The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (35 page)

“Is in the capable hands of her maid,” Edward assured. “Elizabeth spoke to me briefly before I left her room. As you worry for her health, your wife wished me to see to yours.”

“Thank you...” Darcy leaned heavily into the chair's cushion. “For a time, I thought I had lost her. When I discovered Elizabeth, she was under water and not breathing.” Darcy closed his eyes as if reliving that terrible moment. The realization of his cousin's words brought a shiver to the colonel's spine.

Sheffield motioned that he would prepare things above stairs, and Darcy weakly nodded his agreement. Edward pulled a chair closer to where Darcy sat. “How in the world did Mrs. Darcy end up in the lake? It is not like Elizabeth to chance such peril.” Darcy could see his cousin's thoughts:
Had Mrs. Darcy attempted suicide
?

Darcy took a long draught from the brandy. Finally, he described the horrible tableau upon which he had stumbled. “It is not what it seems,” Darcy assured. “Mrs. Darcy fought a man upon one of the overhanging cliffs above the lake. Before I could reach her, her attacker sent Elizabeth tumbling over my head into the water.” Darcy's lips trembled. “I have never been more frightened in my life,” he said while lost in his thoughts. “Nothing made sense. Elizabeth's body hung in the air like some sort of brightly clad angel, and then she crashed into the water below.”

Edward's assessing eyes met Darcy's gaze. “I was some halfway up the rock face when Elizabeth went into the water.” His cousin shook his head in disbelief. “How I reached her, I will never know.”

Edward said softly, “Love gives a man a great strength.” He placed his hand on Darcy's forearm. “What happened to Mrs. Darcy's attacker?”

The colonel watched as a chill stole down Darcy's spine, and his cousin's anger returned. “The bastard followed her into the water, and their fight continued. You should have seen her. Elizabeth was a vengeful Artemis, punching the man, but he struck her across the throat and dragged her under with him.” Edward waited for the tale's end. “When I reached the spot where I had last seen Mrs. Darcy tussling with her attacker, I searched the murky depths in hopes of feeling her below me, but I was running out of time. Elizabeth had not resurfaced after the man had shoved her into the icy waters. Neither of them had. When I finally discovered her, Elizabeth's body was floating toward the darkest depths. She was lifeless.”

Edward asked for no more details. Darcy had suffered enough for one day. “You did your best, Darcy,” he insisted.

Darcy buried his head into his hands. “Yet, is it enough?”

Edward leaned over to lift Darcy to his feet. “Only time will tell.” Darcy stood stiffly. “Let us see to your injuries and to some warm clothes. Then, along with Hannah, you may tend Mrs. Darcy.”

With Edward's assistance, Darcy lumbered toward the open door, but suddenly he came to an abrupt halt. “As God is my witness,” he swore. “The day Mrs. Darcy is well enough to travel, I will leave this cursed household behind. Woodvine's occupants may dance with the Devil in the moonlight, and I will not give a care. I will refuse to look back in regret. Woodvine will become Rardin's problem.”

Edward asked cautiously, “Even if we have no answers to our questions?”

Darcy declared, “Even if the world tilts on its side sending parts of India and China tumbling off the end. I will never place Elizabeth in danger again.”

Mr. Glover pronounced Elizabeth on her way to recovery. “Your wife will know more fine sunny days,” the man insisted.

“How long before Mrs. Darcy can travel?” His earlier declaration still rang in Darcy's ears. He had not removed his eyes from Elizabeth's pale countenance. His wife had offered him a series of weak smiles, but Darcy was not convinced. Only when he could rid himself of the annoying surgeon and could speak privately to Elizabeth would Darcy know comfort.

“Likely a week. Maybe less. Mrs. Darcy appears to come from sturdy stock.” The man good-naturedly slapped Darcy on the back. “Place your worry behind you, Mr. Darcy.” The surgeon returned his instruments to a small bag. “I have given Hannah several salves and draughts for your wife's comfort.” Darcy glanced to Elizabeth's loyal servant and smiled when Hannah rolled her eyes heavenward. Obviously, Elizabeth's lady's maid held similar opinions of the surgeon as did her mistress. “If you do not object, Sir,” said Glover, “I would call on Mrs. Ridgeway while I am at Woodvine. I would reexamine the lady's injuries and spend time in conversation.”

Darcy's mouth tightened into a thin line. He held no kind thoughts when it came to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Ridgeway is free to entertain whomever she pleases. After all, the lady's employment has been terminated.”

Glover asked incredulously, “You have released Mrs. Ridgeway? May I ask the cause?”

Edward said from his place near the door. “I am certain the lady would prefer to explain the circumstances personally.”

Glover frowned, but he kept his remarks to himself. Even in the most bizarre situations, manners required polite civility. “I suspect you are correct, Colonel.”

After the man made his exit, Darcy sat on the bed's edge. Capturing Elizabeth's hand in his, he said affectionately, “I am pleased you are sitting up, Mrs. Darcy.” He had rushed through his own ablutions so that he might assist Hannah in tending to Elizabeth. The maid had blushed thoroughly when he had insisted on lifting Elizabeth in and out of her tub and when Darcy had gently washed the dirt and film from his wife's skin and hair. The bruises on her arms, where her assailant had held her so tightly that the man's fingers had left an imprint on Elizabeth's fair skin, had come close to ripping Darcy's heart from his chest. He blamed himself for sending Elizabeth off in a bad humor. In the future, he would take Edward's advice: Even if he thought himself in the right, Darcy would apologize.

During her bath, Elizabeth had indicated how her retching and the lake water had irritated her throat. Darcy privately thought her discomfort had come from her assailant's violent attack upon Elizabeth's breathing. The attack and the fact that her bonnet had wrapped itself solidly about her neck likely led to her current physical discomfort. Realizing she would not easily give up her need to communicate, Darcy had gathered several sheets of foolscap from Samuel's desk, a serving tray, and two artist's pencils so that Elizabeth might write her responses. He read her sentiments as they skittered across Elizabeth's countenance, her gratitude went beyond the gift of the foolscap.

She brought his palm to her lips and kissed it. Despite the ghostlike sheen on her cheeks, Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with their customary mischief, and Darcy breathed easier for it.

He motioned his cousin to sit on the other side of the bed, and a bit of jealousy resurfaced when Elizabeth intertwined her fingers with Edward's. “What can you tell us about your attacker?” the colonel encouraged.

Elizabeth's face contorted in fear. Panic crossed her expression. “Do not fret,” Darcy assured her. “The man did not resurface after the two of you went under.”

“Are you certain?” she scribbled quickly on the paper's middle.

Darcy's thumb traced the blue-black bruise on the inside of her wrist. “Absolutely. I was there. Searching for you,” he explained. “Only you floated toward the light.”

Edward asked again, “Had you seen your assailant previously?”

She shook her head in the negative, but Elizabeth reached for the paper. In the upper corner, Elizabeth wrote a single word:
Roma
.

Darcy's temper flared. Not only had he allowed his wife to leave Woodvine unchaperoned and in an agitated state, but he had permitted the man who had assaulted her to live on Woodvine land. Fault was his newest companion. Darcy would blame himself forever. “One of the gypsies attacked you?” he demanded.

Elizabeth nodded in the affirmative, and then she ducked her eyes. She wrote:
I killed him
.

“No,” Darcy said immediately. “The man set his own course. You did nothing more than to survive, which was God's plan for you.”

A tear crawled down Elizabeth's cheek. Her shoulders shook with true sorrow. It would be a long time before she could reconcile her actions to the end result, but Darcy would be beside her on the journey. His cousin's eyes said that they would pay a visit to the gypsy camp, and the result would not be a pretty sight.

Edward said without emotion, “I will see to recovering the Rom's body. It will resurface in the next few days. It is the way of nature.”

Elizabeth shook her head violently.
NO
! she wrote, in large letters.

Edward patted the back of her hand. “It is true, my dear. I have seen it often. The time varies a bit depending on the water's temperature, but whether the person died from drowning or died on land and was placed in the water, the body rises to the surface in somewhere between two and five days.”

Until recently, Darcy had never thought about how quickly a body decomposed after death. He supposed his cousin had come to look upon death as commonplace. The thought grieved him dearly.

Elizabeth jerked on Edward's jacket sleeve for his attention.
More than one.
She had written the words and underlined them twice.

“What do you mean by ‘more than one'?” Edward asked curiously. “You had more than one attacker?”

Again, she denied his words. Writing frantically, she scribbled,
More than one body
.

Edward asked, “How can that be? Darcy observed only one attacker. If another is on the lake's bottom, he would have to have been placed there within the last few days,” he reasoned.

“Another witch's sacrifice?” Darcy asked. He said to Elizabeth, “Perhaps it was Els you followed into the night, after all. Could she and her followers or she and this man she calls ‘Toby' have done away with another from the community? Is it possible you overlooked the stolen map when you initially searched the maid's room?”

Edward answered for her, “Definitely not. None of Samuel's servants have extensive quarters: a small bed, a chest, and an area to store one's clothes. Mrs. Darcy and I searched under mattresses and inside drawers.”

Darcy summarized, “Then there are two bodies to recover: those of Elizabeth's attacker, and of a stranger, who has likely disappeared in the past week.”

Elizabeth scrawled,
Mr. Crescent
?

Darcy looked from his wife to his cousin. “Is that possible? No one has heard of Crescent for nearly a fortnight.”

Edward asked gently, “Could you see anything of the person?”

Elizabeth shook her head in the negative. Her fingers stroked the slender column of her neck, and with great effort, she said on a throaty rasp, “Could not see. Too deep. Felt his hand. Trapped my bonnet. No escape. Rolled him. But no more air. Cannot remember...anything after I kicked...away from him.”

“That is enough,” Darcy ordered. “Glover said no talking until, at earliest, tomorrow. Hannah, would you bring Mrs. Darcy some more lemon tea?”

“Aye, Sir.”

Edward said cautiously, “If it is Crescent, then someone must have killed the man.”

“How so?” Darcy asked as he stood.

Edward followed him to his feet. They had another mystery to solve. “The only way a body would stay under water for that long would be if someone had weighed it down.”

In their own world and ignoring everyone around them, Darcy and the colonel were nearly to the door when Darcy heard his wife snort and knew to duck before the wooden tray came sailing in their direction. His cousin was less experienced in the ways of married women. The tray hit the back of Edward's left shoulder.