The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (20 page)

“In reality, neither is Stonehenge. At least, not a grand or spectacular experience. It is simply our contemporary desire to view the world through a narrow lens—one buried solidly in the past. It is more the history and its significance that creates the mystique,” he said. “Otherwise, they are simply large stones from the Neolithic and Bronze Ages. Only the civilization that placed them in the circular formation remains in question. That and the several hundred burial mounds.” Darcy squeezed her hand. “Wait for me in the shade, Mrs. Darcy. I wish to walk the circle.” He motioned to his cousin. “Join me, Colonel.”

He and Edward strode away toward the nearest stone. “For what are we searching?” his cousin asked when they were out of earshot of the others.

“Any evidence of whether this field might serve as a meeting place for those who fancy themselves as dark witches,” Darcy said softly as he searched the ground for telltale signs of torches, unusual etchings, or small animal sacrifices.

The colonel squatted near a conical-shaped stone and ran his fingers through the loose dirt. “Do you really suppose this place is used for pagan worship?”

Darcy looked off to the other stones and the rough circular area. “We have seen firsthand how superstition takes hold in a community: In Derbyshire, we celebrate how the well dressing ceremonies prevented the Great Plague. Then there are those who dance with druids in the moonlight.” He took note of his cousin's deep frown. After all, all this talk of magic and spells was little more than a leap of faith. “It is not beyond comprehension that among Dorset's citizenry we would discover those who serve the dark arts.”

“I do not like it, Darcy,” the colonel said as he stood once more.

Darcy's eyes continued to search the open area for anything out of the ordinary. “Neither do I.” They stood in companionable silence and looked out over the land. “Let us divine what we can before Rupp becomes suspicious. I am hoping Mrs. Darcy will charm the man to the point where Rupp does not recognize our search for what it is.”

Elizabeth strolled slowly toward the shade of three lonely trees in the field's middle. “You are fortunate, Mr. Rupp, to have such fine fields. My father, Mr. Bennet, owns some five hundred acres in Hertfordshire, but part of the land is too rocky to plant.” As soon as her husband had directed her steps toward the spot of shade in this open field, Elizabeth had understood her role in this farce. Mr. Darcy was often more than a bit protective of her, but her dear husband had long ago accepted the fact that time outdoors each day best suited her nature. He would not relegate her to a shady spot unless he required a distraction.

“This be good land,” Rupp acknowledged. “Me wife's father had the claim before me. It takes hard work to make the land prosperous.”

Elizabeth interrupted, “But so satisfying. You have a legacy for your children.”

“Aye, Ma'am.” Rupp's chest expanded with pride. “That be every man's dream, and I found mine.”

Elizabeth smiled brightly at the man. “Then you owe God your most heartfelt gratitude. Not many men may make that claim.”

“Yer Mister has his own estate?” Rupp asked.

“Oh, my, yes,” Elizabeth gushed. “I recall my first sighting. The park is very large and contains a great variety of ground. When one has reached the top of a considerable eminence, the wood ceases, and the eye is instantly caught by Pemberley House, which is situated on the opposite side of the valley, into which the road, with some abruptness, winds. I have never seen a place for which nature has done more.”

“It sounds quite grand, Ma'am,” Rupp said reverently.

Elizabeth blushed. “It is very unbecoming behavior, and I should not brag so, but Mr. Darcy's father and grandfather have bestowed him with one of England's finest estates. I am very proud to be a Darcy and to know my children will honor the name.”

Before Rupp could respond, Holbrook noted, “Mr. Darcy and the colonel return.”

Elizabeth looked up to see her husband's distant approach. “If you will excuse me,” she said politely. “I have a pebble in my boot. I shall step on the other side of the trees to loosen it from its place.”

Darcy had observed how his wife had disappeared behind the trees as he and his cousin returned to the waiting trio. They had found only some broken fragments of what could have been hag stones and a skeleton of a small cat. Weather had crushed the bones of the animal to the point of making them nearly unrecognizable. Yet, neither find identified this as a place of dark secrets. Both could be coincidental. Darcy wished they had had more time to search, but he and Edward could not bring suspicion their way. They were some one hundred yards from where the men awaited them when he heard his wife's scream. “Elizabeth!” her name exploded as his heart twisted in pain. Immediately, he was at a run to reach her.

Darcy broke through the vegetation to catch Elizabeth up in a tight embrace. How he and Edward had covered the distance so quickly, he would never know. All he knew was that Elizabeth was in distress. Thoughts of poisonous snakes or other dangerous wildlife rushed through his frantic mind as he covered the area in long, looping strides.

“I have you,” he said into Elizabeth's ear. Immediately, she went limp in his arms, and Darcy staggered backward with the force of her weight. “Lizzy,” he demanded as he adjusted his grasp about her to lift his wife to him. “Are you hurt?” She gulped for air, but Elizabeth shook her head in denial. As tears pooled in her eyes, she buried her face in his shirt.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

Elizabeth did not raise her head from his shoulder, but she threw her arm backward to point toward a row of small shrubs. “Over there,” she said huskily.

Darcy nodded to Edward to investigate while he calmed his wife. “Allow me to place you on your feet,” he whispered into her hair. When he had set her upon solid ground, Darcy took a half step back so he might observe her countenance. Holding her chin in one large palm, he dabbed at Elizabeth's tears with his linen. “Can you tell me what occurred?” he asked encouragingly.

She sighed deeply and her body sagged heavily against his side. Finally, Elizabeth sniffed loudly. “I...I loosened...loosened my boot...to dislodge...a pebble,” she stammered. “Then I saw...saw something colorful...beside the bushes. When I took... several steps...in that direction...”

Again, the tears slid down her cheeks, and Darcy flicked them away with his thumbs. “I will observe the scene for myself,” he said definitively. “Will you be well while I do so?”

His cousin stood beside the last bush. “Darcy!” Edward called with an urgent tone.

Darcy nodded. “Mr. Rupp,” he said evenly. “May I importune upon your goodwill to escort Mrs. Darcy away from this area?”

“Aye, Sir.” The man offered Elizabeth his arm. “This way, Ma'am.”

Darcy watched her go. His heart had nearly stopped when he had heard her scream. The woman held too much control over him, but he would have it no other way. He joined his cousin and Holbrook as they knelt by the bush. “What is the mystery?”

“This.” Edward leaned away to expose what appeared to be a relatively new grave. From it an arm and hand stood erect at a quarter angle—as if in some sort of salute. The skeletal hand grasped several golden threads of fabric.

“My God!” Darcy exclaimed. “Has someone planted a severed arm in this chalky soil?”

Edward scooped away the loose stones and dirt. “I think not.” His cousin pointed to the makeshift grave. “Note how the site is marked.” He and Holbrook began to dig dirt from the hole with their hands. “The arm remains attached.”

Darcy swallowed hard. “Why would someone bury another in this deserted place?”

“It is not deep,” Edward observed. “I am accustomed to this type of grave on the battlefield.” He continued to scoop away the loose dirt. “It is a necessity in war because the troops are always on the move, and there is little time to bury the dead properly. But why would it be so here?”

Holbrook remarked, “The ground be hard underneath the topsoil.”

Darcy asked aloud what they all wondered. “Could this person have been alive when he was buried?”

Edward groaned as he lifted a heavy stone from the victim's chest. “I suppose we should first identify who our skeleton may be.” He set the stone to the side and ran his fingers into the watch pocket of the tattered clothing the skeletal frame sported. “Obviously, this man's clothes will not aid us in the identification. I hope there is other evidence which has not rotted away. Whoever he is he must have been here several months. The body is not wrapped properly for burial either. This appears to be a hastily dug grave. It is shallow and covered with stones.” Edward withdrew an ornate watch and a snuffbox from the pocket. He brushed the dirt from the timepiece and opened the face.

Darcy looked over his cousin's shoulder. “Perhaps someone will recognize the sketch within.”

Holbrook glanced up from his digging. “Allow me to have a look,” he said as he wiped his brow.

Edward handed the timepiece to the groom and waited for the man's assessment.

“This belongs to Mr. Hotchkiss,” Holbrook declared.

Darcy regarded the groom with a curious expression. “Hotchkiss? I thought Mr. Hotchkiss was my cousin's steward.”

“Previously,” Holbrook explained. “Hotchkiss just up and disappeared between Christmastide and Twelfth Night. Nobody knows where he goes. Most thought he returned to York, where his daughter lives. That be her likeness.” The groom returned the watch to the colonel. “I seen the image many times. When Mr. Darcy returns from India, he hires Mr. Gaylord. That be in late January. No one hear from Hotchkiss as best I know. No one speaks of him other than to wonder why he leaves without notice. Mr. Darcy be mighty upset with the news. The Master writes to York, but heard nothing from Hotchkiss.”

“That answers one question,” Darcy said solemnly.

Edward stood slowly and glanced in the direction that Elizabeth and Rupp had gone. “We should send someone for the magistrate.”

Darcy reached for the threads and pried them from the bony grasp before sliding them into his watch pocket. “I should see Mrs. Darcy to Woodvine. Would you mind speaking to Stowbridge?” he asked his cousin.

The colonel nodded his agreement. “It will allow me to take a measure of the man. Cowan was to call on the magistrate in regards to Samuel Darcy's disappearance. This new development should bring out Stowbridge's true mettle.” They walked toward where Rupp and Elizabeth obediently waited. “Perhaps Cowan might attend me. If you will see that the Runner knows of this new predicament, I would appreciate it.” A curt nod indicated Darcy's agreement.

“I'll go for Mr. Stowbridge,” Holbrook volunteered. He started toward where they had left the horses.

Darcy caught the groom's arm to stay the man's retreat. “Not a word of this incident to anyone at Woodvine.”

“I understand, Sir.”

They met in the library after the supper hour. It had quickly become his party's private sanctuary. “Glover could not give a cause for Reuben Hotchkiss's death,” Edward explained. While his cousin summarized what happened after his departure, Darcy carefully observed his wife. Elizabeth had insisted that she was not one to lose her composure, and despite her earlier hysterics, his wife had assured him that she wanted to know the truth of what they had discovered on Mr. Rupp's farm.

Elizabeth said without emotion. “It is the not knowing which can create havoc with a person's imagination. It is less frightening to face reality.” Earlier, when they had returned to the manor and the privacy of their quarters, Elizabeth had sat on his lap and had curled herself about him. As always, her presence had both calmed and excited him simultaneously. “If we know something of our foe, we are better armed to defeat him.”