The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (7 page)

“I agree,” she said softly.

As the list grew, Darcy realized how uncommon the events surrounding his cousin's death appeared. The events of Samuel Darcy's death went against the norm, and Darcy despised how control had been wrenched from his grasp. He regarded her with a somber expression. “What of the explosion?” he asked grudgingly. “Surely if someone wished to rob a grave, he would not do so by destroying the gravesite.”

A terrible silence welled between them. “We must discover the reason a Rom would be in a cemetery at night,” Elizabeth observed. “I would think the man might hold with too many superstitions to do so.” Elizabeth's expression turned thoughtful.

He said, “I cannot imagine many souls taking comfort in a fresh gravesite, especially not late into the night.”

“Was it late?”

Darcy frowned. “I
assumed
so, but perhaps it was not.”

As if to share a secret, Elizabeth leaned closer. “No one mentioned a shovel, Fitzwilliam. Would not a grave robber require a shovel to do the deed?”

“If there was no shovel, then robbery was not the Rom's motive,” Darcy said on a soft sigh.

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. She stared dumbly at the list. Even though not complete, her husband's second list had filled one page and half of another. “We cannot manage this alone, Fitzwilliam,” she declared.

“I have come to the same conclusion.” Conscious of the incongruity surrounding their efforts, Darcy agreed. “Likely, my first task is to send for reinforcements. My cousin is in London. I will ask the colonel to join us and to bring along someone with investigative experience.”

“Ask the colonel also to secure the services of a person to catalog Mr. Darcy's archaeological finds. I believe the task beyond my skill,” Elizabeth admitted.

Darcy said fiercely, “I doubt anything is beyond your abilities, Lizzy, but I suspect even Cousin Samuel would find the possibilities daunting.” He drew out another sheet of foolscap. “Allow me to send for the colonel; then you and I will search for any information that might lead us to the truth.”

Elizabeth fanned the letters. “Would it be insensate to read the late Mr. Darcy's correspondence?”

Darcy's countenance hardened. “Elizabeth, I would trust you with my cousin's deepest secrets, but you must act on your instincts in this matter.”

She nodded her gratitude. “You should pen notes to Mr. Drewe, Mr. Mason, Mr. Glover, and the head of the gypsy band for a beginning. We must also learn something of who discovered the Rom's body.”

“Our list may take the remainder of the day,” Darcy grumbled.

Elizabeth reorganized the correspondence on a nearby table. She read each before placing it in one stack or another. “Our efforts will be for the good. Tomorrow, we will begin the necessary interviews.”

Darcy lamented, “When I set Dorset as our destination, I possessed no idea of the hornet's nest into which we would slip.”

“Mr. Darcy, my name is Andrzej Gry. You sent for me.” Darcy and Elizabeth had returned to Woodvine Hall for a second day. He marveled at how his beautiful wife had taken on this odious task with an air of excitement that permeated his cousin's walls. Even after four hours of examining dusty volumes on the previous day, Elizabeth had awakened with a delightful light of curiosity in her eyes. Today, she oversaw the cleaning and cataloging of Cousin Samuel's private quarters. Darcy would not have her present when he met with the gypsy leader or with Mr. Drewe. Mr. Mason was reportedly unavailable until week's end. Knowing her disappointment with his decision, Darcy had reluctantly agreed to send for her when the surgeon called later in the afternoon.

“Mr. Gry. Thank you for coming so promptly.” Darcy gestured to a nearby chair.

Gry smiled with wry amusement. “When a
gadje
sends for a Rom, a member of the band would be sorely lacking if he refused.”

Darcy examined the man carefully. “You will pardon my saying so,” he said cautiously, “but you have the look of no Roma I have ever encountered, and your accent lacks the rolling Germanic base.”

With a tilt of his head, Gry acknowledged the truth of Darcy's words. “My branch of the family comes from the Nordic lines, hence the fairer skin tones and hair.” The man smiled easily, but Darcy held the feeling the Rom despised the English idea of politeness. “When my family was driven from Wales to America, I found it judicious to speak as those with whom I dwelled and conducted business.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned leisurely into the chair's cushions, but tension remained in the taut lines of his muscles. “I have only recently returned to England to lead my family. We are a mixed band. My mother's people are from central Europe, Sinti, although they had carved out a life of respectability by the time she was born. My father was Roma. Of course, I am neither. As an unmarried man, I cannot be
Roma
, at least, not in the word's truest sense. Our home is in Essex.”

Darcy fingered the gold thread that had worked itself free of the chair's braid. “I suppose you understand, Gry, why I have asked you to join me today.”

“Rumors say you are Mr. Samuel's cousin and heir,” the Rom said casually.

“The rumors are correct,” Darcy said matter-of-factly. He took note of Gry's slight grimace. It was an odd reaction to something so simple—Darcy's suspicions increased. That niggling warning he had experienced since arriving in Dorset returned with a vengeance.

“As you are the legal heir to Mr. Samuel's property,” Gry said cautiously, “I assume you wish to announce the eviction of my family from your relative's land.”

It was Darcy's turn to scowl. “That was not my intent,” he said honestly. “Why would I wish to rid myself of the man who might possess the answer to my cousin's mysterious death and disappearance?”

As if to divine the truth, Gry leaned forward. “But the squire mentioned that you objected to our presence on your cousin's land,” he said suspiciously.

Darcy certainly did not appreciate Stowbridge's speaking for him. “I would not wish to see your family abuse my cousin's generosity. I would be greatly displeased if that were so, and I would utilize what power I possess to make your lives miserable.”

Gry chuckled. “I see you are a man who speaks his mind.”

Darcy thumbed the thread again. “In such matters as Mrs. Darcy and I have encountered in Dorset, it seems only prudent to act earnestly.” When Gry did not respond, Darcy continued. “I hold many questions regarding the conduct of your family in my cousin's death.”

Gry stiffened. “Then, like Stowbridge, you believe my brother held some responsibility in Mr. Samuel's disappearance.”

“In reality,” Darcy confessed, “I am sadly lacking in details. Perhaps I could convince you to share with me what you know of the events. I assure you I want only the truth.”

The Rom studied Darcy closely, and Darcy was careful to school his countenance to match his words. Finally, Gry said, “Except for God's intervention in making me the first born, Besnik would have been our family's leader. His name means faithful, and Besnik was everything that is loyal to what the Roma hold most dear. I fear I am a poor alternative.” Squaring
his shoulders, the man continued, “I did not sanction Besnik's venture. My brother took it upon himself to meet two gadje in the cemetery on that fateful night.”

Darcy's gaze narrowed, and his fingers tightened upon the chair's arms. “Your brother was to meet someone else in Wimborne's cemetery? No one has mentioned this fact previously.”

“Because the squire said he would not believe the one witness that confirmed Besnik was not the only culprit in this matter. The magistrate refused to listen to one of my family, my cousin, Emilian. Evidently, our family had encountered Mr. Stowbridge when last my people stayed upon Mr. Samuel's land. It appears Emilian took offense at the squire's attentions to Emilian's betrothed, Luludya. Mr. Stowbridge thought he could treat our women as he might one of his maids,” Gry said bitterly.

“I was unaware of these events,” Darcy said apologetically. He found himself taken back by the gypsy leader's tone of vehemence. The Rom had hidden his open disdain until this instant, and it was a very telling moment. It seemed to Darcy that he had spoken of his lack of information often since his arrival in Dorset, but what was worse was he feared it was not the last time he would utter the words; and that went against his desire for absolute control.

“It is not uncommon in our travels,” Gry confessed. “But with an episode of such importance, one would think Mr. Stowbridge might place his former prejudice aside.”

Darcy's mouth set in a tight line. “I agree. Could you honestly explain to me why Besnik would choose to meet strangers over my cousin's gravesite?”

Gry asked ironically, “Who said the
gadje
were strangers?”

Darcy hid his irritation as the man spit out half truths. Darcy grimaced as he heaved a sigh. “I made a poor assumption. Please continue.”

Gry apparently enjoyed having the upper hand. He smiled easily. “Besnik had met the men when several
gadje
came to our camp to play cards and to have their fortunes told. They offered my brother promises of barvalimos, with claims that if he aided them in opening Mr. Samuel's gravesite, they would share with him the riches they would find. If I had known, I would have forbidden Besnik's participation. My brother held dreams of a new wagon and team for his wife and child.”

Darcy stared at the man in disbelief. It seemed a shame for a man to lose his life for something so trivial. Darcy imagined Besnik's wife and child would prefer the Rom's return to a new wagon. “What would make your brother and the others believe that my cousin would be buried with some sort of treasure?”

“It was common knowledge, Mr. Darcy, that Mr. Samuel had recently acquired what the late Mr. Darcy referred to as his ‘most amazing find.' In Dorset, men and women are known to take their talismans to their graves. Besides, a sennight following your cousin's untimely death, someone thought to illegally enter Woodvine Hall.”

Darcy refused to reveal any hint of his concern. “Was no one charged in that matter?”

“I assume Mr. Stowbridge thought the act occurred at my family's hand. Fortunately, Mrs. Ridgeway caught a glimpse of the intruder. She explained that the man was fair of head. And, of course, no one of that description lives among my people.”

“No one but yourself,” Darcy noted suspiciously.

A grim expression closed over Gry's countenance. “True, Mr. Darcy, but Mrs. Ridgeway assured the squire that I was much too tall to fit her description.”

Darcy gave a slow shake of his head. “Was no one else questioned?” he asked warily.

Gry's eyes narrowed. “Even when the evidence says otherwise, a Rom is always the most likely culprit.”

Darcy was more inclined to practice caution, especially when this interview brought more questions than answers. Needing to speak to his wife regarding these developments, he moved to end the conversation. “Is there anything else of which I should be made aware, Gry?”

“Only that my brother would never touch a dead man's body.”

Darcy flicked a brow upward. “And how can you be so certain? Often, the temptation of great riches has men acting unconventionally.”

Gry shifted his weight. As if sharing a secret, he leaned forward for a second time. “The Roma, Mr. Darcy, have a deepset respect for both God's, or Del's, power and of Beng's evil intentions. My brother would fear that by opening the box he would unleash ills upon the world.”