“My lord, I do not mean to further distress you,” said Sir Thomas. “Please understand that I am merely discharging my duty as an agent of the Crown to ensure justice is served in the matter of your son’s death. And that of Mr. Crawford.”
“I do not give a damn about Mr. Crawford.” He raised his right arm and shook a finger at Sir Thomas. Actually, his arm might have shaken of its own accord—the viscount grew more agitated with each passing minute. “As for my son, if he died defending his honor, then I am satisfied that justice was served.”
“My lord—”
“Cease my lord-ing me! If you wish to show respect, end this interview altogether and leave me in peace.”
Darcy interceded. “If you will but allow us a couple questions more, we shall not have to disturb you further.”
The viscount sighed heavily. “What are your questions?” He sounded exhausted, and somehow looked smaller and more frail than he had when they arrived.
“There was a guest registered here by the name of Mr. Lautus,” Darcy said. “Do you know him?”
“Should I know him?” He turned to the colonel, his expression all confusion. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, is Mr. Lautus one of our neighbors? Pray, help me remember. His name is not familiar to me, but I—from time to time I forget things . . .”
“No, my lord. He is not one of our neighbors. But he did occupy this room before you arrived. Did you by chance find anything he might have left behind?”
“The only items in this chamber are my own possessions.”
Darcy could listen to the interrogation no longer. The viscount was obviously overwhelmed; to prolong the questioning was to torture an old man who had not been given even a minute in which to grieve for his son. “Perhaps, Sir Thomas, we can continue this later?”
“We are done.”
Sir Thomas apologized to the viscount for the necessity of having to so question him. Lord Sennex merely nodded and sank into his chair once more.
As they left, he swept the pieces off the chessboard with a single motion. And put his head in his hands.
Twenty-seven
The scheme advanced. Opposition was vain.
—Mansfield Park
When a man dies, it seems that someone ought to mourn him,” Elizabeth said as they retired to their room that evening.
It had been a long day, and Darcy anticipated the next several would prove still longer. “To which man do you refer?”
She did not immediately answer. “All three of them, I suppose,” she finally said. “Mr. Crawford’s actual demise has inspired far more gossip than grief—I expect because anyone inclined to regret his passing got an early start when he died the first time. Though Neville Sennex’s death has deeply saddened his lordship, Lady Catherine is jubilant, for it has opened the way for Anne to give birth to a future viscount. Mr. Lautus, nobody here knew, although perhaps there might be someone in Birmingham who will miss him.”
“Sir Thomas travels there tomorrow to determine that. He hopes to learn who might have hired him to kill Mr. Crawford.”
She sat down on the bed. “Perhaps Sir Thomas will also learn more about the pistol found with him.”
Darcy hesitated. “That, it seems, has fallen to me.”
“Oh?”
“The coroner’s examination confirms that Henry Crawford was shot either with the same pistol that killed Mr. Lautus, or a matching one. Mr. Stover compared the bullets found in both bodies, borrowing Mr. Dawson’s apothecary scales to weigh them, and marks on the gun patches indicate the same distinctive rifling of the barrels for both shots. Meanwhile, the bullet found in Neville Sennex was larger, as were the other two patches found this morning, indicating that his killing shot came from a bigger pistol. Yet the patches from those shots share the same fabric and rifling as those from the smaller pistols. Somehow, the pistols are related, and we need to determine the connection.”
“How will you do so?”
“I am bringing the one pistol in our possession to the gunmaker himself. The gun’s furniture—its engravings and so forth—is distinctive, and Mr. Mortimer will have records. He should be able to tell me for whom it was made, and whether others were produced for the same purchaser.” He retrieved the portmanteau he had used on his journey to Scotland and opened it on the bed beside her.
“Why does Sir Thomas not undertake the errand himself?”
“He has contacts in Birmingham that will make that aspect of the investigation easier for him to complete than if someone else attempted it, and he does not want to delay pursuing one lead for another. So he has asked me to go to London bearing a request with his official seal as magistrate, which should be sufficient to obtain Mr. Mortimer’s full cooperation.”
Her expression was wistful as she watched him pack a few essentials. “Do you expect to be long in London?”
“I shall depart at first light. I hope one or two days will prove sufficient to obtain the information we need, plus a day’s travel there and another back. Mortimer produces a high volume of arms, however, so if the pistol is not a recent purchase it might take some time to locate it in his records.”
She removed one of his shirts and refolded it. “I would offer to accompany you, but I do not want to leave Anne. Lady Catherine is now pressing her harder than ever to marry Lord Sennex with all possible haste, and since Colonel Fitzwilliam made his offer your aunt looks upon him almost as an adversary. She thwarts any opportunity for private conversation between your cousins. I have hopes that Anne may yet muster the courage to stand up to her mother, but in any event, she needs the support of a friend.” She returned the shirt to the travel bag, her hand lingering upon it.
He wished she could accompany him. He had grown weary some time ago of this inn and its company, and wanted nothing more than to steal away with his wife to someplace—anyplace—far removed from the murders and machinations with which they had been surrounded. He most desired to go home to Pemberley, but barring that, London would do. However, as much as duty called him forth, it required her to stay.
“It is just as well,” he said sportively. “You would only slow me down.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. Journeys always take twice as long when you accompany me.”
“I see.” She returned his lighthearted tone. “And are there no advantages to my companionship?”
“There are definite advantages.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “That is why they take twice as long.”
Elizabeth shifted in her chair and stole what she hoped was a discreet glimpse at the case clock in the parlor. Noon—a mere six minutes since her last covert glance. Her suspicions were confirmed.
She would die at this card table.
Against her better instincts, she had consented to participate in a game of quadrille with Anne, Lady Catherine, and Lord Sennex. Her ladyship had proposed it as a means of diverting the viscount. Ostensibly, they were distracting him from his heartache over the loss of Neville; in reality, Lady Catherine sought to distract him from what remained of his judgment.
Before the game was over, Anne and Lord Sennex would have all but exchanged vows. Lady Catherine’s campaign for the marriage to occur by special license had already met with success; she now forged ahead to secure a date. Her blatant manipulation of a man weakened by age and debilitated by grief made Elizabeth recoil. It also so distracted her from game play that she was in danger of losing enough pin money to purchase three muff pistols.
“As the special license enables us to hold the wedding at any convenient location, you could wed at Hawthorn Manor. We need not even return to Rosings after Mr. Sennex’s funeral; the marriage could take place shortly thereafter.”
“An efficient proposal,” the viscount said. “The guests could come for one event and stay for the other. We could even serve the leftover funeral meats at the wedding breakfast.”
Elizabeth studied him instead of her cards, trying to determine whether he had offered the outrageous suggestion ou
t of sarcasm or senility.
“Now, what is trump?” he asked.
“Hearts, my lord,” Lady Catherine said. “You named them.”
“I took the bid? Oh, yes—I suppose I did.”
Senility.
He selected a card from his hand and captured the trick, his third straight. Somehow, despite the dual impairment of his mental state and Lady Catherine’s conversation, he was managing to retain the lead.
“I did not mean to propose that the wedding should follow quite that hard upon,” Lady Catherine said.
“No, no—it is a capital idea. I am glad you suggested it.”
“Surely no one in Society would look askance at someone of your lordship’s years assuaging his sorrow with a bride. Perhaps it will not be long before you have a new heir to cheer you.”
Anne colored and occupied herself in rearranging her cards.
The viscount selected another lead from his hand. “Kindly remind me, Lady Catherine, when is Neville’s funeral?”
“Three days’ time.” Lady Catherine frowned as he captured another trick. “Mr. Sennex’s body is being transported to Buckinghamshire tomorrow morning. Your lordship planned to accompany it, with the rest of us making the journey the following day.”
“Ah, yes.” Lord Sennex became lost in thought so long that Elizabeth began to wonder whether he would ever return. At last, he played a card. “It will be a lonely journey home, I am afraid.” He turned to Anne. “I wonder whether you would consent to ride with me.”
“She would be delighted,” Lady Catherine declared.
Anne, her felicity apparently too great for expression, merely nodded her assent.
“Excellent. And would you, Mrs. Darcy, accompany us? After all, we must maintain decorum.”
Elizabeth agreed, far more for Anne’s sake than for the sake of propriety. She looked at Anne, willing her to assert herself. But Anne offered no objection to the travel arrangements or the marriage, only a low card already defeated by her mother’s and the viscount’s plays.
Lady Catherine was so satisfied with herself that she did not even scowl when the viscount captured his sixth trick, and the pool.
Twenty-eight
“It raises my spleen more than any thing, to have the pretence of being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing—whatever it be!”
—Tom Bertram, Mansfield Park
Anne walked slowly but confidently round the common with Elizabeth, her recovery all but complete. The two of them had sought a few minutes’ exercise before the journey to Buckinghamshire. The coach with Neville’s remains had already departed; his lordship’s carriage was presently being prepared and would depart soon.
Uncertain when to anticipate her husband’s return, Elizabeth had sent word to him at their London townhouse, and also left a note for him with Mr. Gower, explaining her removal to Buckinghamshire. She hoped it would not be long before he could meet her there. Or better still, before they could go home altogether. She missed Lily-Anne exceedingly. She was glad, however, that her child was safe at Pemberley, and not with her in Mansfield amid death and mayhem. She prayed Darcy had met with success on his errand so that the investigation he felt honor-bound to assist could come to a close.
Elizabeth had thought that getting Anne out of the inn for a while would do her good, and the prescription appeared to be having the desired effect. Not only was the exercise strengthening her body, but the distance from Lady Catherine was strengthening her spirit. Elizabeth regretted that they must now turn their steps back toward the inn.
“I expect the viscount is anxious to reach Hawthorn Manor.” Anne’s voice held little enthusiasm.
“You seem not quite eager to go there yourself.”
“An alliance with a feebleminded, elderly man is hardly the marriage most women dream about,” she said. “But then, neither is discovering that one’s dashing young husband is married to someone else.”
“You do not have to marry Lord Sennex, you know.”
An unseasonably cool breeze marshaled the air, an early reminder of the coming autumn. Anne shivered and crossed her arms. “I signed the betrothal agreement last night. I could not defy my mother a second time, and I have no superior prospects on the horizon.”
“Do not you?”
Anne looked at her sharply. “I am doubtful as to your meaning.”
“I am doubtful of it myself. But I did notice how your gaze followed a certain mutual acquaintance of ours when he left for Mansfield Park this morning to learn whether Sir Thomas had returned from Birmingham.”
She hesitated. “Nothing more than friendship shall ever come from that quarter.”
Apparently, Anne was unaware of the offer Colonel Fitzwilliam had made. “And if it did?”
A soft smile, meant only for herself, played upon her lips for the shortest of moments before fading. “It is impossible.”
“It is impossible only if you wed someone else.” Elizabeth stopped walking and faced her. “Do not make a decision about marriage to Lord Sennex based on what Colonel Fitzwilliam might feel, or what your mother wants, or what Society will say. Just know that, should you decide that you cannot honor your betrothal to the viscount while also honoring your responsibility to yourself and your own happiness, you will not find yourself friendless. In fact, I will stand directly beside you if you wish.”
Anne broke off eye contact and looked at the ground some distance away. “May I ask you something terribly . . . delicate?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know you were with child?”
Elizabeth studied her. A flush started at Anne’s neck and crept up to her cheeks. “Is this why you feel unable to resist the marriage to Lord Sennex?”
Anne raised her eyes and nodded.
Elizabeth responded frankly, and asked Anne some equally frank questions in return. She wished Mrs. Godwin, her midwife, were in Mansfield to consult, but she was able to offer Anne some reassurance: Though only time would reveal her state with certainty, none of what Anne told her corresponded to her own experience.
They had nearly reached the inn, and Anne looked toward the waiting carriage. The viscount, his cane in one hand, his chess case in the other, wandered about the courtyard. The once-proud figure was nearly swallowed by the loose folds of his greatcoat. He created an almost endearing image—but endearing in a grandfatherly, not matrimonial, way.
Anne turned to Elizabeth. “Will you come stand by me now?”
Darcy returned to Number 89 Fleet Street precisely on time. Yesterday, the younger H. W. Mortimer had identified the pistol as having been made a score or more years ago, and asked for a day to review his father’s older records. Darcy hoped the gunsmith had found what he sought. He was anxious to finish his errand and commence his journey north. He was also anxious to regain possession of the pistol, which he had felt uneasy leaving behind. If there were anybody in London, however, with whom he was comfortable leaving the weapon, it was the family of artisans who had crafted it.
Mr. Mortimer greeted him warmly. “I found the record. Though I was but a boy when my father made this set, I thought I remembered it, for it was an unusual one, but I wanted to be certain.” He showed Darcy the description. “My father made this pistol thirty years ago as part of a quad set of duelers—two primary pistols, and two second-sized pistols, all in a single case. This pistol is one of the smaller; the larger guns have eight-inch barrels. All four bear the rifling you enquired about, and all four have a rook image engraved into their locks, hammers, and escutcheons. The description also notes a rook on the case lid.”
“On the case lid?” Darcy repeated.
“Indeed—there is a small illustration.” The renowned gunsmith showed the record to Darcy, then pointed to the name of the purchaser. But he need not have bothered.
Darcy already knew.
“Lord Sennex?”
The viscount broke off from his reve
rie and offered them a gentle smile. “Mrs. Crawford! Mrs. Darcy! Are you ready to depart?”
“I hoped we might have a word with you first,” Anne said. “A private word?”
“Of course.” He drew his brows together. “But will we not have ample opportunity for conversation in the carriage?”
“I beg your indulgence. Shall we step over here?”
They moved to an area on one side of the inn where a tall hedge shielded them from the view of employees and passers-by. Elizabeth offered to carry the chess set for him, so that he might better handle his cane, but he politely declined.
“Now, what have you to say, my dear lady?”
Anne glanced at Elizabeth and took a deep breath. “I am afraid, my lord, that I cannot marry you.”
Lord Sennex blinked. “I do not understand.”
“I cannot marry you. I believe that a marriage between us, particularly one entered into in such a hasty manner, can only lead to unhappiness. I beg your forgiveness . . .”
“But—” He looked like a confused child. “We have an agreement. I saw you sign it yester eve—I am certain I did.”
“I did, my lord. And, again, I am deeply sorry. But I must break our engagement.”
Lord Sennex stared at her in befuddlement. “I must have misheard you.”
“No, my lord—”
“Yes, yes—that must be the case. For I have something, you see, something certain to change your mind—” He allowed his cane to fall to the ground so that he could reach into an inner fold of his greatcoat. “Ah, yes—here it is.” He withdrew his hand.
It held a pistol, which he cocked and aimed at Anne.
“Now, my dear . . . would you care to reconsider?”
Twenty-nine
“A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe.”
—Elizabeth, Pride and Prejudice
The Matters at Mansfield Page 21