Instead, Evangeline Harwood calmly entered the room, her eyes resting on the lieutenant, fixing a glassy stare on the bloody wound—no longer red, turning black in the stifling air. Her husband’s body had begun to stiffen—the skin hardening and becoming inflexible—but she knelt beside it and took his pale fingers in her warm hands. Emotion choked her. Evangeline had known Robert Harwood for five years—he barely past his majority when they had met and her a widow of six and twenty. Her knees had trembled when he touched her hand the first time, and Evangeline had known that she would give him whatever he wanted. She supposed it was why he had chosen her: She had allowed him a certain freedom to flirt with other women as long as he returned to her. She had given Robert Harwood her heart, but he had never reciprocated. Evangeline had never understood why he married her—maybe he had thought her widow’s pension would see them through the worst of those early days of their relationship.
His handsome face had often unnerved her, but now dried blood framed it, and a grimace of pain held the muscles taut. Evangeline’s fingers touched the furrowed lines. She would have liked to smooth the expression, but his skin’s hardness prevented that act of compassion. “I am sorry, my Love,” she whispered as she traced his bottom lip. “You deserved better than this.”
She rested Harwood’s hand across his waist before rising to her feet.“I thank you, Sir Phillip,” she murmured,“for allowing me this moment.”
“Of course, Mrs. Harwood.” The woman’s strength amazed him—he admired her courage, although the magistrate was now aware of the extent of her participation in the scheme the lieutenant had practiced on the de Bourghs. She had certainly planned to advance the claim he made and to create the image of ruination. Add to that perfidy a crime far worse—the death of an innocent—and he should find it impossible to offer the lady admiration, but he did. She had survived an abusive husband and a philandering one, and despite the evil she had brought to Darcy’s house, Spurlock saw the woman her late husband had described. Sir Phillip saw an angel. Not an angel of death, as he had once assumed, but an angel of love—twisted though it might be—one of love.
“Come,” he said softly as he placed the woman’s hand on his arm once more. Darcy and Worth waited barely inside the door, but they stepped aside to allow Sir Phillip to lead the woman away. “You will be confined to your quarters,” he explained as he conducted her along the corridor to her restored room. The baronet had set Darcy’s staff to organizing the disarray of their earlier search of the room. “A maid will attend you as is necessary, ma’am.Your meals will be brought to you, but other than those few moments, you will remain in isolation until I can arrange your transportation. Do you understand, Mrs. Harwood?”
“As you wish, Sir Phillip.” The lady turned to her jailer and offered him a polite bow of her head.“I shall await your pleasure, sir.” Evangeline Harwood entered the room—never looking back.
Behind her, Sir Phillip pulled the door closed and locked it from the outside. He motioned a footman forward. “No one is to enter this room unless Mr. Darcy or I give the order to do so.”
“Yes, sir.”
James hated the darkened passages and the stale air and the musty smell of mold and decaying animals. He would be happy to leave Pemberley’s dust-filled enclosure behind. Coming here had seemed a good idea when his friend had suggested it, but he preferred brightly lit parties with ladies in fine silks sporting low décolletages to decay and dampness. “Damn!” he cursed softly when he banged his knee against a jutting support beam, which had broken away from a cornice. “I am tired of being cold,” he grumbled. “Tired of cobwebs in my hair—tired of hiding away—tired of being absolutely quiet—tired of the sound of rats in the dusky shadows.”
He checked the openings to the many rooms accessible from the passageway. With the appearance of the magistrate and of Darcy’s cousin this morning, the activity in the house had increased. The men searched each room, and the women clustered together in tight-lipped pockets of dread.
Shoulders rigid, he made his way to the nearest peephole, a blur of unreality resonating through his mind. A flurry of color caught his immediate attention. Lydia Wickham swirled in place. “It is the most glorious of moments, Miss Donnel,” she declared boldly. “The officers choose their partners, and a kaleidoscope of colors unfolds as each lady’s skirts swirl in the dance—a continual swish to the quartet.”
Cathleen Donnel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Mrs. Wickham took great pleasure in frivolity. “It sounds delightful. Now, if you will excuse me, I promised His Lordship I would begin to gather my things. He hopes to make his departure tomorrow.” Cathleen curtsied and left the room.
“But I did not tell you about the promenade,” Lydia called softly to Cathleen’s retreating form. She collapsed dejectedly on a nearby bench.“No one seems to care.” She understood how others might see her life as superficial, but it was the life she had. “I know nothing else,” Lydia whispered to the empty room—the depth of her ignorance and shallowness evident. Suddenly, tears of loneliness—held in check for months—welled up in her eyes. “George,” she moaned. “I wish you were here.”
James watched and listened. A bitter laugh bubbled in his chest, but he pushed it away.The irony of the situation played through his head. A man of improper title might have the lovely Mrs.Wickham with a wink.The girl was so one-dimensional that she would never recognize the man’s true intentions—would actually follow him without question. Noting her vulnerability, James imagined himself stalking toward her—a seductive determination his only weapon. He could easily tempt Mrs.Wickham now; she would take no care to note the difference. James would have to be willing to pay the price for interfering in his friend’s affairs, but triumphing over her would give him pleasure in more than one way.
James reached for the latch, but a slight movement stayed his fingers. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Wickham, but the Mistress wishes you to join her and Miss Darcy in the music room.” The maid dropped a belated curtsy.
Lydia Wickham shoved lazily out of the chair. “What could Lizzy want in the music room? She certainly knows I possess no such talent.”
“I no be knowin’, ma’am. Mrs. Darcy just be sendin’ me to find ye.”
“Oh, all right. I will go.”
“What do we do about Mrs. Harwood?” Darcy sat in the chair before the desk, a feeling of déjà vu returning. He had often sat there when his father still lived. At the moment, he wished for the peace he had known then even as his father had lectured him regarding his obligations. He ached to recapture those moments, but then he thought of Elizabeth—of the goodness of her heart—and of how she had made things right with Georgiana—and of how only in this time had he truly been happy. And he realized he never wanted to be anywhere but in this place—even with the evil, which surrounded him.
“When I leave, I will transport the lady to the nearest gaol.” A tone of resignation coloring his words, Sir Phillip added, “It is a crying shame that a woman might love a man to such a degree of distraction that she justifies an unjustifiable act in her own mind.”
“People have given themselves up to such perversions since the beginning of time—from the Bible to Shakespeare to our country’s history, we observe tragedy in everything we do. Only those few moments of love allow us to travel on in life; otherwise, we would all run screaming into the nearest mire—allowing the quicksand to suckle us into its darkness.”
The baronet scowled; the morass surrounding Pemberley went straight to its roots, and Sir Phillip wondered if the tree might finally be uprooted. At the moment, it appeared the Darcys were in way over their heads. The magistrate’s eyes burned with curiosity. “You must know, Darcy, that Mrs. Harwood is not your Pemberley phantom. Her demented reasons for doing away with Mrs. Jenkinson have nothing to do with the murders of your staff members, nor of the lieutenant. First, those were acts of force and of might. Neither of those words describes the lady. Pity, maybe. Shame, most definitely. Passion, ab
solutely. But not violence. Mrs. Harwood is simply a hard survivor of a difficult life.”
“Will the lady hang for this?” Darcy saw what the older man saw—a life to be pitied.
“More than likely.” Sir Phillip shifted uncomfortably. “I despise this part of my duties. Give me a rousing argument between neighbors over sheep in the garden, and I go happily into the fracas, but this type of matter is not open to human reason. No logic lingers in such cases—no one can explain the enigma of murder.”
Darcy pushed forward, banishing the maudlin atmosphere filling the room. “Yet, we must solve that puzzle, Sir Phillip, and we must do so before someone else in this house meets his Maker. I sent for you—for your expertise in this matter. I need your level-headed, no-nonsense reasoning to rid Pemberley of this pox.”
The baronet looked about shamefacedly. “Of course, Darcy. We must put our heads together to clear your name of this blight. Let us summon the viscount and your cousin.We will need all the raison d’être and common sense to be found in this house to create understanding out of iniquity.”
“If we want reason, then we should send for Mrs. Darcy also,” Darcy declared.
The corner of the magistrate’s mouth turned up in amusement. “You believe your wife capable of handling herself in a man’s domain?”
“Mrs. Darcy has at least as fine a mind as many of the men of my acquaintance, but my wife possesses something more important. She has a strong intuition—a way of choosing the right course—except where I am concerned, that is.” Darcy chuckled.
An eyebrow rose in curiosity. “Mrs. Darcy did not readily succumb to your many charms?” The baronet gestured to the room’s accoutrements.
“The lady also had the acquaintance of one Lieutenant George Wickham,” Darcy admitted. “It took her some months to see past the man’s natural affability and perceive his lies for what they were.”
The baronet nervously shuffled the papers he had left on Darcy’s desk. “Evidently, Mrs. Darcy’s sister lacks your wife’s ability to see beyond a handsome countenance. I noted a bit of melancholy in the lady’s demeanor.”
Darcy would not share Lydia Wickham’s story, but he said, “I cannot imagine living with Mr. Wickham to be an easy task for any woman, especially one of Mrs. Wickham’s exuberant nature. The lady’s husband, as you well know, is one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain.”
“I do not believe I have heard you speak so openly of Mr.Wickham’s wickedness before, Darcy. When he was a boy, I knew that he was a bad seed, although your dear father tried—supporting him at school, and afterward at Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education. And the elder Mr. Wickham…he never knew how to handle the boy. Whether to use the cane or offer a pat on the back.”
Darcy added to the story. “My father was not only fond of the younger Mr. Wickham’s society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and, hoping the Church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it.”
“How might one imagine a man such as George Wickham taking to the church?” The baronet took a sip of the tepid tea he nursed.
“As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner.The vicious propensities, the want of principle, which Mr.Wickham was careful to guard from my father, could not escape the observations of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which my father could not have.”
“Mr. Worth seemed chagrined to have brought news of Mr. Wickham’s continued debasement,” Sir Phillip added cautiously.
Darcy picked at an invisible piece of lint on his sleeve. “Mr. Wickham appears determined to bring shame to his own name.”
“And to yours, Darcy,” his father’s long-time friend cautioned.
“Elizabeth and I will distance ourselves from the connection by remaining in Derbyshire and by not acknowledging the connection unless absolutely necessary. We have discussed it and are in accord. Yet, I fear Mrs. Bennet will not be so astute. My wife’s mother is singular in her devotion to her daughters, especially to Mrs.Wickham.”
The baronet frowned. “And the lady’s husband? What of Mr. Bennet?”
“Elizabeth’s father will see the folly of supporting Mr. Wickham’s reputation, but he is not likely to rein in his wife. He prefers to take refuge in his library and to allow the world to pass by unbridled.”
“I pray for your wife’s sake that you are wrong, sir.”
Before Darcy could respond,Worth tapped on the door.“Might I rejoin you?”
Darcy motioned the man forward. “How is my cousin?” Unsurprisingly, Worth had excused himself when Sir Phillip escorted Mrs. Harwood to her chamber. He had privately asked permission to apprise Anne of the news, knowing she would need comfort when she discovered what they had all suspected.
“I left her in Miss Donnel’s care. Anne took the news better than I had expected. Of course, we all knew the truth before the lady’s confession. Miss de Bourgh insisted on speaking with her mother privately.”
“Anne has matured from this experience although I would have her learn less harsh lessons in the future.” Darcy’s gaze swung back to the baronet, relief spreading across his face. “You recall, Sir Phillip, how belabored Anne was as a child.”
“The girl withdrew under Her Ladyship’s ministrations, very much as Sir Lewis did. If Miss de Bourgh has opened herself to a touch more of society’s polish because of Lieutenant Harwood’s attentions, then I will find it in my heart to forgive him some of his sins.” He sighed deeply.
A quiet stillness surrounded them as the three men digested the ramifications of their discoveries. “I wish for my cousin to make a match—a love match—with a man whom she truly deserves and who truly deserves Anne. I wish her the same type of happiness I have found with Mrs. Darcy.” Fitzwilliam Darcy set his shoulders with determination.“Speaking of my wife, let me send for the lady, along with the viscount and Colonel Fitzwilliam.” He forced his voice to sound calm, but an agitation remained that shook him to his core.
“You sent for me, Lizzy?” Lydia Wickham breezed into the music room, bringing annoyance with her.
Elizabeth ignored her sister’s petulant attitude. “Yes, Lyddie. Please come join us. Allow me to pour you tea.” Elizabeth gestured toward a nearby chair and waited for her youngest sister to settle herself before she continued. “Miss Darcy and I slipped in here to be away from the baronet’s investigation. Truthfully, we have been having a serious discussion, and I had hoped to recruit you to our efforts.We need desperately to return a sense of normalcy to Pemberley as soon as it is possible to do so.We have allowed the bleakness of the storm and the mystery of the deaths to blacken our days. I will not permit evil to take over my household,” Elizabeth asserted.“Georgiana and I have decided to attend the Midwinter Celebration in Bakewell next week.We will make new gowns for the assembly and enjoy a day of winter crafts at the church. I know how you so love a social, and we must plan our lives after these days.”
Lydia’s disposition brightened immediately. “You were always one, Lizzy, to quickly revive your spirits. I remember how all the young ladies in the neighborhood were drooping apace with the removal of the regiment from Meryton.You and Jane were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of your employments, while for us the dejection was almost universal.” Elizabeth wished Lydia would speak of something besides the time when Mr. Wickham resided in Meryton, especially for Georgiana’s sake, but a quick glance at Darcy’s sister showed an unexpected detachment. “So very frequently Kitty and I reproached your insensibility.”
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a slight inclination of the head.
Before Lydia could take up her tale again, Georgiana interrupted. “Do you suppose, Elizabeth, that you mig
ht prevail upon our cousin Edward to stay long enough to join us at Bakewell?” The girl spoke with a calm confidence.“It would be advantageous to have an additional dance partner. Fitzwilliam does not care for my dancing with strangers.”
Elizabeth watched with amusement as Georgiana manipulated the situation. Darcy’s sister was taking on the hopes of every young lady. Elizabeth knew she would have to teach her formidable husband to release his tight grip on his sister’s future. “I most certainly will apply to the good colonel for the pleasure of his company. Perhaps if Miss de Bourgh tarries with us, we might also encourage Mr.Worth to attend. I suspect we will see a great deal of the man if Anne remains at Pemberley.”
“I think it romantic.” Georgiana sighed and flushed with color.
Lydia perked up with the prospect. “As a married lady, I can avoid society’s mandates for dancing with strangers.”
Recalling her sister’s poor behavior at the Netherfield Ball, Elizabeth cautioned, “We—none of us—will do anything that might bring shame on Pemberley or the Darcy name.” She took Georgiana’s hand in hers. “Yet, as your sister, I will see that you have an abundance of partners, and that your brother takes a less rigid stance.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Georgiana squeezed her sister’s hand. She looked about shyly before whispering,“I have been to only one assembly, and I danced only twice, both times with Fitzwilliam.”
“Well, I promise a more pleasant evening this time.You have a big sister now, and I know what young girls like.”
“Plus, as a married woman, I, too, can serve as your chaperone,” Lydia offered.
“Thank you,” Georgiana said, covering the shock of Lydia Wickham being her chaperone. “Do you think, Elizabeth, with all that has happened at Pemberley that it might be a bit presumptuous of us to attend and make merry?”
The Phantom of Pemberley Page 35