The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy

by Regina Jeffers

  He regarded her in a searching manner. “Do you suppose Mr. Crescent remains in the neighborhood?”

  “I think Mr. Crescent will have found it prudent to seek employment elsewhere. Mr. Glover’s description of the criticism leveled at Mr. Crescent’s willingness to follow Cousin Samuel’s last wishes has painted the man in an unfavorable pose. However, I pray Mr. Crescent has lingered for, I fear, only he holds the answer to several of our questions.”

  With a commitment to learn all they could from the neighborhood, they had arrived early to be ushered to the Darcy box by the Wimborne village curate. However, after the service, Elizabeth had suggested that they join the crowds socializing before the church doors.

  “Mr. Darcy,” a man running his hat’s brim through his fingers said as he offered a respectful bow, “I wish to extend my family’s condolences for your loss. I am Lucas Snow. I own the local mercantile.”

  Darcy nodded aristocratically, but Elizabeth offered the man her most beguiling smile. “Thank you, Mr. Snow. Mr. Darcy and I are gratified to know how much the late Mr. Darcy was loved and respected.”

  Snow’s nervousness faded, and Darcy marveled at how easily his wife had conquered the stranger’s hesitation. “The late Mr. Darcy was an excellent customer,” Snow related. “But more importantly, Samuel Darcy was a true gentleman. He treated everyone with compassion. The late Mr. Darcy spoke to the individual rather than to society.”

  Darcy said fondly, “My cousin held a reputation for his benevolence, but it is an honor to hear such sentiments upon your lips.”

  Snow smiled widely. “I speak the truth, Mr. Darcy. There were few in the neighborhood who would speak ill of your cousin.”

  Darcy asked astutely, “But there were some?”

  Snow flinched under Darcy’s direct gaze. “Samuel Darcy knew value when he saw it, and there are always those who offer inferior products,” the man said privately.

  “Such as the gypsies?” Darcy said softly.

  “Yes, the gypsies, but others who pass through. Those who were on the open end of Samuel Darcy’s evaluations were not always pleased by his words.”

  As Snow made his excuses to depart, Darcy nodded his understanding. Several others offered their condolences before the Darcys made to board his carriage. Mr. Williamson, the curate, found them awaiting Murray’s setting of the step.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Williamson said genially, “you have done our simple church an honor with your presence, Sir. Hopefully, you will join us again. I understand you plan to remain in the neighborhood for several weeks.”

  “We do.” Darcy placed Elizabeth’s hand on his arm. “I have promised Mrs. Darcy a holiday while we await the appearance of my cousins Lady Cynthia Sanderson and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  Williamson cocked his head. “I was unaware of the colonel’s anticipated arrival.”

  “The colonel is visiting with acquaintances in Cornwall. I have asked him to join us for a few days. As he has regularly traveled beyond England’s shores as part of his service to the King, the colonel will provide us new insights on how best to proceed in identifying the value of Cousin Samuel’s effects.”

  Williamson gave a self-conscious laugh. “I did not mean to intrude, Mr. Darcy. Our little village will rejoice with the news of the colonel’s and Lady Cynthia’s appearances. It is not often we entertain those of the aristocracy.”

  Elizabeth’s dry voice interrupted. “We had hoped, Mr. Williamson, to encounter Mr. Crescent at services this morning. Mr. Darcy wished to acknowledge Mr. Crescent’s long service to his cousin.”

  “According to Mr. Glover, Mr. Crescent has located a new position.”

  “So soon?” Elizabeth asked innocently; yet, Darcy took note of how quickly she had pounced on Williamson’s innocent words. Did Mr. Glover present a Janus face? The man had spun a contradictory tale regarding the absent Mr. Crescent.

  Williamson puzzled. “I had not considered Mr. Crescent’s departure a problem.”

  Darcy was quick to say. “It is not of a problematic nature. I will speak privately to Mr. Crescent with his new employer’s permission. Would you happen to know with whom Crescent has taken a position?”

  The curate regarded them in surprise. “Truthfully, Mr. Darcy, I do not believe I have heard the man’s direction—with a gentleman of some merit in London, if I understood correctly. At least, I believe that is what Doctor Glover confided.”

  Elizabeth’s countenance betrayed her wry curiosity. “I did not notice Mr. Glover among today’s parishioners.”

  Williamson shrugged. “That is not unusual. Perhaps Glover tends a patient.”

  Elizabeth said nonchalantly, “I also did not take note of Mrs. Ridgeway. I observed many from Woodvine’s staff among the worshippers, but not Cousin Samuel’s housekeeper.”

  Williamson confided, “In her some six years in the neighborhood, Mrs. Ridgeway has yet to step over the church’s threshold.”

  Chapter 5

  “Fitzwilliam! Look!” Elizabeth gasped. He glanced up at the L-shaped house, which had been built in the Renaissance fashion, but somehow now sported a Baroque exterior. The detailed façade did not appeal to Darcy’s need for clean lines, but he could understand how the unique look would capture Samuel Darcy’s attention. They had entered the Woodvine lands from the village road rather than the main entrance. Now, as they approached his cousin’s manor house, the presence of Mr. Glover’s equipage parked behind the stables surprised both Darcy and Elizabeth.

  “Interesting,” Darcy said distractedly.

  Elizabeth murmured, “Perhaps someone within is ill.”

  Darcy gave a sharp shake of his head. He observed, “But Glover is a surgeon, not a gentleman physician. Let us discover if someone from Woodvine requires Glover’s services or whether there is a more questionable reason for his presence under my cousin’s roof.”

  Darcy ordered Mr. Stalling to leave the coach on the far side of the manor below the gardens, and he and Elizabeth approached the main house on foot. “Mr. Darcy!” the Woodvine butler exclaimed as he opened the door to Darcy’s entreaty. “I did not hear your coach, Sir. Please come in. Mrs. Darcy, may I assist you with your things?”

  Darcy glanced toward the staircase. From the driveway, he could hear Stalling’s approach and was certain others in the household could, as well. “Is Mrs. Ridgeway not available?”

  “I believe the lady entertains Mr. Glover in her sitting room.”

  Elizabeth asked innocently, “Is the lady ill? Although we noted many from Woodvine among the parishioners, we did not see Mrs. Ridgeway among those at worship this morning.” Elizabeth feigned concern for the Woodvine housekeeper. “It is too early for calls, Fitzwilliam. We should see to Mrs. Ridgeway immediately. I fear the poor woman must be quite ill. Come along.” Before the butler could block her way, Elizabeth handed her bonnet to Mr. Barriton and started toward the stairs.

  Darcy marveled at how well she had improvised. This journey had brought to his recognition new facets of his wife’s personality. He must keep Elizabeth’s skills in mind for future encounters. The thought of matching wits with her had always excited him. Obediently, he said, “Of course, my dear,” before following her to the third story, where the housekeeper maintained her quarters.

  Surprisingly, Elizabeth slowed her steps as they neared Mrs. Ridgeway’s door, and instead of knocking, she stepped into an empty room and pulled Darcy in behind her. Before he could question her, Elizabeth’s fingers stopped his words. “Shush,” she whispered. “Just listen.” Within seconds, a maid frantically tapped on the housekeeper’s door. As they peered through the crack between the open door and the portals’ framing, Darcy and Elizabeth viewed Mrs. Ridgeway’s countenance when the maid informed her of their approach.

  “Send Mr. Barriton my gratitude,” Mrs. Ridgeway said as she shot an anxious glance toward the hallway.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The maid rushed away.

  Glover joined the lady at the door. “What is amiss
?”

  Mrs. Ridgeway scowled. “Nothing of consequence. The Darcys fear I am ill. They are coming this way.”

  “Perhaps, I should leave before they arrive,” Glover suggested.

  “Barriton told them you joined me for tea. The Darcys will be here momentarily. Just have a seat. We have done nothing wrong.” She turned Glover toward their waiting tea service before glancing at the empty passageway once more. Then Mrs. Ridgeway followed the surgeon into the sitting room. She pointedly left the door open.

  Elizabeth breathed her order. “Stay here. Your boots are too heavy.” Then she tiptoed some ten feet along the passage they had just traversed. Saying loudly enough to be easily heard, “This way, Mr. Darcy. I believe Mrs. Ridgeway’s rooms are down this passageway,” Elizabeth walked heavily toward the housekeeper’s room. As she passed the open doorway, Darcy fell into step behind her. God! How he loved her deviousness and the way her hips swayed when she walked smartly. Her close presence sent a rash of awareness over Darcy’s skin, and the scent of lavender filled the air with fond remembrances. The whole situation was quite exhilarating.

  “Mrs. Darcy?” Mrs. Ridgeway asked in affected surprise, as they appeared framed in the open doorway. “I had no idea you planned to call at Woodvine today. It is Sunday, is it not?”

  “Of course, it is Sunday,” Elizabeth said sweetly. “Mr. Darcy and I took advantage of his cousin’s pew this fine morning.” For effect, his wife glanced with concern at the housekeeper. “When we did not observe you in attendance, I thought perhaps you had taken ill. You can imagine my horror when Mr. Barriton informed us of Mr. Glover’s presence in your quarters.” It was another of the double entendres that his wife so loved to use in her speech. They truly had been horrified to discover the close connection between Glover and the lady. Another missing detail. It was the source of Darcy’s unease.

  Mrs. Ridgeway offered the Darcys a belated curtsy. “I am most apologetic for causing you grief, Mrs. Darcy. It was never my intention.”

  Darcy asked pointedly, “Then Mr. Glover has made a social call?”

  Glover stuttered an “Uh...um,” before Mrs. Ridgeway answered for the man. “Mr. Glover made an overnight call upon one of Mr. Samuel’s tenants. He simply stopped at the main house to report upon his treatments. I naturally asked him to join me for tea before he returned home for some restorative sleep.”

  Glover immediately reached for his gloves. “And I should be taking my leave. If I dwell longer, I will have to ask Mrs. Ridgeway to provide me a room for the day.”

  “I am certain the lady would gladly comply,” Elizabeth said congenially, but Darcy understood her unspoken conclusion.

  Mrs. Ridgeway’s tone held a hint of censure. “Of course, I would be pleased to see to the doctor’s needs.”

  “That shan’t be necessary,” Glover announced. Giving everyone an amiable smile, the surgeon stepped around Elizabeth, but Darcy caught the man’s arm to stay him.

  “Who was your patient, Glover? I would see to the family’s needs in my cousin’s absence,” Darcy said in mock seriousness.

  Glover glanced around nervously. “There is no need, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy waved off the surgeon’s words. “I insist. Cousin Samuel would expect it.”

  Glover glowered. He swallowed convulsively. “Mr. Winters. But keep in mind, Mr. Darcy, not every cottager takes kindly to those who show benevolence.”

  Elizabeth said defensively, “I assure you, Mr. Glover, that my husband is renowned for his compassionate approach with Pemberley’s tenants. His father was an excellent man, and his son is just like him—just as affable to the poor. He is the best landlord and the best master.”

  Glover looked about helplessly. “I have no doubt of Mr. Darcy’s condescension. Now, if you will excuse me.” With a curt bow, the surgeon disappeared through the servants’ hallway, a fact of which Darcy readily took note.

  Mrs. Ridgeway’s voice cut the silence. “Am I to assume you planned to continue your accounting of Mr. Samuel’s belongings today?”

  Elizabeth hovered in the open doorway. Darcy watched as his wife surreptitiously examined the housekeeper’s quarters. “I had not planned to return to Cousin Samuel’s effects today, but since we’re here, perhaps we should spend some time with the late Mr. Darcy’s library. Mr. Peiffer sent over a list of books we should separate from the others. I suppose God would forgive us for spending time on the Sabbath with this task. What is your opinion, Mr. Darcy?”

  “As you love books nearly as much as you cherish your Christian upbringing, I suspect God will be lenient in his judgment. I believe each of God’s children should add something substantial to his education by the improvement of his mind by extensive reading.” Darcy hoped his wife would use the reference to Christ’s teachings to return to the question of the housekeeper’s avoiding the Wimborne village church.

  As if part of dramatic farce, Elizabeth asked, “What is your opinion, Mrs. Ridgeway? Would I go against God’s tenets if I chose to spend time in completing a duty? Speak to me of what God would intend.”

  The housekeeper’s shoulders stiffened. “I fear, Mrs. Darcy, that I am far from being a student of the Scriptures. You should accept Mr. Darcy’s counsel. Your husband means to protect you.”

  With a slow nod of her head, Elizabeth said, “Of course, you are correct. Mr. Darcy means to protect me in this world, as well as the next.”

  They had enjoyed each other’s company as they had leisurely perused his cousin’s books. By silent consent, the Darcys had avoided a discussion of what most interested them: the true relationship between Mr. Glover and the housekeeper. Instead, they had kept a running chatter between them—the kind one would not expect between those only recently married. Darcy marveled at how well they had assimilated into married life. If an observer had been unaware of their young joining, he might think them of a longer-standing relationship. It was as if they were of one mind. How well they had adapted to each other’s temperament was a true testimony to the genius of Darcy’s choosing Elizabeth as his wife. He would know a comfortable home, whereas many of his friends would suffer with their choices.

  Darcy had once told the colonel, “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” And so it was. Darcy had futilely fought his desire for his Elizabeth. She had taught him a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. She had properly humbled him. He had initially come to Elizabeth without a doubt of his reception, and she had showed him how insufficient were all his pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.

  Darcy glanced toward the open door. “I suspect we should finish for the day,” he said loud enough for those lurking in the hallway to hear. And Darcy held no doubt that others listened to their conversation. More than one of Samuel Darcy’s servants had paused outside the library as they had gone about their duties.

  In many ways, Darcy admired how the household staff had rallied about the housekeeper; yet, their actions had rubbed against his deep-rooted sense of loyalty. Their efforts were misplaced. Each member of Woodvine Hall’s staff owed his fidelity to Darcy’s late cousin. It was Samuel Darcy’s estate that continued to pay their wages. He would be glad for Lady Cynthia’s arrival. Darcy would encourage her husband, the Earl of Rardin, to join him in releasing each of the fickle wastrels without notice.

  “Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth’s voice spoke of frustration, and he turned to see her struggling with a heavy tome on one of the higher shelves.

  “May I be of assistance, my dear?” Darcy stepped behind her and caught the hefty manuscript in his large grasp.

  Still a bit irritated, Elizabeth said, “It adheres to the surface.” She stepped to the side to allow Darcy an easier access to the shelf.

  Darcy wedged his fingers under the spine. “Perhaps the binding has suffered damage.” He carefully lifted the volume, but it would not budge. “Would you place
the stool where I might reach it?” he asked as he attempted once more to work the book free.

  Elizabeth quickly retrieved the small three-legged wooden stool she had commandeered from one of the maids. “The book is on Mr. Peiffer’s list,” she disclosed as she placed the stool close to where Darcy waited.

  He stilled; his eyes narrowed. Darcy read the title aloud: The Demon Necromancer. Fingers flexing at his side, he was left gaping. “Why ever would Cousin Samuel choose such a book for his donation? The title reeks of something a schoolgirl might read late into the night.”

  Elizabeth glanced again at the book resting above both their heads. “It is thicker than any novel I have ever read.” As Darcy stepped upon the stool, she cautioned, “Be careful, Fitzwilliam.” She placed her hand on the back of his long leg to steady him, and Darcy felt the instant heat of her touch. Delicious warmth cascaded through his body.

  “Permit me to see what keeps this title in its place,” he murmured as he laced his fingers about the book. Yet, still it did not readily come free. “Perhaps,” he said teasingly, “the casing is hollow, and Cousin Samuel’s latest treasure is within.”

  He glanced at Elizabeth, and his wife’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Would that not be grand?” Elizabeth asked with wonderment.

  With a bit more force, Darcy carefully lifted the tome. “The binding is caught on a nail, which has worked itself free from the wall,” he explained. As he loved books, Darcy worked diligently to avoid destroying the title in his haste to free it. “Cousin Samuel would not want his donation to know harm,” he said with a grunt as the book slid free of its holdings.

  “I am pleased we uncovered the problem,” Elizabeth said with relief. “Another might have ripped the book from its shelf and injured it irreparably.”