The Final Equation Page 2

“You understand rightly,” I replied, gathering my courage. I would not allow this man or any other to see me in a state of nervousness. “I hope that you have a good day, sir. But not too good of a day, if you take my meaning.”

  He gave me a small, chillingly soft smile. There was a strange softness to him, something about him that jarred when combined with his gaunt, bony appearance.

  Then, he turned and was gone.

  Chapter Three:

  Proof

  My mind was reeling with what had just happened. We had encountered many sorts of criminals in our time together, Mr. Holmes and I. I had seen horrifically bloody murders, jewel thievery, and everything else in between.

  But never before had one of our adversaries been so audacious as to step into Mr. Holmes’ flat and confront him.

  Of course, to be fair to the other criminals that we had faced, the circumstances were usually quite different. Normally, a crime was committed and then we were brought in to solve it by some grieving relative or other. This was a rather different scenario and one that posed quite the conundrum for us: How to obtain proof of Moriarty’s crimes?

  Moriarty was a blackmailer, which was how we had first learned of his business. When he sent that odious circus group after us, all that we knew was that he was a criminal of the highest order. It was not until later that we learned he kept politicians and royalty in his back pocket by blackmailing them.

  Our best bet was to get one of those people who had been blackmailed to come forward and admit to what had happened. But who would admit to being blackmailed? If one was being blackmailed, then one had usually done something wrong and nobody would want to reveal that he or she had done something illegal or immoral in the eyes of society.

  “Did you see that, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Holmes asked me.

  “Did I see what, sir?” I asked, confused and jolted out of my reverie.

  “That little book that Moriarty was carrying.” Mr. Holmes smiled with grim satisfaction. In any other man, that would have equated to jumping with glee. “I am certain that it holds, at the very least, his schedule for things such as shipments of smuggled goods. We must obtain it.”

  “But how are we to do that?” I questioned.

  “Moriarty is a professor of mathematics. Such people are used to having to write things down; it will be a habit of his. I doubt that he is the sort of man who keeps important information in his home. Observe the state of his clothes. He is not a man who cares for the finer things in life. His work is what matters to him. That means that he will, whether he realizes exactly why or not, keep his information at his university office, for it is a part of his work and therefore where he seeks to put valuable things.

  “If we can get into his office, I am certain that we shall find the proof that we are looking for. Papers and half-made plans. They will help us immensely. Can I trust that you are up to the task?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Holmes. But what of his little book? He will keep that with him at all times. It is small and therefore easy enough for him to carry, no matter what he is wearing or doing. He will not let it go so easily.”

  “I shall handle that,” Mr. Holmes told me smoothly. “For now, be prepared for my instructions. I shall send them to you through the homeless network. The time for great secrecy and care is at hand.”

  I did not like the idea of going home and sitting around to wait, but it was true that I had family matters to attend to and my sisters would be offended if I kept them waiting much longer. There was some news to be announced, apparently, and Jane had impressed upon me the importance of my presence.

  “Tell me what is to be done and I will do it,” I assured him. “Until then.”

  By the time I got home, my nerves had quieted somewhat. I could hear my mother’s voice in my ear, complaining about her poor nerves. If only she lived the sort of life that I did, she would know what true nerves were!

  Jane greeted me at the door. “Oh, they will be so glad that you are here. They have been most impatient. They declared that they would not tell anyone anything until you arrived.”

  I was rather curious, I must admit, and I allowed her to lead me into the sitting room. There was Charles, my brother-in-law, holding my nephew, Thomas. Charles and Jane, after Jane’s difficult pregnancy, were not certain that they would be able to have more children, and so doted excessively upon Thomas.

  Fortunately, they knew what spoiling children led to, and so took care to be firm with him when it was needed. Lydia had been an absolute terror until her unfortunate experience with Mr. Wickham, and it was because Mother had spoiled her quite rotten.

  Mary sat at the pianoforte, which was where one could usually find her, although she was reading a book instead of playing. Lydia and Kitty were there as well, sitting on the edge of their seats with huge smiles on their faces.

  “Lizzie!” they cried when I entered the room, getting up and barrelling over to hug me.

  I had not been at all close with my two youngest sisters growing up. They were noisome, spoiled, thoughtless, silly girls. But after the situation with Mr. Wickham and their relocation to London, they had changed. Jane had been far too ill and then far too busy with Thomas to chaperone them, so I had ended up with the job of accompanying them, along with Mr. Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, on most outings.

  While their chaperone, the three younger girls and I had grown close. Georgiana had been a wonderful influence on Kitty and Lydia. I could say with certainty that my younger sisters and I were much closer than before, and sometimes, I even dared to think that they looked up to me.

  After the usual exchange of how much they had missed me and how much I had missed them, Lydia and Kitty each grabbed one of my hands.

  “You shall never guess what has happened to us in the time that you were absent!” Lydia exclaimed.

  “You ought to know better than to ask a lady detective to guess something,” I replied slyly. “You are both engaged to be married, are you not?”

  “I told you she would guess it!” Kitty declared triumphantly.

  “It was just a few days ago,” Lydia said. “He has written to Papa to request his permission.”

  “As has mine,” Kitty added quickly.

  Although thick as thieves, the two were competitive. It did not surprise me that their suitors had proposed to them almost at the same moment, for Kitty and Lydia would hear of no less. When I had left, there had been a few possible suitors courting them. I looked forward to properly meeting their fiancés and getting to know them.

  And letting those fiancés know what would happen to them if they dared mistreat my baby sisters. I had contacts now. And I knew how to hide a body.

  “You know them somewhat,” Lydia assured me. “They are good men, we promise.”

  “I shall make certain that they are,” I replied lightly.

  Charles snorted in amusement.

  “You will help us plan the wedding, won’t you?” Kitty asked me, tugging at my hand. “You are always so busy with your work. Please say yes!”

  I felt a stab of guilt. My work with Mr. Holmes was stimulating and fulfilling for me, but it did mean that I was sometimes called away from my time with my family. Although my relationships with my three younger sisters had improved as a result of my working with Mr. Holmes, my absences and odd schedule did sometimes frustrate my family.

  “I shall help you, of course,” I told them. I hoped that I would be able to hold true to that statement.

  Lydia and Kitty exploded with chatter and stories all about how it had happened, how marvellous it had been, their plans for the weddings, what they would wear, who they would invite, what being married and running their own households would be like, and so on.

  It made for an entertaining but exhausting evening. At the end of it all, Lydia and Kitty were hustled off to bed, and Charles volunteered to put down Thomas. Mary was still quietly reading in the corner. I could sense that she wished to speak to me privately, an
d so I decided to stay downstairs and wait until Jane went up.

  “They have been in hysterics of joy,” Jane said quietly, warmly. She was such a gentle soul. “They will enjoy married life. I think it will help them focus. Running a household does take up quite a lot of one’s time.”

  “They have both grown up quite a bit, have they not?” I admitted. “They are no longer children. They have not been for some time, of course, but it feels as though it is as last striking me.”

  “I understand how you feel.” Jane paused. “Mother will be pleased. Both men make six thousand a year, a bit more than Charles does.”

  “Three of her children married and all of them to rich London men! However will we keep her from fainting with joy?” I laughed.

  “You know she will then put more pressure upon you. Your younger sisters married before you?”

  “I think that it will have the opposite effect,” I confessed. “Perhaps she will finally admit that it is too late for me and that she ought to resign herself to my fate as the elderly spinster sister who leeches off of her prosperous brothers-in-law.”

  Jane laughed. “Do not be so cynical, Lizzie.”

  “But I must be. What man would not only be capable of holding my attention long enough for me to develop an affection for him, but also respect that I will wish to continue my work with Mr. Holmes and that I will not allow myself to be shackled or treated as inferior?”

  Jane shrugged. “I think that you underestimate men, that is all, Lizzie. I think that if you do ever wish to have a marriage and children, you will find someone to give you that.”

  Mary looked up from her reading and shot Jane a cynical look. Mary had an even lower opinion of men then I did. But Jane was in love and married to a wonderful man, so of course she was more inclined to be optimistic than Mary, who was bitter because her gender would not allow her to be a doctor or lawyer or minister as she wished.

  I bid Jane goodnight, and at last, we were alone.

  Mary hurried to me, casting her book aside. “Well?” she whispered. “Has he told you? That he knows who Moriarty is? He told me that he knew and I have my suspicion, but he would not confirm it for me.”

  “He did tell me,” I replied. “And then the man himself arrived at the flat!”

  I told her everything. Mary listened, her dark eyes wide, her face paler than usual as she took it all in.

  “Then you are both in grave danger,” Mary hissed. “You must tread carefully, Lizzie, you and Mr. Holmes both.”

  “He said that we must obtain proof,” I told her. I sketched out the basic plan.

  “That is dangerous. What if he comes into the office while you’re there?”

  “I am not at all certain, but I trust that Mr. Holmes has a plan.”

  And then, it came: a knock at the door.

  Chapter Four:

  An Unexpected Ally

  It was quite late, so it was odd that anyone would be knocking at this hour. Furthermore, it made me wary. After what had happened earlier today at Baker Street, I would not have been surprised had Moriarty been standing at my doorstep.

  “Mary, hide,” I whispered. I did not know who was calling, but if they turned out to be dangerous, I did not want my sister anywhere near them, nor for them to know that she was even awake. My family was the one thing that I would not allow to be hurt.

  I grabbed a fireplace poker, sticking one end into the flames for a moment to heat it up, and then crossed to the door. I kept the hand with the poker hidden behind the door as I opened it—

  “Mr. Darcy!” I blurted out.

  I felt rather ridiculous for holding a heated fireplace poker now.

  “Miss Bennet.” Mr. Darcy looked at me oddly. He could most likely tell that I was in a bit of a state. “Forgive the lateness of the hour, but—”

  “I take it Mr. Holmes was not at his residence,” I said.

  Mr. Darcy stared. “How did you know that I had just been around to his flat?”

  “You smell of Mrs. Hudson’s cooking.” I took in Mr. Darcy’s appearance. His hair was the slightest bit disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it a few times. His collar was the slightest bit crooked, and his shoes were scuffed, as though he had kicked something in anger.

  “Has something happened to Georgiana?” I asked, worry shooting through me like cold water. I had grown to care greatly for the girl and loved her as a sister.

  “No, no, she is fine for now,” Mr. Darcy assured me.

  There was something about his tone that concerned me. “Come inside.”

  I led him into the sitting room. “Mary, you can come out. If you would, fetch us some tea, please.”

  “I can do it myself. I need not rouse the servants,” she said. She curtsied to Mr. Darcy, who bowed to her, and then she hurried out of the room.

  “What is the matter?” I asked. “Something is. You have kicked either a piece of furniture or the wall in frustration and you have been running your hands through your hair. You are not usually a man given over to nerves. It must be something grave indeed.”

  Mr. Darcy sighed. “It appears that, to my misfortune, Mr. Wickham’s attempt to marry my sister all those years ago did not go as unnoticed as I thought. The lady who assisted him in the endeavor, formerly my sister’s chaperone and companion, knew of the entire affair and spoke of it to someone who recorded her testimony. Now, that person is blackmailing me.”

  It did not take much imagination on my part to guess who that person might be. Mr. Darcy made ten thousand a year and was the nephew of a titled lady. He was high up in society and had many connections to people of power.

  “Is this blackmailer named Moriarty, by chance?” I asked.

  Mr. Darcy sighed. “I ought to have known that you would know. Your knowledge is as good as that of your mentor. Yes, it is someone who goes by the name Moriarty. Although, I doubt that is the person’s true name.”

  “No, it is not his true name. In fact, he is a criminal that Mr. Holmes and I have sought to clap into irons for some time. We are hoping to draw close to him shortly.”

  “Then allow me to help you,” Mr. Darcy said at once. “I went to Mr. Holmes immediately, and when he was not at home, I came to you, for I knew that you are one who stays up late at night. I recall from when you visited Mr. and Mrs. Collins. I knew there was no time to be lost, so I took the risk of you being awake and going against propriety.”

  “You know full well that I am not someone who cares all that much anymore for propriety in regards to society,” I replied with a smile. Propriety in the sense of morality, of right and wrong, of not doing anyone harm—that, I certainly still believed in. But when it came to the stricter rules of society, I found that my patience often wore thin.

  “True, true.” Mr. Darcy smiled in return, but it was a tired one. The man must have been in a state. I knew him well enough by now to know that he was not so much worried for himself as he was for Georgiana.

  If the public learned that she had even considered running away with a man to be married, it would be damaging enough. But to learn that the man in question had been murdered for his relations with yet another woman, while trying to rape a third—

  It would be an uproar, and not just for Georgiana. Lydia was the third lady in question, saved only by Mr. Wickham’s murderer, who had interrupted the affair. The person who had hired the murderer was Charles’s sister, who was now in prison. All three of our families—the Darcys, the Bingleys, and the Bennets—would be exposed and drawn into the papers.

  Ruin would quite possibly be upon us all, but none more so than Kitty, Lydia, and Georgiana. Lydia and Kitty’s intended husbands might well find a way to end their engagements. Technically, once a man proposed, he could not then retract his offer. Only a lady could end the proposal, for she was the one who accepted it. You could not give a gift and then retract it, and the same was true of a proposal.

  But if enough ruin faced them, then
surely those two young men would wish to separate themselves from it. And Lydia would be devastated. It had taken her long enough already to get over what that dastardly Wickham had tried to do to her.

  I pushed down the fears that threatened to rise up inside of me like an ocean wave. It would do none of us any good for me to panic.

  I could not help but wonder if Moriarty had done this on purpose. If he knew about Wickham and Georgiana, then he must, of course, know about how Wickham had died. He must be aware of the connection between the Darcys and the Bennets in this manner.

  Was this some sort of sideways attack upon me? So that I would be forced to back down?

  If Moriarty thought that anything would stop me from assisting in putting him in jail where he belonged, then the criminal mastermind had at last miscalculated.

  “You must know that going to anyone for help will bring the wrath of the blackmailer upon you,” I told Mr. Darcy.

  “I am aware.” Mr. Darcy stood firm. “But I will not allow myself to be manipulated. I want this person to be found. I cannot be his only victim. You say that this Moriarty was already in your sights. I did not know this at the time when I decided to come to you. I knew only that I must do what the other victims had not and get assistance so that these crimes might cease. But now that I know that you are after him, I am more determined than ever to assist you.”

  “I know that Mr. Holmes will be grateful for the assistance,” I lied. I had no idea what Mr. Holmes would say. Aside from his time with me, Mr. Holmes was a very solitary man. He was not the sort who was used to company nor did he often wish for the involvement of others.

  But in Mr. Darcy, I saw a valuable ally. While we had gotten off to quite a rough start, he was a man of character and a man who could be trusted to remain discreet. He owed Mr. Holmes twice over for assistance that Mr. Holmes had provided in the past, and what was more, he had money and connections that Mr. Holmes and I did not. If things were to go badly sideways, Mr. Darcy could use both of those to help us out.

  Not that I expected things to go quite that badly, but it was best to be prepared.