The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy

by Regina Jeffers

  The valet paused by the dressing room door. “You also require a fresh shirt, Sir.” His man caught up a crisply pressed shirt and pressed it into Darcy’s grasp. “I insist, Sir.”

  Despite the madness, Darcy reverently accepted the fine lawn garment. He recognized his valet’s efforts to place order into Darcy’s hands. “Be on your way,” Darcy said politely.

  “Yes, Sir.” A quick bow announced his man’s withdrawal.

  Darcy’s steps drifted to the window. He looked out over the gardens. His eyes searched for any sign of his wife. “Where are you, Elizabeth?” he murmured.

  Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open before drifting closed once more. She had no idea how long she had slept, but the sun’s rays caressed her cheek. It was comforting in its warmth, for if she could still feel the sun on her face, then Mrs. Ridgeway had failed to dispatch her to Heaven. The thought pleased Elizabeth, and she smiled.

  “You find your situation amusing, Mrs. Darcy?” The housekeeper’s breath brushed across Elizabeth’s ear, but Elizabeth could not actually see the woman.

  Elizabeth did not answer. Instead, she concentrated on opening her eyes fully. The dizzying blackness called to her conscious mind, but she made herself search for the light. Slowly and purposely, Elizabeth lifted her lids, but the light she had doggedly sought caused her to blink and to tear. Droplets seeped from the corners of her eyes, and she made to wipe them away, but her arms would not move.

  Dreamily, she turned her head to the right to discern the difficulty, only to discover her hand tied to some sort of post. She twisted her hand, but the ruby-colored binding held. “You will find the one on the left is equally secure.” There was a note of satisfaction in the housekeeper’s tone.

  Elizabeth’s eyes closed of their own volition; however, she made the effort to remain conscious. “Why?” her dry lips formed the single word.

  The housekeeper laughed sadistically. “Why have I taken you prisoner? Simple, Mrs. Darcy. Eliminating you will destroy your husband.” With that announcement, the woman covered Elizabeth’s mouth and nose again with a cloth dipped in the same sweetly sickening mixture as before. Elizabeth concentrated on not breathing in the fumes, but it was impossible for her to hold her breath forever, and Mrs. Ridgeway was determined to do her worst. Finally, she could offer no resistance. With a quick inhale, Elizabeth relaxed into the hard mattress upon which she rested.

  “Fitzwilliam.” Her thoughts latched onto the one word which made sense in this chaos.

  He had personally questioned the maid before setting out for Stowe Hall. The young girl had repeatedly sworn that the woman she had seen with Elizabeth had been Mrs. Ridgeway. “I swears it to be as true as the morning sun, Sir. I should be asking questions, but it be early, and I not be thinkin’ proper.”

  Mrs. Holbrook snorted, “As if ye ever think proper.”

  Darcy had left the woman to prepare a salve for Mrs. Jacobs’s burns, and went to meet with Tregonwell’s men. He had sent Douglas into the village with instructions to call at the church, the shops, Mr. Newby’s cottage, and the posting inn. He sent Poore and Maxton on similar tasks, asking the men to examine the lower third of the estate and the neighboring villages. Darcy was cognizant of the possibility that the housekeeper and Elizabeth had transportation waiting beyond the view of the household, but he had set Stowe Hall as his destination.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Stowbridge said with surprise when he entered the room. “I had thought you had retired to Woodvine. I have just returned to Stowe this minute. Is there another matter in which I may be of service?”

  The skin of the magistrate’s cheeks had become suddenly pinched and tight looking. “I had hoped to speak to Mrs. Ridgeway.”

  Stowbridge’s brow dipped into a scowl. “I will not entertain the possibility of Mrs. Ridgeway returning to Woodvine.”

  Darcy schooled the grimace from his countenance. “I hold no such motive for this visit. I simply possess several questions for which I hope the lady has answers.”

  The older man’s gaze sharpened, but the magistrate reached for the bell cord. When a servant appeared, Stowbridge gave the order for Mrs. Ridgeway to attend him. Darcy was not certain whether he preferred the woman to respond to the request or to prove herself absent from the manor house. The first would provide him the opportunity to question the woman’s motives for calling on Woodvine and to learn something of Elizabeth’s whereabouts. The second would prove what Darcy had known from the beginning: Mrs. Ridgeway had brought evil to Samuel Darcy’s door.

  “You sent for me?” Mrs. Ridgeway appeared in the open doorway.

  Stowbridge turned toward the sound of the lady’s voice. “Ah, yes.” Darcy half expected the man to finish his welcome with a “my dear,” but the magistrate cut his remarks short. “Mr. Darcy wishes to speak with you.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The housekeeper’s gaze finally met Darcy’s. “May I be of service, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy’s frown lines deepened. “I returned to Woodvine to the news that you had called upon the manor very early this morning. I thought perhaps you might enlighten me as to the purpose of your visit.”

  The woman’s countenance portrayed mild surprise, but her eyes shuttered an obvious secret. “At Woodvine, Sir?” she protested. “Why would I call on my former employer without notice? I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I hold no desire to experience further abuse at your hands, or those of Mrs. Darcy.”

  Darcy’s ire reached an immediate boiling point, but he bit back the desire to shake the truth from the woman’s lips. “I have not called at Stowe for an attack on your professionalism or for a confrontation. One of the Woodvine staff reports your presence in the manor’s kitchen at nearly five of the clock.” He thought to ask of Elizabeth, but Darcy kept his wife’s absence a secret from Stowbridge and the housekeeper until he ascertained what deception Mrs. Ridgeway practiced. It was difficult to believe he would ever meet another woman so entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity, and humility.

  “Why would I take such privilege? I have no reason to do so. Five of the clock?” She turned to the squire. “You must surely see, Sir, that what I have said of the degradation practiced at Woodvine is true.” Stowbridge nodded his agreement. The housekeeper said disdainfully, “You may examine the squire’s stables. Other than the horse Mr. Stowbridge rode to your rescue, no animals have been used.”

  Darcy said, “I never spoke of your arrival, Ma’am.” He watched the woman carefully. Mrs. Ridgeway expected him to refute her twisting of the truth, but Darcy would not play into her game. He reached for his gloves. “I will take no more of your time, Madam. I had thought to clarify a most unusual report, but we obviously have no further business. Good day, Squire. Ma’am.” Darcy offered Stowbridge an aristocratic nod of his head before making his exit.

  Stepping into the light, he cursed his foolishness for coming to Stowe Hall, and, more importantly, to Dorset. He would return to Woodvine and pray Elizabeth would greet him, but somehow he thought it would not be that easy.

  Accepting the reins from Stowbridge’s groom, he asked casually, “Have there been visitors at Stowe this morning beyond the lady who called upon Mrs. Ridgeway?”

  The groom accepted the coin Darcy pressed into the man’s gloved hand. “There be no one, Sir, but yer groom and you, Sir. Mrs. Ridgeway had no visitors either. The lady only returned to the hall some half hour prior.”

  “On horseback?” Darcy asked softly.

  The groom glanced toward the house. “No, Sir. On foot.”

  Darcy nodded his gratitude before turning the horse toward a road he had hoped never to ride again. At the fork leading to Wimborne, he met McKye and Castle returning from the village. “Might I importune upon one of you to watch Stowe Hall from a distance?”

  “What is amiss?” McKye asked.

  “The young scullery maid reports that Mrs. Ridgeway called upon Woodvine at dawn, but the housekeeper denies any knowledge of the event.”

/>   McKye’s eyes narrowed. “I do not trust the woman. In fact, there are several at Woodvine who would be seeking employment elsewhere if I had the say.” The man blushed at having criticized Darcy’s management of the estate.

  Darcy admitted, “We are of a like mind, Sir; however, I am not the sole owner.” He looked backward to where the roof of Stowe Hall could be seen over the treetops. “I fear Mrs. Ridgeway has lured Mrs. Darcy from the estate. When I questioned the housekeeper regarding these charges, the woman staged a confrontation for the squire’s benefit. For now, I want to know if Mrs. Ridgeway leaves Stowe Hall, and where she goes.”

  McKye nodded. “I know the area better than does Castle. I will see to it.”

  Darcy shook the man’s hand. “I will send someone to relieve you. I suspect Mrs. Ridgeway will not venture forth until she has the cover of darkness.”

  “Just ask Mrs. Holbrook to send over some of her roast chicken, and I will be satisfied.”

  Darcy turned his horse in place. “It will be my pleasure.”

  Less than a half hour later, he dismounted before Woodvine. “Keep the horse close,” he told the young groom. He glanced toward the manor house. When Elizabeth had not opened the door immediately and bounded into his embrace, he instinctively knew his wife had not returned to the estate. Upon entering the main hall, Darcy noted how Mrs. Holbrook had set the remaining servants to very specific tasks, and Darcy silently applauded the woman’s initiative.

  “Any news of the Mistress?” Hannah asked as soon as Darcy closed the door.

  Darcy shook his head. “Mrs. Ridgeway claims no knowledge of the actions which the maid described.”

  Hannah bristled. “Heaven help that woman if she is ever in my presence again.”

  Darcy smiled. His wife’s lady’s maid was the perfect complement to Elizabeth Darcy’s spirit. “I plan to return to the search, but I wish to speak to the young maid again. Might you send her to me?”

  “Immediately, Mr. Darcy.”

  With Hannah’s exit, Darcy entered his cousin’s study. He carried the guns he had brought with him from Pemberley, but he knew Samuel stored several others in a locked desk drawer. Finding the key, he bent to the task. Retrieving the first, he was pleased to see it clean and loaded. A timid knock at the open door announced the maid’s arrival.

  “Ye wished to see me, Sir.”

  Darcy forced a smile to his lips. He would not purposely intimidate the girl. “Yes. I had hoped you might show me the exact spot where you observed Mrs. Ridgeway and Mrs. Darcy.”

  “I’d be ’onored, Sir.”

  Darcy nodded. “If you will meet me in the vegetable garden in five minutes, I will be in your debt.”

  His request must have appeared a sensible one, for the girl’s countenance lit with pride. She nodded several times, executed a clumsy curtsy, and disappeared. If the situation with Elizabeth had not taken on such dire overtones, he would have found it amusing how much the atmosphere of the household had changed with the departure of Mrs. Ridgeway, combined with Mr. Barriton’s passing.

  Grabbing a second gun, Darcy strode through Woodvine’s halls to emerge in the kitchen garden. He found the young maid waiting for him. A few questions, a few more clarifications, and he was on the move. Darcy had discovered a set of two prints beyond where the groomed lawns gave way to forest. The marks were most definitely female in nature, and Darcy quickened his pace. His eyes searched for torn threads and bent branches, but nothing appeared unusual until he reached an open field.

  A clearly marked print upon a stile mixed with muddy smears indicated that Elizabeth had crossed the field. He spent several minutes examining the area before determining the direction his wife had gone. There was a smoothed-over diagonal trail crossing the field. Darcy imagined the housekeeper triumphantly leading his wife farther and farther from the estate. Their skirt tails had left a telltale sign of their progress.

  Exiting the field, it took Darcy several minutes to discover which way his wife had gone. Surprisingly, the chosen path circled in upon itself some one hundred yards from where he had crossed the stile only moments earlier.

  Darcy wondered if his wife had been aware of Mrs. Ridgeway’s deception. Somehow, he doubted it. Elizabeth acted from emotion; despite the fact his wife possessed a logical mind, first and foremost, she wore her heart upon her sleeve. If she thought him in danger, Elizabeth would walk through hell’s fire to reach him.

  The soft soil finally provided him another clear print, which led into the thicker woods—to the same trail upon which his cousin’s body had been found. The thought of rounding a curve and finding Elizabeth’s lying prostrate quickened Darcy’s step; so much so, that he nearly missed the narrow path, which jutted off to the right. The heavy bramble had been trod upon recently. Pushing aside the overhanging branches, Darcy plunged deeper into the woods.

  Surprisingly, the restricted path opened to another unseeded field. Darcy was not certain whether he was on Darcy land or land belonging to Stowbridge. Either way, he meant to explore. On his many excursions of late, he had not observed this area.

  Again, he looked for a clue. He walked the combination fence and hedgerow line until he found an indentation in the soft grass. Darcy closed his eyes to imagine what his wife had been thinking, in how much distress Elizabeth must have been.

  Early on, he had thought Mrs. Ridgeway had forced Elizabeth to leave the manor with her, as Elizabeth would never have done so willingly. His wife would have put up a fight. No, Elizabeth would only have blindly followed the woman if she believed he was in danger.

  A few feet from the soft indentation, Darcy discovered another print, and then another. As he looked up, the tip of a thatched roof caught his attention. Vaulting over the low fence, he was running across the open field before he had time to consider his actions. With each stride, Darcy’s heart pounded harder. Despite the odds against his finding his wife in this secluded cottage, he held no doubt she was there. His heart told him it was so. For the past several hours, his heart had ceased its steady call, but the moment he had spotted the cottage’s roof, every nerve in Darcy’s body had called him to her.

  Breaking through the surrounding vegetation, Darcy skidded to a halt. He knew Mrs. Ridgeway had returned to Stowe Hall, but had the woman an accomplice? Slowing his approach, Darcy carefully placed each step to avoid signaling his presence. Circling the area, he hunkered down to peer into a small window.

  Inside, deep shadows filled every corner, and nothing moved within. Darcy used his forearm to shade his eyes as he examined the small room for any sign of his wife. He had thought it impossible that Elizabeth could not be within, for his stretched-taut emotions had declared it to be so. However, Darcy made the effort to enter the cottage nonetheless. “Perhaps I have placed my hopes too high,” he said as he turned the door’s latch.

  Darcy allowed the door to swing wide. Several seconds passed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw her. Two long strides brought him to her side. His wife lay lifeless on an undressed mattress. “My God, Lizzy,” he gasped.

  Leaning over her, Darcy worked frantically to loosen the bindings, which held her. He kissed each wrist as he freed it. He could not believe Elizabeth had experienced such humiliation. Once he had his wife safely at Woodvine, Darcy would take great pleasure in escorting Mrs. Ridgeway to the nearest gaol. He lightly slapped Elizabeth’s cheeks, but his wife did not respond. “Speak to me, Lizzy,” he demanded as he gave her a strong shake of her shoulders. “Come on, Darling. You must assist me. It is some two miles to Woodvine.” He cursed himself for leaving the horse behind.

  He looked for a pitcher of water but found none. “Lizzy. You know the way back to me,” he insisted. A powdery mixture covered his wife’s mouth and cheeks, and Darcy touched a damp finger to it to taste the concoction. He had no difficulty identifying one of the ingredients. “Opium.” He had tasted it only once, in his university days. Another fellow in his college had slipped a small amount into Darcy’s fo
od as a poor joke. He always suspected George Wickham had egged on the son of a baronet, but the young man had refused to name others in the prank. Darcy had spent three days in his bed, while the other youth had been sent down for his participation.

  “If Elizabeth has ingested opium, it will be a long while before she can think straight. Her small frame will make her susceptible to the plant’s potency,” he reasoned aloud.

  Darcy stripped the jacket from his shoulders to wrap about his wife. “Allow me to warm you, Lizzy,” he said as he slid her arms into the sleeves. They hung well beyond the tips of Elizabeth’s fingers, and Darcy used the extra length to help wrap the garment about her chest. “There. That should feel better.” He easily recalled how cold he had felt during those hours the opium had played havoc with his body.

  He dug a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, and his knuckles brushed against Elizabeth’s breast. Even under these conditions, his wife remained the most desirable woman of his acquaintance. His hand lifted, brushing back a lock of hair from her forehead. Darcy placed his errant thoughts aside. With the cloth, Darcy brushed the powder from her mouth. At least, Elizabeth breathed steadily, and for that he was thankful. Darcy shook his head in disbelief. He smiled, the grin loose and easy. “You are determined that I will carry you again,” he said with a bit of irony. “Therefore, I will prove myself your hero,” he declared as he lifted his wife’s small form to his lap. “This time I have not been thrashed about by a rock face nor have I swum the length of a lake to pull you from its depths.” He would not consider the tear in his side as a trial he must overcome. Standing with her cradled in his arms, Darcy kissed Elizabeth’s forehead. “Slow and steady, my love.”

  Darcy had taken but two less-than-perfect steps before he stopped to adjust his hold about his wife and before he felt the shock of a blow to his upper back. His head was turned, but even if he had been expecting an attack, with Elizabeth in his arms, he could have done nothing more than absorb the impact. The force drove him to his knees, but he had the presence of mind to support Elizabeth close to him. His wife’s chest lifted on a heavy, serrated breath beneath him. He would protect her with his last breath.