The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (6 page)

Some three hours later, Darcy and Elizabeth lingered over their evening meal. Darcy had excused the servants for the evening, and he and Elizabeth shared tea and some palate-cleansing fruit as they sat together in the cottage's small drawing room. Elizabeth had curled her legs up beneath her, and in contrast, Darcy had stretched out his long legs before him.

“Then we agree that we shall speak to Mr. Peiffer on the morrow,” Elizabeth summarized.

“Agreed,” Darcy said contentedly. It was as he had expected. Elizabeth complemented his natural inquisitiveness. She took notice of details which had eluded him, but his wife's keen intelligence was never in opposition to his. “Yet, I possess qualms about your accompanying me to speak to the Rom leader.”

“Fitzwilliam, you would be in more danger alone than if I arrived on your arm. Even you admit that the gypsy band will act with honor toward a lady.”

“I will consider your suggestion,” he said begrudgingly.

Elizabeth dragged her teeth across her bottom lip in that familiar way, which he recognized as her deep consideration. She placed her cup and saucer on a nearby table. “Do you suppose we might discover someone besides Mr. Stowbridge who could address our questions regarding the events which took place after your cousin's interment?”

“I am not certain whom to ask,” Darcy confessed. “It is not likely the local curate would offer much insight.”

“We should speak to whomever was the first to come upon the Rom's body,” Elizabeth reasoned.

“I fear, Mrs. Darcy, that in this matter, you and I will wear many hats, and I am most profusely sorry that you must be exposed to such sordid details; but please know how much I cherish your counsel.”

“You are saying, Sir, that you have not involved yourself in the investigation of your client's death,” Darcy said in incredulity. He and Elizabeth had called on the solicitor early in the man's day. Darcy's presence had sent the staff of Smythe and Osborn into a flurry. Yet, despite all the fawning and praise, Darcy remained unimpressed.

“We are the largest firm in the area,” Mr. Peiffer said in self-importance. “And we serve many in the shire, but our clientele is solidly of the Christchurch community. Wimborne is some fifteen miles to the west. Events outside Christchurch cannot concern us.”

Darcy's mouth set in a tight line. “Not even when Smythe and Osborn profit from those events?” he asked brusquely.

Elizabeth did not permit the solicitor a response. In his place, she said, “Mr. Darcy, perhaps it is best that we leave Mr. Peiffer to his duties. I have suddenly recalled that I promised Mrs. Ridgeway I would oversee the packing of Cousin Samuel's belongings.” She stood and reached for her reticule.

Automatically, Darcy followed her to his feet. Whatever his wife planned would be better than dealing with the asinine Mr. Peiffer. “As you wish, my dear,” he said obediently. Offering an abbreviated farewell to the solicitor, Darcy placed Elizabeth on his arm. He led her from the offices. “What was the purpose behind that charade?” he asked grumpily as he escorted her along the busy walkways.

Elizabeth purposely did not respond. Instead, she tightened her grip upon his arm. As they strolled toward the waiting carriage, she stopped periodically to glance into a shop window. If Darcy had not found her farce so amusing, he would have been quite angry. By the time they reached the coach's steps, he was shaking his head in disbelief. As he assisted Elizabeth into the carriage, he whispered into her ear. “Whatever scheme you have devised, I am your servant.”

She caressed his cheek and pursed her lips in a pretty kiss before entering the coach. Darcy followed close behind her.

“Where to, Mr. Darcy?” his footman Murray asked.

Darcy nodded towards his wife. “Today, we take orders from your Mistress.”

Elizabeth smiled knowingly. “Wimborne, Murray. We return to Samuel Darcy's home.”

“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.” The footman closed and secured the coach's door.

Darcy leaned easily into the squabs. He crossed his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. And then he waited. His wife was not known for her patience, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she would explain her scheme.

He sat, perhaps, five minutes before Elizabeth tutted her impatience. “I call a truce, Sir,” she said contritely. “You recognize my weakness too well.” Leaning toward him, she pleaded, “Please ask of my maneuverings.”

Darcy opened his eyes slowly. He loved the moment in the early morning when he opened his eyes on the day, and they rested on Elizabeth's countenance. It brought him true peace. “Very well, my dear, please explain why you deemed it so important to end my conversation with Mr. Peiffer?”

Elizabeth sighed deeply in satisfaction. “First, Mr. Darcy, to engage in conversation, one must have a minimum of two relatively intelligent beings, not an exotic parroting bird such as Mr. Peiffer as one's partner.”

“Very true,” Darcy said through a pleased smile. He and Elizabeth customarily made like judgments of people. At least, they had done so once they had ceased their battle of wits and learned to love one another.

“Second, by announcing that I intended to supervise the consolidation of your cousin's effects, I earned permission from his man of business to do so,” she declared.

Darcy's frown created deep lines in his forehead. “I did not hear Mr. Peiffer grant us such an allowance.”

Elizabeth countered, “Neither did you hear him object. If we possessed no right to search through Cousin Samuel's belongings, surely his man of business would have made that fact known.”

Darcy chuckled, “And as the events in Wimborne can be of no consequence to those in Christchurch, we hold an open invitation.”

“Exactly, Mr. Darcy.”

Respectfully, Mrs. Ridgeway welcomed them to Woodvine Hall. “We thought it best if we separated Cousin Samuel's belongings. According to Mr. Peiffer, certain items have been designated for the Antiquarian Society.” Darcy eyed the entranceway. When he and Elizabeth had called at Woodvine the previous day, the hall had been draped in the late afternoon shadows. On this day, he observed the unusual placement of many of Samuel Darcy's most bizarre treasures, specifically several carved Gorgons along the top of a magnificent grandfather clock. The Gorgons were certainly not items to his liking or taste.

Elizabeth chimed in, “We have procured a list.” From her reticule, she retrieved the page Mr. Peiffer had provided them earlier.

Darcy had never considered her acting ability, but his wife was a natural. Or perhaps she had a mind for larceny. An expert thief required a quick mind for improvisation. The thought brought a light chuckle. “We would prefer to start in Samuel's study,” he instructed.

Elizabeth added, “Perhaps, we might commission a room or two.” She unfolded the list and glanced at it. “As we uncover each of the items to be donated, we could place them in the designated room to separate them from the remaining effects of the late Mr. Darcy.”

Mrs. Ridgeway's frown spoke of disapproval, but she nodded her agreement. Darcy interjected, “We might also consider separating Samuel's treasures from Egypt from those he secured in China and those from Africa. Lady Cynthia could choose which she prefers from her uncle's memories.”

The housekeeper motioned one of the maids forward. She whispered instructions and sent the girl on her way. “I will have everything arranged whenever you are prepared to move Mr. Samuel's discoveries.” She sighed deeply, “It is hard to imagine that Mr. Samuel will not be returning from an afternoon walk or a ride across his land. The staff and I have been at sixes and sevens as to what role we will play in the estate's future. Several expect to lose their positions.”

“How long have you been with the late Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth inquired sympathetically.

“Not quite seven years,” the lady confided. “We met on a ship returning from America. I had just lost the late Mr. Ridgeway some three years prior, and I knew not what I would do when I returned to England. I am thankful Mr. Samuel showed me a great kindness.”

“I recall Samuel's excursion to America. It was less than a year after my father's passing,” Darcy explained. “Both my sister and I felt bereft of my cousin's counsel and his company, but we understood he had business that he had neglected while attending our family, and we had lives to set aright. We parted sadly, but with hope.”

“Mr. Samuel was an excellent employer,” Mrs. Ridgeway asserted. “Now, if you will follow me, I will show you the Master's study.”

Within minutes, Darcy and Elizabeth were alone. Trying to take it all in, Elizabeth turned in a circle. “Mr. Darcy, if I ever complain about your need for order, remind me of this room.”

Darcy assumed the seat behind his cousin's desk. “Do not permit the clutter to deceive you. Samuel Darcy had a brilliant mind.”

Elizabeth seated herself before the desk. As she removed her bonnet and gloves, she said, “I would expect nothing less from a Darcy.” She retrieved the correspondence from a nearby tray. “Where do we begin?”

Darcy reached for the foolscap on the corner of Samuel's desk. As he sharpened a pen, he said, “I think it best we list what we know and what we have yet to discover. Those lists should determine how we proceed.”

For the next few minutes, they summarized the information they had learned from Mrs. Ridgeway, Mr. Peiffer, and Mr. Stowbridge. Unfortunately, the list was very short. “Not very promising,” Elizabeth noted as she read over his shoulder.

Darcy frowned in dissatisfaction. “Evidently, we have stepped into a marshy predicament,” he mumbled. Freshening his pen, he said, “Let us create the other list.”

“We should start with Mr. Stowbridge's entertainment. The squire said something about your Cousin Samuel's remarking on the evening's discussion reminding him of an ancient ritual,” Elizabeth suggested. “Someone should speak to Mr. Drewe and Mr. Mason to determine the source of your cousin's qualms.”

Darcy added, “And the type of ritual.” He jotted down their ideas. “Samuel often visited uncivilized societies. Did my cousin base his remark on something one of Mr. Stowbridge's guests said or on something the gentlemen were creating as part of their authorships?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth's excitement grew. “I had forgotten that Mr. Stowbridge's guests are writers. Perhaps, they write a tale of haunted castles and darklings.”

Darcy smiled easily. “You really must avoid Mrs. Ratcliffe's tales,” he teased.

Elizabeth pointed to the list. “No commentary, Mr. Darcy. You are simply the scribe.”

He winked at her and returned to the page. “We must determine with whom Samuel was disappointed.”

“Mayhap your cousin has a journal that would provide us clues to his mindset,” Elizabeth proposed.

“An excellent idea,” Darcy concurred. “In the past, Samuel kept detailed reports of his expeditions. In addition to those logs providing us with information on the aforementioned ritual, they may also lead us to more personal notes.”

Elizabeth thumbed through the stack of letters. Her brow furrowed in concentration. “Obviously, we must discover what happened to Cousin Samuel's body,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Was Samuel ever in the grave?” Darcy asked, and the possibility surprised both of them.

Elizabeth said, “We have assumed that Samuel Darcy knew a traditional English burial.”

Darcy shook his head in the disbelief. “At this point, we should avoid making assumptions. There are no assigned parameters in this scenario. And indeed it appears as if Cousin Samuel involved himself in something beyond the normal.”