The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (36 page)

Darcy laughed as he turned to observe his wife's confrontational posture. True, she remained propped up on the bed's many pillows, but his wife's arms were crossed stiffly across her chest. Her eyes flared with a warning Darcy recognized, and a tight-lipped scowl marred Elizabeth's handsome countenance. “Did you require something to relieve your discomfort, my dear?” he asked in a mock-solemn tone, which brought a mischievous grin to his wife's lips.

Edward rubbed his arm briskly before he retrieved the tray from the floor. “I say, Darcy,” he said with a bittersweet taunt, “you did not warn me you had married a shrew.”

Darcy's lips twitched in amusement when he noted Elizabeth picking up the empty teacup and testing its weight in her hand. “Be cautious, Colonel. My wife has a deadly aim when she requires one. You are about to be introduced to the pleasures of wedded bliss.”

Edward leaned easily against one of the four posts of Elizabeth's bed. “In that case, perhaps I have been too eager to place my head in the parson's noose.” He flipped a small pillow in Elizabeth's direction.

At least her testiness had brought a flush to Elizabeth's pale cheeks. For that, Darcy said a private prayer of thanksgiving. In her frustration, his wife snapped her fingers at Edward. Emphatically, she pointed to him and then motioned to the door with a jerky movement that required no words to relay her meaning. Elizabeth had ordered Edward from her room.

His cousin chuckled. He said as he strode toward the door, “I do not know which is worse: being profoundly dismissed by a lovely lady or being dutifully retained to face her wrath.”

Darcy said to his cousin's retreating form, “Being profoundly dismissed. Without complaint, I would dutifully stay by the lovely lady's side.”

With an elegant bow, Edward dramatically closed the door before Darcy sat beside Elizabeth again. “I apologize,” he said automatically. “The colonel and I fell into a familiar pattern. My cousin requires little encouragement to rush off to save the world.”

Even without the words, Darcy knew his wife's sentiments. He wondered how it could be so—how after so short an acquaintance had they given themselves so completely to one another. Normally, a couple spent years together before they knew each other so well. If ever. In Society, a man and wife often lived apart. The gentleman's mistress likely knew more of the man's preferences than did the woman he had married.

Darcy gathered Elizabeth into his arms. Her curves fit snugly against his hard angles. His cheek was pressed to her hair. “I promise not to go into the lake again,” he assured her. She relaxed against him. “And I will see that the colonel takes care if he should venture forth.” He stroked the back of Elizabeth's head. “You must know, however, that my cousin and I must discover the truth of this madness.” She nodded against Darcy's chest. “If you wish, I will tell you what we uncover.” He gently kissed the top of her head. “Yet, I will take the information to my grave if it disturbs you in any way. I will not see you hurt by this mayhem.”

Elizabeth tightened her arms about his waist and pressed closer. “And?” she whispered.

“Do not ask it of me, Lizzy. I cannot promise you I will not seek revenge upon the gypsies.” Darcy closed his eyes to force away the image of Elizabeth fighting for her life. She squeezed harder and began to sob. “I am sorry, Lizzy, truly sorry. I will promise not to attack the innocent, but I cannot simply look away.”

“Your heart,” she rasped.

Darcy sighed deeply. “You wonder if I can continue to love if I lose my honor?” He lifted her chin with his fingertips. “When did you become my conscience?” His wife's lips turned up in a smile. “You think that amusing, do you?” He kissed the tip of Elizabeth's nose. She shrugged heavily. “I will have time to consider all the possibilities before I will visit the gypsy camp. That is the extent of my promise.”

Elizabeth pulled herself to him, lacing her hands about Darcy's neck. “Kiss,” she said on an exhale. Darcy needed no prompting. He had come close to losing her on this day; he would claim Elizabeth as the love of his life. Elizabeth automatically
opened her mouth; he no longer needed to urge her along. His tongue swept in to tantalize the depth of her affections. Elizabeth arched into his body, and Darcy meant to brand her as his own.

A quarter hour later, he found the colonel and Glover waiting on him in the main foyer. “I thought we might require the surgeon's expertise,” Edward explained with a knowing look. Evidently, his cousin had something of import to share with Darcy regarding the surgeon.

“It is an excellent idea,” Darcy said wisely. “Have you found someone willing to assist us at the lake?”

“Mr. McKye claims expertise at both swimming and diving, and Holbrook has taken a flat wagon to the site.”

Darcy chuckled. His cousin was a man built to make decisions, to organize and to order. “Then I suppose we should be about it.”

“I will take my curricle,” Glover said as Darcy and Edward mounted the waiting horses.

Within a mere matter of minutes, they had outstripped the surgeon. “What might you wish to share regarding Glover?” Darcy asked as he glanced over his shoulder to where the surgeon deftly maneuvered the curricle around yet another rut in the road.

The colonel followed Darcy's inquiring gaze with one of his own. “When I sought the surgeon's assistance in recovering the bodies, I overheard an interesting bit of information of which you should be made aware.”

Darcy kept his eyes on Glover. “Go on.”

“First, it seems Mrs. Ridgeway has sent word to Mr. Stowbridge that she will accept employment in the magistrate's household.”

“That makes little sense,” Darcy said. “When Mrs. Darcy and I first came to Dorset a little over a week prior, it was quite obvious that Mrs. Ridgeway wanted nothing to do with Stowbridge and the magistrate desired a relationship beyond the woman's being his servant.”

Edward said softly, “The surgeon is aware of the oddity of the lady's change of heart, and Glover is most displeased. Their conversation had reached a heated impasse by the time of my appearance.”

Darcy observed, “I do not doubt it. Mr. Glover holds a strong
tendre
for the woman.”

They neared the lake. Darcy could see Mr. Holbrook climbing down from the wagon in the distance. “One thing more,” Edward cautioned. “The good doctor said the oddest thing.”

“Yes?”

“Glover asked Mrs. Ridgeway if she knew which of the gypsies might have attacked Mrs. Darcy.”

The hollow feeling of uncertainty had returned to Darcy's chest. He looked to his cousin inquiringly. “Did the lady have a response?”

Appearing a good deal perplexed, his cousin shook his head in the negative. “I am afraid the couple became aware of my presence and did not finish their conversation.”

Darcy bit his bottom lip in frustration. The action reminded him of Elizabeth, and he could not resist smiling. He and his wife were assuming each other's mannerisms. “I suspect at the end of the day we should add a few more details to Mrs. Darcy's list of what we know and what we have yet to discover. Mayhap, this day will even out the lists.”

McKye had proved a more than able swimmer. Before he had been pressed into service under Captain Tregonwell, the man had spent several years upon fishing boats. It had taken but three attempts to locate the first body. As Darcy looked on, he had relived every harrowing moment of his wife's rescue: the strong, determined stroke as Elizabeth fought with the gypsy; his heart pounding a staccato; the dizzying terror; wishing away the nausea. “The man who attacked your wife, Sir, is still below,” McKye explained. “He will be the easy one to bring up. He is floating along the bottom head down.”

Darcy frowned and looked to Glover for an explanation.

“No one knows why what McKye describes is true, but 'tis so. Most of the uninformed assume that somehow the blood gathers in the head because those who drown can no longer breathe. Yet, that makes little sense to a man who has studied the human body to discover the truths of nature and God,” the surgeon disclosed. “Submersion causes the skin to turn blue.”

McKye dried his face and arms with the towel Holbrook handed him before asking, “Do you wish me to bring up the gypsy first, or one of the others?”

Edward demanded, “
One
of the others? What mean you by this?”

McKye leaned easily against a large boulder along the shoreline. “I spied two others in the same vicinity as the gypsy. Likely all went under from the same spot. No way to tell until we finish our search as to whether that is the extent of the lake's secrets.”

“Dear God,” Darcy groaned. “I feel I am in one of those Gothic novels of which Mrs. Darcy is so fond. We have three dead at last count and now some three more. Is this estate cursed?”

Edward caught Darcy's shoulder. “I will assist McKye,” his cousin declared. “The fewer who know of this tragedy the better.”

Darcy reluctantly agreed. “Mrs. Darcy has charged me with your protection. Do not make me disappoint my wife.”

A little over an hour later, four bodies were stretched out upon the shore. Glover examined each carefully.

“Can you tell how these men died?” Darcy asked cautiously. “Is it possible they were struck in a manner similar to Cousin Samuel?”

Glover's fingers had prodded the distorted skin of each victim. “It would be difficult at this point. When the body sinks, it skims the bottom, often suffering a series of abrasions. Small fish attack the soft tissue of the face. Any head injuries I could identify could have come before the man was submerged, or it could be the result of the shifting waters and the rocks on the lake's bottom.”

In the background, Darcy could hear Holbrook relieving himself of his earlier meal. Three of the bodies resembled no human Darcy had ever seen: Each was a greenish brown, excepting the gypsy, who had already taken a
tête de nègre
appearance. The bodies had swollen and just touching the gooselike skin caused a soft soaplike material to squirt from beneath Glover's fingers.

“These bodies have been below for several months. It will be difficult to identify them,” Glover concluded. “I see no reason to cut upon what remains. Leave these men a bit of dignity.”

Edward straightened the line of his coat. “We cannot simply bury these men as if they never existed,” he declared. “They must have names and families.”

Holbrook, who had recovered somewhat, said, “I will search the clothing, Mr. Darcy.”

Noticing the tenuous steps of the groom, Darcy suggested, “Perhaps Mr. Glover might assist you. I believe the good doctor has more experience in such matters.” In comparison to Holbrook, Glover held a fascination with the decomposing body.

Holbrook's tongue licked away the dryness from his lips. “It be odd. I can look upon birth but not death.”

Darcy said, “My cousin and I will return the Rom to the camp.”

Darcy noted the guarded look in Holbrook's eyes. “Be wary, Mr. Darcy. There be danger and menace among that one's people.” The groom gestured to where Elizabeth's attacker lay.

Darcy and Edward had hoisted the gypsy's body upon the back of Darcy's horse. They had loosely tied the man across the horse's rump and had purposely not covered the body with a blanket or a rug. “We will announce our disdain by treating their dead with our utter disregard,” Edward had said.

For Darcy, it was more than that. The gypsy's death had cheated him of revenge for the interloper's actions against Elizabeth. His total disregard for the dead would be a salve for his hard resolve. As they rode into the camp, nausea roiled his stomach. In all his years, Darcy had never faced an evil such as the one he had found at Woodvine. In Derbyshire and London, he had dealt quickly and decisively with those who would have cheated him of his family's fortune, but he had no experience with those who would manipulate and murder with such ease.