“Are you certain, Elizabeth?” he asked in concern. “I will not have you neglected.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she began her mild chastisement. “How might I enjoy the area’s beauty if I know you suffer? We will put aside our pleasures until you have satisfied your cousin’s affairs.”
“If I have not told you previously, you are a remarkable woman, Mrs. Darcy. How I ever laid claim to your affections, I do not pretend to understand, but I am fortunate among men.”
“Some day, I shall share my secrets, Mr. Darcy.” She turned him toward the cottages. “For now, come along, Fitzwilliam. We have much to discuss.”
Some three hours later, Darcy and Elizabeth lingered over their evening meal. Darcy had excused the servants for the evening, and he and Elizabeth shared tea and some palate-cleansing fruit as they sat together in the cottage’s small drawing room. Elizabeth had curled her legs up beneath her, and in contrast, Darcy had stretched out his long legs before him.
“Then we agree that we shall speak to Mr. Peiffer on the morrow,” Elizabeth summarized.
“Agreed,” Darcy said contentedly. It was as he had expected. Elizabeth complemented his natural inquisitiveness. She took notice of details which had eluded him, but his wife’s keen intelligence was never in opposition to his. “Yet, I possess qualms about your accompanying me to speak to the Rom leader.”
“Fitzwilliam, you would be in more danger alone than if I arrived on your arm. Even you admit that the gypsy band will act with honor toward a lady.”
“I will consider your suggestion,” he said begrudgingly.
Elizabeth dragged her teeth across her bottom lip in that familiar way, which he recognized as her deep consideration. She placed her cup and saucer on a nearby table. “Do you suppose we might discover someone besides Mr. Stowbridge who could address our questions regarding the events which took place after your cousin’s interment?”
“I am not certain whom to ask,” Darcy confessed. “It is not likely the local curate would offer much insight.”
“We should speak to whomever was the first to come upon the Rom’s body,” Elizabeth reasoned.
“I fear, Mrs. Darcy, that in this matter, you and I will wear many hats, and I am most profusely sorry that you must be exposed to such sordid details; but please know how much I cherish your counsel.”
“You are saying, Sir, that you have not involved yourself in the investigation of your client’s death,” Darcy said in incredulity. He and Elizabeth had called on the solicitor early in the man’s day. Darcy’s presence had sent the staff of Smythe and Osborn into a flurry. Yet, despite all the fawning and praise, Darcy remained unimpressed.
“We are the largest firm in the area,” Mr. Peiffer said in self-importance. “And we serve many in the shire, but our clientele is solidly of the Christchurch community. Wimborne is some fifteen miles to the west. Events outside Christchurch cannot concern us.”
Darcy’s mouth set in a tight line. “Not even when Smythe and Osborn profit from those events?” he asked brusquely.
Elizabeth did not permit the solicitor a response. In his place, she said, “Mr. Darcy, perhaps it is best that we leave Mr. Peiffer to his duties. I have suddenly recalled that I promised Mrs. Ridgeway I would oversee the packing of Cousin Samuel’s belongings.” She stood and reached for her reticule.
Automatically, Darcy followed her to his feet. Whatever his wife planned would be better than dealing with the asinine Mr. Peiffer. “As you wish, my dear,” he said obediently. Offering an abbreviated farewell to the solicitor, Darcy placed Elizabeth on his arm. He led her from the offices. “What was the purpose behind that charade?” he asked grumpily as he escorted her along the busy walkways.
Elizabeth purposely did not respond. Instead, she tightened her grip upon his arm. As they strolled toward the waiting carriage, she stopped periodically to glance into a shop window. If Darcy had not found her farce so amusing, he would have been quite angry. By the time they reached the coach’s steps, he was shaking his head in disbelief. As he assisted Elizabeth into the carriage, he whispered into her ear. “Whatever scheme you have devised, I am your servant.”
She caressed his cheek and pursed her lips in a pretty kiss before entering the coach. Darcy followed close behind her.
“Where to, Mr. Darcy?” his footman Murray asked.
Darcy nodded towards his wife. “Today, we take orders from your Mistress.”
Elizabeth smiled knowingly. “Wimborne, Murray. We return to Samuel Darcy’s home.”
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.” The footman closed and secured the coach’s door.
Darcy leaned easily into the squabs. He crossed his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. And then he waited. His wife was not known for her patience, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she would explain her scheme.
He sat, perhaps, five minutes before Elizabeth tutted her impatience. “I call a truce, Sir,” she said contritely. “You recognize my weakness too well.” Leaning toward him, she pleaded, “Please ask of my maneuverings.”
Darcy opened his eyes slowly. He loved the moment in the early morning when he opened his eyes on the day, and they rested on Elizabeth’s countenance. It brought him true peace. “Very well, my dear, please explain why you deemed it so important to end my conversation with Mr. Peiffer?”
Elizabeth sighed deeply in satisfaction. “First, Mr. Darcy, to engage in conversation, one must have a minimum of two relatively intelligent beings, not an exotic parroting bird such as Mr. Peiffer as one’s partner.”
“Very true,” Darcy said through a pleased smile. He and Elizabeth customarily made like judgments of people. At least, they had done so once they had ceased their battle of wits and learned to love one another.
“Second, by announcing that I intended to supervise the consolidation of your cousin’s effects, I earned permission from his man of business to do so,” she declared.
Darcy’s frown created deep lines in his forehead. “I did not hear Mr. Peiffer grant us such an allowance.”
Elizabeth countered, “Neither did you hear him object. If we possessed no right to search through Cousin Samuel’s belongings, surely his man of business would have made that fact known.”
Darcy chuckled, “And as the events in Wimborne can be of no consequence to those in Christchurch, we hold an open invitation.”
“Exactly, Mr. Darcy.”
Chapter 3
Respectfully, Mrs. Ridgeway welcomed them to Woodvine Hall. “We thought it best if we separated Cousin Samuel’s belongings. According to Mr. Peiffer, certain items have been designated for the Antiquarian Society.” Darcy eyed the entranceway. When he and Elizabeth had called at Woodvine the previous day, the hall had been draped in the late afternoon shadows. On this day, he observed the unusual placement of many of Samuel Darcy’s most bizarre treasures, specifically several carved Gorgons along the top of a magnificent grandfather clock. The Gorgons were certainly not items to his liking or taste.
Elizabeth chimed in, “We have procured a list.” From her reticule, she retrieved the page Mr. Peiffer had provided them earlier.
Darcy had never considered her acting ability, but his wife was a natural. Or perhaps she had a mind for larceny. An expert thief required a quick mind for improvisation. The thought brought a light chuckle. “We would prefer to start in Samuel’s study,” he instructed.
Elizabeth added, “Perhaps, we might commission a room or two.” She unfolded the list and glanced at it. “As we uncover each of the items to be donated, we could place them in the designated room to separate them from the remaining effects of the late Mr. Darcy.”
Mrs. Ridgeway’s frown spoke of disapproval, but she nodded her agreement. Darcy interjected, “We might also consider separating Samuel’s treasures from Egypt from those he secured in China and those from Africa. Lady Cynthia could choose which she prefers from her uncle’s memories.”
The housekeeper motioned one of the
maids forward. She whispered instructions and sent the girl on her way. “I will have everything arranged whenever you are prepared to move Mr. Samuel’s discoveries.” She sighed deeply, “It is hard to imagine that Mr. Samuel will not be returning from an afternoon walk or a ride across his land. The staff and I have been at sixes and sevens as to what role we will play in the estate’s future. Several expect to lose their positions.”
“How long have you been with the late Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth inquired sympathetically.
“Not quite seven years,” the lady confided. “We met on a ship returning from America. I had just lost the late Mr. Ridgeway some three years prior, and I knew not what I would do when I returned to England. I am thankful Mr. Samuel showed me a great kindness.”
“I recall Samuel’s excursion to America. It was less than a year after my father’s passing,” Darcy explained. “Both my sister and I felt bereft of my cousin’s counsel and his company, but we understood he had business that he had neglected while attending our family, and we had lives to set aright. We parted sadly, but with hope.”
“Mr. Samuel was an excellent employer,” Mrs. Ridgeway asserted. “Now, if you will follow me, I will show you the Master’s study.”
Within minutes, Darcy and Elizabeth were alone. Trying to take it all in, Elizabeth turned in a circle. “Mr. Darcy, if I ever complain about your need for order, remind me of this room.”
Darcy assumed the seat behind his cousin’s desk. “Do not permit the clutter to deceive you. Samuel Darcy had a brilliant mind.”
Elizabeth seated herself before the desk. As she removed her bonnet and gloves, she said, “I would expect nothing less from a Darcy.” She retrieved the correspondence from a nearby tray. “Where do we begin?”
Darcy reached for the foolscap on the corner of Samuel’s desk. As he sharpened a pen, he said, “I think it best we list what we know and what we have yet to discover. Those lists should determine how we proceed.”
For the next few minutes, they summarized the information they had learned from Mrs. Ridgeway, Mr. Peiffer, and Mr. Stowbridge. Unfortunately, the list was very short. “Not very promising,” Elizabeth noted as she read over his shoulder.
Darcy frowned in dissatisfaction. “Evidently, we have stepped into a marshy predicament,” he mumbled. Freshening his pen, he said, “Let us create the other list.”
“We should start with Mr. Stowbridge’s entertainment. The squire said something about your Cousin Samuel’s remarking on the evening’s discussion reminding him of an ancient ritual,” Elizabeth suggested. “Someone should speak to Mr. Drewe and Mr. Mason to determine the source of your cousin’s qualms.”
Darcy added, “And the type of ritual.” He jotted down their ideas. “Samuel often visited uncivilized societies. Did my cousin base his remark on something one of Mr. Stowbridge’s guests said or on something the gentlemen were creating as part of their authorships?”
“Of course.” Elizabeth’s excitement grew. “I had forgotten that Mr. Stowbridge’s guests are writers. Perhaps, they write a tale of haunted castles and darklings.”
Darcy smiled easily. “You really must avoid Mrs. Ratcliffe’s tales,” he teased.
Elizabeth pointed to the list. “No commentary, Mr. Darcy. You are simply the scribe.”
He winked at her and returned to the page. “We must determine with whom Samuel was disappointed.”
“Mayhap your cousin has a journal that would provide us clues to his mindset,” Elizabeth proposed.
“An excellent idea,” Darcy concurred. “In the past, Samuel kept detailed reports of his expeditions. In addition to those logs providing us with information on the aforementioned ritual, they may also lead us to more personal notes.”
Elizabeth thumbed through the stack of letters. Her brow furrowed in concentration. “Obviously, we must discover what happened to Cousin Samuel’s body,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Was Samuel ever in the grave?” Darcy asked, and the possibility surprised both of them.
Elizabeth said, “We have assumed that Samuel Darcy knew a traditional English burial.”
Darcy shook his head in the disbelief. “At this point, we should avoid making assumptions. There are no assigned parameters in this scenario. And indeed it appears as if Cousin Samuel involved himself in something beyond the normal.”
“I agree,” she said softly.
As the list grew, Darcy realized how uncommon the events surrounding his cousin’s death appeared. The events of Samuel Darcy’s death went against the norm, and Darcy despised how control had been wrenched from his grasp. He regarded her with a somber expression. “What of the explosion?” he asked grudgingly. “Surely if someone wished to rob a grave, he would not do so by destroying the gravesite.”
A terrible silence welled between them. “We must discover the reason a Rom would be in a cemetery at night,” Elizabeth observed. “I would think the man might hold with too many superstitions to do so.” Elizabeth’s expression turned thoughtful.
He said, “I cannot imagine many souls taking comfort in a fresh gravesite, especially not late into the night.”
“Was it late?”
Darcy frowned. “I assumed so, but perhaps it was not.”
As if to share a secret, Elizabeth leaned closer. “No one mentioned a shovel, Fitzwilliam. Would not a grave robber require a shovel to do the deed?”
“If there was no shovel, then robbery was not the Rom’s motive,” Darcy said on a soft sigh.
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She stared dumbly at the list. Even though not complete, her husband’s second list had filled one page and half of another. “We cannot manage this alone, Fitzwilliam,” she declared.
“I have come to the same conclusion.” Conscious of the incongruity surrounding their efforts, Darcy agreed. “Likely, my first task is to send for reinforcements. My cousin is in London. I will ask the colonel to join us and to bring along someone with investigative experience.”
“Ask the colonel also to secure the services of a person to catalog Mr. Darcy’s archaeological finds. I believe the task beyond my skill,” Elizabeth admitted.
Darcy said fiercely, “I doubt anything is beyond your abilities, Lizzy, but I suspect even Cousin Samuel would find the possibilities daunting.” He drew out another sheet of foolscap. “Allow me to send for the colonel; then you and I will search for any information that might lead us to the truth.”
Elizabeth fanned the letters. “Would it be insensate to read the late Mr. Darcy’s correspondence?”
Darcy’s countenance hardened. “Elizabeth, I would trust you with my cousin’s deepest secrets, but you must act on your instincts in this matter.”
She nodded her gratitude. “You should pen notes to Mr. Drewe, Mr. Mason, Mr. Glover, and the head of the gypsy band for a beginning. We must also learn something of who discovered the Rom’s body.”
“Our list may take the remainder of the day,” Darcy grumbled.
Elizabeth reorganized the correspondence on a nearby table. She read each before placing it in one stack or another. “Our efforts will be for the good. Tomorrow, we will begin the necessary interviews.”
Darcy lamented, “When I set Dorset as our destination, I possessed no idea of the hornet’s nest into which we would slip.”
“Mr. Darcy, my name is Andrzej Gry. You sent for me.” Darcy and Elizabeth had returned to Woodvine Hall for a second day. He marveled at how his beautiful wife had taken on this odious task with an air of excitement that permeated his cousin’s walls. Even after four hours of examining dusty volumes on the previous day, Elizabeth had awakened with a delightful light of curiosity in her eyes. Today, she oversaw the cleaning and cataloging of Cousin Samuel’s private quarters. Darcy would not have her present when he met with the gypsy leader or with Mr. Drewe. Mr. Mason was reportedly unavailable until week’s end. Knowing her disappointment with his decision, Darcy had reluctantly agreed to send for her when the surgeon called later in th
e afternoon.
“Mr. Gry. Thank you for coming so promptly.” Darcy gestured to a nearby chair.
Gry smiled with wry amusement. “When a gadje sends for a Rom, a member of the band would be sorely lacking if he refused.”
Darcy examined the man carefully. “You will pardon my saying so,” he said cautiously, “but you have the look of no Roma I have ever encountered, and your accent lacks the rolling Germanic base.”
With a tilt of his head, Gry acknowledged the truth of Darcy’s words. “My branch of the family comes from the Nordic lines, hence the fairer skin tones and hair.” The man smiled easily, but Darcy held the feeling the Rom despised the English idea of politeness. “When my family was driven from Wales to America, I found it judicious to speak as those with whom I dwelled and conducted business.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned leisurely into the chair’s cushions, but tension remained in the taut lines of his muscles. “I have only recently returned to England to lead my family. We are a mixed band. My mother’s people are from central Europe, Sinti, although they had carved out a life of respectability by the time she was born. My father was Roma. Of course, I am neither. As an unmarried man, I cannot be Roma, at least, not in the word’s truest sense. Our home is in Essex.”
Darcy fingered the gold thread that had worked itself free of the chair’s braid. “I suppose you understand, Gry, why I have asked you to join me today.”
“Rumors say you are Mr. Samuel’s cousin and heir,” the Rom said casually.
“The rumors are correct,” Darcy said matter-of-factly. He took note of Gry’s slight grimace. It was an odd reaction to something so simple—Darcy’s suspicions increased. That niggling warning he had experienced since arriving in Dorset returned with a vengeance.
“As you are the legal heir to Mr. Samuel’s property,” Gry said cautiously, “I assume you wish to announce the eviction of my family from your relative’s land.”
The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy Page 4