picked up his jacket and hat and turned to Randall. “I have an appointment!”
“But Mr. Tomlinson—”
“I’ll be back!” he called over his shoulder, bursting out of the offices. If Tomlinson was responsible for his night in the records room, then Darcy would deal with that later. Outside, he hailed a carriage and tried to straighten his appearance on the ride to Brower Street, where the Dashwoods kept a shop, and hoped that Lizzie still planned to meet him there.
The shop’s front was a perfumery, which allowed all sorts of clients to come and go discreetly. The bell above the door tinkled when he let himself in, and there was only one other customer at the counter, head bent over the perfume samples displayed against a stretch of shockingly pink velvet. The young lady wore a wide straw bonnet trimmed with pink ribbon, and she paidDarcy no mind as she continued her hushed conversation with the young lady behind the counter.
“Now, this one is floral, with deliberately light notes of vanilla and musk, and—oh, don’t worry, we can speak plainly.” Marianne Dashwood smiled broadly in his direction. “Mr. Darcy! We’ve not seen you in a while.”
“Good day, Miss Dashwood.” He bowed in her direction, and gave the young lady she was assisting a polite nod but said nothing to her as they were not acquainted. Blond ringlets framed her porcelain face from under her bonnet and she regarded him coolly but similarly held her tongue.
“Elinor, come see who’s here!” Marianne called out, then turned back to her customer. “Sorry about that, Miss Woodhouse.”
“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” she said, casting Darcy a sidelong glance.
“Where’s Miss Bennet?” Marianne asked, peering behind him as if she expected Lizzie to pop out.
The door behind the counter swung open and the oldest Dashwood sister, Elinor, came bustling out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Mr. Darcy, hello,” she said, and smiled gently in his direction. Elinor was the more soft-spoken Dashwood sister; and while she was not prone to the same dramatic outbursts that Marianne was known for, her eyes held genuine warmth as she regarded him. “Oh—is Miss Bennet not with you?”
“That’s what I asked,” Marianne said. “He has yet to respond.”
“Well, give him a moment,” Elinor told her sister.
Miss Woodhouse, whoever she was, was watching this exchange with great interest.
“Good day, ladies,” Mr. Darcy said. “Is Lizzie not here yet?”
“I’m afraid not,” Elinor said.
At the same time, Marianne asked, “Is everything all right? I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of you on your own.”
“We do operate independently on occasion,” Darcy noted, with a trace of irony in his voice.
Marianne was unimpressed. “If you’ll excuse me saying so, you look dreadful.”
“Marianne!”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy appreciates honesty!”
As a matter of course, this was true, but he was not sure he appreciated this brand of honesty. “I’m fine, Miss Dashwood. I had a rough night.”
The sisters exchanged knowing looks, which immediately made Darcy suspicious.
“Is everything all right between you and Lizzie?” Marianne asked.
“What? Of course.”
“It’s just that this is highly unusual.”
“Everything is fine,” he insisted. “Except, well... our case has gotten complicated, and I went looking for information last night and found myself locked in the records room—it’s a long story—and I missed a very important dinner last night, so she’s likely a bit irritated with me at the moment. But once I explain the matter, it should be fine.”
“You were locked in a records room?” Marianne asked.