The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (55 page)

“Any news of the Mistress?” Hannah asked as soon as Darcy closed the door.

Darcy shook his head. “Mrs. Ridgeway claims no knowledge of the actions which the maid described.”

Hannah bristled. “Heaven help that woman if she is ever in my presence again.”

Darcy smiled. His wife's lady's maid was the perfect complement to Elizabeth Darcy's spirit. “I plan to return to the search, but I wish to speak to the young maid again. Might you send her to me?”

“Immediately, Mr. Darcy.”

With Hannah's exit, Darcy entered his cousin's study. He carried the guns he had brought with him from Pemberley, but he knew Samuel stored several others in a locked desk drawer. Finding the key, he bent to the task. Retrieving the first, he was pleased to see it clean and loaded. A timid knock at the open door announced the maid's arrival.

“Ye wished to see me, Sir.”

Darcy forced a smile to his lips. He would not purposely intimidate the girl. “Yes. I had hoped you might show me the exact spot where you observed Mrs. Ridgeway and Mrs. Darcy.”

“I'd be 'onored, Sir.”

Darcy nodded. “If you will meet me in the vegetable garden in five minutes, I will be in your debt.”

His request must have appeared a sensible one, for the girl's countenance lit with pride. She nodded several times, executed a clumsy curtsy, and disappeared. If the situation with Elizabeth had not taken on such dire overtones, he would have found it amusing how much the atmosphere of the household had changed with the departure of Mrs. Ridgeway, combined with Mr. Barriton's passing.

Grabbing a second gun, Darcy strode through Woodvine's halls to emerge in the kitchen garden. He found the young maid waiting for him. A few questions, a few more clarifications, and he was on the move. Darcy had discovered a set of two prints beyond where the groomed lawns gave way to forest. The marks were most definitely female in nature, and Darcy quickened his pace. His eyes searched for torn threads and bent branches, but nothing appeared unusual until he reached an open field.

A clearly marked print upon a stile mixed with muddy smears indicated that Elizabeth had crossed the field. He spent several minutes examining the area before determining the direction his wife had gone. There was a smoothed-over diagonal trail crossing the field. Darcy imagined the housekeeper triumphantly leading his wife farther and farther from the estate. Their skirt tails had left a telltale sign of their progress.

Exiting the field, it took Darcy several minutes to discover which way his wife had gone. Surprisingly, the chosen path circled in upon itself some one hundred yards from where he had crossed the stile only moments earlier.

Darcy wondered if his wife had been aware of Mrs. Ridgeway's deception. Somehow, he doubted it. Elizabeth acted from emotion; despite the fact his wife possessed a logical mind, first and foremost, she wore her heart upon her sleeve. If she thought him in danger, Elizabeth would walk through hell's fire to reach him.

The soft soil finally provided him another clear print, which led into the thicker woods—to the same trail upon which his cousin's body had been found. The thought of rounding a curve and finding Elizabeth's lying prostrate quickened Darcy's step; so much so, that he nearly missed the narrow path, which jutted off to the right. The heavy bramble had been trod upon recently. Pushing aside the overhanging branches, Darcy plunged deeper into the woods.

Surprisingly, the restricted path opened to another unseeded field. Darcy was not certain whether he was on Darcy land or land belonging to Stowbridge. Either way, he meant to explore. On his many excursions of late, he had not observed this area.

Again, he looked for a clue. He walked the combination fence and hedgerow line until he found an indentation in the soft grass. Darcy closed his eyes to imagine what his wife had been thinking, in how much distress Elizabeth must have been.

Early on, he had thought Mrs. Ridgeway had forced Elizabeth to leave the manor with her, as Elizabeth would never have done so willingly. His wife would have put up a fight. No, Elizabeth would only have blindly followed the woman if she believed he was in danger.

A few feet from the soft indentation, Darcy discovered another print, and then another. As he looked up, the tip of a thatched roof caught his attention. Vaulting over the low fence, he was running across the open field before he had time to consider his actions. With each stride, Darcy's heart pounded harder. Despite the odds against his finding his wife in this secluded cottage, he held no doubt she was there. His heart told him it was so. For the past several hours, his heart had ceased its steady call, but the moment he had spotted the cottage's roof, every nerve in Darcy's body had called him to her.

Breaking through the surrounding vegetation, Darcy skidded to a halt. He knew Mrs. Ridgeway had returned to Stowe Hall, but had the woman an accomplice? Slowing his approach, Darcy carefully placed each step to avoid signaling his presence. Circling the area, he hunkered down to peer into a small window.

Inside, deep shadows filled every corner, and nothing moved within. Darcy used his forearm to shade his eyes as he examined the small room for any sign of his wife. He had thought it impossible that Elizabeth could not be within, for his stretched-taut emotions had declared it to be so. However, Darcy made the effort to enter the cottage nonetheless. “Perhaps I have placed my hopes too high,” he said as he turned the door's latch.

Darcy allowed the door to swing wide. Several seconds passed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw her. Two long strides brought him to her side. His wife lay lifeless on an undressed mattress. “My God, Lizzy,” he gasped.

Leaning over her, Darcy worked frantically to loosen the bindings, which held her. He kissed each wrist as he freed it. He could not believe Elizabeth had experienced such humiliation. Once he had his wife safely at Woodvine, Darcy would take great pleasure in escorting Mrs. Ridgeway to the nearest gaol. He lightly slapped Elizabeth's cheeks, but his wife did not respond. “Speak to me, Lizzy,” he demanded as he gave her a strong shake of her shoulders. “Come on, Darling. You must assist me. It is some two miles to Woodvine.” He cursed himself for leaving the horse behind.

He looked for a pitcher of water but found none. “Lizzy. You know the way back to me,” he insisted. A powdery mixture covered his wife's mouth and cheeks, and Darcy touched a damp finger to it to taste the concoction. He had no difficulty identifying one of the ingredients. “Opium.” He had tasted it only once, in his university days. Another fellow in his college had slipped a small amount into Darcy's food as a poor joke. He always suspected George Wickham had egged on the son of a baronet, but the young man had refused to name others in the prank. Darcy had spent three days in his bed, while the other youth had been sent down for his participation.

“If Elizabeth has ingested opium, it will be a long while before she can think straight. Her small frame will make her susceptible to the plant's potency,” he reasoned aloud.

Darcy stripped the jacket from his shoulders to wrap about his wife. “Allow me to warm you, Lizzy,” he said as he slid her arms into the sleeves. They hung well beyond the tips of Elizabeth's fingers, and Darcy used the extra length to help wrap the garment about her chest. “There. That should feel better.” He easily recalled how cold he had felt during those hours the opium had played havoc with his body.

He dug a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, and his knuckles brushed against Elizabeth's breast. Even under these conditions, his wife remained the most desirable woman of his acquaintance. His hand lifted, brushing back a lock of hair from her forehead. Darcy placed his errant thoughts aside. With the cloth, Darcy brushed the powder from her mouth. At least, Elizabeth breathed steadily, and for that he was thankful. Darcy shook his head in disbelief. He smiled, the grin loose and easy. “You are determined that I will carry you again,” he said with a bit of irony. “Therefore, I will prove myself your hero,” he declared as he lifted his wife's small form to his lap. “This time I have not been thrashed about by a rock face nor have I swum the length of a lake to pull you from its depths.” He would not consider the tear in his side as a trial he must overcome. Standing with her cradled in his arms, Darcy kissed Elizabeth's forehead. “Slow and steady, my love.”

Darcy had taken but two less-than-perfect steps before he stopped to adjust his hold about his wife and before he felt the shock of a blow to his upper back. His head was turned, but even if he had been expecting an attack, with Elizabeth in his arms, he could have done nothing more than absorb the impact. The force drove him to his knees, but he had the presence of mind to support Elizabeth close to him. His wife's chest lifted on a heavy, serrated breath beneath him. He would protect her with his last breath.

As the shadows consumed him, he heard the ominous whisper,

“Welcome, Mr. Darcy. I wondered when you would find us.”

The darkness came and went, but one thing remained the same: Darcy still cradled Elizabeth in his arms, and he would do so for as long as it took to see her to safety. He would place his body between his wife and whatever evil had followed them to this place.

A booted foot nudged his side, but Darcy did not open his eyes. Instead, he concentrated on breathing the sweet scent of lavender, which clung to his wife's hair. Although Elizabeth's breath came shallowly, Darcy thought of all of God's miracles. His wife had survived the gypsy's attack, and with both God's will and Darcy's assistance, she would survive this latest disaster.

“I know you hear me, Mr. Darcy.” A swish of skirts identified his assailant. Another nudge—this one sharper—landed close to where the blood seeped from his earlier wound. Despite his resolve not to react, he flinched. “Ahh, movement at last.” The woman's voice held bitterness. “And here I had thought you so all-powerful.”

Darcy would gladly relinquish any power he held if he could discover a means to see Elizabeth to freedom.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Darcy reluctantly opened his eyes. They rested on the smooth curve of his wife's cheek. He asked wearily, “Of what do you wish me to speak, Madam?” His tormentor kicked at him again, and Darcy dropped his elbow to protect his ribs.

“I prefer to look a person in the eye when we converse.” She stepped away from him and sat in a nearby chair. “I assume that even with all your unsocial and taciturn ways that you understand the dictates of good manners.”

He had mistrusted the woman immediately and for no reason other than the lady's impertinence. Grudgingly, Darcy grumbled, “In my social circle, one is not forced to converse.” He readjusted Elizabeth in his arms. He was on his knees, and he sheltered his wife with his body.

Mrs. Ridgeway feigned a jovial laugh. “Delightful repartee.”

She struck a table with the highly polished cane she carried. Darcy flinched again. From his eye's corner, he could see Mrs. Ridgeway tap her foot in frustration, and he made himself concentrate on the other little nuances of the lady's presence, such as the boot heel bearing a small indentation, and the dust and cobwebs on her skirt's hem. Behind her, the door remained open. “
Damn
,” he cursed internally.
Could the housekeeper have manipulated Els's arrest and Mrs. Jacobs's confession
?

When he refused to respond, the lady stood over him again. “You have a choice, Mr. Darcy,” she said menacingly. “You may sit and converse, or...” She paused pointedly. “Or this cane will come down upon your back again and again until you acquiesce.” The shadows along the wall indicated the woman had lifted the cane above her head, and Darcy braced himself for the blow.

When she hesitated, Darcy said, “Be on with it if that is your purpose.”

The laughter came again, but it was laced with irony this time. “Do you not wish knowledge of my true purpose, Mr. Darcy?” She took a step to the other side of where he knelt. Turning the cane to hold it as if she carried a paille-maille mallet, Mrs. Ridgeway lined it up to a position from which she could strike Elizabeth solidly in the head.

Darcy scrambled to cover his wife's body, to shield Elizabeth from the woman's vengeance.

“Are you truly willing to die protecting Mrs. Darcy?” the housekeeper asked with disbelief.

Darcy caressed his wife's cheek as he curled himself about her. “It would be no sacrifice,” he said earnestly.

A long pause ensued. Finally, the housekeeper leaned heavily on the cane. “An aristocrat in love with his wife? I thought never to see the day.” She returned to her seat.

Darcy wondered if he could reach the gun in his jacket pocket without exposing Elizabeth to more danger. He gently stroked the back of her head and murmured words of devotion. “What did you give her?” he asked through gritted teeth.