The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy

by Regina Jeffers

  Williamson nodded miserably. “The Norwegian checked his watch several times in my presence: I assumed him eager to meet his betrothed. I noted the watch’s unusual carving: a lightning bolt. Mr. Falstad placed the watch in an interior pocket in his jacket. He claimed it a family heirloom—one passed to his father from a great-grandfather.”

  Darcy was stung into practicality by Williamson’s position as Wimborne’s advisor, spiritual leader, and confidant. He supposed even complete strangers would readily trust in a man who followed God. “Which of our two previous finds also spoke of marriage?”

  “Mr. Bates,” Williamson disclosed. “I returned home one day from sitting with the Widow Leonard to find Bieder Bates on my doorstep. He was ecstatic with the news that he intended to marry; however, when I asked the name of his intended, Bates became quite tight-lipped. Bates said he planned to marry an older woman, and the community would not approve, but his heart was engaged. His business with me included his request that I speak to his family on the merits of marrying for love.”

  The colonel’s brow pinched in frustration. “The idea of marriage linking our victims is tenuous at best. If all of our wouldbe lovers sought the same woman then perhaps we could pin our hopes of solving this mystery on the lady, but the descriptions you have provided us are of three different women.”

  The curate’s expression fell. “I realize my suspicions lack depth; yet, I fear if we do not resolve this mystery soon my services will be required again, and I would find that most disconcerting.”

  Chapter 17

  Immediately upon returning to the manor, Darcy sought news of his wife’s recovery. According to Hannah, Elizabeth had slept fitfully. “Has Mrs. Darcy found any rest?”

  “Not much, Sir. Mrs. Darcy dreams of her ordeal,” Hannah whispered.

  Darcy frowned. “You will remain by my wife’s side,” he ordered. “Send for me if Mrs. Darcy knows no peace.”

  The maid curtsied. “Yes, Sir.”

  “And, Hannah,” he added as he made his way to the door. “I do not wish Mrs. Darcy to be left alone. If you must step away, then I want either Sheffield or Mr. Fletcher outside my wife’s door. The Woodvine staff is not to have admittance to Mrs. Darcy’s room.” He reached for the door latch. He said cautiously, “There is an evil practicing its art under this roof. I find it hard to believe that all these bizarre events are not connected. Remember your first and only duty is to protect Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Is the Mistress in danger?” The maid’s eyes widened.

  Darcy offered an encouraging smile. “I am likely being overprotective, but humor me. Mrs. Darcy will not approve of my measures, but a husband’s duty is to his wife.”

  Hannah’s expression said she understood his obsession. Women of all classes approved of a man’s romantic gestures. “Mrs. Darcy shall be well watched, Sir. Have no fear in that matter.”

  He and his cousin had separated upon leaving the curate’s cottage. With the earlier chaos associated with Elizabeth’s rescue, Edward had yet to call upon Mr. Ritter to verify the maid’s tale. Of course, his wife’s having located the missing map had made a prosecution of the girl null. Therefore, he and Edward had constructed a plan to flesh out the person who had planted the map in Els’s quarters.

  “I think it advisable that no one other than the three of us have knowledge of the map’s recovery,” the colonel had reasoned. “If whoever placed the map in the maid’s belongings believes we have yet to discover it, then he or she will likely bring our attention to it by suggesting that we search the girl’s quarters.”

  Darcy suggested, “We should remove the maid from Mr. Stowbridge’s house. If the magistrate has offered Mrs. Ridgeway sanctuary, the maid is not safe under the man’s roof.”

  “Do you have a place in mind?”

  “I despise imposing on Tregonwell’s acquaintance again, but the captain is one of the few we can trust in the area,” Darcy insisted.

  The colonel took a deep breath and blew it out. “Time to play the part of the Earl of Matlock’s son again. To dare any person to deny my orders. I will retrieve the girl and Ritter and then see them to Bournemouth. Probably best not to leave the Hampshire youth at Skeet’s farm. He could be in danger and not know it.”

  Darcy was quiet for several seconds before he said, “I had not considered the question of Ritter’s safety. Can you see the couple to Tregonwell’s care before nightfall?”

  His cousin shook his head. “Not likely, but I will return to Woodvine this evening. Meanwhile, you should check on the Society members, secure the map, and begin a perusal of Samuel Darcy’s journals.”

  Darcy’s lips twitched. “In other words, you will see to the physical duties, and I the mental ones.”

  Edward smiled easily. “They are the roles to which life has assigned us.”

  “Yet, they fall short of describing either of us, Cousin,” Darcy declared.

  The colonel shrugged. “Perhaps if I had been the Earl’s heir rather than the spare...”

  Darcy noted his cousin’s pained expression. Not for the first time of late, Darcy wondered what troubled his cousin so deeply that he allowed his customary guard to slip. Edward was so much more than his older brother Rowland. The colonel had depth to his character. It was not as if Rowland were a poor Viscount Lindale. Darcy’s older cousin honorably saw to his duties; however, Darcy could not help but think if Edward had been the future earl, rather than Rowland, that Matlock could have become a dominant force in England’s future. “True. Then you would have developed a more legible scrawl,” Darcy teased.

  “And you would have spent more hours in the saddle.” His cousin’s countenance resumed its habitual expression of authority, but Darcy noted that the deep sadness in the colonel’s eyes remained.

  Before Darcy could complete any of his tasks, Mr. Holbrook returned with news of the gypsy camp. “Trailed them into the next shire,” the groom announced without prompting. “They be met by an unwelcoming crowd so I be doubting they stay more than a couple nights. Likely will leave after they bury their dead.”

  Darcy had no care for the grief of the gypsy’s family. Vandlo Pias had purposely hurt Elizabeth. No forgiveness could be found in Darcy’s heart. “Then we are rid of the Roma?” he said solemnly.

  Holbrook dug into his pocket. “This were nailed to a tree in the clearing. It has your name on it, Sir.” The groom handed Darcy a single sheet of paper.

  Darcy unfolded it. “Thank you, Mr. Holbrook. I release you to your duties.”

  The man appeared disappointed that he would not be privy to what the note held. “Aye, Sir.”

  “And, Holbrook, please be advised that the colonel will return late. Have someone waiting for my cousin’s appearance at the stables.”

  “I’ll see to it meself, Sir.”

  With the groom’s withdrawal, Darcy returned to the note. Reluctantly, Darcy admitted whatever Gry wished to tell him was likely something he did not wish to consider. The note was short, but certainly not simple: “Mr. Darcy, your anger is directed at the wrong target. Ask yourself why Vandlo made your wife his victim, and who told my cousin where Mrs. Darcy might be found.”

  Darcy reread the note several times, but the gypsy’s intent remained unclear. “My anger,” he growled, “knows but one target. Unfortunately, Vandlo Pias died before he could know my wrath.” Yet, the remainder of Gry’s message was what concerned him. What was Elizabeth’s gypsy attacker doing so far from the Roma camp? Had Pias trailed Elizabeth to the site? And Heaven forbid that someone had employed Pias in such perfidy! “Bloody hell,” Darcy hissed.

  However, the truth of Gry’s words rang all too clear. The gypsy leader had no reason to offer Darcy a reason for the attack. If the assault had been one of opportunity, the truth would have died along with Pias. But if the attack had been planned, others might know Pias’s motivations and who instigated the assault on Elizabeth.

  Immediately, Darcy wanted to chase after the gypsy band to discover what Gry m
eant by his riddle, but he instinctively knew even if he gave pursuit, he had learned all he would from the Roma leader.

  Another mystery. His mind raced with the possibilities. Part of him wanted to order his coaches and to be as far from Dorset as his horses could carry him; yet, a part of him knew that to leave all the unexplained pieces to a gigantic puzzle behind would drive him insane. “Perhaps I should send Elizabeth to Hertfordshire until this is over,” he mused. However, the thought of spending even one day apart rubbed raw his selfish need for his wife. “I am a pathetic romantic,” he confessed to the empty room.

  As he could not think until he assured himself of his wife’s safety, Darcy made his way to her quarters.

  Darcy had not taken his meal with the Society’s members and Captain Tregonwell’s men. Instead, he had sent word to Mrs. Holbrook that he and his cousin would partake of a late supper upon the colonel’s return. Elizabeth’s continued recovery had thoroughly pleased him. Contrary to Hannah’s report of her mistress’s agitated dreams, his wife’s physical appearance had improved: She showed more color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. However, because of her raspy voice, her frustration remained high.

  For his part, Darcy enjoyed the irony of having a woman known for her vocal opinions unable to hold a conversation. Darcy kissed the tip of Elizabeth’s nose in a teasing manner when she openly pouted over her dilemma. Leaning close to whisper in her ear, he said, “If I did not crave hearing you call my name when we know our personal intimacies, I would ravish you this instant.”

  His wife had blushed, as Darcy had expected, but he should have recalled that Elizabeth usually gave as good as she received. His wife had tugged him closer. She licked his ear lobe and feathered kisses across Darcy’s cheek. Then she nibbled on his lips. When he could resist her no longer, Darcy claimed his wife’s mouth. He felt Elizabeth’s body flash with anticipation. Darcy directed the slant of her head where he might taste her completely. Finally, he reluctantly dragged his mouth from hers. Abandoning the headiness, he cupped Elizabeth’s chin tenderly. “I should allow you to rest.”

  Elizabeth turned her head to kiss his palm. The pulse in her neck beat twice as hard. “Tonight,” she mouthed. Darcy blinked slowly. His wife was a drug of which he could not have enough. Darcy nodded, but, in reality, he would take his cue from her when he returned to her chamber in the evening.

  He told her of the curate’s theory regarding the bodies discovered in the lake. Elizabeth shed tears for the men who had come to Wimborne with high hopes only to meet their deaths. Darcy had explained how the colonel had escorted the maid and her Hampshire friend to Bournemouth. “We thought it best to remove the girl from Stowbridge’s care, especially as the magistrate has offered Mrs. Ridgeway a position in his household.”

  That news had surprised his wife. She scribbled on the fresh sheets of foolscap. “Mrs. Ridgeway spoke poorly of Stowbridge, and he disparaged her influence in Samuel Darcy’s life.”

  Darcy said grimly. “It is just another piece in this ongoing mystery.”

  “Soon,” she said on a breathy exhale and smiled softly.

  Darcy kissed her fingertips. “I pray for a quick conclusion. Then we will be free of my obligations to my father’s cousin.”

  She traced his profile in a lingering caress, then Elizabeth wrote in bold letters: You are the best of men. He tenderly kissed her again.

  A soft sigh brought him from their embrace. Reluctantly, Darcy stood to depart. “You are to permit Hannah to tend to your every need.” He lovingly squeezed the back of Elizabeth’s hand. “I will hear no objections from your pretty mouth,” he teased with an ironic chuckle.

  Elizabeth swatted at Darcy’s arm in an affectionate chastisement.

  He motioned Hannah’s return before saying, “I have sent the gypsy band away. Mr. Holbrook and our men have followed the Roma’s retreat into a neighboring shire.” He had not wanted to speak of the gypsies to his wife, but he recognized that she would discover the truth through the servants’ gossiping. It was better if Elizabeth heard it from him. “Murray reports that he spoke discreetly to the local magistrate in the village. The man will permit Gry to bury his family and then the magistrate will see the band on its way.”

  Despite his own misgivings regarding showing any kindness toward the gypsy troop, Darcy realized his wife would have a concern for her attacker’s soul. Elizabeth would grieve for her part in the man’s demise. “No one will hurt you again,” he whispered as he leaned over her. Darcy kissed her forehead. “I will not tolerate it.” A tear slid slowly down her cheek. He used his thumb to flick it away. “None of what happened was your fault. The blame lies elsewhere.” He would not speak to her of Gry’s note, at least not at this time. His wife’s emotions teetered, and Darcy would not tilt the balance against her.

  For some three hours, he had surveyed the pages of Samuel Darcy’s journals and compared the passages to the personal papers he and Elizabeth had removed from the treasure room. He skipped the sections from Samuel’s time abroad; Darcy would read those later. To solve the many facets of the Woodvine mystery, Darcy thought it best to focus on what Samuel had discovered upon his return to Dorset.

  “Deep in thought?” Edward’s voice broke Darcy’s concentration.

  Darcy looked up and smiled. “Did the good captain accept the refugees graciously?”

  Edward sighed in exhaustion. “The ‘good captain’ would never refuse a request from a colonel in the regulars,” he said as he sat heavily in a nearby chair.

  Darcy stood to summon a servant. “I have asked Mrs. Holbrook to save us portions of the evening meal.”

  “Bless you,” Edward said with a not very convincing show of enthusiasm. “Yet, I am nearly too fatigued to eat.”

  “Yes, Sir?” A footman appeared at the open door.

  “Ask Mrs. Holbrook to send up a meal for the colonel and for me. Then she may retire for the evening.” The servant nodded and then disappeared into Woodvine’s many passages. Darcy closed the door behind him. “I pray you are not too bone-tired to assist me with several new clues in our mystery.”

  The colonel groaned, “Another clue? Is there no end to this poser?”

  Darcy sat across from his cousin. “Unfortunately, no.” He said with their normal teasing smirk, “And they are clues, not clue.”

  Edward rolled his eyes in supplication. “Why did I ever permit you to talk me into joining you on this adventure?”

  Darcy countered, “Because you have sworn an allegiance to my family.”

  Edward asked with some asperity, “Have you ever considered that my mental acuity may not be all it should be?”

  Darcy leaned comfortably into the chair’s cushions. “You will feel more of yourself once you have tasted Mrs. Holbrook mutton cutlets.”

  Edward stretched his neck and shoulders. “While we wait, tell me what else I am to know.”

  Darcy reached into his inside pocket to remove the gypsy’s note. “Gry left this behind.”

  Edward reached for the note. He unfolded it and read it carefully. Well aware of his cousin’s propensity for details, Darcy studied the colonel’s thoughtful expression. “So, what do you make of this turn of the story?”

  Darcy’s stillness intensified. “I have known a gamut of emotions since first reading the gypsy’s words. I originally thought it a perverted means to claim Vandlo Pias’s innocence.”

  Edward remained deep in thought, as was characteristic of Edward Fitzwilliam. The colonel rarely made a rash decision. “You have experienced second thoughts?”

  Darcy pursed his lips. “It appears reasonable to assume that Elizabeth’s attacker had sought her out. That he trailed her to the waterfall. That the Rom sought some sort of revenge on me. Even Cowan thought the killing of the horse a private warning. And what better means to have retribution on me than to hurt Elizabeth?”

  “If we accept your conjecture as the truth, then we must assume someone at Woodvine arranged for your wife’s demise,�
�� Edward concluded.

  Darcy’s frown lines met. “Perhaps not. What little Mrs. Darcy has shared of the incident says that the Rom spoke as if he possessed no other choice.”

  “Then who do you suspect as our informant?”

  Darcy scrubbed his face with his hands to clear his thinking. “God, I wish I knew. Every time I have an inkling into the perfidy practiced at Woodvine, I am thrown into another vat of hot oil.” He shrugged heavily. “Now that Els is at Bournemouth, the most obvious suspect is no longer under Woodvine’s roof.”

  “What of the housekeeper?”

  “Mrs. Darcy has regularly reminded me the woman has done nothing amiss beside speaking her mind, and although I detest the lady’s attitude, I must grudgingly agree with my wife. I can only condemn the woman for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner. The worst suspicion I can lay at the woman’s feet is she had a heated argument with the gypsy leader,” Darcy confessed.

  Edward reasoned, “Which was likely over the illegal selling of Samuel Darcy’s stable. Do not forget the lady held responsibility in that transaction.”

  Darcy sucked in a deep breath. “I have not forgotten; yet, I am unclear on the woman’s motives. Was she ignorant of her position’s limitations? Mrs. Ridgeway has proclaimed to others that Cousin Samuel had given her permission to act in his stead after his death. Or was the woman’s motivation of a devious nature?”

  “If not the housekeeper, then to whom do we look?”

  “I cannot imagine any of Samuel’s footmen to have the guile to perpetuate a crime. Carry one out? Definitely. But to design thefts, to arrange attacks, and to orchestrate murders, I cannot conceive it.” Edward agreed. “What of Barriton?”

  “I would put the butler in the same boat as Mrs. Ridgeway,” Darcy insisted. “Again, we must wonder whether Barriton has simply been given too much liberty. Without Samuel’s oversight, the servants have made their own decisions.”

  Edward refolded the note and returned it to Darcy’s care.