The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy

by Regina Jeffers

  “Easily so,” Chetley assured.

  Elizabeth’s voice cut through the archaeologist’s confidence. “I suspect the late Mr. Darcy did not discover the grimoire in foreign lands.”

  Edward insisted, “Please clarify, Mrs. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth glanced at her husband for his agreement. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she continued, “The late Mr. Darcy wrote daily in his journal. In a series of entries, my husband’s Cousin Samuel described coming upon the book quite unexpectedly in the lower garden under a column bedside the sundial. Samuel Darcy thought it had been placed there in haste. He hid it in his secret room. I suspect it is among the items my husband and I found below. Cousin Samuel also mentions a stang and an arthame.”

  In serious contemplation, Darcy cocked his head to one side. “You are saying that Samuel thought witches practiced their arts under his roof?”

  Elizabeth shook her head in denial. “Samuel Darcy does not make such an assertion; yet, I do believe he thought some of his employees delved in evil spells and magic potions. We have seen evidence of this with the witch’s bottle, my husband.”

  Edward said adamantly, “I find the prospects of such rumors ridiculous.”

  Elizabeth countered, “Ridiculous or not, there are many, especially in the country shires, who strongly follow their superstitions. I assume from the late Mr. Darcy’s words that he was of the colonel’s persuasion, but Samuel Darcy understood how the dark arts motivated others.”

  Ironically, the elderly maid who had been present when the witch’s bottle was found entered with the teacart and set it before Elizabeth. “Shall I serve, Missus?” she asked softly.

  Elizabeth whispered, “I shall serve the gentlemen if you will bring in a second pot.”

  “There be one waiting in the hall, Mrs. Darcy. I will fetch it immediately, Ma’am.”

  Sedgelock asked, “When should we commence with our cataloging?”

  Darcy said, “After tea, we can be about our business.” He reached for the cup, which Elizabeth extended in his direction to hand off to Sedgelock. As he accepted the second cup his wife had prepared to serve Chetley, Darcy asked, “What is the Latin name for the Lemegeton?”

  From behind him, a crash of china quieted the room. Darcy spun to see a white-faced maid in distress. “Mrs. Jacobs?” Elizabeth asked as she directed the woman’s steps from the broken porcelain. “Are you safe?” Darcy rang the bell for additional assistance.

  Mrs. Jacobs murmured, “I beg your pardon, Missus. I be...I be splashing the hot tea on me hand, and then I lose me grip.”

  Elizabeth assured, “It is fine, Mrs. Jacobs. See Mrs. Holbrook regarding a bandage for your hand and send Els to attend me.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The maid executed a half curtsy and disappeared into the hallway.

  Elizabeth turned to face the room. “I apologize,” she offered. “The late Mr. Darcy’s staff is adjusting to my preferences.”

  However, before she could say more, Cowan burst through the door. “Mr. Darcy, you must come!”

  Darcy turned to discover the Runner covered in dirt. “What is it, Cowan?”

  The man sucked in a deep breath; whether in agitation or exasperation, Darcy could not say. “I have found another grave in the woods!”

  Darcy asked the obvious, “Is it my cousin’s body?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The clothes are of a gentleman, but not so refined, and there is no apparent damage to the head. Dead perhaps a fortnight.”

  Elizabeth’s voice caught in her throat, but she managed to ask, “Mr. Crescent?”

  “Very likely, Mrs. Darcy.”

  Chapter 11

  “Elizabeth, I do not think it is wise for you to accompany us. Perhaps you should return to the house.” They rushed to keep pace with Cowan and the colonel.

  “I am well,” she said as they crossed the rugged terrain leading to the tree line.

  Darcy struggled to shorten his stride so he would not outpace her. “But...”

  Elizabeth stopped suddenly, and Darcy had to circle his return to her side. Her hands fisted at her waist, and Darcy prepared himself for a tongue-lashing. “I shall not embarrass you, Fitzwilliam,” she asserted.

  “I never thought you would,” he conceded. “It is just that...” Darcy hesitated.

  Looking sad and lonely, she gazed up at him. “That I would what, Fitzwilliam? That I would crumble into a watering pot?”

  Darcy’s fingers caught hers. “I would not see you suffer in any manner,” he said for his wife’s ears only. “I could not stand your countenance dressed up in woe and paleness.”

  Her expression softened. “I am not so fragile, Mr. Darcy. And we both know that this is not about Mr. Cowan’s find. It is simple: I am a woman who has lost her first child. However, I am not the only female who has known such sorrow. Yet, we may begin again. Together. Is that not what you wish? Or are we to dwell forever in the past?”

  Darcy gave no indication of how much the question bothered him. Of course he desired the future Elizabeth described, but he would never abandon his desire to protect her. Not while he breathed life into his lungs. “I want the future. I want you and our children at Pemberley.”

  “Then allow me to recover in my own way—to distract myself with the mystery and then to enjoy the holiday my husband has promised me.”

  The colonel called from the hedgerow. “Come along, Darcy!”

  He did not turn his head to acknowledge Edward’s entreaty. Instead, Darcy tugged Elizabeth closer. He remained inclined to credit what she wished. “We should hurry, Mrs. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth smiled brilliantly. “Yes, we should.” She double-stepped to maintain the pace Darcy set. He was so proud of her. Even if his wife raised her skirts and set off at a run, Darcy would not censure her. A woman of the ton would have demanded that he remove her from this madness. Would have thought him foolish to fret over clearing his cousin’s name. But not his Elizabeth. His wife had embraced every facet of Darcy’s life and had made it her own.

  They joined Edward and Cowan beside a loosely disguised grave. “How in the world did you discover this site?” Darcy asked as he surveyed the area. They were deep in the woods where the sun rarely reached because of the thick foliage overhead. Brush and fallen leaves covered the ground.

  Cowan said matter-of-factly, “I listen. To the servants. To those in the village shops. To those gathered after services. I listen for common phrases.”

  “Are we certain Mr. Crescent rests below?” Elizabeth asked softly. His wife looked everywhere but at the unmarked gravesite. Upon the chance she might swoon, Darcy instinctively rested his hand on the small of her back.

  Cowan’s frown lines met. “Just a suspicion until we exhume the body.” He kicked at the loose dirt. “I dug down as far as I could on both sides to guarantee there is a body under all this forest debris.” Cowan gestured to the slightly raised mound. “I wanted everyone to view the site before we searched further.”

  “I do not understand,” Darcy said as he nudged Elizabeth closer to his side.

  Edward explained, “The rocks. It is the same pattern as those we found on Mr. Hotchkiss’s grave. The V. A mark of the witch. A mark to represent a sacred place.”

  Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. “That makes little sense. I have heard of those who mark a mantelpiece with ritualistic symbols, but never a grave. A house with its doors and chimneys and windows are considered vulnerable to evil spirits, and the marks are meant to ward off the spirit. Placing the mark above the grave would keep the evil within.”

  Elizabeth asked, “Why a V?”

  Franklyn explained, “For the Virgin Mary. Occasionally an M is used.”

  Before anyone could respond, Sedgelock declared, “Mr. Darcy is correct. For the past twenty years, I have studied ancient civilizations and the use of the black arts. Never once have I encountered a report where a society marked the grave to seal the evil within.”

  Cowan suggested, “Perhaps t
he mark is to keep the cursed without. To protect the dearly departed. The same as the marks of protection drive the witches from the house.”

  Mr. Franklyn countered, “What of those uncivilized societies that mark gravesites and houses with crosses and iron horseshoes to ward off vampiric creatures?”

  Edward grumbled, “Such as the English?”

  His cousin’s cynicism brought a smile to Darcy’s lips. “It is not as if I doubt you, Mr. Cowan. Obviously, someone has gone to great lengths to conceal the body. The fact that this grave and the one in the field with the monoliths display similar symbols only adds to our body of knowledge regarding our culprit.”

  Edward summarized, “If we all agree that the markings are not a coincidence, then we will exhume whoever rests below.” No one said a word as Murray, Jatson, and Edward’s man Fletcher picked up the shovels, which Mr. Holbrook had retrieved from the stable. The four men set their backs to the task. Uncertain what they would uncover, Darcy had purposely left the Woodvine staff at the house. He did not trust those recently hired by his cousin Samuel.

  Within minutes, the blanket-draped body lay before them. The grave had not been very deep, just deep enough to keep animal predators from abusing the body.

  Keeping his voice low, Darcy leaned close to his wife to catch her gaze with his. “Step away for a moment, Mrs. Darcy. I will not have you look upon death.”

  Surprisingly, Elizabeth did not argue. She walked away toward where he could hear water running. Darcy watched her departure to assure himself of her steady steps. When she was out of sight, he nodded to Holbrook to remove the thin wool dressing covering what remained of the body. Both Fletcher and Jatson turned away from the disgusting sight, but Darcy searched the disfigured countenance for the familiarity of Crescent’s face. “From what I recall of the man, that is not Mr. Crescent,” he said solemnly.

  Holbrook cleared his throat. “No, not Mr. Crescent. Me mother will be thankful. Crescent be a favorite of hers.” The groom leaned over for a closer examination. “It not be Crescent, but I thinks it might be Bieder Bates.”

  Steel in his tone, Darcy demanded, “Who in bloody hell is Bieder Bates?”

  Holbrook leaned against his shovel. “Bates bought the old Eastman place on the other side of the village. Haven’t seen him for a while, but that not be unusual. He mostly kept to himself, excepting he came regular to the assembly. Bates liked to socialize with the ladies.”

  Edward asked the obvious, “If this Mr. Bates was from a farm some five miles distant, why is his body on Woodvine land? And how did Bates lose his life?”

  Darcy said skeptically, “I do not suppose it would do much good to ask Mr. Glover to provide his best assessment.”

  Edward shook his head in disbelief. “Perhaps it might be best to send to London for a more competent surgeon.”

  Darcy argued, “Perhaps there is one closer at Christchurch or Lyme Regis or Hampshire.” He gestured to the body. “Mr. Holbrook, do you suppose we might find some hearty parishioners who would prepare Mr. Bates for a proper burial?”

  “I’ll see to it, Mr. Darcy. The church’s sexton will know who to trust.”

  “Murray, please call upon the vicar and make him aware that we require his services again.”

  “Immediately, Sir.”

  “And summon the good doctor,” Darcy instructed as his servant moved away. “Jatson, you and Fletcher should make yourselves comfortable. You will watch over the body until Mr. Glover arrives.”

  Edward said, “We should return to the house.”

  Darcy started toward where his wife had disappeared. “I will retrieve Mrs. Darcy, and we will join you in a few minutes.” He did not wait for his cousin’s agreement. The realization that Elizabeth was alone in the woods drove Darcy to lengthen his stride. He had not gone far before he found her staring off toward a small waterfall, a steady stream of water rushing through the rocks. The refreshing sound provided the feeling of a private grotto. The season, the scene, and the air were all favorable to tenderness and sentiment.

  Darcy stepped up behind and encircled her waist in a comforting embrace. “We should return to the manor,” he said as she laid her head against his shoulder.

  “I was saying a prayer for the soul of a man I did not know,” she confessed. “It seemed only appropriate to find God here in this beautifully heartening place.”

  Darcy tightened his embrace. “Mr. Holbrook has identified our stranger as Mr. Bates, a farmer who lived on the other side of Wimborne.”

  Elizabeth turned in his arms. “Then it was not your cousin’s manservant?”

  “No.” He kissed her forehead. “It may sound odd, but I pray Mr. Crescent escaped. I do not know what shadow has crossed Woodvine’s threshold, but I would like to think someone survived this idiocy.”

  Elizabeth asked, “Do you think Mrs. Ridgeway has practiced witchcraft? Could she have orchestrated these men’s deaths?”

  Darcy shook his head in disbelief. “It is frustrating that we are no closer to solving the mystery of Samuel’s death than we were upon our arrival in Dorset. I suspect we may never know the truth.” He released Elizabeth before catching her hand to interlace their fingers. They would return to Woodvine to face the unknown together. “We now have two additional deaths,” he continued.

  “With similarly marked graves,” Elizabeth added.

  “A witch’s bottle and unusual maps,” he recited.

  Elizabeth thought aloud also, “A gypsy band and missing horses.”

  Darcy muttered, “One of which has been killed.

  “The Clavicula Salomonis.”

  Darcy stopped suddenly. “The list never ends,” he declared. “How can we possibly create order out of such chaos? So much perfidy has made grievous inroads on the tranquility of all.”

  Elizabeth clenched her jaw in determination. “We shall finish this, Mr. Darcy. There is one missing piece that will lead to multiple solutions.”

  Despite his own frustration, Darcy smiled. She had shifted her shoulders and raised her chin in that adorable challenge that had won his heart at Netherfield. Perhaps his wife should provide ladies of the ton lessons on bringing a gentleman to the line. She was forever his Elizabeth. Levelheaded, yet impetuous. Calm, yet intractable. Always with his best interest at heart. “Yes, we will, Mrs. Darcy. Then I will take you sea bathing and to London for part of the Season and to Longbourn for a long-overdue visit.”

  “I plan to hold you to those promises, Mr. Darcy,” she said as she caught his hand again.

  They entered Woodvine through a side entrance only to be informed that Mr. Gry awaited Darcy in the small drawing room. “What could he want?” he grumbled. After instructing the servant to have Mrs. Holbrook deliver tea, Darcy brought the back of Elizabeth’s hand to his lips. “Would you ask the colonel and Mr. Cowan to join me?”

  Elizabeth observed, “I thought we had seen the last of the gypsy leader when he did not claim payment for the horse.”

  “As did I,” Darcy said dryly.

  Elizabeth caressed his cheek. “As I am certain Mr. Franklyn and company are engrossed in their relics, I plan to construct a list of what we do know and another of what we must still discover. The process will assist me in ordering my thoughts.”

  “The ‘must discover’s will greatly outnumber the ‘do know’s,” Darcy said with a self-mocking smile. “Perhaps a third list of items we assume have some bearing on this mystery, but which we have no basis for connection.”

  With an expectant expression, Elizabeth asked, “Such as why Mrs. Ridgeway has never set foot in the Wimborne church or what is her true relationship to the good doctor?”

  “Or why the lady has chosen to set herself against me?”

  Elizabeth ironically said, “It appears many of our ‘some bearing’s are connected to Mrs. Ridgeway.”

  Darcy squeezed her fingertips. “I will find you once I have finished my interview with Mr. Gry. I am most eager to view this list.”

  “I
shall see to the scientists’ comforts and then retreat to my chambers, Mr. Darcy.”

  He watched her walk away. The sway of her hips fascinated him. Although his wife was not a woman who required constant reminders of her fine looks, Darcy appreciated her form, and he made a point of assuring Elizabeth of her effect on him. He looked after her in an ecstasy of admiration of all her many virtues, from her obliging manners down to her light and graceful tread. “For it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance,” he had once told Caroline Bingley to ward off one of Miss Bingley’s catty attacks on the woman Darcy loved with every fiber of his being. From the beginning, Darcy had found it charmingly refreshing to encounter a woman who would challenge him. One who would not bore him with her inane chatter, and one who inflamed his passions. With a deep sigh of contentment, Darcy turned toward the sitting room and the awaiting gypsy leader.

  “Mr. Gry,” he said as he entered the drawing room. Darcy purposely did not return the Rom’s obeisance. Instead, he strode past the man to assume a seat of dominance. “I had not expected to see you again.” He motioned the man to a nearby chair.

  “I saw no cause to intrude on your good humor,” the gypsy said sheepishly. “I came across the gelding shortly after your departure.” Of course, Darcy understood that Gry offered a false face. He was well aware the gypsy had called at Woodvine before being sent away by one of the maids. Darcy still did not know the gist of the conversation between Gry and Samuel’s servant, but he meant to discover the truth of the matter.

  The colonel and Cowan entered before Darcy could respond. “Ah, you are here,” he said to his cousin and the Runner. “It seems we erred in our estimation of Mr. Gry. He saw the dead animal and chose not to make a demand on my time.” Darcy spoke as if the man did not sit some five feet from him. It reminded him of Edward’s father. The Earl of Matlock had perfected the art of the indirect cut.

  “Is that not what we first surmised,” Edward said conspiratorially. The colonel and Cowan pulled over chairs to join the pair.