The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (9 page)

“Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth burst excitedly into the study. “I found them!” She clutched a small stack of leather-bound books to her chest.

Darcy rose upon her entrance. “Found what, my love?” he demanded in wry amusement. He smiled as she blew a loose curl away from where it drooped over her forehead. His wife had obviously hurried her steps, for her face displayed the flush
of her exertion. He reached for his handkerchief and strolled leisurely toward her. “I mean, besides the dust and cobwebs in the corners of my cousin's room?” He lifted Elizabeth chin with his fingertips and dabbed away the smudge on her cheek with his linen.

She cocked one sardonic eyebrow at him. “I am pleased you find my efforts on your behalf a source of entertainment, Mr. Darcy.”

He learned forward to return the errant curl to its rightful place. “Oh, my dearest Elizabeth,” he whispered into her ear. “You bring me joy. Every day, I wake with a new happiness. It is not at your embarrassment that I smile.” He took a half step back where he might look upon her countenance. “Being with you is perfection.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “When you say such exquisite things, I cannot remain the least out of sorts with you, and I must tell you, Mr. Darcy, that I find my inability to do so most disconcerting. You save me from useless remonstrance.”

“We each can no longer afford to cherish pride or resentment,” he suggested. “Now, tell me of your discovery.”

Her hands tightly gripped the still-dusty volumes. She thrust them into Darcy's open palms. “The late Mr. Darcy's journals,” she announced royally. “There was a locked chest hidden under a false bottom in your cousin's wardrobe. I found the key earlier today, but I had no idea, at the time, what lock it might match,” she said on a rush. “I brought these. The dates show them to be samples I have chosen to represent the past ten years.” She reclaimed one of the leather tomes and thumbed through it. “From what I can tell upon my initial perusal, your cousin religiously summarized his thoughts each day. There are six books representing each year. The ones in your hands are from the prior two years.” She pointed to a date on one of the entries.

Her spontaneous, untaught felicity regarding the discovery warmed Darcy's heart. “You are magnificent,” he praised her honestly. “Have Murray move the chest to my carriage. I would not wish to leave Samuel's private musings to just anyone. We will read them together at the cottage.” He wrapped the twine-tied stacks in his handkerchief and returned them to her. “Mr. Glover will arrive soon, if you care to join me.”

Elizabeth smiled brightly. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam, for including me. I shan't be long. I shall freshen my things.” She turned toward the door, but Elizabeth paused in her exit. “Perhaps it might be best if we do not share our discoveries with those of the late Mr. Darcy's staff. We agreed to be less credulous in our dealings with those who knew your cousin.”

Darcy looked pointedly at his wife. “Although I suspect you are correct, what else has triggered your hesitation?”

Elizabeth winced visibly. “It is odd. I imagined a man of Samuel Darcy's obvious intelligence not to succumb to superstitious talismans.”

“I fear you hold me at a disadvantage, my dear.” Darcy stared at his wife impassively.

Elizabeth shivered in disgust. “There are small painted eyes upon the walls and witch balls hanging at each window in your cousin's bedchamber.”

“And these are...” Darcy's voice rose in question.

“Are symbols for protection against spirits,” Elizabeth finished his sentence. “Do you know nothing of Witas and fairies, Fitzwilliam?” she asked in frustration.

Darcy smiled with bemusement. “Obviously, my university education was greatly lacking in folklore.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “Then I must bring you up to snuff, Mr. Darcy.”

“Tonight, my dear,” he said seductively. “I will be an apt pupil for all your whims.”

Elizabeth's cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink before she turned once more toward the door. “If you had had a mind to do so, you would have made a fine London rake, my husband. You manage to turn every conversation to your benefit,” she teased. Elizabeth presented him with a brief curtsy. “I shall return momentarily. Order tea, Fitzwilliam.”

Looking after her in an ecstasy of admiration of all her many virtues from her obliging manners down to her light and graceful tread, Darcy sighed contentedly. It was very vexatious how much he required her in his life. Now that Elizabeth had placed herself under his protection, Darcy was inclined to credit what she wished. “When she is happy, my days are favorable to tenderness and sentiment.”

“It was a most unusual case,” Mr. Glover shared. The surgeon was a younger man than Darcy had expected, likely in his late thirties or early forties. “Your cousin's body showed early signs of deterioration. After all, Samuel had lain on a wooded
path for many hours before one of Stowbridge's footmen found him. It was prudent to see to Samuel's services as quickly as possible.” Glover presented Darcy and Elizabeth the branch without a bark. “Per the late Mr. Darcy's instructions, his man prepared your cousin's body, but Mr. Williamson refused to allow Mr. Crescent to practice the uncivilized arts the man learned in Egypt. They are too primitive by English standards. The good Christians in this community would have no man's body mutilated, even at the gentleman's final wishes,” he said pompously.

Sorrow and horror clouded Darcy's countenance. He protested, “If my cousin's last wishes were to have his body mummified in the ancient arts he had studied, then I do not understand how others presumed to choose otherwise.”

Glover shot a quick glance of concern at Elizabeth, but he described the Egyptian process nevertheless. “Christians consider the practice barbarous, Mr. Darcy. No Englishman would tolerate such tomfoolery,” he declared in repugnance. “As a surgeon, I am not unaccustomed to cutting into the human body, but most Christians believe that God never intended for a man to have his lungs, liver, stomach, and intestines removed and placed in a jar. Nor would any in Wimborne permit a man's brain to be violently ripped from his skull.”

Darcy tightened his grasp on Elizabeth's hand, but his wife did not appear squeamish. On the contrary, her countenance reflected her genuine interest in what Glover had said. “I understand how a person might find the possibilities appalling,” Darcy said evenly. “Yet, I am equally aghast that Cousin Samuel's last wishes were ignored. What I know of Samuel Darcy says he would not have made such a choice without careful analysis. If Samuel came to a difficult decision regarding his resting state, I would have been inclined to honor it.”

Glover apparently was not one to admit an injury or a weakness, for he said, “What was or was not addressed cannot be undone. Samuel's body had obviously served him well in this world, and as we have no idea what became of him, we must follow the example set by Mr. Williamson's parishioners and simply pray for your cousin's eternal soul.”

Darcy bit back his retort. “Do you have a theory as to what happened the night the Rom was killed?”

“I examined Besnik Gry after the explosion. Mr. Gry likely died immediately. The gunpowder blew away part of the man's countenance and left a gaping hole in Gry's chest,” Glover reported. The surgeon shifted his gaze to where Darcy studied him. News of an explosion a revelation. “By the time of my arrival, Mr. Gry had expired, and the villagers had whisked his contact to the Wimborne gaol.”

Darcy's dark eyes were troubled. He was never at ease when a puzzle required solving. “I was led to believe only Besnik Gry had been found that evening. Has Gry's contact been properly questioned regarding the theft of Samuel's body?”

A shadow of sorrow crossed the surgeon's countenance. “Unfortunately, the stranger did not survive. The explosion had sent shrapnel crisscrossing the man's chest, and then again, the villagers had taken their ire out on the man. I treated the stranger, but he never awakened from his injuries. Two days after his incarceration, the accused passed quietly in his sleep.”

A dark brow flicked upward. Regret and anger tinged Darcy's voice. “And what of the other assailant?”

“The first of the villagers to arrive in their nightshirts and gowns reported observing someone running away from the scene, but no one gave pursuit.”

Darcy tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
Another broken trail
. He blew out a frustrated sigh. “Is there no end to this madness?” The uncertainty played havoc with Darcy's need to control everything in his world. “Mrs. Darcy and I are being led on a merry chase, and I, for one, am exhausted by the duplicity.”

They had enjoyed another stroll on the beach and a leisurely meal when they returned to their let cottage. “Obviously, we cannot trust anyone involved in this matter,” Elizabeth had declared.

“It would appear so,” Darcy said as he sat heavily in his chair. “We should likely reconstruct our list.”

“And burn the previous one,” Elizabeth observed. “I want no proof of what we suspect.”

The continued quagmire pricked Darcy's pride. A puzzle as complicated as discovering his cousin's murderer had not been what he had expected when he had set a course for Dorset. “I would not consider documenting our concerns except I fear forgetting an important detail. I anticipate the colonel and whomever he has hired to aid in the investigation to arrive on Monday.”

“I shall be pleased to speak to someone who does not believe we have lost our senses,” Elizabeth said. “When we first began to question the handling of the late Mr. Darcy's death, I thought it simply some provincial malfeasance. Unfortunately, I now suspect more nefarious designs.”

“I worry that I have placed you in danger,” Darcy confessed.

Elizabeth sat on the chair's arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. Darcy brought his arms about her. “I do not think either of us is in immediate danger,” she assured. “I feel this crime is more one of silence than it is of violence. It is as if everyone speaks in half truths.”