The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (41 page)

Elizabeth twisted a curl of hair from his chest about her finger. “Shush,” she said in a throaty whisper. “Sleep.”

Darcy kissed her forehead. “As you wish, Mrs. Darcy.” He rested his chin on the top of his wife's head. For more than an hour, Darcy listened to the steady breath of life sliding in and out of her chest. He offered a string of prayers to God for sparing Elizabeth's life. With a deep sigh, Darcy closed his eyes to the world. He would dream of knowing Elizabeth intimately. Of her scent. Her laugh. The desire in her eyes. Darcy would dream of the future.

“Nothing!” Edward grumbled for the tenth time. They were both covered in dust from crawling along the floor and from climbing upon chairs and ladders to reach the tops of wardrobes and chests. “No torpedo. No plans. Nothing unusual.”

“That is what truly is unusual,” Darcy declared. “We easily discovered the map showing Mr. Rupp's fields, but we can find no evidence of a copy of the Lemegeton, of the American's plans for some sort of explosive, nor of the model Samuel Darcy had thought to construct. It is as if we were offered the map to pacify us. To make us say, ‘I have done my best. It is another's duty to finish what I began.'”

Edward leaned heavily against the doorframe. “To distract us from what is really important.”

“Exactly,” Darcy said enthusiastically.

Edward strode confidently into the room. “I do not know your mind, Darcy, but playing the defensive is not to my liking; I have spent too many years on the line to turn tail and retreat.”

Darcy understood immediately. “We require a plan where we are in charge. Where we determine what is and is not important.”

However, before they could set their new resolve into action, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation. “What is it, Barriton?” Darcy asked tersely.

“Mr. Holbrook, Sir. He awaits you in the kitchen. The groom says it is most important that he speak to you,” the butler said apologetically.

The colonel said softly, “Holbrook would not lightly make such a request.”

Darcy nodded his agreement. “I will go. You may return to your post, Barriton.” The butler bowed and made his exit.

Edward asked, “What do you think this turn could mean?”

“Nothing good.”

A few moments later, they entered the well-stocked kitchen. The groom bowed as soon as he saw them. “Thank ye, Sir, fer agreeing to see me.”

Darcy glanced about the room. Of the busy kitchen staff, only the man's mother remained. Evidently, the elderly cook had sent her assistants on an errand until after her son could speak to Mr. Darcy privately. “I assume the news you have brought me speaks of exigency.”

“Aye, Sir.” The groom ran his fingers through his thinning hair. His weather-beaten face displayed the man's concern. “I found something unusual in the wooded area close to the lake.”

Edward gestured the man to a straight-backed chair. “What were you doing by the lake?”

“Took several of the horses out for some exercise,” the groom explained. “Chose the lake because I heard Mr. Darcy's man bemoaning his master's losing the gold buttons from his waistcoat when Mr. Darcy saved Mrs. Darcy's life. Mr. Sheffield be
saying them buttons came from the late Mr. George Darcy's favorite jacket. So, I thought I might see if'n I could find them. Mr. Sheffield appeared most concerned for the loss.”

Edward observed, “That was kind of you.”

Darcy sat across from the groom at the roughly hewn table. “I pray another body has not washed ashore,” he said earnestly.

The groom stared at Darcy and shook and his head. “No bodies from the lake, Sir.”

Edward asked perceptively, “Bodies elsewhere?”

“Aye, Sir.”

Darcy groaned in frustration. “One body? Or more than one victim?”

The groom scrubbed his jaw with the back of his worn gloves. “More than one.”

Those words ricocheted through Darcy's bones. “My God!” he said on a raspy exhale. “Counting my cousin, we already have seven.”

“I be certain of one, but I be thinking three,” Holbrook confessed.

Darcy took a deep steadying breath. His chair scraped against the wood as he pushed away from the table. “What I would not give to have traveled to Derbyshire's lakes rather than to Dorset's.”

“It be the Devil's work,” the groom lamented. “I never thought to see the day.”

The colonel addressed Mrs. Holbrook. “You are not to speak of this to the others.”

The woman nodded. “What of Mr. Barriton?”

“Tell the man your son had heard a rumor regarding the two missing horses and the possible return of the gypsies, so we rode over to a neighboring village to determine if the rumor was true,” the colonel instructed.

As they waited for Holbrook to saddle two of the horses the groom had exercised earlier in the day, Darcy confided in his cousin, “This is more than I could ever have envisioned. I am uncertain whether I am capable of solving this mystery.”

The colonel's countenance revealed his own uncertainty. “We must return to our earlier decision: We must take charge of the investigation instead of permitting it to lead us about by our noses.”

A spark of defiance appeared in Darcy's eyes. “I agree. Therefore, let us begin with what we know regarding the victims.”

“We are certain two of those from the lake thought to marry a woman they had never met.” The colonel ran his fingers through his hair. The ends curled easily, indicating Edward was overdue for a cut.

“Is it possible that Hotchkiss and our unknown victim had similar thoughts?” Darcy mused.

The colonel observed, “As all our victims are males, I suppose it possible. I had not thought so previously; yet, we have no other clues.”

Darcy exhaled slowly. “Is our murderer a woman?”

Edward denied the probability. His stance said a mad run of emotions had settled on the colonel's shoulders. “How could a woman have buried a man? Or have moved a body to the lake and weighed it down? Have killed seven others?”

Darcy asked, “What if the lady in question had an admirer who efficiently eliminated his competition?”

“Would the woman not notice? Even though it is difficult to determine the exact date of each death, we can assume they occurred within the last year. How could one woman have so many gentleman callers?”

Darcy watched Holbrook tighten the straps about the first horse. “Could we have more than one woman and only one desperate man?”

“If we consider Mr. Williamson's descriptions of the potential brides, your idea makes sense.” The colonel tapped his gloves against his thigh. “Somehow, I do not see either Samuel Darcy or Mr. Hotchkiss as being lovesick swains.”

Darcy was quiet for several seconds before he said, “From what we know of Mr. Hotchkiss from Samuel's journal, I would agree with your assumption about the steward, and as to my cousin, he kept a mistress in London, but I have never known him to have a serious relationship. My father once spoke of a woman who Samuel had loved, but she married another, his elder brother, Stewart.”

“That explains Samuel Darcy's strong affection for Lady Cynthia.”

Darcy confided, “There were rumors of indiscretions, but no one spoke openly of the possibilities of Cynthia's parentage, and Samuel always treated his brother and Perdita Darcy with great reverence. Samuel
married
his work. He spent his life discovering the ancient loves of other people.”

Edward nodded to where Holbrook had finished saddling the second horse. “One thing is certain. I plan to examine the countenance of each woman at services tomorrow. Surely there must be a Helen of Troy hiding among the country folk of the shire. I do not understand how I could have not heard of such an angel previously,” he teased.

“Nor I,” Darcy said ironically. “Would not one expect the news to have reached every corner of England?”

Edward slapped Darcy on the back. “I feel much relieved when your humor returns, Cousin.”

“Either laugh or cry. There are no shades of gray at Woodvine. Evil or goodness is all we know.”

A half hour later, they knelt beside a shallow grave. There were no markings, as there had been with Bates' grave, but the evidence remained. “The ground be recently turned,” Holbrook noted as he crumbled a clod of dirt in his hand.

“Could a woman dig such a grave?” Darcy asked as his eyes searched the area for any clues to the crimes.

“Aye, Sir.” Holbrook stood. “The ground be soft here. So many leaves making it rich. Little sun reaches through these trees; therefore, nothing to dry it out and make the land hard.”

The colonel tossed his hat to the side. “Let us see if our suspicions hold true.” He reached for a shovel from those they had stacked against a nearby tree.

Darcy tugged his coat from his shoulders. He folded it and placed the cloth beside his cousin's uniform jacket, which was draped across a felled tree. “Shall we have a contest?” he challenged. “If we must dig a grave, allow us to do so with speed.”

Edward shook his head in amusement. “You are too soft, Cousin, to win a physical challenge. Married life does that to a man.”

Darcy had no idea why he had issued such an asinine test. He certainly did not see the loss of life as a form of entertainment. He was far from being a barbarian. Yet, so many deaths had set his impudicity into action. Darcy doubted his ability to cope with one more mystery or one more body. “You are correct, Colonel. I withdraw my dare. Whoever lies below deserves our respect.” With that, Darcy placed his shovel's tip into the soft dirt, rested his booted foot on the edge, and pressed his weight into the effort. Along the outlined gravesite, his cousin did the same.

Within a quarter hour, they had uncovered enough of the body to know Holbrook's instincts had been correct.

“He be wrapped in some sort of blanket,” Holbrook noted.

Darcy wiped his brow with his handkerchief. “I care not to look upon death's face again so soon. Leave the blanket in place.”

His cousin suggested, “Why do you not start on the site behind the line of ash? Holbrook and I will see to this victim.”

Darcy swallowed hard. He shook his head in disbelief before stumbling off toward the second possible gravesite. If not for the shovel, he would have likely tumbled over, head first. His legs suddenly felt old and his footing unsteady. Never in the scope of his understanding had Darcy met so much death and destruction in one place. Certainly, the colonel would have seen much more, but Darcy could not comprehend how so many had lost their lives. Dorset was not the West Indies, nor was it the Continental front. This was a quiet country shire, not a battlefield.