The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (65 page)

A sick feeling spread through Edward's veins. He had an overwhelming desire to discover if Bedlam was to be his next home. The dire situation had magnified. “You cannot expect me to walk away,” he said cautiously. His chest tightened in a frightening manner, and Edward swiftly pointed out, “We must do something.”

“What does Fitzwilliam say?” Elizabeth pleaded. Her eyes widened in fear.

Edward waved away her apprehension. Instead, he listened for his cousin's honest response. “See my wife to Pemberley,” Darcy's choked response spoke of the emotions flooding his cousin's chest. “I charge you, Cousin, to see to Elizabeth's and Georgiana's futures.”

“Damn it, Darcy,” Edward growled. “No one is prepared to abandon you to an early death, so set your mind to our salvation.” He bit back his fear of inadequacy. “I plan to rip more wood from this coffin so Mrs. Darcy might look upon your countenance while I devise a means to extricate you from this hellhole.” He retrieved the hammer from the lip of the grave. “Now close your eyes and turn your head to the opposite side.”

As he ripped away at the wood, anger filled Edward's heart. Anger at Mrs. Stowbridge and the Woodvine steward for their felonious actions. Anger at himself for not recognizing the depth of madness into which his cousin's honor had led Darcy. Anger at his cousin for his willingness to die in order to save them all. Also, anger at Darcy for not realizing his cousin's sacrifice would destroy Elizabeth and Georgiana. And anger at the idea that he would never know such unselfish love.

Fortunately, the second board, which had run horizontally across the top of the coffin, came free easily. With the larger opening, Edward was able to pull the nails holding the planks free. He tossed the offending pieces of wood from the hole to expose his cousin's pale face.

Darcy sucked in his first full breath in what seemed a lifetime, and, in fact, it had been just that. He had been given a second life. Slowly, he opened his eyes to take in the worried countenance of his cousin. “Thank you, Colonel,” he said honestly.

“No gratitude yet,” the colonel said brusquely. “Not until you are free of this latest puzzle.” Edward reached into the box to squeeze Darcy's shoulder. “I will remove myself from this hole so you might feast upon your wife's countenance. Meanwhile, I will confer with Cowan to determine how to proceed.”

Eager to see Elizabeth well, Darcy nodded his agreement. When his cousin had climbed from the hole, Darcy's eyes searched the open space above his head for Elizabeth's fine features. For a long moment, Darcy recalled the first time he had seen her standing with her sister and Miss Lucas as he and Bingley had made their way across the Meryton Assembly hall. There had been a stunning sense of recognition, as if he had known her all his life. Finally, Elizabeth appeared above him. Like a hovering angel, she gazed lovingly at him. The shadows kept part of her face in darkness, but it was comforting to know she had survived her ordeal.

“Fitzwilliam,” she said on a rasp, and Darcy had instantly understood his wife's sentiment.

“Be strong, my Lizzy,” he said to comfort her. “We will see this through together.”

“I love you.” His wife leaned precariously over the grave's lip. “I feared we would not be in time.”

Darcy licked his dry lips. The taste of laudanum remained, but he refused to grimace so as not to worry his wife. “You never gave up,” he said simply. He knew enough of his wife's personality to know she had bullied the colonel and Cowan into submission.

“I could not,” Elizabeth confessed. “I shall not know life without you by my side. Set your mind to it, Fitzwilliam,” she said determinedly.

Darcy filled his mind with her voice and her features. He would not promise Elizabeth that they would spend their futures together. He doubted he could escape this trap. However, he said, “There is no place I would rather be, my Lizzy.”

Edward joined Elizabeth upon her perch above him. His cousin's expression remained grim. “Cowan will ride to Woodvine to retrieve Samuel's sketches. We think it best if we wait until daylight to execute a plan for removing you from this hole. Meanwhile, you must remain still.”

Elizabeth spoke anxiously. “I should speak to Mr. Cowan. I hid Cousin Samuel's journals in my quarters. I shall return in a moment, Fitzwilliam.”

His wife scurried away, and Darcy took the opportunity to speak privately to his cousin. “You are to protect Mrs. Darcy, Colonel. My wife will plant herself on the lid of this death box if you permit it.” Darcy battled down the smothering panic. It would do none of them any good if he acted rashly. “When you are prepared to put into play whatever plan you devise, you must first remove Elizabeth from the area. Remind my wife of her duty to Pemberley and to Georgiana. Otherwise, Elizabeth will follow me into the abyss.”

“I understand,” Edward said solemnly.

“As I have always done,” Darcy assured, “I give you my respect and my devotion.” Darcy swallowed hard. “If some part of your efforts go amiss, Cousin, and if I do not...”

Edward insisted, “Do not speak so.”

Darcy shook his head in the negative. “Permit me to say this before Mrs. Darcy returns. If I do not survive, I beg you to consider making Elizabeth your wife. You once held an interest in Mrs. Darcy, and you should know I would approve of your joining. Elizabeth will have a substantial fortune, and you could assist her with the running of Pemberley until Georgiana comes of age and marries. Georgiana's children will inherit Pemberley if I do not produce an heir, but that is many years in the future.”

His cousin scowled. “I do not intend to permit such a scenario to occur,” he said adamantly.

“Promise,” Darcy insisted.

Edward's mouth thinned into a disapproving line. “I promise,” he growled.

The words brought Darcy the peace he required to see this craziness through. His cousin would secure Elizabeth's future and that of Pemberley. With those assurances, Darcy awaited the return of his wife. If this were his day to die, he would spend the last of his time on Earth gazing upon his wife's countenance.

For hours, Elizabeth had hung over the edge of an open grave, as if she were some sort of bird, spreading her wings to float above him. They had talked as if nothing unusual surrounded their conversation. As if the most bizarre of events had not occurred. They spoke of their mistake-ridden courtship and of Georgiana's future, of the advancements Darcy hoped to install with his tenants and of the investments he had recently made to ensure the wealth of any children they might have. Elizabeth confessed how overwhelmed she had felt as they had departed Longbourn on their wedding day, and Darcy had assured her that he could not have been more pleased at how well she had acclimated to his world.

Elizabeth had left her perch only once during those long hours. When Cowan had returned to Woodvine to retrieve the plans for Samuel's torpedo, Hannah, Sheffield, and Fletcher had commandeered Darcy's coach to arrive on the scene, along with Murray and Jatson. The loyalty of his servants warmed Darcy's heart. The Pemberley staff had brought blankets and clean clothes, as well as fresh food and drink. Darcy had found it amusing that Hannah had, literally, dragged Elizabeth into the church offices for a clothing change and a quick meal. Neither he nor his wife had had a meal for some six and thirty hours. Darcy thanked his stars for Hannah's caring ways. When Elizabeth had returned to her vigil, she still wore his jacket over her gown, and Darcy marveled at how she draped herself in his protection. His wife understood that he would give her all his worldly goods, just as their vows had declared.

“I shall return your coat when this idiocy has ended,” she had said when no one was listening. “I shall drape it about your shoulders so my warmth envelops you,” Elizabeth said devotedly.

Darcy smiled easily. “Sheffield will likely burn it as soon as we return to Woodvine.” His valet's worried countenance had kept Darcy company while Elizabeth had seen to her own needs. While they were alone, Darcy had exacted a promise from Sheffield to serve Elizabeth in whatever manner his wife required in the eventuality of Darcy's passing. Although the grizzled countenance had hardened, the man, who had served Darcy for some fifteen years, had stoically agreed.

Elizabeth giggled—a delightful sound Darcy would always treasure. “You will never be rid of this jacket, Mr. Darcy,” his wife declared in her usual teasing tone, “because it will remind you of how we survived this night together.”

“More likely because it carries your scent, Mrs. Darcy. Unlike my other jackets, this one will constantly remind me of your unconquerable spirit.”

“Then we are agreed,” Edward said solemnly. Since the first streaks of light, he, Cowan, and Mr. Castle had studied the sketches in Samuel Darcy's journals. They had attempted to question both Mrs. Stowbridge and Mr. Gaylord, but neither would speak to what they knew of the device.

In the light of day, they had discovered the standpipe protruding from the earth. “What prevents this thing from exploding in our faces?” Cowan had growled in frustration. “I mean once a person has set the trigger and has filled the grave.”

Castle examined the sketches closely. “It is a most intriguing invention,” he mused distractedly. “I can imagine resurrectionists might not be too pleased to know such a device exists. There be a rich trade in bodies for the medical schools.”

Cowan and Edward exchanged a knowing glance.

Edward had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Castle had had experience with explosives. “A person puts the gunpowder into the standpipe and then drops in a cork to protect the powder.”

“That much I understand,” Edward encouraged, “but how do we disarm this?”

“One thing is certain. We must secure the device before Mr. Darcy moves his legs. I suspect the trigger line is attached to your cousin's limbs, Colonel.”