The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy

by Regina Jeffers

  Cutting through the glen, he turned his steps toward the waterfall, which had renewed his wife’s spirits after the gruesome reminder of death’s true power. An unusual noise caught his attention, and Darcy quickened his steps in hopes of finding her.

  But those hopes soured when he cleared the tree line. His wife stood on the top of an overhang. Her stance told him she was in trouble. Elizabeth’s arms were extended as if to ward off a menacing looking man. Darcy did not need to see more. He broke into a run.

  “Elizabeth!” he called, but she did not turn her head. Standing so close to the waterfall, he suspected she heard little else but the thunder of the falling water.

  Darcy climbed the rough rock face. He had considered the trail to the top, but it would take too long because the path was designed as part of a nature walk. Each step brought him closer, but the distance remaining seemed interminable. His fingers searched for purchase. Darcy could not believe that she was here and in danger. He was a man prepared for every contingency, but not today. Today, he had been totally unprepared to fight for his wife’s honor. His whole focus was on reaching Elizabeth in time and placing himself between her and her attacker.

  But, to his horror, Elizabeth’s situation deteriorated. She had stepped rearward, dangerously close to the drop, and then her assailant charged. Before Darcy could react, she tumbled over backward. She seemed to float for a moment, a jonquil-clad bird riding the air, and then she fell. The man who had accosted her kicked out to send them over the water rather than the rocks. His wife had literally sailed over Darcy’s head. “No!” he screamed to the heavens.

  Chapter 15

  Darcy scrambled to reach her. It would have been easier to dive in after her, but there was no way he could clear the sharp crags jutting outward from the rock face; therefore, he set his feet to slide down the way he had come.

  The dirt streaked his face and temporarily blinded him. The rough surface tore at the fine cloth of his jacket. Sharp stones bruised and cut his flesh, but none of that mattered. Only his reaching Elizabeth in time would heal his anxious heart. “Please, God,” he prayed repeatedly as he bumped his way toward the bottom. Pebbles preceded his descent in a rocky rain. Finally, he lay back and allowed his weight to carry him roughly along the last fifteen feet.

  Landing hard on his side, Darcy rolled to all fours. Inhaling deeply, he cursed his clumsiness before springing forward. The earth beneath his feet was damp and muddy. It smelled musty and dank and filled with death’s aroma. As he ran, he stripped away what remained of his shredded jacket and tore open his waistcoat, sending buttons flying in golden droplets along the shore. “Elizabeth!” he called to the woman struggling in the water beyond his reach. A sob caught in his throat.

  His wife fought to stay afloat. As they had recently enjoyed a private swim in one of Pemberley’s lakes after he had rowed them out to a small island for a romantic picnic, Darcy knew her to be an adequate swimmer, but Elizabeth did not possess the skill to both fight her attacker and save her own life. Darcy was thankful that Mr. Bennet had taught his two eldest daughters not to fear the water: It could be the difference in Elizabeth’s chance of survival.

  “I am coming, Elizabeth!” he shouted as he flopped down upon the damp bank to remove his boots. He prayed the time he spent in doing so would not affect his success in rescuing his wife. However, he recognized the fact the heavy boots would only weigh him down, and Darcy would likely need every advantage in this life-and-death struggle. His wife grasped her attacker about the neck, wrestling with him, while the man flailed and punched.

  As Darcy stood once more to judge the conflict, the dark-skinned man caught Elizabeth about the waist and shoved her under the murky water. Darcy waded into the water, but his eyes never left the spot where she had disappeared. How long could Elizabeth hold her breath? He wondered as he lowered himself into the water. “One. Two. Three,” he silently counted as he churned away the strokes. Could he reach her in time? “Dearest God?” his mind pleaded. “Do not take her from me.” His eyes searched the water both above and below the lake’s surface. “Seven. Eight...”

  Elizabeth fought with the bonnet, which tugged her backward. It had caught on something on the lake’s bottom, but she had no time to untangle it. The Rom drifted downward, her last thrust finishing the man’s struggle against death. She yanked at the ribbons which had wrapped about her neck, but she could not free them, so instead she reached for the offending item that had caught the straw confection, which had once been her favorite bonnet. Elizabeth could not see what held her in place, but she could feel. Twisting at an awkward angle, she reached for the impediment. As her feet fluttered in place, Elizabeth readily comprehended that she had but a few precious seconds remaining before she would join the Rom on the lake’s bottom. Her fingers traced something she could not see. It was soft, yet coarse at the same time; then rough and spongy against her chilled fingertips. “Clothing!” Her mind shouted. “But not the Rom’s. Another body!”

  If she had had time, Elizabeth thought she would be sick, but time was her enemy. Somehow the body with which she fought had shifted in the water and now held her bonnet captive beneath its weight. Without time to reason her escape, Elizabeth used her shoulder and her numb hands to pry the unknown victim free from whatever held him in place. With each effort to loosen her trapped headwear, she silently said the one word that mattered: her husband’s name. “Darcy.”

  With the last of her strength, she managed to rock the body to its side long enough to pull the remnants of her bonnet free. However, she was too weak to swim to the surface. All she could manage was one last kick and a prayer that God would protect her.

  In his panic, Darcy had lost track of the number of seconds his wife had remained below the water’s surface. He had reached the spot where he thought he had last seen Elizabeth alive, but Darcy was no longer certain he had chosen correctly. Repeatedly, he dived into the dark waters in search of any sign of his wife and her attacker. Each time he surfaced with nothing to show for his efforts, his heart seemed to die a slow death. The terror made it hard to breathe. He could see nothing of Elizabeth anywhere, and the dread of not finding her in time built in Darcy’s chest.

  A gulp of air was all he had permitted himself before Darcy dove again. His eyes searched for a bit of jonquil in the blues, greens, browns, and blacks of the water. Then he saw her floating, still in the water. Lifeless. Unmoving. The blood in his chest pounded as his heart lurched with the image. Darcy kicked hard to propel himself toward her. She was drifting downward. His mind demanded that she hear him. That Elizabeth’s soul would answer his plea. “I love you. Do not leave me. You promised we would grow old together.”

  Darcy caught her about the waist and kicked against the water’s resistance to haul their combined weights to the surface. Breaking the surface, Darcy sputtered and spat. He lifted Elizabeth’s head above the water before he tossed her over his shoulders. “Lord in Heaven,” he prayed aloud. “Permit this to work.” Darcy realized she would never make it to the shoreline with a chance for survival if he did not do something drastic immediately. He struck her back hard with the palm of his hand, but his wife did not respond. Struggling to stay afloat, he lifted her higher above his head and let her drop again. This time, her weight hit him hard enough to drive Darcy under, but he kept Elizabeth supported above the water. Resurfacing again, he draped her limp body over his shoulder and slapped her hard across her back.

  This time his efforts were rewarded with a weak whimper, but it was enough to give Darcy hope. He wrapped her safely under his arm and side-crawled his way to the shore. With each stroke, he pleaded with Elizabeth to return to him. “You are my indomitable Lizzy,” he announced to the open water. “You can do anything. Set your mind to it, Lizzy. Return to me.”

  When he reached a depth where he could stand, Darcy swung her up into his arms to carry Elizabeth to safety. Finally reaching the grassy area, Darcy sank to his knees and lowered Elizabeth to the ground
. Exhausted, he gulped for air and draped himself over her, but his wife was not safe; therefore, Darcy rolled her to her side. “Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxed as he pressed his knees against her back. He pulled her shoulders upward and backward to arch against his body. “Open your lungs, Lizzy. Permit the air to come in,” he encouraged. His stomach clenched with anguish.

  Darcy cupped her body with his. Elizabeth’s back plastered against his chest, he bent her like a bow. Clasping his hands together across her abdomen, Darcy thrust upward. Once. Twice. On the third time, he heard a gurgle. Then a gasp. And finally Elizabeth spit out mouthfuls of dirty water. Quickly, he rolled her to her side so she would not strangle on what she brought up. “That is my beautiful warrior goddess,” he professed as he stroked the hair from her face. As she opened her mouth to cough up more of what she had swallowed, Darcy’s fingers worked to loosen the wet knot that choked her. “Damn this thing!” he cursed. “Do not move.” He scrambled to retrieve his boots from the beach.

  Rushing to where she laid hacking and coughing, Darcy dug the small knife from the secret compartment in the boot’s side. Pulling the blade free, he knelt beside her again. Her fingers clawed at the twisted mass of ribbons as she fought for air. “Lie quietly,” he whispered close to Elizabeth’s ear, “and I shall have you free.”

  His wife opened her eyes, finally seeing him. Even drenched and lying in the mud, Darcy thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, a miracle. His fingers automatically cut the frayed ribbon, but Darcy saw none of it. White-faced and staring, Elizabeth’s brilliant eyes shone wide with fright and wonder. “Thank God,” he whispered as he freed the string from about her throat. Then he kissed her forehead. “I had thought I would lose you. Thank you for clawing your way back to me.” Anger and relief churned madly within him.

  “You...you were...my hope,” she said through a hoarse rasp.

  Darcy soothed her cheek with the back of his hand. Her face was pale, and her breathing remained uneven. Gently, he brushed away a strand of wet hair. “Shush now. Permit me to see you to safety. We can speak more when you recover. I am going nowhere without you. You are my soul.”

  Another round of watery coughing interrupted the tender moment, but Darcy smiled despite her retching. Each twist and distorted turn meant Elizabeth had survived death’s grasp.

  Darcy wrestled his boots on over his wet stockings and retrieved what remained of his waistcoat and jacket. For warmth, he wrapped both about Elizabeth’s body before lifting her to him. “I have you, Darling,” he whispered as her trembling body snuggled into his. Elizabeth’s hand fluttered at the irritation at her throat, and then she laid her head to rest against Darcy’s shoulder. Each step brought him closer to the manor. Darcy was exhausted, but he would not stop until Elizabeth was safe. Until she was free of danger.

  “I...I love you,” she sobbed against his shoulder. The warmth of her shallow breath spread hope through Darcy’s veins. By the time he had cleared the groves and had entered the lower gardens, Darcy’s steps were heavy from the effort, but his purpose remained. He would see Elizabeth well before he rested. Dampness clung to every inch of his body: a mixture of his dip in the lake and the sweat running down his body from the exertion of carrying her over such a distance. He could feel his pulse pounding along the back of his neck where the muscles strained against the cut of his shirt. Twice, they had stopped for Elizabeth to empty her stomach. Each time, Darcy had held her on his lap and had soothed her brow with his damp handkerchief. He had praised her bravery and had promised his wife his undying love.

  He looked up from the sweat dripping into his eyes to see his cousin racing to where Darcy stood. Despite his best efforts, he swayed in place.

  “Permit me to take Mrs. Darcy,” Edward ordered as his cousin released the sword from about his waist to unbutton his heavy military jacket. The colonel stripped the garment from his shoulders and dropped it across a low stone wall.

  Reluctantly, Darcy’s fingers uncurled. The colonel scooped Elizabeth into his waiting arms, and Darcy collapsed to his knees.

  “Can you reach the house on your own?” Edward demanded.

  On all fours, Darcy nodded. With great effort, he said, “See Mrs. Darcy to safety. I will follow in a moment.”

  Edward turned in place. “Put my coat about your shoulders. You are shivering.”

  Darcy looked up into his cousin’s all-too-perceptive eyes. “From fear. I might still lose her. Carry my wife the rest of the way, and I will forever be in your debt.”

  Edward nodded curtly. “I will send someone to assist you.” Then his cousin turned his steady steps toward the manor house. Willing the colonel to ferry Elizabeth to Hannah’s safekeeping, Darcy watched Edward’s retreat. His wife’s maid held a strong allegiance to Elizabeth. The woman would see to Elizabeth’s recovery.

  Once Edward had disappeared on the other side of the arbor, with great difficulty Darcy rose. He caught up his cousin’s jacket and sword where they lay upon the broken wall. A growl of determination escaped Darcy’s lips as he set his feet in motion. His task was not complete. Only when the surgeon pronounced Elizabeth well would Darcy rest.

  Edward kicked the partially closed courtyard door open, sending the door slamming against the Oriental wallpaper and leaving a gash in the design, but the colonel took little notice. Instead, he strode through the empty study to emerge into the main hall. “Barriton,” he bellowed. “Hannah. Sheffield.” Servants scrambled to respond.

  “Yes, Colonel?” The butler responded from behind an ornate medieval shield.

  Edward’s temper flared. It was not as if he walked about every day with a limp woman in his arms. “Mrs. Darcy requires a physician,” he barked. “Both she and Mr. Darcy will require hot baths.”

  “Oh, my!” Hannah squealed as she rushed to her mistress’s side. “What happened?” she pleaded, as she gently touched Elizabeth’s hand.

  Edward frowned deeply. “I am not certain. Darcy found her. He had carried Mrs. Darcy from the vicinity of the orchard and the lake. She is soaked,” he said as he climbed the stairs.

  Hannah trailed behind him. “That be more than three quarters mile,” she declared in amazement.

  “Explains Darcy’s complete exhaustion. I imagine it so. I have ordered a hot bath and have sent for Mr. Glover.” He hefted Elizabeth higher in his arms. “Go before me and see to Mrs. Darcy’s things.” Hannah darted around him and disappeared into the upper passageway.

  Above him, Sheffield’s voice inquired, “You sought my services, Colonel?” Despite the valet’s usual unflappable attitude, concern crossed the man’s countenance.

  “Mr. Darcy is injured. He is trailing me through the lower gardens. Your master requires your assistance immediately,” the colonel said over his shoulder. Sheffield did not respond verbally. Instead, the man scurried past him to seek Darcy. “Thank God some of the servants in this house recognize their duties,” he grumbled as he shouldered his way through the open door to Elizabeth’s bedchamber.

  “Set her down here,” Hannah said as she draped a sheet over the small sofa.

  “Do you require assistance?”

  “I shall attend Mrs. Darcy.” The maid patted Elizabeth’s wrist. “The Mistress is so pale.”

  Edward simply nodded. What could he say? He had never seen Elizabeth look so, and it worried him as much as it did the lady’s maid. “I will leave you to it. I will check on the warm water and assist Sheffield with Mr. Darcy. Knowing my cousin’s devotion to his wife, Darcy will be in here before you make your mistress comfortable.”

  Elizabeth opened her eyes slowly. “Thank you...Colonel,” she said with difficulty. “See to...Mr. Darcy...if you please.”

  “As always, my dear,” he said gallantly. Edward bent to kiss Elizabeth’s forehead. “Recover quickly, Mrs. Darcy. Your husband will be a bear until he knows no more worries over your health.” With that, he exited and closed the door to her room.

  Edward skidded to a halt when h
e discovered his cousin slumped over in a chair in the study. Sheffield had wrestled the swollen leather from Darcy’s feet. Lacerations covered Darcy’s lower legs and blood dotted his stockings. Although it was midmorning, Edward shoved a brandy into Darcy’s hand. “My wife?” Darcy asked anxiously.

  “Is in the capable hands of her maid,” Edward assured. “Elizabeth spoke to me briefly before I left her room. As you worry for her health, your wife wished me to see to yours.”

  “Thank you...” Darcy leaned heavily into the chair’s cushion. “For a time, I thought I had lost her. When I discovered Elizabeth, she was under water and not breathing.” Darcy closed his eyes as if reliving that terrible moment. The realization of his cousin’s words brought a shiver to the colonel’s spine.

  Sheffield motioned that he would prepare things above stairs, and Darcy weakly nodded his agreement. Edward pulled a chair closer to where Darcy sat. “How in the world did Mrs. Darcy end up in the lake? It is not like Elizabeth to chance such peril.” Darcy could see his cousin’s thoughts: Had Mrs. Darcy attempted suicide?

  Darcy took a long draught from the brandy. Finally, he described the horrible tableau upon which he had stumbled. “It is not what it seems,” Darcy assured. “Mrs. Darcy fought a man upon one of the overhanging cliffs above the lake. Before I could reach her, her attacker sent Elizabeth tumbling over my head into the water.” Darcy’s lips trembled. “I have never been more frightened in my life,” he said while lost in his thoughts. “Nothing made sense. Elizabeth’s body hung in the air like some sort of brightly clad angel, and then she crashed into the water below.”

  Edward’s assessing eyes met Darcy’s gaze. “I was some halfway up the rock face when Elizabeth went into the water.” His cousin shook his head in disbelief. “How I reached her, I will never know.”

  Edward said softly, “Love gives a man a great strength.” He placed his hand on Darcy’s forearm. “What happened to Mrs. Darcy’s attacker?”