The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy

by Regina Jeffers

  He had never dreamed a dream of knowing his cousin’s wife, and certainly not a dream of chasing after a badly wounded Darcy in order to save his cousin’s life, but definitely he held a dream of a woman clinging to him for protection, a dream of a wife and family—all the things which were lacking in his life.

  “Colonel?” Elizabeth said softly against his chest. The warmth of her breath filtered through the fine lawn of his shirt to warm him in a comforting way.

  He had slowed the horse as they reached the village. “Yes?” Suddenly, Edward did not know what to call his cousin’s wife. “Mrs. Darcy” appeared too formal for the situation, and “Elizabeth” was too intimate.

  “Shall we find Mr. Darcy in time?” Her voice trembled with the possibility of their failure.

  Edward instinctively lifted her closer to him. “I pray for our success, but we must recognize our fallibility.”

  Her arms instinctively tightened about him, and Edward found it sorely hard to remember why he should not turn his horse for Woodvine and his chambers. To remove Elizabeth from danger and to protect her with his life. Mr. Holbrook’s horse came abreast of his, and Edward was jarred into reality. “Do we call upon the curate?” the groom asked.

  “We may require the man’s assistance in searching the church,” Edward reasoned. “I will escort Mrs. Darcy about the grounds while you seek Mr. Williamson’s support.”

  “Aye, Sir.” Holbrook turned his horse aside.

  Meanwhile, Edward slowed his horse to a walk. “When we reach the church, I expect you to remain with the horse, Elizabeth.”

  “I understand,” Elizabeth said as she raised her head from where it had rested on his chest. “You will exercise care, Colonel.”

  Edward swallowed his loneliness. The woman cared for him, but not in the manner he required. It was the story of his life. The dream remained beyond his reach. “I will heed your caution, my dear.”

  Silently, he reined in the horse before they reached the open square upon which the church sat. Sliding from the saddle, Edward turned to lift Elizabeth to the ground. “Take Major to wait behind those trees,” he instructed.

  “Major?” she asked teasingly.

  He grinned. “It is really Major General,” Edward confessed. “A man can hope that the epaulets on his shoulders match the name of his horse.”

  Elizabeth patted Edward’s cheek. “I shall add your desire to my prayers, Colonel.”

  He retrieved a pistol from an inside pocket. “If something happens which places me in danger, you are to take Major and ride for Mr. Holbrook. The groom and Mr. Williamson should arrive shortly.” When she did not respond, Edward demanded, “Agree with me, Elizabeth, or I will refuse to leave you here alone.”

  Even through the dark shadows, Edward could see her indecision. Finally, she said, “Fitzwilliam requires your assistance. I shall do whatever is necessary to save my husband.”

  Edward hesitated before giving her a curt nod. “I suppose that is as close to a concession as I will receive from you.” With that, he darted away into the night.

  Behind him, the colonel did not hear her whisper, “And to save Fitzwilliam’s favorite cousin.”

  The bitter taste of the laudanum remained on his lips, and Darcy meant to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand; but his arms appeared locked to his side, wedged in beside his body. When the first taste of laudanum crossed his tongue, Darcy had spit the liquid into the smirking face of Mrs. Stowbridge. Immediately, the bitter taste of the opium derivative had signaled the perfidy practiced by the pair. He had expected the odorless and tasteless freedom of arsenic and had not found it, but had discovered another danger.

  Before he could respond, the housekeeper and Gaylord had overwhelmed him. He had fought them with all the energy remaining in his frame only to succumb to an uppercut on the square of his chin from the butt of the rifle the steward carried. Darcy had hung on for a few seconds longer before the blackness had taken him.

  “Where am I?” he asked aloud to test his voice, and the echo returned in a hollow discord. Darcy wiggled from side to side to free one of his hands. He skimmed it across his body to assure himself he had sustained no further injuries.

  The blackness encompassed all, and Darcy had difficulty in determining his bearings. He struggled to rein in the gathering panic. “It is as dark as a grave,” he said before the reality of his words slammed into the lid over his head. The woman and Gaylord had locked him in a box, and Darcy feared he knew where he rested.

  Edward had circled the building to emerge on the far side of the space, which opened onto the adjoining village hall and main street. The church sat upon a cleared section of land, which slanted away from the main road. Not even half as grand as Minster Monastery, this simple church served those on the far side of Wimborne, those closest to the Roman Road.

  He edged from the shadows to stand in a shaft of moonlight. Despite Elizabeth’s insistence, Edward had discovered nothing unusual. “Bloody hell,” he growled. “I pray Cowan is more successful.” With urgency, he crossed the open plain to reach his cousin’s wife. The colonel worried for Thomas Cowan’s safety.

  Elizabeth had watched her husband’s cousin disappear into the night. She held tightly to the reins of the horse, keeping the animal close in case she must seek assistance. The drugs still coursed through her veins, and Elizabeth fought for clarity. She would not succumb to the dizzying blackness. Her husband needed her to be strong.

  “Darcy.” The word formed silently on her lips. Elizabeth could recall very little of what had happened since she had foolishly permitted Mrs. Ridgeway to lead her upon a merry chase. Obviously, as it was well into the nighttime hours, she had slept through much of the day’s drama, but Elizabeth had been well aware of the sacrifice Darcy had made to administer another dose of Mrs. Ridgeway’s poisonous mixture. Releasing her husband to follow the housekeeper had been the hardest task of Elizabeth’s short life. However, she had no doubt Mrs. Ridgeway would have shot both Darcy and her if Elizabeth had not played along.

  The sound of a crunched branch set her nerves on alert. Elizabeth tightened her grasp on the reins and stroked the animal’s long neck. Major had heard it also, and Elizabeth meant to keep the horse calm. “Easy, Boy,” she whispered.

  Watchful, her eyes searched the opening. Another crunch. A shuffled step. A swish of a skirt, and two people entered the open area beside the church. One was Mrs. Ridgeway, but the second was not Darcy.

  Elizabeth’s heart throttled. She had no weapon. She should climb into Major’s saddle, and then ride for assistance, but if she did, the housekeeper could escape. Oh, where is the colonel? she thought.

  With no hope of surviving this confrontation, Elizabeth boldly stepped into the open. “What have you done with Mr. Darcy?” she demanded.

  Not expecting to encounter another person in this part of the churchyard, the housekeeper had jumped from the start, but she quickly recovered. “I know not of what you speak,” she declared with authority.

  Elizabeth’s hands fisted at her side. “I care not if you escape. I care not for the perfidy you practice. I simply want to know of my husband.”

  The woman gave a disgusting snort, “He is dead. Your husband has breathed his last breath.”

  Elizabeth’s stomach clenched in revolt, and her heart skipped within her chest, but she said, “That is the second time today you have offered me that lie.”

  The housekeeper growled with disdain. “This time it is true.”

  Elizabeth’s knees thought to buckle, but she kept herself aright. “A prevarication,” she accused. “I do not believe you.” Even in her own ears, her reply held only a trace of denial.

  The man spoke for the first time. “It does not matter what you believe, Mrs. Darcy.” He took a menacing step in her direction.

  Elizabeth looked at the housekeeper’s associate for the first time. “Do I know you, Sir?’ Elizabeth asked reflexively.

  The man offered a mocking bow. “I am W
oodvine’s steward, Mrs. Darcy.” He paused for an intimidating effect. “I am also the man who has killed your husband,” he said bluntly.

  This time, Elizabeth’s composure faltered. The steward’s ominous words rang in her head. A sob caught her, and she pitched forward as if to catch her breath. She knew the man raised his weapon to strike her, but Elizabeth no longer cared. If Darcy were dead, she meant to follow him. As she braced herself for the blow, the sound of gunfire sent her to her knees.

  Chapter 28

  “Elizabeth? Elizabeth? Are you injured?”

  She trembled openly, but she managed to say, “No. No, Colonel.” Elizabeth answered twice to convince herself as much as him.

  “Then, I require your assistance.” Edward Fitzwilliam remained behind the pair. “Remove Mrs. Stowbridge’s gun.”

  Elizabeth looked up in surprise. “You are married to Mr. Stowbridge?” Bits of the conversation between the two at the cottage and memory of what the colonel had told her earlier flooded her senses. Suddenly, everything became clearer.

  “I am,” the woman said flatly. “Some eight and twenty years.”

  Elizabeth staggered to her feet. “But why would you continue to live in Samuel Darcy’s home if your husband was but three miles distance?”

  Mrs. Stowbridge shrugged noncommittally. “Loiza is a fine man. A gentle man, but his idea of obedience is not mine.”

  “Did Samuel Darcy know?” Elizabeth demanded.

  The woman smiled sadly. “Not until right before he died.”

  “Elizabeth,” Edward said with exigency. “We can question Mrs. Stowbridge and...”

  “Mr. Gaylord,” Elizabeth supplied the man’s name.

  “Mr. Gaylord,” Edward continued, “after you remove their weapons.”

  Elizabeth reddened. She did not find offense in the colonel’s chiding. Instead, she made herself step farther into the circle of moonlight.

  “Be wary, Cousin,” Edward cautioned.

  From where Mrs. Stowbridge still held it loose at her side, Elizabeth retrieved the gun.

  “You must run your hands over Mrs. Stowbridge to see if she conceals other weapons,” Edward coaxed.

  Although she felt awkward in doing so, Elizabeth slid her hands across the woman’s waist and corset.

  “The lady’s limbs,” Edward instructed.

  Elizabeth bit her bottom lip as a sudden anger flared through her heart. She had permitted this woman to remain too close to her family. The idea had cost Elizabeth her own sense of place in the world. She bent to slide her hands up and down the woman’s legs through the lady’s gown.

  “Not too close,” Edward warned. “It would be easy for Mrs. Stowbridge to kick you and overcome you.”

  The former housekeeper laughed sarcastically. “How bitter you are, Colonel.”

  Elizabeth removed a small pistol tied to the woman’s calf. If she had faced the woman alone, Elizabeth would never have thought to search for the extra weapon. “What now, Colonel?”

  “Bring the weapons here,” he instructed. Elizabeth quickly joined him behind the pair. He accepted the small gun from her, but insisted she keep the other. “I will search Gaylord. If either of our assailants moves, I trust you to shoot.” Elizabeth was not certain she could purposely inflict pain on another, but she nodded her agreement. “Just remember they likely hold information on Darcy’s whereabouts.”

  That fact played well to her resolve. To find her husband, Elizabeth would be willing to exact bodily harm on these two.

  Edward leaned closer. “Darcy has taught you to shoot, has he not, Mrs. Darcy?”

  Elizabeth nodded almost imperceptibly in the affirmative.

  Edward smiled deviously. “If you must shoot, aim for Gaylord. I can easily overcome the woman.”

  Elizabeth appreciated the flash of levity. It helped her to relax and to concentrate on the task at hand. “I shall endeavor to hit the gentleman, Colonel,” she said smartly.

  Within a minute, he stood beside her again. The colonel placed the long gun and a shovel beside the brick wall. We must secure the pair before we can conduct our investigation,” he explained. “I have rope in Major’s saddlebag. Would you retrieve it?”

  Elizabeth nodded. However, before she could return to Edward’s side, a whistle sounded, which the colonel returned, and Cowan arrived on the scene. Without comment, the Runner automatically took the rope from Elizabeth’s hands and set about tying the couple together.

  Once the pair was secure, Edward asked Gaylord, “You taunted Mrs. Darcy with tales of her husband’s death. Tell me what you know of my cousin’s whereabouts.”

  “How would that benefit me?” The man’s expression did not alter. “I hold no information, which would save my life.”

  As this questioning proved futile, Cowan asked Elizabeth. “Where did you encounter Mrs. Stowbridge?”

  Elizabeth pointed off to the right. “She and Mr. Gaylord came from that direction.”

  Cowan frowned dramatically. “From the cemetery? There is nothing beyond the gravesites but a rocky drop off. What business would Mrs. Stowbridge have in a church cemetery? By her own admission, the woman has never set foot in Mr. Williamson’s church.”

  Elizabeth’s heart lurched. She shot a quick glance to Mr. Gaylord’s weapons: a shovel. “My God!” she gasped. “They have buried Fitzwilliam alive!”

  Darcy’s panic had risen to a point of insensibility. His heart faltered. The box held him easily, wedged him into the space. There were but six inches or so between his head and the wooden roof. Possibly three inches remained between his arms and the box’s side. There was no way to raise his legs, and he could feel a heavy weight attached to the left one.

  A weight to hold me down. But he was not in the water as had been the men his cousin and McKye had pulled from the lake. If not to keep him in the box, what was the weight’s purpose? To keep others out. The words exploded in his brain.

  “They have buried Fitzwilliam alive!” Elizabeth called as she raced for the cemetery. She hiked her skirt and skipped over headstones and angelic statues to reach the cemetery’s center. “We need light,” she shouted to the two men who had followed her. “We need to find a fresh grave.” In a panic, she turned in a circle. There were so many graves for such a small village.

  “Go!” Edward ordered Cowan. “Pound on every door. We need lanterns.”

  The tears rolled down Elizabeth’s cheeks, but she did not bother to wipe them away. “Where do we start?” she pleaded.

  Edward’s eyes grew in disbelief. “I have no idea,” he admitted.

  Elizabeth’s heart screamed against the injustice. “Find the curate. Locate the sexton. Beat Mr. Gaylord senseless,” she demanded. “Someone knows which grave does not belong.”

  The colonel swallowed hard. “Could you be mistaken, Elizabeth?”

  She did not want to think of her dear husband buried beneath her feet, but Elizabeth did not doubt that it was so. “He is calling for me,” she said weakly. “Fitzwilliam believes he will die soon.” Her eyes fell on her husband’s cousin. “He needs you, Colonel. Fitzwilliam needs us both.”

  Edward nodded his agreement. “Holbrook is bringing Williamson with him. I will seek the sexton in the wait house.” He disappeared into the night.

  Suddenly, Elizabeth was alone in the cemetery. Her eyes searched for any clue. “Not in the center,” she reasoned. “Those are the village founders.”

  Methodically, she began to pace off row after row of markers. “Mr. Gaylord could not have had enough time to dig a proper grave alone,” Elizabeth said aloud as she stepped around yet another headstone. Surprisingly, the moonlight seemed to brighten the polished stone. “If the man could not accomplish the task alone, then it was likely the grave had been dug for another. Was the earth even now stealing her dear husband’s last breath? The thought rocked Elizabeth’s composure. A violent shiver ran down her spine.

  How long could he breathe the little air which remained in the box before it
would be no more? Darcy thought to scream, but he knew the futility of the act. He could smell the fresh earth surrounding the box.

  “Elizabeth.” He mouthed the word. “My God. I will never see her again, and she will never know my fate. How long will my wife grieve? If they do not find me and identify my body, Elizabeth will be forced to remain married to a corpse. She would never be free to find happiness.” Sweat beaded his forehead, and his teeth clenched. The thought of how his wife would suffer tightened Darcy’s throat in grief. He had thought to die to save Elizabeth’s future. Instead, his dying would condemn his wife to a lifetime of mourning.

  “The new graves from Woodvine,” Elizabeth said as she recognized the number of freshly dug graves. “Dear God, where do I begin?” She had worked her way along the rows of more recent headstones to arrive at a line of new graves. “Fitzwilliam!” she yelled in frustration. “Fitzwilliam!” But only the echo of her voice remained in the silent burial place.

  “Elizabeth!” She turned to observe the colonel’s hurried return. Behind him was the familiar face of the curate and a man with whom she had no previous acquaintance. Out of breath, Edward caught her hand. “Holbrook has brought both Mr. Williamson and the sexton, Mr. Sharp, with him.”

  Elizabeth’s relief nearly took her to her knees, and Edward caught her to his side. “Oh, thank you, Sir,” she gushed. “I fear a great injustice has been exacted against my husband.” Her words tumbled over one another as her anxiety rose. “I believe Mr. Darcy has been buried alive in one of these graves.” Elizabeth gestured to the newly turned earth behind her. “Can you tell us which of these sites should not be occupied?”