The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (30 page)

“'Tis true,” he said begrudgingly. “Yet, I will charge you to speak of your suspicions upon my return.” Edward's hope laced his words. “Of course, that is assuming that the lady has not been claimed by another in my absence.”

Elizabeth cast a wary eye upon her husband's cousin. Their clasped hands were held at her heart. “I believe the lady in question is quite content with her current unmarried status. Yet, I must warn you, Colonel, I have not spoken of you to the young woman. It is purely my female intuition that permits me to venture a guess of the lady's true regard for you. I could be taken completely unawares in this matter. I would not wish to give you false expectations.”

Edward held her gaze for several elongated seconds. The former aloofness receded from his face. “Mrs. Darcy, false hope or not, I will hang my hat upon your words. It may appear foolish, but a man facing death prefers to know that, if he can waltz with devastation and survive its wrath, a future awaits him.”

Elizabeth eyed him cautiously. “While you dream of England in foreign lands, I shall bully my efforts to make your future a reality.” She slipped her arms about his waist and rested her head on his chest. “Your heart is true, Colonel, and I shall take great pleasure in singing your praises.”

Stowbridge strutted about the room like a peacock. The magistrate had arrived at Woodvine Hall as the colonel and Cowan had finished their attempt to match the gathered footwear to the imprints. Now, the squire had taken on the mantle of authority. Darcy watched with some amusement as Stowbridge stumbled through his official investigation. “The magistrate is certainly not of the caliber of Sir Phillip Spurlock,” Edward had observed when no one was near. Darcy had agreed wholeheartedly. When Darcy returned to Derbyshire, he would make a point of expressing his personal appreciation for Sir Phillip's expertise in the law.

With his usual contempt worn comfortably about his shoulders, Stowbridge addressed Woodvine's female staff. “Mrs. Darcy has agreed to move among you and to collect your footwear. You will remove whatever boots or day shoes you currently wear. Mr. Darcy and I will step into the hall to provide you privacy.”

Darcy thought it ironic it had been at Elizabeth's insistence that the magistrate had afforded the women any respect. His wife had placed her fists on her hips, and vocally charged into the fray. “Although it is likely that one of the women in the drawing room has committed a crime, there are ten others behind that door,” she had gestured with an emphatic point of her finger, “that have done nothing other than their duties to this household. I shall not have the innocent vilified along with the guilty.” And just like every man who ever crossed Elizabeth's path, Stowbridge had crumpled. Darcy chuckled with the memory of the magistrate's flushed face. He triumphantly held the door for the man as they exited the room.

When the gentlemen had departed, Elizabeth turned to the women. “If you would be so kind as to remove your footwear, this will be over soon.”

“And what if we choose not to cooperate?” Mrs. Ridgeway asked with her usual defiance.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in frustration. “Why would you wish to defy the magistrate unless you had something to hide?”

Mrs. Ridgeway stiffened with the accusation. “If you recall, Mrs. Darcy, I was astonished upon observing the late Mr. Darcy's secret chamber,” the woman declared in her defense.

Elizabeth's jaw tightened. “One thing I have learned, Mrs. Ridgeway, is that men prefer to demonstrate their powers. If you choose to refuse my simple request, it is likely Mr. Stowbridge will use physical force to remove your boots. You will lose both the battle and your dignity.”

“Is that it? Bend to the will of men?” the woman retorted.

“Women have their own powers, Mrs. Ridgeway. Our actions may be small on the scale of politics and law, but we have our ways of influencing the male species. Personally, I choose when to fight and when to bend to a man's will.”

Mrs. Holbrook broke the tension by declaring, “I be not certain that me poor aching feet will fit back into these boots once I's take them off, but now is as good a time as any to let me old toes breathe.” The woman bent to unlace the string holding her well-worn half boots on her feet. Automatically, the other women followed. Elizabeth was pleased to see that none of Samuel Darcy's workers still wore wooden clogs. She knew of landowners who, even in this age of great wealth and growth, did not pay their workers well enough for the women to own a decent pair of shoes. Her gaze purposely fell upon Mrs. Ridgeway, and the housekeeper reluctantly followed Mrs. Holbrook's example.

The elderly cook laughed. “I's a hole in me stocking.” She wiggled the toe of her left foot.

The young scullery maid, a girl by the name of Moll, declared, “That be why I wears two pairs of stockings.”

Elizabeth retrieved the box the colonel had employed earlier and passed it among the women. Each dropped her worn footwear into it. As she reached where the housekeeper sat in isolation from the others, she covertly leaned closer to the woman. “First, permit me to say that you have defied me for the last time. Consider this your notice, Ma'am. Your services shall no longer be required at Woodvine. I will have you gone by the first of the month.” Elizabeth watched with satisfaction as the woman's eyes widened in disbelief and then in anger. “Bite your tongue, Mrs. Ridgeway, or you will find your feet on the road this very evening,” she threatened. When the woman's lips thinned to a fine line, Elizabeth finished, “Your astonishment on discovering Samuel Darcy's chamber could have been true surprise, or it could just as easily have been a show to divert suspicion.” With that, Elizabeth set the box on a nearby table. With a light tap on the door, she signaled the return of the magistrate
and Mr. Cowan. Stowbridge acknowledged her efforts with a nod of his head, and then he and the Runner assumed possession of the box. As they strode from the room, she closed the door behind her and joined her husband in the hall.

“What is amiss?” Darcy murmured close to her ear. She motioned him away from the others. When they stood in the shadows, Darcy caught her hand. “Tell me,” he encouraged.

Elizabeth growled in frustration. “That woman!” she hissed.

“Mrs. Ridgeway?”

Elizabeth wanted to howl at the moon in anger. Instead, she shook her head in disbelief. “I pray often for Jane's goodness, but never so much so as times such as these.” She leaned into him, and Darcy encircled her in his embrace. “I have lost my temper and have given Mrs. Ridgeway her notice.”

“Good,” Darcy said dispassionately.

Elizabeth leaned heavily against him. “Yet, I had promised myself that I would rise above the woman's vituperation. Did I act with hasty indignation?”

Darcy chuckled, “Is your anger pointed toward Mrs. Ridgeway's obstinacy or toward your inability to convert the woman?”

Elizabeth frowned. She gave Darcy a serious look, but there was a bit of mischief in her eyes. “Why is it, my husband, that you recognize my faults and still offer me your regard?”

“Because you are my life, Elizabeth.” He kissed her forehead. “Mrs. Ridgeway has set herself an impossible task. The woman has aligned herself against the Master and Mistress of Pemberley. Together, we are a formidable pair.”

“Darcy?” Edward broke in with some urgency. “Cowan believes he has discovered a match to the prints.”

Darcy looked from his cousin to Elizabeth. He hesitated, and she recognized that her husband held his own suspicions. “This is the first lead which may prove promising. Come along, my dear. We have a farce to play.”

They joined Cowan and Stowbridge in the library. “Whose shoes fit the impressions in the dust?”

Cowan held the offending items by the heel. “These are the correct size for the prints. They also have a chip in the left heel's corner. They match the unusual pattern we noted earlier, Mr. Darcy.”

“Are we certain to whom they belong?” Edward asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head in the negative. “I suppose we should simply return the box to the room and observe who claims them.”

“Allow me to mark them,” Cowan said as he used his knife to make a small slit in the leather.

The matching boots were not placed on the top of the pile. “Too obvious,” Elizabeth observed. “I do not want anyone to claim she had accidentally chosen the wrong pair.”

“Then let us set our trap.” Darcy hefted the box from the table. “Come, Mrs. Darcy. You must be our eyes once again.”

Returning to the small drawing room, Darcy placed the box on a low table where Elizabeth might observe which woman chose the marked shoes. Then he exited the room. “The gentlemen have completed their tasks. After you have recovered your footwear, Mr. Stowbridge will return.”

Mrs. Holbrook asked suspiciously, “Did Mr. Stowbridge discover anything significant?”

Elizabeth said with a straight face, “If so, I am not privy to the gentleman's investigation. While the magistrate and Mr. Cowan conducted the search, I spent my time in conference with Mr. Darcy.” She purposely rested her gaze on Mrs. Ridgeway, but the woman kept her eyes on the moonlight streaming through the windows. In the beginning, Elizabeth had thought the woman all that was kind. Then the woman's caustic tongue had brought about Darcy's wrath. She had felt some sympathy for Mrs. Ridgeway when the woman had been injured: yet, Elizabeth would readily admit she held no inkling as to what motivated the housekeeper. With a deep sigh, she realized it was best for the estate to withdraw from an impossible situation.

The women rummaged through the box for their possessions. Elizabeth watched anxiously. First one, and then another, and another chose from the items, but still the marked shoe remained. Finally, only two pairs rested on the box's bottom. Mrs. Ridgeway stood, and for a brief moment, Elizabeth thought she would choose the ones in question; however, the housekeeper selected a similar pair, but not the marked shoe. Only one person remained: the maid known as Els. Somehow, Elizabeth could not believe the young girl wily enough to stage a theft. And if she were, it would make more sense if Els had stolen Samuel Darcy's rare coins or ancient jewels. Why would the girl steal a map of what may or may not be a witch's meeting place? Even if the girl actually dabbled in the black arts, assuming the young maid the culprit went against Elizabeth's logical
side. “Does everyone have her own shoes?” she asked in hopes of a mistake. But the maid readily slipped on the offending pair and laced the ties through the loops. Perplexed, Elizabeth opened the door to the waiting magistrate. “Do we have a match?” Stowbridge asked pompously.

Reluctantly, Elizabeth nodded her affirmation. “Els,” she said softly. “But I...”

However, Stowbridge pushed past her, ignoring Elizabeth's protest. “Which of you is Els?” he demanded. Elizabeth turned to see the girl flinch. “I be Els,” she said through trembling lips.

Stowbridge, evidently prepared finally to put the blame for all the unusual events at Woodvine on someone's shoulders, scowled at the others. “You will remain, Girl. The rest of you may be about your duties.”

Silently, the Woodvine staff filed past the young maid, and Elizabeth watched in sympathy as the girl's eyes widened and her face paled. She moved to steady the maid's composure. “Sit down,” she encouraged as the girl swayed in place. “Fitzwilliam. A bit of sherry,” she ordered.

Immediately, Darcy was beside her, glass in hand. He pressed it into the maid's unsteady grasp. “Drink,” he encouraged as Elizabeth slid her arm about the girl's shoulders.

“Do not be frightened,” Elizabeth whispered. “No one wishes to hurt you. Just speak the truth, and all shall be well.”

The girl's eyes rose to meet Elizabeth's. “Yes, Ma'am. But I be doin' nothing wrong. I swear on me mother's grave.”