The Phantom of Pemberley (17 page)

Mr.Worth was on his feet and moving toward Darcy. “Surely, Mr. Darcy, you do not believe Mrs. Jenkinson’s passing an act of murder!”

“I do.”

A terrible silence smothered the room—Anne’s whimper being the only exception.

“You jest, Darcy!” Lady Catherine’s voice rang clear. Her incredulity spoke volumes.

His words’ gravity settled on everyone’s shoulders. “It is not a subject in which I might find humor, Aunt.”

Darcy listened with some relief when Adam Lawrence recapped for the room what Darcy had just shared. He thought, despite the man’s impetuous nature, that he could be one of Darcy’s greatest allies in this trouble: He needed another perspective.Then Lawrence inquired, “May I ask if Mrs. Jenkinson identified this phantom employee?”

“When I became aware of the lady’s accusations, I made arrangement for Mrs. Jenkinson to observe my male staff. However, she could not identify the man she encountered in the hallway. At first, I thought the lady protected a fellow servant, but I soon came to believe otherwise.”

Lawrence gazed at Darcy. “And why did you not tell us before now about your suspicions?”

Darcy swallowed hard.
How can I explain that the reputation of my family’s name took precedence over my vigilance in this matter? I will be forever at fault in the lady’s death.
“None of the events seemed connected. Often poachers appear on the property, and something is always misplaced in a house of this size. In retrospect, I know that I should have shared my concerns. But I thought that rumors of shadow people were simply my servants trying to explain the unexplainable.”

“And why might you now believe Mrs. Jenkinson’s death to be murder?” Lawrence’s tone remained accusatory.

“Because of the lady’s symptoms.” Darcy spoke softly, “Anne, might I prevail upon you to describe Mrs. Jenkinson’s progression?”

His cousin dabbed at her eyes, but her voice held a strength that Darcy admired. “After speaking to Mr. Worth, Mildred finally returned to our rooms. Shortly afterward, she complained of a mild headache and lightheadedness.” Anne glanced around suddenly, realizing that she spoke to the whole room—a completely new experience. For a moment, she panicked, but a squeeze of Georgiana’s hand gave her the courage to continue.“The stomach pains came next.We tried some dry toast, and I foolishly teased her for eating so much of the preserves when we were outside. Little did I know how she suffered : Poor Mildred relieved herself of part of her small meal several times. When she tried to speak, my friend’s voice was hoarse. Soon the blood and saliva seeped from her mouth.”The description of her companion’s demise brought on new grief and restarted her sobbing.

Mrs. Williams said aloud what all of them thought. “The lady seemed perfectly well when we attacked the hill yesterday.”

Viscount Stafford took up the questioning again. “Might you share with us, Mr. Darcy, what you believe killed the lady?”

“Arsenic.”The word reverberated off the walls. Unaware of her husband’s assumption, Elizabeth swayed and caught at Darcy’s arm, before he pulled her closer.

The viscount was on his feet immediately. “Arsenic? How would the lady consume arsenic?” He came to stand beside Cathleen, taking up a defensive stance.

“When Mrs. Reynolds tended the lady, she made a private observation that Mrs. Jenkinson’s symptoms mirrored many of those found in cholera.”

Cathleen caught Adam’s hand, but his attention remained on Darcy. “I assume, sir, that your housekeeper spoke out of turn.”

“Not entirely.” Darcy met the viscount’s resolve with one of his own.“Mrs. Jenkinson did exhibit symptoms of cholera, but not just of that disease. Her clammy skin, the tenderness in her stomach, and her dry heaves also spoke of poisoning. Luckily, the cups from yesterday’s cider remained in the blue room. One of them has the residue of what appears to be arsenic on the rim.”

“A person would not need a large dose to kill another, but would not Mrs. Jenkinson taste the arsenic?” Miss Donnel saw the faultiness of their assumptions.

“The lady had so many flavored ices,” Mr. Worth remarked, “that she drank the hot cider without needing it to cool.”

Adam sat on the arm of Cathleen’s chair. “I suppose she could numb her mouth enough to not taste the poison.”

“Women of a certain age consume a little arsenic on a regular basis,” Lady Catherine observed.“Possibly my daughter’s companion was one of those women. I have been known to occasionally rub a bit of arsenic on my face and arms to improve my complexion.”

The men looked a bit confused so Elizabeth explained, “Some women are known to mix arsenic with vinegar and chalk. They believe that if they eat this mixture it will make their skin appear paler.Women often exposed to the sun might resort to such drastic
measures to achieve a fashionably pale complexion.”

Mrs. Williams remarked, “It amazes me that a woman would consider using a wood preservative on her skin or would consume a compound used for bullets or bronzing or paints.”

Lydia Wickham finally spoke. “But how could the murderer know that Mrs. Jenkinson would choose that particular cup?”

“Maybe you can answer that question yourself,” Lawrence asserted.

Lydia turned on him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I believe that you know more than you share, Mrs.Wickham.” Again he showed his protectiveness, keeping Cathleen close to him. “First, you were the one person already in the hallway when my cousin entered it the morning of her accident. Miss de Bourgh came next, and the two of you turned back to greet Mrs.Williams. Only Cathleen continued toward the stairs. Did you plan on hurting Cathleen or was someone else your target?”

Elizabeth came to her sister’s defense. “I assure you,Your Lordship, you are in error.”

“I pray I am, Mrs. Darcy, but it seems even more of a concern when one takes into account that it was Mrs. Wickham who returned to the house to arrange for the hot cider.” Adam staunchly defended his beliefs.

“I have never heard such poppycock!” Lydia protested. “What motive would I have for hurting Miss de Bourgh’s companion?”

Lawrence countered,“Possibly, Mrs. Jenkinson was not your target.”

“And who would that be?” Lydia turned red with anger and embarrassment.

“My cousin.”

“And why, pray tell, would I wish to hurt Miss Donnel?”

“To get to me.”

Lydia charged across the room at him.“I have you know, sir, that I am a married woman!”

“You would not be the first married lady to find her way to the bed of a man not her husband.”

Darcy moved to whisper to Georgiana, excusing her from the room.

“You think a great deal of yourself, sir!” Lydia shrieked.

“It was you, Mrs. Wickham, who suggested that I send a cup of the cider to my cousin. It was you who clung to me on the hill in a most suggestive way. It was you who followed me to my cousin’s room after her accident, and it was you alone in the hallway.” His voice rose with each accusation.

Elizabeth stepped forward to insert herself between them. “Do you not think it more likely,Your Lordship, that the man Mrs. Jenkinson saw in the hallway is to blame?”

“Let me remind you, Mrs. Darcy, that Mrs. Jenkinson took the last cup on the tray, a cup she offered to you, and you adamantly refused.”

“So I am a suspect now,Your Lordship?” Elizabeth steamed with anger and contempt.

“I would say we all are, Mrs. Darcy.” Lawrence declared.

Darcy placed Elizabeth in the curve of his body. “Neither Mrs. Darcy nor Mrs.Wickham were involved.”

“How do you know?” Nigel Worth, a man used to dealing with evidence, ventured.

“I questioned my cook, Mrs. Jennings, after Mrs. Jenkinson’s death. She reported only the presence of the new footman in the kitchen after Mrs. Wickham left to find Mr. Baldwin to see that he stoked the fires in the blue drawing room.” He paused to allow that vital information to become part of the room’s collective knowledge, and then he added, “I have no new footman on my staff.” Total silence again. “My purpose this morning was not to frighten you, but to make you aware of what is happening. Unfortunately, with the storm, it is impossible to reach a magistrate to investigate the matter, so it falls to us to do our own inquiry. I will ask His Lordship and Mr. Worth to join me in my study. We will discuss this in detail, and we will ask each of you to make a statement. We will need you to bring to our attention any detail that
you might have thought insignificant. Such information may lead us to our wrongdoer. Exercise care until we discover the source of this perfidy.”

Slowly, reluctantly, the group rose to their feet. No one made eye contact, but each warily watched the others from behind lowered lashes and furtive side glances. Mrs. Williams helped Cathleen, and Lydia arrogantly flounced away.

Elizabeth came to where Anne now stood. “Let me help you, Miss de Bourgh.” She slid her arm around the woman’s waist. “I have asked Mrs. Reynolds to move your personal belongings to the room next to Georgiana’s.”

“I will tend to my daughter,” Lady Catherine objected and reached for her only child, but Anne flinched at her mother’s touch.

“I will go with Mrs. Darcy,” Anne spoke softly but with determination. “Thank you, Mother.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes reflected the pain she felt, but she regained her composure before saying, “As you wish, Anne.” Slowly, she let her hand drop to her side.

Having observed her mother’s broken composure, Anne remained motionless for a long moment, but she turned to Elizabeth’s welcoming friendship. They left the room, arms encircling each other. Darcy watched as a dejected-looking Lady Catherine followed them from the room. It was a moment he had long hoped to see. He did not wish any pain on his aunt, but he had often wanted to see his cousin Anne assert herself.

Soon, only the three men remained. “Gentlemen,” he said at last, “if you will join me in my study, I will send for breakfast.”

Glumly, first Worth and then Lawrence followed Darcy from the room. Darcy was master of his estate—his staff hustled to do his bidding. But any guest who looked closely at him would see less crispness in Darcy’s step and less authority in his gaze. Darcy would see this through, but the smear to his family name physically hurt him more than anyone knew. He did not look back to see the men following him—Darcy knew they were there.
A woman has died—
been murdered under my roof
. The thought pounded in his head. He had to find whoever had carried out mischief in his house. Darcy would not rest until then.

“SO WHAT DO WE DO NOW?” By consensus, the three men led a party of footmen and searched the house, looking for any clue to the culprit’s identity.

Nigel Worth, who appeared frustrated with the process, seemed inclined to believe Darcy. He knew Fitzwilliam Darcy as a man of honor—the kind of man to make good on a scoundrel’s debts to safeguard his family’s name. Plus, they questioned every servant. Many of them spoke of encounters with a new footman—a man who did menial jobs about the estate without complaint—a man who offered genial conversation as he completed his duties. These staffers described the same man: dark, wavy hair; approximately six feet in height; muscular build; clean-shaven; chocolate-brown eyes; a square jaw; and a firm jaw line. Lucinda had spoken to the man on three separate occasions. The chambermaid described him as “extremely fair of face.” The only differences in their stories were the names he had given them. They knew him as Samuel, as Giles, as Layton, and as Harry.

Viscount Stafford, on the other hand, had insisted that they satisfy their need to know the truth of Darcy’s revelations. Being young and a bit impetuous, Adam Lawrence wanted the business resolved immediately.

“I suggest we take a few hours to digest what we know and what we do not know and meet again after luncheon. I need time to rethink my way through this.” Darcy,Worth, and Lawrence stood
together in a tight circle in the middle of an unused bedchamber in the east wing. Pemberley’s master absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair.

Worth jammed his hand into a side pocket, seeking a snuffbox, which he nervously opened and closed. “I do not like to walk away when answers are not readily available, but it appears we have no choice.”Viewing Mrs. Jenkinson’s body had affected him more than he cared to admit. He had taken a liking to the woman, although he suspected that she was several years older than he. They had enjoyed conversations over the past few days, and yesterday afternoon, the conversation had taken a more intimate turn. Mildred Jenkinson had told him of her late husband, and also of herself, and Nigel Worth wanted to know more. Something about the woman—probably her graciousness and her intelligence—attracted him. He grieved for something that might have been.

“I am too distracted to sit around for a few hours. Despite the snow, I will take a look outside. Maybe our reprobate does not stay in the house at all—maybe the outside sightings are the clue,” the viscount asserted.