The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (39 page)

Another mystery. His mind raced with the possibilities. Part of him wanted to order his coaches and to be as far from Dorset as his horses could carry him; yet, a part of him knew that to leave all the unexplained pieces to a gigantic puzzle behind would drive him insane. “Perhaps I should send Elizabeth to Hertfordshire until this is over,” he mused. However, the thought of spending even one day apart rubbed raw his selfish need for his wife. “I am a pathetic romantic,” he confessed to the empty room.

As he could not think until he assured himself of his wife's safety, Darcy made his way to her quarters.

Darcy had not taken his meal with the Society's members and Captain Tregonwell's men. Instead, he had sent word to Mrs. Holbrook that he and his cousin would partake of a late supper upon the colonel's return. Elizabeth's continued recovery had thoroughly pleased him. Contrary to Hannah's report of her mistress's agitated dreams, his wife's physical appearance had improved: She showed more color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. However, because of her raspy voice, her frustration remained high.

For his part, Darcy enjoyed the irony of having a woman known for her vocal opinions unable to hold a conversation. Darcy kissed the tip of Elizabeth's nose in a teasing manner when she openly pouted over her dilemma. Leaning close to whisper in her ear, he said, “If I did not crave hearing you call my name when we know our personal intimacies, I would ravish you this instant.”

His wife had blushed, as Darcy had expected, but he should have recalled that Elizabeth usually gave as good as she received. His wife had tugged him closer. She licked his ear lobe and feathered kisses across Darcy's cheek. Then she nibbled
on his lips. When he could resist her no longer, Darcy claimed his wife's mouth. He felt Elizabeth's body flash with anticipation. Darcy directed the slant of her head where he might taste her completely. Finally, he reluctantly dragged his mouth from hers. Abandoning the headiness, he cupped Elizabeth's chin tenderly. “I should allow you to rest.”

Elizabeth turned her head to kiss his palm. The pulse in her neck beat twice as hard. “Tonight,” she mouthed. Darcy blinked slowly. His wife was a drug of which he could not have enough. Darcy nodded, but, in reality, he would take his cue from her when he returned to her chamber in the evening.

He told her of the curate's theory regarding the bodies discovered in the lake. Elizabeth shed tears for the men who had come to Wimborne with high hopes only to meet their deaths. Darcy had explained how the colonel had escorted the maid and her Hampshire friend to Bournemouth. “We thought it best to remove the girl from Stowbridge's care, especially as the magistrate has offered Mrs. Ridgeway a position in his household.”

That news had surprised his wife. She scribbled on the fresh sheets of foolscap. “Mrs. Ridgeway spoke poorly of Stowbridge, and he disparaged her influence in Samuel Darcy's life.”

Darcy said grimly. “It is just another piece in this ongoing mystery.”

“Soon,” she said on a breathy exhale and smiled softly.

Darcy kissed her fingertips. “I pray for a quick conclusion. Then we will be free of my obligations to my father's cousin.”

She traced his profile in a lingering caress, then Elizabeth wrote in bold letters:
You are the best of men
. He tenderly kissed her again.

A soft sigh brought him from their embrace. Reluctantly, Darcy stood to depart. “You are to permit Hannah to tend to your every need.” He lovingly squeezed the back of Elizabeth's hand. “I will hear no objections from your pretty mouth,” he teased with an ironic chuckle.

Elizabeth swatted at Darcy's arm in an affectionate chastisement.

He motioned Hannah's return before saying, “I have sent the gypsy band away. Mr. Holbrook and our men have followed the Roma's retreat into a neighboring shire.” He had not wanted to speak of the gypsies to his wife, but he recognized that she would discover the truth through the servants' gossiping. It was better if Elizabeth heard it from him. “Murray reports that he spoke discreetly to the local magistrate in the village. The man will permit Gry to bury his family and then the magistrate will see the band on its way.”

Despite his own misgivings regarding showing any kindness toward the gypsy troop, Darcy realized his wife would have a concern for her attacker's soul. Elizabeth would grieve for her part in the man's demise. “No one will hurt you again,” he whispered as he leaned over her. Darcy kissed her forehead. “I will not tolerate it.” A tear slid slowly down her cheek. He used his thumb to flick it away. “None of what happened was your fault. The blame lies elsewhere.” He would not speak to her of Gry's note, at least not at this time. His wife's emotions teetered, and Darcy would not tilt the balance against her.

For some three hours, he had surveyed the pages of Samuel Darcy's journals and compared the passages to the personal papers he and Elizabeth had removed from the treasure room. He skipped the sections from Samuel's time abroad; Darcy would read those later. To solve the many facets of the Woodvine mystery, Darcy thought it best to focus on what Samuel had discovered upon his return to Dorset.

“Deep in thought?” Edward's voice broke Darcy's concentration.

Darcy looked up and smiled. “Did the good captain accept the refugees graciously?”

Edward sighed in exhaustion. “The ‘
good captain
' would never refuse a request from a colonel in the regulars,” he said as he sat heavily in a nearby chair.

Darcy stood to summon a servant. “I have asked Mrs. Holbrook to save us portions of the evening meal.”

“Bless you,” Edward said with a not very convincing show of enthusiasm. “Yet, I am nearly too fatigued to eat.”

“Yes, Sir?” A footman appeared at the open door.

“Ask Mrs. Holbrook to send up a meal for the colonel and for me. Then she may retire for the evening.” The servant nodded and then disappeared into Woodvine's many passages. Darcy closed the door behind him. “I pray you are not too bone-tired to assist me with several new clues in our mystery.”

The colonel groaned, “Another clue? Is there no end to this poser?”

Darcy sat across from his cousin. “Unfortunately, no.” He said with their normal teasing smirk, “And they are
clues
, not clue.”

Edward rolled his eyes in supplication. “Why did I ever permit you to talk me into joining you on this adventure?”

Darcy countered, “Because you have sworn an allegiance to my family.”

Edward asked with some asperity, “Have you ever considered that my mental acuity may not be all it should be?”

Darcy leaned comfortably into the chair's cushions. “You will feel more of yourself once you have tasted Mrs. Holbrook mutton cutlets.”

Edward stretched his neck and shoulders. “While we wait, tell me what else I am to know.”

Darcy reached into his inside pocket to remove the gypsy's note. “Gry left this behind.”

Edward reached for the note. He unfolded it and read it carefully. Well aware of his cousin's propensity for details, Darcy studied the colonel's thoughtful expression. “So, what do you make of this turn of the story?”

Darcy's stillness intensified. “I have known a gamut of emotions since first reading the gypsy's words. I originally thought it a perverted means to claim Vandlo Pias's innocence.”

Edward remained deep in thought, as was characteristic of Edward Fitzwilliam. The colonel rarely made a rash decision. “You have experienced second thoughts?”

Darcy pursed his lips. “It appears reasonable to assume that Elizabeth's attacker had sought her out. That he trailed her to the waterfall. That the Rom sought some sort of revenge on me. Even Cowan thought the killing of the horse a private warning. And what better means to have retribution on me than to hurt Elizabeth?”

“If we accept your conjecture as the truth, then we must assume someone at Woodvine arranged for your wife's demise,” Edward concluded.

Darcy's frown lines met. “Perhaps not. What little Mrs. Darcy has shared of the incident says that the Rom spoke as if he possessed no other choice.”

“Then who do you suspect as our informant?”

Darcy scrubbed his face with his hands to clear his thinking. “God, I wish I knew. Every time I have an inkling into the perfidy practiced at Woodvine, I am thrown into another vat of hot oil.” He shrugged heavily. “Now that Els is at Bournemouth, the most obvious suspect is no longer under Woodvine's roof.”

“What of the housekeeper?”

“Mrs. Darcy has regularly reminded me the woman has done nothing amiss beside speaking her mind, and although I detest the lady's attitude, I must grudgingly agree with my wife. I can only condemn the woman for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner. The worst suspicion I can lay at the woman's feet is she had a heated argument with the gypsy leader,” Darcy confessed.

Edward reasoned, “Which was likely over the illegal selling of Samuel Darcy's stable. Do not forget the lady held responsibility in that transaction.”

Darcy sucked in a deep breath. “I have not forgotten; yet, I am unclear on the woman's motives. Was she ignorant of her position's limitations? Mrs. Ridgeway has proclaimed to others that Cousin Samuel had given her permission to act in his stead after his death. Or was the woman's motivation of a devious nature?”

“If not the housekeeper, then to whom do we look?”

“I cannot imagine any of Samuel's footmen to have the guile to perpetuate a crime. Carry one out? Definitely. But to design thefts, to arrange attacks, and to orchestrate murders, I cannot conceive it.” Edward agreed. “What of Barriton?”

“I would put the butler in the same boat as Mrs. Ridgeway,” Darcy insisted. “Again, we must wonder whether Barriton has simply been given too much liberty. Without Samuel's oversight, the servants have made their own decisions.”

Edward refolded the note and returned it to Darcy's care.

“According to Samuel's journal, Mr. Hotchkiss thought many of Woodvine's employees had seen themselves as above their station. Hotchkiss wrote to my cousin regarding his concerns.”

Edward summarized, “No butler. No footmen. No housekeeper. Then who? The Holbrooks? The maids?”

Darcy's lips thinned into a firm line. “I doubt the maids are any more culpable than the footmen, and neither of the Holbrooks has done anything to trigger my suspicion.”

Edward noted, “Some of the most nefarious in history have appeared the most innocent.”

Darcy ventured cautiously, “What of Franklyn? The scientist is intelligent enough to orchestrate the crimes, and he was at Woodvine in January when Samuel returned to England.”