The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (59 page)

The magistrate's features softened. “We will meet at the customary place.” With that, the squire pressed the gun into her hand before disappearing into the brush.

“Where to?” Darcy asked sarcastically.

In the fading light, he saw a smile of satisfaction shape the woman's lips. “To my favorite place in Wimborne: the village church.”

“I apologize, Colonel,” Ian McKye said for what must have been the twentieth time in the past hour. “I had thought I observed all the entrances and exits of Stowe Hall.”

Edward Fitzwilliam did not blame the man. To date, McKye had proved a most valuable asset in the investigation, but the colonel's frustration had reached its breaking point. He and Thomas Cowan had returned to Woodvine Hall to discover both Darcy and Elizabeth missing. “I understand,” Edward said evenly, “but I require more information. Question each of Stowbridge's servants. I want answers.”

“Aye, Sir.” The man disappeared into the bowels of Stowe Hall.

Edward stared out the window of Stowbridge's study on the rapidly encroaching shadows of nightfall. How was he to find his cousin and Elizabeth if he possessed no idea where to begin? “Damn,” the colonel growled. “Where are you, Darcy?”

He and Cowan had just begun to make sense of Holbrook's tale of Barriton's stabbing Darcy and of Mrs. Darcy's early morning departure with Mrs. Ridgeway when McKye had ridden into Woodvine's circle to report that both Mrs. Ridgeway and Mr. Stowbridge were missing from Stowe Hall. The magistrate and the housekeeper had slipped from the main house through a root cellar tunnel leading to the wooded area surrounding the house. Unfortunately, McKye had not discovered their exits in time to detain the couple. “Are they a couple?” Edward wondered aloud. “Or had the magistrate attempted to curtail Mrs. Ridgeway's plans for Elizabeth?”

Immediately, he and Cowan had rushed to the magistrate's house to confirm what McKye had reported. They had taken over the squire's home and demanded to know the truth.

Edward looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps. McKye's head appeared around the door's frame. “Mr. Cowan reports that the squire has reentered the tunnel through the opening in the woods. Cowan has secured the exit against escape.”

Immediately, Edward was on the move. “I want the man alive so I might question him.”

McKye followed on the colonel's heels. “I have Castle and Douglas waiting in the kitchen, Sir.”

Edward took several steps together to skid to a stop on the threshold of the cellar's door just as it opened to reveal the worn countenance of the magistrate. Behind him, the colonel heard the click of a gun. “Welcome, Stowbridge.”

The magistrate shot a quick glance about the room. Edward had vast experience in reading a man's countenance, but Stowbridge's face held nothing but shock at finding himself prisoner in his own house. “What is the meaning of this?” the squire asked angrily. “You have entered my home uninvited.”

“You will come with me,” Edward ordered.

The man's cheeks reddened. “I will not be importuned by your actions, Sir,” Stowbridge declared. “Instead, you and your men will leave my house immediately. Your status as an earl's son will not serve you in this matter.”

Edward caught the man by the lapels to jerk him to within an inch of the colonel's scowling countenance. “Listen to me, Stowbridge, I am not a patient man. I want information regarding Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's disappearances, and you will tell me what you know,” he hissed.

The magistrate spit out the words. “And if I choose otherwise?”

Edward smiled wickedly. “I hope you refuse,” he said flatly. “My ire has had several hours to stew, and I am prepared to introduce you to the more creative means I have learned of forcing a man to spill his most private secrets.”

Evidently, Cowan had followed the squire through the tunnel, for he appeared behind the man. He whispered ominously, “In the Army, a man learns many ways to kill another. To kill him quickly or slowly. To feel no compunctions about laying a hot iron across a man's chest until his enemy's skin sizzles with the smell of burning flesh. Or to place that same iron upon a person's manhood. To watch it shrivel to nothing; yet, the pain does not go away.”

Edward added, “Or to cut a man over and over. Little pricks that permit him to bleed to death slowly. One drop at a time.” He tightened his grip on Stowbridge's lapels. “As I said previously, I can be quite creative with my options.”

For several elongated seconds, Stowbridge resisted, but his composure crumpled when Cowan placed a knife's point above the squire's kidneys. “Say the word, Colonel,” Cowan threatened.

“What will it be, Stowbridge?” Edward asked coldly.

The magistrate straightened his shoulders. “Not before the servants. In my study.”

The colonel reluctantly released the man. “If you think to stall, you will regret your choice.” With a simple nod of agreement, Edward turned on his heels to lead the way to the room. Behind him, he heard Cowan giving orders for Castle to station himself outside the tunnel and Douglas inside. The former Runner placed McKye outside the study's door and then joined Edward in the room with the magistrate.

Upon reaching the room, Stowbridge sat heavily. He dropped his head into his hands. “What do you wish of me?” he asked dejectedly.

“The truth.”

The magistrate snorted his disbelief. “It has been some five and twenty years since I have spoken the truth. I am uncertain whether I would recognize it.”

Edward sat across from the man. “Do you know the whereabouts of Mr. Darcy and his wife?” He would not permit the squire's fallen countenance any compassion.

The magistrate rested his head against the chair's cushions. He squeezed his eyes closed, and Edward noted that the man's hands trembled. “Mrs. Darcy is in a cottage on the border of Woodvine's land,” he said in defeat. “It is the one Samuel promised to Sarah Holbrook.”

Edward spoke to his former recruit. “Send McKye to the stable for the horses. Ask him to have Holbrook available to lead us to this cottage.”

Cowan disappeared into the hall, but returned before Edward could ask his next question. “And my cousin?'

“I am not certain,” the magistrate said without affect. “Mr. Darcy left with Areej. Your cousin has used his life as security for Mrs. Darcy's.”

“Areej?” Edward demanded. “Who the hell is Areej?”

Stowbridge opened his eyes, but he did not look at the colonel. “My wife of a little less than three decades.”

Edward did a poor job of hiding his surprise. “You are married?”

Cowan finished Edward's question. “To Mrs. Ridgeway?” As usual, the Runner's quick mind had leapt over Edward's to reach the crux of the situation.

Stowbridge swallowed hard. “Yes to both questions. I am a man with a wife who has never loved nor respected him. A man whose wife preferred a simple vagrant with not a penny to his name to the life I could have provided her as my Baronesa.”

“Who are you?” Edward demanded.

The magistrate's shoulders straightened and his chin lifted. “Barón Loiza Puente de Stowe.”

“A Spanish baron?” Edward's wary tone betrayed his surprise.

“In truth, Aragonese.” Sadly, the man's former stature returned. “Long ago, prior to more wars than I can recall, I left my country behind to seek freedom in your great land. For a quarter century, I have been Mr. Louis Stowbridge. I purchased this land's connections, along with the manor house. For nearly twenty years, I have been Squire Stowbridge. Not as important as a baron, but quite satisfying nonetheless.”

“And where has Mrs. Stowbridge resided?” Cowan coaxed.

The squire turned his head in the Runner's direction. “Areej despised being told that she could not marry as her heart chose. At her father's insistence, we spoke our vows, but within a month of our joining, she was gone, off with her lover. I searched for my wife, but in 1779, the war came to Corunna, where I had taken up residence.” The colonel and Cowan exchanged a knowing look. They had experienced Corunna in '09, and they knew northwest Spain well. It was a quirk of Fate that they had encountered a man from the infamous Spanish corridor here in Dorset. “The French brought scurvy and typhus and smallpox to the area while they waited for the Spanish fleet to arrive. The illnesses and the lack of a timely joining of their forces cost the French a victory. The disease spread to those on land, and, eventually, I fled with what remained of my family, first to Italy, and later to England.”

“You have not answered my question,” Cowan observed.

Stowbridge shrugged noncommittally. “I cannot speak to Areej's early years. I worked to salvage my fortune. To tend my aging parents. I knew nothing of Areej until one day I called upon my dear friend Samuel, only to discover that my wife had served as Samuel's housekeeper for some ten months. Ten months she could have lived as my wife, in my home.”

Characteristically, the Runner ignored the magistrate's sentimentality. Instead, he asked, “And you are to meet Mrs. Stowbridge where?”

“At the customary place.”

“Which is?” Cowan persisted.

“In the assembly hall's lowest level.”

Edward thought that an odd rendezvous place, but before he could question Stowbridge further, a knock at the door signaled Mr. Holbrook's arrival. “I have more questions, but I must see to Mrs. Darcy.” The colonel retrieved his gloves. “I will leave two guards with you.”

Stowbridge raised his head to speak to the colonel. “Give Mrs. Darcy my deepest apologies.”

“For what offense?” Edward insisted.

The magistrate's expression fell. “Areej had given Mrs. Darcy a heady mixture prior to my arrival. The lady suffers the degradation.”

“And you call yourself a gentleman?” Edward accused.

Stowbridge sighed deeply. “I call myself a husband.”

Cowan said caustically, “A husband without a wife.”

“My fate.” Those two words fell into the silence. Finally, the man's chin dropped to rest on his chest. He said morosely, “If you discover my wife in time, tell Areej that I am grieved to have failed her the one time she trusted me.”

Edward demanded, “What do you mean by
in time
?”

The squire had closed his eyes again.

“Speak to me, damn you.” The colonel shook the man violently.

A tear ran down the magistrate's wrinkled cheek. “Mr. Darcy is bleeding from both his shoulder and his side. He has lost much blood.”

Elizabeth struggled to roll from the bed. Darcy had meant to protect her by drawing the magistrate and Mrs. Ridgeway from the cottage, but she would not permit her husband to leave her behind. He could not sacrifice himself to save her. Whatever happened to Darcy would be her fate also. She would not live without him.

“Fitz...william.” Her lips formed his name as she reached for the chair to support her weight. She rubbed the back of her hand across her dry lips. The sweet taste of apples remained but was not as strong as previously.

Through the still-open door, Elizabeth could see Darcy's strong back muscles clench in pain as he trudged along the narrow path. Stowbridge had left them, but Mrs. Ridgeway now held the gun on Darcy. If she did not hurry, the pair would leave her in this cottage alone.