The Matters at Mansfield m&mdm-4

by Carrie Bebris

  The other was in Darcy’s — so far distant that he might as well be in Antigua.

  Lord Sennex removed one of the larger pistols. Noting Elizabeth’s observation, he spoke. “Yes, it is loaded, if you are wondering. They all are — Mr. Lautus might have been an incompetent fool, but it was good of him to leave my second set of loading materials behind in his room at the inn. Else I would have had no bullets for the smaller pistol, and it is such a convenient size for carrying on one’s person.”

  Elizabeth found his refined manner more menacing than would have been open threats.

  “I suppose I should be equally grateful to that odious Mrs. Norris for discarding the pistol while I happened to be nearby,” he continued, “though how she came by it after Lautus managed to get himself killed, I still have not determined.”

  He closed the case and set it on the seat between him and the servant. “It is a long journey to Scotland, so we might as well all be acquainted.” He gestured toward the servant. “This is Antonio. He will help me keep an eye on you. Antonio, this is Mrs. Darcy and my fiancée, Mrs. Crawford. Or, I suppose I should call you Miss de Bourgh, should I not, since your marriage to Mr. Crawford was of questionable status?”

  “I did not realize your lordship was aware of that fact. I thought my mother managed to keep the particulars from you.”

  “One has only to listen to the right conversations to learn all manner of interesting information. And nobody pays attention to senile old men.”

  “Is that why you perpetrated the charade?” Elizabeth asked. “To spy upon people?”

  “Not at all, my dear lady. The pretense began for Neville’s benefit. He did not, however, appreciate it.” The viscount’s expression hardened. “My son did not appreciate much.”

  Elizabeth could hear the barely restrained hostility beneath his words. “You appeared to be mourning him deeply these two days past.”

  “I have been mourning the man he could have been. Ought to have been.” He regarded the pistol in his hand. “Neville was the greatest disappointment of my life. Dying was the most honorable thing he ever did.”

  Elizabeth had not been particularly impressed by Mr. Sennex, but the depth of the viscount’s acrimony surprised her. “That is a harsh thing to say about your only son.”

  “He was not my son.”

  Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam questioned everyone, searched everywhere. Those who had witnessed Elizabeth and Anne depart saw only that they had climbed into the carriage willingly. Lady Catherine had been vexed that Anne went without taking proper leave of her mother, but had attributed the neglect to pique over her engagement to the viscount. The note Elizabeth had left for Darcy offered no clues.

  Darcy’s heart pressed against his rib cage as he and Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the viscount’s chamber. He had begun to doubt their finding any indication of where Lord Sennex might have taken Elizabeth and Anne.

  “What chafes my conscience the most is that I saw the deuced pistol case,” Darcy said. “Right there, in the wardrobe, while we questioned him. I saw the rook — the chessman — on its lid and took it for a game case.”

  “Why would you have thought anything else? Quad sets are so rare that we certainly were not seeking a gun case of that size — perhaps two smaller ones, if anything — and he had a chessboard set up on this table. I am certain the double entendre of the ‘rook’ was intentional. The viscount has always preferred the challenge of intellectual games to the sports his son favored.” He frowned and ran his hand over the table upon which the chessboard had rested. Fine black particles clung to his fingers.

  “Priming powder. He loaded the pistols in here.”

  At Elizabeth’s startled reaction, Lord Sennex clarified. “Do not mistake my meaning — Neville was of my blood. I do not cast aspersions upon my late wife. But he had no understanding of the legacy he inherited along with his name, and the responsibility that comes along with it. He did not take care to protect his reputation or our fortune. He squandered both through gaming and intemperate living, and never considered the consequences. Nor did he develop a gentleman’s control over his temper.

  “For years I followed behind him, tidying his messes as best I could, trying to salvage our family’s dignity and prevent him from spending us into bankruptcy or humiliating us out of good society. But my efforts had the opposite effect — he came to take me for granted along with everything else, and assumed that whatever scrape he got himself into, his father the viscount would repair the damage. I wondered if by my own actions I had inadvertently encouraged his irresponsibility.

  “And so my ruse began. I pretended to fail, both in mind and body, in hopes that my perceived decline would bring about greater consciousness of duty on his part. But it only worsened his conduct. In his mind, my frailty removed me as an obstacle to his selfish pursuits. Any words I spoke about honoring one’s birthright he dismissed as the ramblings of an old man.”

  “And this is the man I would have wed?” Anne said. “He sounds no better than Mr. Crawford. I cannot believe my mother initiated the match.”

  The viscount chuckled, a hollow sound, devoid of mirth. “Your mother only thinks she initiated the match. By the time she arrived at Riveton, anxious to preserve her daughter from spinsterhood, Neville had depleted our estate. We needed a rapid infusion of funds, and marriage to an heiress was the ideal solution. When she began calling upon every family in the neighborhood with an unattached son, I was ready. She thought she was taking advantage of my weakness, but without even realizing it, she advanced my scheme. We both would have emerged from the church doors satisfied, were it not for Mr. Crawford’s interference.”

  The venom in his voice as he pronounced the name “Crawford” was potent. He gripped his pistol so tightly that Elizabeth thought he would bruise his leg with the butt cap.

  “Was it you who hired Mr. Lautus to kill Henry Crawford?” she asked.

  The viscount emitted a derisive noise. “Certainly not. Hired assassins are for cravens. Mr. Crawford’s elopement with Neville’s betrothed insulted my son’s honor, and he was eager for revenge. Their dispute should have been settled in a gentlemanly manner — civilized, prearranged combat — a dignified contest such as the ones I fought in my own youth. I told Neville as much, and lent him these pistols, which had served me so well.

  “But Neville was lazy and cowardly, and did not want to face Mr. Crawford himself. Without my knowledge, he hired Mr. Lautus — where he found such a character, I do not know. He instructed the buffoon to stage a duel of sorts, and equipped him with two of my pistols. My pistols! The very weapons I had used to defend our family honor in years past were given to a stranger to make a mockery of a sacred gentlemen’s rite.

  “When I learned the truth, I was furious. My senile ruse prevented me from giving full vent to my anger, but my son had disappointed me. In a way that could not be forgiven.”

  Having nowhere else to seek hints of the viscount’s destination, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam searched the courtyard and perimeter of the inn. The ostler had said he saw Lord Sennex and the two ladies approach the carriage from one side, near a large hedge. A look about produced the viscount’s cane lying forgotten on the ground.

  Darcy examined it closely. It was an ordinary cane — no blades on the end or hidden compartments at the top. What was extraordinary about it was that they should find it at all.

  “I do not believe I have seen the viscount walk without aid these several years, at least,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I wonder how he is getting around without it.”

  “Quite well, if I might say so,” declared a young voice on the other side of the hedge. Nat Gower came around. “I saw him walk with the ladies from here to the carriage, and he appeared to have no trouble.”

  “Did you see him drop the cane?” Darcy asked.

  “No, sir. I was on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. Darcy had asked me to keep a lookout for the viscount so he wouldn’t wander off, so whenever he went
outside I stuck close but stayed where he wouldn’t notice me.”

  Faint hope began to flicker inside Darcy. Perhaps this boy had observed something no one else had. “Did you hear anything he said to Mrs. Darcy or Mrs. Crawford?”

  “I didn’t follow Lord Sennex when he first came over here with the ladies — I figured if Mrs. Darcy was with him, all was well, and I didn’t want to eavesdrop. But they were out of my sight for a while, and I got to worrying that maybe they had parted and the viscount had wandered off some other way. So I came closer. Didn’t hear much — the viscount said something about weddings and anvils and accommodating his bride — and then they started walking so I ducked out of sight.”

  Darcy gave the boy a shilling. “If you remember anything else, come tell me.”

  “I will, sir!”

  As the boy ran off, Darcy looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam. His cousin read his thoughts.

  “Weddings and anvils,” the colonel said. “Do you think they are bound for Scotland?”

  “It is a long journey. If we are wrong, we lose days chasing false hope.” Darcy did not want to contemplate how much worse the situation would be if they raced all the way to Gretna Green only to discover they had erred. “We cannot even be certain they head for Gretna — the viscount could take them to any Scottish village.”

  “We could divide. One of us could stay here.”

  “And do what?”

  “Feel impotent and torment himself over what might be occurring two hundred fifty miles away.”

  His cousin’s response elicited a grim half-smile from Darcy. It was in neither of their natures to remain idle while others acted. “The viscount has a case full of pistols. I think we should both go. And given their advance start, we cannot afford another moment’s delay.”

  Darcy did not know what they would find, or what would unfold, when they reached their destination. But based on previous experience, of one thing he was convinced.

  Nothing good came of elopements to Scotland.

  “I have reached a decision,” Anne announced as she and Elizabeth reentered the carriage after another all-too-brief stop. She spoke in a low voice so as not to be overheard by Antonio, who followed behind, his pistol ever-present but concealed from spectators. “If we survive this, I shall happily spend the rest of my life as a spinster.”

  They would survive this. In that, Elizabeth was determined. “No more elopements? I cannot imagine why. This one has been so agreeable that I begin to regret my own mundane nuptials at Longbourn.”

  This had been the most grueling journey of Elizabeth’s life. Anxious to reach Scotland before any pursuers caught up with them, and equally anxious lest an opportunity present itself for his abductees to escape, the viscount had traveled through the night and all the next day with only the most abbreviated of stops to change horses. They were even denied meals at the posting inns; to prevent any conversation with employees or other guests, the viscount bought only portable food such as bread and cheese that could be consumed in the carriage. After more than four-and-twenty hours of cramped seating and ceaseless jostling, every muscle of Elizabeth’s body ached.

  Yet other than the hardship of prolonged, involuntary travel, the viscount’s treatment of them in general had been fair. He demonstrated the respect due them as ladies, expected his servant to do the same, and himself behaved as a gentleman. He yet considered himself a man of honor; indeed, a great deal of his conversation seemed to derive from a desire to defend his conduct as honorable and prove himself to be yet upholding the tenets by which he had lived his life. That men of honor did not generally kidnap ladies at gunpoint and subject them to an arduous journey with the end purpose of a forced marriage did not seem to trouble him.

  The paradox intrigued Elizabeth.

  Though more lucid than he had appeared during the period of his deception, the viscount had definitely lost some of his ability to reason. He might not be senile, but he was not altogether sane. And so as they rode, she kept him talking as much as she could — in part to learn more about the events that had been transpiring around them, in part to tire him, and in part to better understand how his mind worked.

  Once more on the road, it was an easy matter to bring Lord Sennex back to his tale. She had only to enquire about the viscount’s cherished pistols. “After Mr. Lautus failed in his commission, how did you retrieve the weapons Mr. Sennex had given him?”

  “One is in the custody of Sir Thomas; Neville was to have recovered it while staying at Mansfield Park. My useless son, however, could not even succeed at that, and so it remains in Sir Thomas’s possession. I did not know what had become of the other, until entirely by chance I happened upon that loathsome Mrs. Norris prowling around the inn’s privy. It was occupied, and she waited outside. I startled her and she dropped the pistol. I pretended not to notice her kick it under the bushes — a facile deception, when one is already thought to be addled. As she then left without using the privy, I can only presume she planned to discard the pistol down it. A Mortimer pistol! One of the finest he ever made! And she would have dropped it into a hole of—” He emitted a sound of utter disgust. “Stupid, reprehensible woman! I wanted to shoot her with it.

  “But I had more important matters at Mansfield. By then, Henry Crawford had returned, providing an opportunity for Neville to finally satisfy his honor. This time, I was present to ensure everything proceeded properly. Because of the previous mishandled duel, secrecy was even more critical, and so participants were minimal. No seconds, no surgeon — only the two primaries and myself, the presiding officer.”

  “How did you persuade Mr. Sennex to involve himself directly this time?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Upon my instructions, Antonio led Neville to the grove, where he impatiently awaited my arrival, not knowing why he had been summoned. Mr. Crawford required more persuasion. The muzzle of my pistol, however, proved sufficient motivation for him to leave the inn with me and return to the grove.

  “When we arrived and I announced what we were gathered there to do, Neville at first dismissed the duel as the scheme of a senile old man. I could see, however, that he indeed wanted satisfaction from Mr. Crawford — he was simply too cowardly to jeopardize his own person to achieve it. But when Mr. Crawford continued to maintain that he was someone named John Garrick and that he had no knowledge of any offense against Neville, his denials so enraged Neville that at last my son was spurred to defend his honor as a gentleman ought.

  “Mr. Crawford had no weapon of his own, so I armed him with one of mine — the match to the one I handed to Neville. I retained the small pistol for myself. They stood at a measured distance and were to fire at my word of command.

  “As I was about to voice the order, Neville fired. His shot flew so wide that I know not what shamed me more — his premature fire or his pathetic aim. I stared at him, unable to believe my own son capable of such dishonorable conduct.

  “But the worst was yet to come. He regarded Mr. Crawford, still holding his cocked pistol, and fear entered Neville’s eyes. My son was so lily-livered that he backed away, looking as if he might run. His cravenness disgusted me. I ordered him to stand his ground and take Mr. Crawford’s fire like a man.

  “The sudden realization that I was in full possession of my faculties stunned Neville into submission. Mr. Crawford, however, would not finish the proceedings. He yet claimed that he had no knowledge of the business that had brought us there. His lies to me were nearly as great an insult to my honor as had been his offense against Neville’s. I issued the command to fire; he not only refused, he mocked the gravity of the trial, thereby insulting me further. I ordered him once more to fire or be fired upon. He laughed and ridiculed me. So I brought up my own pistol and silenced him.

  “He died quickly — took his final breath just as I reached him to retrieve the pistol from his hand. Neville called over to me, asking whether Mr. Crawford were dead, and I nodded. ‘Capital,’ he said, bravado once more taking hold of him. ‘I am gla
d to have this ridiculous affair ended.’ Ridiculous, he called it — when minutes before, he could not stand steady for cowardice.

  “I did not recognize him as my son any longer. He, who had dissipated our family fortune, whose conduct had blackened a name that had stood proud for generations, who held his honor so cheap he would not defend it. I wanted no part of him.

  “I raised the undischarged pistol and fired.”

  Thirty

  “We met by appointment, he to defend, I to punish his conduct.”

  — Colonel Brandon, Sense and Sensibility

  The viscount’s chaise, horses still harnessed, sat outside the same Gretna Green inn where Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had found Anne after her first elopement. The viscount’s post-boy attempted to stop them from entering, but backed off when he saw the colonel remove a pistol from one of his bucket holsters.

  Darcy dismounted, never more grateful to have reached the end of a journey. They had ridden so hard and so long, stopping only when absolutely necessary to change horses or indulge in brief rests, that he was beyond exhausted. Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose military life better prepared him for tests of endurance, also showed signs of extreme fatigue.

  “Is the viscount inside?” the colonel asked.

  The post-boy took in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s red coat, then the pistol, and nodded. Though the pistol was untrained and but half-cocked, his gaze stayed upon it.

  “Does he have two ladies with him?” Darcy asked.

  “He does, sir. Not sure which of them he was in such a hurry to get here with. Just arrived a few minutes ago.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam removed his other pistol from its holster and handed it to Darcy. “I hope we are not too late.”

  They entered to hear the opening words of the wedding ceremony, interrupted by their sudden entrance. Darcy had no sooner laid eyes on Elizabeth and saw to his relief that she appeared unharmed than the viscount grabbed Anne and thrust the muzzle of a pistol under her chin.