The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (12 page)

Darcy had once told the colonel, “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” And so it was. Darcy had futilely fought his desire for
his
Elizabeth. She had taught him a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. She had properly humbled him. He had initially come to Elizabeth without a doubt of his reception, and she had showed him how insufficient were all his pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.

Darcy glanced toward the open door. “I suspect we should finish for the day,” he said loud enough for those lurking in the hallway to hear. And Darcy held no doubt that others listened to their conversation. More than one of Samuel Darcy's servants had paused outside the library as they had gone about their duties.

In many ways, Darcy admired how the household staff had rallied about the housekeeper; yet, their actions had rubbed against his deep-rooted sense of loyalty. Their efforts were misplaced. Each member of Woodvine Hall's staff owed his fidelity to Darcy's late cousin. It was Samuel Darcy's estate that continued to pay their wages. He would be glad for Lady Cynthia's arrival. Darcy would encourage her husband, the Earl of Rardin, to join him in releasing each of the fickle wastrels without notice.

“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth's voice spoke of frustration, and he turned to see her struggling with a heavy tome on one of the higher shelves.

“May I be of assistance, my dear?” Darcy stepped behind her and caught the hefty manuscript in his large grasp.

Still a bit irritated, Elizabeth said, “It adheres to the surface.” She stepped to the side to allow Darcy an easier access to the shelf.

Darcy wedged his fingers under the spine. “Perhaps the binding has suffered damage.” He carefully lifted the volume, but it would not budge. “Would you place the stool where I might reach it?” he asked as he attempted once more to work the book free.

Elizabeth quickly retrieved the small three-legged wooden stool she had commandeered from one of the maids. “The book is on Mr. Peiffer's list,” she disclosed as she placed the stool close to where Darcy waited.

He stilled; his eyes narrowed. Darcy read the title aloud:
The Demon Necromancer
. Fingers flexing at his side, he was left gaping. “Why ever would Cousin Samuel choose such a book for his donation? The title reeks of something a schoolgirl might read late into the night.”

Elizabeth glanced again at the book resting above both their heads. “It is thicker than any novel I have ever read.” As Darcy stepped upon the stool, she cautioned, “Be careful, Fitzwilliam.” She placed her hand on the back of his long leg to steady him, and Darcy felt the instant heat of her touch. Delicious warmth cascaded through his body.

“Permit me to see what keeps this title in its place,” he murmured as he laced his fingers about the book. Yet, still it did not readily come free. “Perhaps,” he said teasingly, “the casing is hollow, and Cousin Samuel's latest treasure is within.”

He glanced at Elizabeth, and his wife's eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Would that not be grand?” Elizabeth asked with wonderment.

With a bit more force, Darcy carefully lifted the tome. “The binding is caught on a nail, which has worked itself free from the wall,” he explained. As he loved books, Darcy worked diligently to avoid destroying the title in his haste to free it. “Cousin Samuel would not want his donation to know harm,” he said with a grunt as the book slid free of its holdings.

“I am pleased we uncovered the problem,” Elizabeth said with relief. “Another might have ripped the book from its shelf and injured it irreparably.”

Darcy grasped the book solidly and lowered it into Elizabeth's outstretched hands. “I should see to the nail,” he said as his wife stepped away to examine the book. However, when he reached for the nail, Darcy's fingers found a recessed notch and a lever instead. He paused, his stomach suddenly queasy. Without removing his eyes from the shelf, he instructed, “Elizabeth, close and lock the door.”

Thankfully, his wife did not argue or protest. “What is amiss, Fitzwilliam?” she asked as she returned to stand below where he balanced on the stool.

Darcy stared at the lever. He had seen such mechanisms in both the Earl of Matlock's and Lady Catherine's homes, but he had never suspected that he would discover one in Samuel Darcy's house. After all, Samuel's manor was a modest abode in comparison to the sprawling estates of Matley Manor or Rosings Park. “Lizzy,” he said cautiously, “I need for you to make some sort of noise to cover what I do next. I do not want Samuel's servants to know what I have discovered.”

Her hazel gaze lifted at his strange request. “Fitzwilliam, I do not understand,” his wife said in concern.

Darcy glanced at her. “I know, my dear,” he said softly. “Just trust me for a moment more.”

Elizabeth held his gaze for an elongated moment, and then his incomparable wife nodded her agreement. She opened her mouth and began to sing a Scottish love song, the same one she had sung that memorable evening at Sir William Lucas's home in their early days together at Hertfordshire. It was one of the most exquisite evenings he could ever recall. She had mesmerized him with her song.

Darcy smiled at her and then returned to the lever. Lifting the protruding metal tip with two fingers, Darcy focused on the sound of the bookshelf's separation from the wall. It was a disquieting sensation echoing through his body. A sucking noise signaled the release.

As the air filtered through the small opening, Elizabeth stammered to a halt, but with a sly smile, she renewed her efforts and broke into another verse.

Darcy scrambled from the stool. Pulling the drapes partially closed to prevent anyone from observing their actions, he turned to kiss her cheek. “Keep singing for a few minutes more, my love,” he whispered close to her ear.

Quickly, he lit several candles before he wedged his fingers into the opening and pulled with all his might. As if on a silent cloud, the shelving wall slid open. He saw Elizabeth's eyes widen, and he reached for her. Expecting that someone eavesdropped beyond the locked door, he said loudly, “You have a beautiful voice, my dear. Come to me, Lizzy.” The servants would gossip about his infatuation with his wife, but the rumors would be a fair price for the privacy they required. Darcy handed his wife a candle and pulled her through the opening.

As she came to a stumbling standstill behind him, Elizabeth gasped, “My goodness, Fitzwilliam! What in the world is this?”

Darcy, too, stared in disbelief. “Cousin Samuel's treasure trove,” he said reverently as he descended the last few steps into the hidden room.

Elizabeth's hand rested on the small of his back. She asked curiously, “Do you suppose there are armed traps?”

Despite his wife's trepidation, Darcy smiled. “I doubt Cousin Samuel would go to such extremes. What my cousin considered of value might not pique the interest of those who have never studied ancient civilizations.”

Elizabeth stepped beside him, and they surveyed the room together. Darcy held his candle high, allowing the light to creep into the dark shadows. “It is amazing,” Elizabeth said in awe. “I have seen nothing to compare—even in London when Uncle Gardiner escorted my sister and me to the museum.”

“Perhaps that will change with Cousin Samuel's donation,” he said with pride. “It will be a great legacy—one bearing the Darcy name.”

“May we make a quick tour of what the room holds?”

Darcy caught her hand. “Watch your step.” He turned to the left where row after row of glass cases displayed a variety of weapons, eating implements, bones, and jewels. “These appear to be from Egypt,” he said as he set his candle on the corner of one of the cases. He glanced to another nearby row of glass boxes. “Those items appear to have come from India or Persia.”

“What are these?” Elizabeth asked as she leaned over the case closest to where she had stopped to wait for Darcy. The possibilities touched Elizabeth's cheeks with a flush of excited intensity.

He shoved aside an unfurled set of diagrams for a primitive weapon to join her search of a dusty glass shelf. Removing his handkerchief, Darcy wiped away the grime. “They appear to be some sort of sickle swords,” he said, as engrossed in the find as his wife. “Samuel once explained to Georgiana and me how Egypt imported the tin required to make bronze, meaning that those without wealth carried stone tools well into the time of the Middle Kingdom. Egypt was at a disadvantage during the first millennium because it had to import iron.”

Elizabeth pointed to what appeared to be a piece of armor. “Are those real jewels?”

“The Pharaohs often wore armor with inlaid semiprecious stones because the stones were harder than the metal used for arrow tips.”

Elizabeth nodded her understanding. “We should likely make a quick perusal of the room. We may study the individual pieces at our leisure at another time.”

“Excellent suggestion,” Darcy said as he retrieved his candle. “We do not want the staff to become aware of this room.”

Elizabeth poorly hid her wince. “Do you suppose them ignorant of it?”

Darcy considered her question. He glanced toward the steps. “If any of Cousin Samuel's present staff has knowledge of this room, he or she has not inspected it for some time. Ours are the only footprints in the dust on the stairs and the floor. And no one has touched the cases. I suspect Cousin Samuel kept this room a secret.”

“Then what of those?” She lifted her candle higher and pointed to several books and amulets on the table half-hidden by the steps. She reached for one of the items. “These do not appear to be of ancient origins.”

Darcy joined her at the table. Grasping one of the leather-bound books, he read the title:
Pagan Covens and Apotropaios
.

Elizabeth unrolled a manuscript. She gave a faint frown. “This appears to be a map of the area. Are there Stonehenge-type stones in Dorset?”

Darcy studied the document. “I am unaware of any stones as close as this map would indicate.” His finger traced the lines from one symbol to another. “What does all this mean?”

The shadows, past and present, filled every corner of the dimly lit room. She quickly thumbed through a ragged volume that held incantations and prayers. “I would say your cousin had developed a recent interest in witchcraft.”

He conjured a nervous smile. “In ancient medicines and religious beliefs, definitely, but not in superstition and the dark arts. Such practiced ignorance was not in Samuel Darcy's nature,” Darcy protested.

Elizabeth said with a bit of irritation, “Samuel Darcy was more than a man of science. He was a man who embraced the unusual. Perhaps, he feared a witches' coven had made him a target.”

Darcy felt his temper rising and quickly restrained it. There was so much out of his control that he responded with more vinegar than he intended. “You know nothing of my cousin.”

Her husband's chastisement rubbed raw against Elizabeth's vague sense of disquiet. She retrieved her candle and turned for the stairs. “Then perhaps I should leave you to discover your own realities, Mr. Darcy,” she said tersely.

Darcy cleared his dry throat before catching her arm. He said resignedly, “I am a fool, Elizabeth. You are the one person I trust in this insanity, and I have made you my enemy.”

Framing his face with her hands, Elizabeth smiled warmly. “You were my enemy once, Mr. Darcy, but those days are long forgotten. Now, you are the man I revere above all others. Even though I may speak in opposition, I would never be your critic.” She leaned against his chest, pressing her cheek to his heart.

“I love you, Elizabeth Darcy,” he said sincerely. His arms snaked about her to hold his wife to him.

“And I you, my husband.”

They remained in the embrace for an elongated moment. Finally, Darcy kissed her forehead. “We should have a quick look around before we return to the library. Surely someone will take note of our absence soon.” He reluctantly released her.

Circling the room's perimeter, each went a separate direction. They peered quickly into the glass display cases and pulled at the locks to be certain of their security. Along the back wall, Darcy's toe caught on a loose floorboard, and he tapped it in place with his heel. Cursing under his breath at the mark on his favorite pair of boots, he grumbled, “Personally, I have had enough mystery and mayhem for one day.” He raised his candle higher for additional lighting. Turning to his wife, he said, “Lead the way, Mrs. Darcy. We may explore Samuel's sanctuary in more leisure in the near future.” Within seconds, they emerged into the draped afternoon light. As Elizabeth extinguished the candles, Darcy placed his shoulder to the shelf to return it to a locked position. “Hand me
The Demon Necromancer.
I will replace it to cover the lever.”