The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (66 page)

“Do you understand what we propose, Darcy?” Edward had ordered Elizabeth behind the cover of Samuel Darcy's crypt. His cousin's wife had not gone willingly, and the colonel knew it would take all of Hannah's physical strength to detain her mistress. It was only with Mr. Sheffield's reminder that Mr. Darcy would wish it so that Elizabeth had acquiesced.

Darcy said sardonically, “It has been many hours since my legs knew feeling. Therefore, I suspect we have no concern for my moving them; however, if they should choose to act upon their own, I will endeavor to divert the urge.”

Edward smiled easily. His cousin's testiness announced that Darcy had abandoned his sacrificial attitude. His cousin wanted to live. That would prove well in their knowing success. “Then we will proceed.”

Cowan and Castle had volunteered to assist Edward with this unusual rescue. They began by removing more of the dirt from the hole—digging around the standpipe. “Not too much,” Edward warned. “Remember that this coffin is wedged into the grave. It rests but two feet below the ground's surface, which means another foot or two of empty space is below it. If we jar the box loose, the coffin will drop into the space, and Darcy will move whether he intends to do so or not.”

They had laced ropes beneath the coffin to suspend it from the thicker branches of a nearby tree. It was difficult work to thread the stiff rope under the box. He and Cowan had carefully dug hand holes on either side and hung upside down to pass the line to one another. After the third rope line was in place, they had agreed they could proceed. With a deep steadying breath, Edward announced, “I will remove the standpipe, Darcy.”

“Do your worst, Cousin.” Darcy closed his eyes. When Edward glanced his cousin's way, Darcy's lips moved in a silent prayer. Edward said his own supplication for divine guidance. His hands were calmer than he had expected. He wondered, as the fingers of his right hand caught the tip of the standpipe where it showed above the ground, how his life compared to that of his cousin's. True, he had known success in his career, but Edward had nothing personal beyond the moniker of “Colonel.” He played but a supportive role in his family and in life. “Take me, and not Darcy,” he had begged God.

With his left hand, Edward brushed away the dirt which surrounded the pipe. Then, with a grip of determination, he lifted upward on the metal. Unfortunately, the standpipe proved longer than Edward had expected, and he could not pull the end of it free from the coffin without changing his position, which he could not do without either sending the coffin plummeting into the grave or removing the pipe at an angle, which he suspected would jostle the trigger. Sweat dripped from his chin to splatter in the dirt below.

“Allow me, Sir.” Mr. Sheffield stretched out opposite him beside the grave.”

“The pipe cannot tilt,” Edward cautioned. “I must lift it upward at a perpendicular angle to the ground.”

The valet nodded. “I understand, Sir. I will not fail either you or Mr. Darcy.”

Edward nodded his approval. “Wrap your hands about the pipe, and hold it steadily.”

The valet swallowed hard. He stretched forth his hands to catch the pipe below where Edward currently held it.

“Excellent.” Edward whispered. “Do you have it, Sheffield?”

The valet's voice was shaky, but he responded in the affirmative.

“Do not move,” Edward said softly. “I shall release my grip.” The colonel peeled away one finger at a time. “Hold the pipe in place until I can change my position.” Edward scrambled to a foothold he had carved in the grave's side. He caught the pipe at a point closer to where it disappeared into the top of the coffin. “We will lift this together. On three, Sheffield. One. Two. Three. Lift.” Wonderfully, the pipe slid clear of the box, but it dumped gunpowder as it rose into the valet's capable hands. Edward looked upward in admiration. “I am in your debt, Sheffield.”

“As am I,” Darcy said from where he lay perfectly still in the coffin.

The valet stood stiffly, the pipe firmly in his hands. “Acting heroically is not what all the books imply,” the man said shakily. Sheffield turned and dropped the offending pipe. “What is next, Sir?”

Sheffield's countenance remained pale, but Edward had seen such bravery often on the battlefield. That one moment of glory lived long in a man's memory, especially for one who knew an ordinary life. “I had originally considered opening the coffin more and then disarming the trigger, but I believe we cannot risk a chance that the box in which Mr. Darcy lies goes crashing downward. I think we must lift it from the hole to set it aright.”

Cowan gave Edward a hand up from the hole. “I have followed you through hell, Colonel. Whatever you choose is my course.”

“Then let us set the lines,” Edward said. “Cowan, you and Sheffield have the first line.”

Jatson and Murray stepped from behind a tall oak. “We have the second line, Colonel.”

Edward nodded his gratitude. “I am by your side, Sir.” His own valet appeared from beyond the row of founders' graves.

“Thank you, Fletcher.” The man had followed Edward through a decade of battles and poor living conditions, but Edward had never been prouder of having Fletcher's acquaintance.

As a group, they stretched the lines in a pulley system over branches and walls. “Everyone has his lines?” Edward asked as he surveyed the small gathering. The men removed their jackets. “Darcy, whatever you do, do not move.”

“Easy for you to say, Cousin,” Darcy grumbled, but Edward observed how Darcy braced his arms against the sides of the box.

“Again on three,” Edward ordered. “One. Two. Three. Pull.”

The coffin tore free of the earth and rose slowly toward the surface. “Harder!” the colonel encouraged. The wood groaned, and the earth collapsed inward, filling the grave in its wake. Finally, the coffin cleared the opening, but it hung precariously above the hole. “Hold tight,” he ordered. The men strained to keep the weight from crashing into the open pit. Tying off the lines would be difficult.

Suddenly, Elizabeth and Hannah were beside the swinging box. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Castle joined them. “This way,” Elizabeth ordered. She and Castle caught one end of the coffin, while Sharp and Hannah took the other. They positioned themselves where they might direct the coffin to hang above the solid ground lining the gravesite.

“Lower it slowly.” Edward spoke through gritted teeth. Gently, the men set the coffin on the ground. Elizabeth and Hannah braced it while the men slid rocks under the coffin's edges to steady it.

“Elizabeth Darcy,” Edward's cousin said in exasperation. “I begged you not to place yourself in danger.”

“And I promised to guard your heart, Mr. Darcy,” his wife retaliated.

Darcy smiled at her. “We will finish this argument later, Mrs. Darcy. Remove yourself from the area, and permit my cousin to prove himself my superior.”

Edward shook out his arms. He gathered the hammer and a small saw. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said to the group. “But I must finish this last bit alone.”

Elizabeth kissed Edward's cheek. “I promise to see you happy, Colonel. Even if I must wear my mother's matchmaking mantle to do so.”

He spontaneously wrapped his arms about her—embracing his cousin's wife. “Darcy has made an exceptional choice. If you choose to be my herald, please know that I have been spoiled by your kind heart, my dear.” Edward kissed her forehead before turning to his task.

He straddled the box, and without preamble removed yet another of the horizontal slats. “Where do you feel the weight on your legs, Darcy?”

His cousin said softly, “At my knees.”

The colonel did not look up. He concentrated on where the nails and the wood connected. With the removal of the earlier pieces, those from the middle section came more easily now that he understood the box's construction. “One more,” he said to Darcy.

“Then what?” Darcy asked solemnly.

“Then we either celebrate with your finest brandy or we greet your parents in their heavenly home.”

“Edward.”

“Do not say it, Darcy. You would do this for me if the situation were reversed. It is the way with us.”

Edward squatted beside the coffin. Leaning across what remained of the dismantled lid, he peered into the open space. “You were correct, Darcy. There is a small, globe-shaped orb resting between your knees. It has an arced shield over it and a line leading to the opening through which we removed the pipe.”

“Cut the line, Colonel.” His cousin's voice held his acceptance of what was to come.

Edward refused to question his decision. He grasped the small knife, reached into the narrow space, caught the line, and cut it.

“Darcy!” Lady Cynthia Sanderson gasped when she saw him. He had not looked in the mirror for several days, for his wife had forbidden him even to consider leaving his bed until Mr. Newby had pronounced him well enough to travel. As Darcy was satisfied simply to be with his family, he had allowed his wife her way. “My goodness!” The countess fluttered in that annoying way of Society ladies, but then she caught up Darcy's hand to kiss the back of it tenderly. A tear rolled down her cheek, and Darcy caught a glimpse of the girl he had known in his youth. “When Barth said you had arrived in Dorset to set Uncle Samuel's affairs aright, I had no idea how you would have suffered. It is abominable.”

Darcy sat propped against a half dozen pillows in his own bed. Elizabeth had insisted that with the arrival of the Earl and Countess of Rardin that he should rest in his own quarters rather than to ignore propriety and enjoy hers. “It has been an experience I would not wish on an enemy,” he confessed.

“Oh, my dear cousin,” the countess said honestly, “I have heard no tale so twisted. More than a dozen deaths, and our dear Samuel's defilement.” Evidently, Elizabeth and Edward had shared the events of the past two weeks with the Rardins. Among those details had been the tale of Thomas Cowan's discovery of Samuel Darcy's body hanging like a side of meat in a private medical school in Manchester, the same school where Geoffrey Glover had served as an instructor and where Mr. Newby had received his medical education. The Runner had also discovered the infamous Mr. Crescent. Samuel Darcy's valet had followed his master's trail, and with the assistance of Cowan and the Fitzwilliam brothers, they had recovered Samuel's body to return it to Dorset for a proper burial.

Lady Rardin leaned close as if sharing a secret. “Do you think it prudent for Rardin to have a new resting place drawn for Uncle Samuel? It appears inappropriate to use the grave in which you were held prisoner and from which Samuel's body was snatched.” She shivered violently.

“Cynthia,” Darcy said calmly. “The gravesite has no special powers.” He patted the back of her hand.

She protested, “But you do not understand, Fitzwilliam. There are already numerous rumors swirling around the mysterious death of Samuel Darcy, and then, subsequent reports of your literally rising from the grave have added oil to the flame.”

“Nonsense,” Darcy said, although he no longer questioned the power of superstition. He had lived with it for the past month. “Allowing others to determine your choices leads to disaster.”

She teasingly tapped his arm with her fan. “You sound like my husband. The Earl is always so practical.” She rose to make her exit. “Rardin has released a number of the Woodvine staff, and, with Mrs. Holbrook's recommendations, has rehired an adequate staff from those dismissed previously. When we depart, we shall have in place those necessary to see to Uncle Samuel's legacy.”

“Rardin and I have spoken briefly regarding the estate. I believe it would be a great legacy for Perdita. It would add to your daughter's dowry.”

His cousin pursed her lips as if to silence a response. “Uncle Samuel would have been pleased to think on it.” The Countess straightened the seam of her dress. “I must rescue your wife. Mrs. Darcy has been entertaining the children while their governess and nurse organize the nursery.”

“I am certain that with Barriton's demise the house is in disarray.”

Lady Rardin smiled. “It is a bit chaotic, but Mr. Crescent has proved valuable in setting matters to order. Rardin means to offer Mr. Crescent the butler position at Woodvine so the man can end his service under Uncle Samuel's roof.”

Darcy said, “That is very generous of the Earl.”