The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (17 page)

She thought immediately of how Darcy had early on complimented her on her quick assimilation into the role of Pemberley's mistress. Little had her husband known that at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Jane had equally shared in the running of their parents' estate. Their mother had taught all her daughters of the responsibilities of an estate's mistress. As she and Jane had matured, Mrs. Bennet had relinquished more and more of her duties to her eldest children. Elizabeth had arrived on Pemberley's threshold well versed in preparing menus, balancing expenses, and settling service disputes. Her transition into the role of Pemberley's mistress had come easily.

She paused at the top of the stairs and set her shoulders in a stubborn slant. “You mean to frighten me, but I will not be alarmed. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me,” she declared to the empty passageway.

With renewed determination, Elizabeth entered Mrs. Ridgeway's quarters unannounced. “I believe I requested to speak to you this morning,” she said tersely.

It did not surprise Elizabeth to find the woman dressed and working on an embroidery pattern. The housekeeper sprang to her feet. “Mrs. Darcy, I...I had...I had a severe headache,” she stammered. She tucked her sewing hoop behind her, but Elizabeth had observed the meticulous work of the pattern.

Taking a satisfyingly slow breath, Elizabeth's mouth set in a tight line. “Evidently, you have recovered remarkably.” She gestured to the tea set upon a low table. “That being said, I will see you in my chambers in a quarter hour.” Elizabeth turned on her heels to leave.

However, Mrs. Ridgeway's offer slowed Elizabeth's retreat. “Why do we not share tea here?”

Elizabeth turned haltingly to the woman. “I think not. You will attend me. It is not acceptable for the mistress to attend those she employs. You did understand that my husband has assumed control of this household?”

“Yes, Ma'am.” Mrs. Ridgeway dropped her eyes.

The act infuriated Elizabeth. “Do not offer me a false face.” She turned again for the door. “A quarter hour, Mrs. Ridgeway.” To emphasize her indignation, Elizabeth launched the door against the wall. The sound echoed throughout the dark passageway.

Returning to her quarters, Elizabeth fought hard to rein in her temper. “It would not do to permit Mrs. Ridgeway to know how much I dread this interview,” she declared as she punched one of the pillows decorating the bed. “Concentrate, Elizabeth,” she chastised her image in the cheval mirror. “You must see this through for Fitzwilliam's sake.” The thought of her husband brought an immediate smile to Elizabeth's lips. “Everything he has done he has done for me,” she thought.

When Lydia had inadvertently disclosed Mr. Darcy's part in bringing about her sister's match to Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth could not fathom how his regard for her had allowed him to act without pride. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which Elizabeth had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness too great to be probably, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true: Darcy had followed Lydia and Mr. Wickham purposely to Town; he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he abominated and despised, and where he was reduced to meet—frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe—the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to Darcy to pronounce. He had done it for her. For a woman who had already refused him.

Even as she considered her husband's benevolence in the matter, Elizabeth blushed with embarrassment. Every kind of pride must have revolted from the connection. She was ashamed to think how much. Though, at the time, she could not place herself as his principal inducement, she had perhaps believed that Darcy's remaining partiality for her might have assisted his endeavors in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. “If Fitzwilliam could place his qualms aside, then I will follow his lead.” Darcy's ability to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence would serve as her model.

When Mrs. Ridgeway arrived, Elizabeth bade the woman's entrance in a perfectly calm voice. She motioned the woman to a chair across from where she sat at the small desk before setting the ledger, which she had used like a stage prop to make herself appear not to be awaiting the housekeeper's appearance, aside. In reality, to compose her erratic heart and to soften her anger, Elizabeth had retrieved several of the notes which Darcy had left for her over their few months of marriage. Beginning with the morning following their first night as man and wife, her husband had periodically presented her an eloquent reminder of their time together: a reminder of their one month anniversary and again to mark their first half year of marital bliss; one for the night that they would spend apart when Darcy had been called away on business; and the one where he consoled her during the loss of the child she had not known she carried. Her magnificent husband had grieved silently for their lost child while she openly nursed her broken heart. Today, Elizabeth had read the two “anniversary” letters. They were full of love's awe, and they had bolstered her spirits immensely.

Elizabeth did not permit Mrs. Ridgeway to speak. Instead, she assumed the offensive. “I had expected better of you, Ma'am. When we first met, I presumed you to be a woman possessed of kindness, but also a woman well aware of her place in the world. I thought you displayed an independent nature and were capable of overcoming adversity.”

Mrs. Ridgeway asked earnestly, “And you no longer hold the same opinion, Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth's forthright nature never faltered. “You have proven yourself, Ma'am, to be a coward.”

“Do not think ill of me, Mrs. Darcy,” the woman challenged.

“How may I not?” Elizabeth asked aristocratically. She considered the possibility that Darcy's air had found a new home in her. “Mr. Darcy gave specific orders for you to present yourself in the role of Woodvine's housekeeper; yet, last evening, you made no appearance after our arrival, nor did you sit with me and Mrs. Holbrook this morning.”

“And did you find something lacking in your quarters? In Mrs. Holbrook's attention to your needs?” Mrs. Ridgeway asked confidently.

Elizabeth's chin rose with the challenge. A prickle of antagonism shimmed up her body. This was her first real test as Darcy's wife. Her transition at Pemberley had gone smoothly: partly because of her mother's training, but partly because of Mrs. Reynolds' guidance. Pemberley's long-time housekeeper had brought Elizabeth along and had instilled the confidence of a fine lady in a country miss. “Do you dare claim to be the source of efficiency I have observed from certain members of the late Mr. Darcy's staff?” Elizabeth would not mention those she suspected had found hiding places to shirk their duties. Her cold tone announced her disdain.

Mrs. Ridgeway's countenance betrayed a momentary lapse of confidence, but the woman quickly schooled her features. “And why should I not? Mr. Darcy blamed me for the deficiencies he discovered among those Mr. Samuel had hired. Why should I not glory in the household's successes?”

If the older woman thought Elizabeth's age would provide the housekeeper an advantage, Mrs. Ridgeway would discover otherwise. Elizabeth's shoulder shifted, and she presented the Woodvine housekeeper with a look of scorn she had once seen displayed upon the countenance of Lady Catherine De Bourgh when the grand lady had instructed Mr. Collins on the state of the cleric's gardens. “I am pleased to hear it, Mrs. Ridgeway.” The housekeeper's forehead crinkled with disappointment, and Elizabeth knew satisfaction. She would definitely share her “disapproving” glower with Darcy when they were alone. She would ask her husband's opinion of its effectiveness as compared to the one of his imperious aunt. “Then you will have no difficulty in overseeing a thorough cleaning of each of Woodvine's rooms. I shall not have the Earl and Countess of Rardin determining Woodvine lacking. Lady Cynthia holds her uncle in loving regard. I shall not tolerate having Her Ladyship's memories of the late Mr. Darcy tarnished by finding Samuel Darcy's home in anything but pristine condition.”

Elizabeth noted how the housekeeper recoiled, but the lady wisely held her tongue. Elizabeth continued, “Every shelf will be dusted. Every rug beaten. Every piece of silver polished.” Elizabeth snarled her nose in disgust. “Cousin Samuel's propensity for clutter will create additional responsibilities, but with your discipline, the staff shall rise to the challenge. You must inform me immediately if any of our current employees choose to seek other positions. As I have noted several among the staff who appear less than enthusiastic about fulfilling their duties, I assume we shall need to replace them. If you do not feel comfortable in making those decisions, I assure you I hold no such qualms. At home in Hertfordshire, I often dispensed with the servants.” That was a stretch of the truth, but Elizabeth would never permit the woman an advantage.

She stood to end the conversation. “I am pleased that we have had the opportunity to address Mr. Darcy's perceived grievances. It shall make our stay more agreeable. Now, as I know you have many duties of which to attend, I shall excuse you.” Mrs. Ridgeway looked dismayed, but she managed a proper curtsy. Elizabeth led the way to the door. “Is this not more pleasant?” she asked sweetly. “To have a complete understanding between us?”

Mrs. Ridgeway spoke through tight lips, “As you say, Mrs. Darcy.”

Darcy had resumed his seat in the chariot. His cousin had pocketed the shell fragment, and they had reluctantly returned to their ride. Silence reigned as Mr. Stalling set the horses in motion.

Edward's cross expression spoke of his cousin's frustration. “Could the gypsy leader be sending you a message, Darcy? That if he cannot have the horse then neither may you.”

Darcy rubbed a weary hand across his face to clear his thinking. “Obviously, we should examine the American connection?” They did not speak for several minutes, each man lost in his thoughts. Finally, Darcy cautioned, “I would prefer that Mrs. Darcy possessed no knowledge of today's events. I would not worry my wife with news of this attack.” Another elongated silence followed. “I am thankful no one was injured in this folly,” Darcy said sadly.

Cowan warned, “You must not permit your guard to become lax, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy's brows lowered into a pronounced frown. “I do not understand. Surely, you do not think this was more than a dispute about a horse's ownership.”

The former Runner's eyes scanned the passing countryside. “I believe, Mr. Darcy, that your insistence on discovering the disposition of your cousin's estate has brought a warning. We might think the shooter made an unfortunate shot, but the bullet was placed in the animal's neck. It was an admonition that a skilled marksman could easily achieve a smaller target. Say a man's head.”

“You are saying someone wants me dead!” Darcy said incredulously. He felt the air rush from his lungs.

“I am saying, Sir, that someone knows desperation, and he holds no reservations about exercising mayhem in order to relieve himself of your interference.”

Darcy entered Woodvine Hall to find a flurry of activity. Servants scurried forth and back in a frenzied state. Whatever Elizabeth had said to the Woodvine housekeeper in his absence had been effective: Mrs. Ridgeway oversaw the moving of furniture in the front drawing room. Two footmen rolled a heavy carpet, likely one brought to Dorset from the East. Its intricate patterns spoke of looms accustomed to prideful artisans. As they passed the room's open door, Darcy noted his cousin's wry smile. Edward leaned closer to say, “Mrs. Darcy has worked a miracle.”

“My wife never ceases to amaze me,” Darcy said honestly. His need to see her, to spend a few moments in his wife's presence, had increased dramatically with his survival of an unprecedented attack upon his person. Cowan's words had shaken Darcy to his core. He desperately wished to look upon Elizabeth's countenance. To observe how his wife fared. To speak of his admiration. It was the way with him. Darcy despised being separated from her more than a few minutes. At Pemberley, he had set up a desk for her in his study. He had found he accomplished more work whenever his wife was in the room. If she were elsewhere in the house, he was often on the move: in search of
his
Elizabeth.