In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  He experienced pangs of guilt over the thought, but the honest truth was that Darcy merely wanted to be home. He did not know the girl, but that did not preclude him from sympathizing with the family. In fact, it was the image of his beloved sister, who was not much older that the stricken girl, in such a horrific pose that increased his urgency to be with his family. The additional responsibilities now lying upon his shoulders as a husband and father were keenly felt and taken very seriously. He trusted the Pemberley staff, knew with fair certainty that the house and its occupants were well protected, but this incident proved that the criminal element stalked and would strike indeterminately. In a reaction typical of most men, he illogically believed that his mere presence would shield his family from any tragedy.

  “As soon as feasible, I wish to depart. Are you prepared to brave the cold?”

  “Under the circumstances, yes. Suddenly Pemberley has never appealed to me more, or Rivallain for that matter. Depending on whether we ever have breakfast, I may desert you at Matlock.”

  Darcy sighed. “I would be delighted just to have coffee. What will be the procedure, Richard? You know more of the law than I do.”

  Richard shrugged. “I know military law, which is different. I imagine the Sheriff will need to question everyone, try to piece together what happened. My God, William! A crime such as this not eight doors down! Did you hear anything?”

  “A number of doors opening and closing as you and I retired earlier, but nothing untoward. Just the wind howling incessantly. I slept well, but woke at four-thirty absolutely freezing. The wind had died down to a moderate whine, and it was fairly quiet aside from the usual crashing of over-burdened tree branches. Whatever transpired was likely long since concluded.”

  “She was strangled.” Richard said softly from where he stood by the window. “That was evident. I have seen death from strangulation a number of times, although not as often as…” He paused, turning to Darcy. “She was violated, William, before. I am sure of it. Someone who is here, a guest or servant perhaps.”

  Darcy stared at his cousin, neither man speaking for a time. Colonel Fitzwilliam, commander of soldiers in numerous battles, warrior and dealer of death in times of war, was no stranger to the evil that haunted this world. There were things he had seen, things he himself had done in the name of Country and Honor that no one knew, not even Darcy. He was far from innocent, by any stretch of the imagination. Serving the Crown was frequently the polar opposite of glorious. It was more often ugly, dirty, brutal, messy, repugnant, and hellish. The contemptible reality of the baser elements had hardened his heart to a great degree. Nothing truly shocked him.

  Darcy, on the other hand, for all his education and awareness of the broader world, was an innocent. His knowledge of evil in its myriad manifestations was primarily read about in books and newspapers. The death and subsequent grief that was a part of his life was of a normal nature, the result of accidents or fate. Other than a couple of incidents of thievery among his workers and once with a Pemberley servant, the typical scheming machinations of businessmen, and cheating with cards or dice, Darcy had no personal experience of truly heinous sinfulness.

  The sound of footsteps in the corridor and lifted voices reached their ears. Individual words could not be distinguished, Richard returning to his contemplation of the snow while Darcy closed his eyes.

  When the agonizing wails of a man and woman reached their ears, they barely flinched. Unconsciously, they had been expecting it and were strangely relieved to have the tormenting anticipation over. The muffled murmur of placating voices filtered through the cries, the sporadic bark of a dictate uttered by a voice of authority, and the tread of multiple feet.

  It was Richard who answered the knock when it came. A deputy stood without, bowing briskly. “Mr. Darcy?”

  “I am afraid not. I am Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  “Excellent! Sheriff Weeden wishes to speak with you Colonel as well as Mr. Darcy. If you please?”

  Bypassing the brawny attendant guarding the scene of the crime, they followed the deputy down the stairs and eventually to a cluttered office located beyond the kitchen. The clink of pans and pottery mingled with pleasing aromas caused both men’s hungry stomachs to growl. Sheriff Weeden sat behind the desk, several pieces of parchment laid before him as he scribbled. Without glancing up at the Deputy’s introduction, he waved both men to the seats situated before the desk.

  “Cross, bring us fresh coffee and a tray of something to eat. I do not know about you gents, but I am famished. Roused from my warm bed with news of a murder does not allot the liberty of a leisurely breakfast.” As he spoke, the Sheriff continued to write, not yet formally acknowledging either gentleman nor even meeting their eyes.

  Darcy frowned, not at all used to such rudeness, glancing toward Richard whose brows were raised with a similar expression of surprise. The room was small and windowless, disorderly with stacks of papers and boxes stuffed to overflowing with an assortment of items. A pair of mounted, smoky oil sconces and one lamp on the messy desk provided the only illumination. The fastidious Darcy found the whole environment depressing. His desk may be a bit cluttered, but it was an organized clutter and always clean.

  The Sheriff of Belper was a middle-aged man, short and portly, with graying black hair and a face tired and lined. Thick, bushy eyebrows framed small, sunken eyes aside the bulbous nose of a chronic drinker.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the Sheriff spoke abruptly, looking at Richard with an intimidating stare. “I am to understand that you were the first to look closely at the deceased?”

  “I suppose that is true.”

  “Why?”

  “I beg your pardon? I do not understand—”

  “Why did you feel it your place to exert your authority and examine a crime scene? Are you a professional investigator?”

  Richard bristled. “I believe you are mistaken, Sheriff Weeden. I did not ‘examine’ anything. We entered with Mr. Allenton to identify the girl. That is all.”

  “You covered her, yes?”

  “Only to preserve decency. I disturbed nothing, I can assure you.”

  “Hmmm. Perhaps. Why did you feel the need to get involved at all?”

  “It was utter chaos and Mr. Allenton was unable to cope with the situation. I was merely trying to help.”

  “Did you know the girl, Colonel?”

  Richard inhaled several times in an attempt to calm his irritation before replying. “Sheriff Weeden, I am not appreciative of your tone. I comprehend that you have questions but do not approve of the rudely accusatory inflections.”

  “A crime of the most heinous variety took place in this establishment last night, Colonel, and I intend to find out who did it. Forgive me for not extending the customary pleasantries, but under the circumstances, it is a waste of my time. I repeat: did you know the girl?” His voice had risen slightly, fleshy chin thrust forward pugnaciously.

  “No, I did not. I recall seeing her with her family while dining and later in the common room briefly. I did not speak to her, exchanged the merest glances, do not know her family, nor did I see when she left the room.”

  “You were present as well, Mr. Darcy?” Darcy nodded, face a mask of regulated disapproval. “Did you know the girl or speak to her at any time?”

  “I did not notice her at all.”

  “What brings you two to Belper?”

  Darcy answered, “We were caught in the storm and could go no further. I am sure it is a similar tale for most of the guests.”

  “Traveling north or south?”

  “North from Derby.”

  “Why, pray tell, were you in Derby so soon after Christmas? Why would you not be at Pemberley with your new wife, Mr. Darcy?” Darcy’s eyes were flinty, lips a tight line as he pierced the Sheriff with his most menacing stare. He did not reply. The Sheriff steepled his fingers and sat back into the chair, meeting Darcy’s gaze unflinchingly. “Refusing to answer me is not wise, Mr. Darcy.”


  “I will answer any question you place before me that is of relevance to the matter at hand. My personal affairs have no bearing.”

  “Oh, but they do. A young girl was raped and killed. And I have before me two men without female companionship who leapt at the opportunity to place themselves on the scene, a devious method of displacing suspicion, one of whom it was reported to me had a light shining from his room at the wee hours of the night! Can you explain that, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy was absolutely livid. He stood stiffly, back straight and tense fury emanating from him in waves. Nonetheless, his voice was soft and calm, “I regret that I can shed no light on this tragedy, Sheriff Weeden. I heard nothing and saw nothing until the tumult this morning. I awoke at 4:30 and started a fire as my room was cold. I rang no one, instead sitting and reading. That is all I have to offer on the subject I am afraid. If you have further need of me, I will be at Pemberley.”

  He turned to exit the room, the Sheriff’s smug voice staying his steps. “You will be going nowhere, Mr. Darcy. Until the guilty party is discovered, all here are suspects, including yourself. I am the authority now, sir. Remember this. Colonel, you may go back to your room as well. I will call if I have further questions.” And he recommenced his writing without another word.

  ***

  Noon approached with the atmosphere unchanged. The staff resumed some of their duties, primarily the preparation of food, always watched over by the deputy guarding the rear door. Rooms were not cleaned or beds made, baths were not drawn, and most of the guests preferred to dress themselves rather than interact with anyone. Meals of plain fare were served in the dining room, people sitting alone and eating quickly. Conversation was minimal and suspicious glances abounded. Word had spread despite the subdued environment, the full fate of the girl known by all.

  A pall of death had fallen over the entire building. The weather remained cloudy, with steadily falling snow fostering the sensation of exclusion from the rest of the world. The exception to the rule was the coroner and undertaker, who reported by mid-morning, and later left with the shrouded body accompanied by a grieving father. Mrs. Hazeldon remained in their chambers, well sedated thanks to the laudanum graciously supplied by a fellow guest.

  It seemed to bode well for the investigation that the inn was not filled to capacity. Overall, the establishment was of modest size, a small country coaching public house frequently bypassed for the fancier places in Derby or Matlock. Being the holiday season as well as a particularly cruel winter, travelers were few, and thus, nearly half the available rooms were vacant. Aside from the Hazeldons, the only other entire family was the Westmorelands. Both groups were returning home after spending Christmas with relatives, tarrying only due to the inclement weather. The remaining guests were mostly single men journeying for a variety of business or pleasure purposes, such as were Richard and Darcy, and two couples. Sheriff Weeden suspected everyone, granting no quarter arbitrarily.

  One by one, each male resident was filed into the dank office where Sheriff Weeden presided. Every man was treated to his tactics with abrupt questions and harshly glaring beady eyes. It would continue at a snail’s pace for many hours.

  Darcy exited the interrogation absolutely fuming. With back stiff and tread a hairbreadth away from stomping, he ascended the stairs with Colonel Fitzwilliam trailing silently behind him. Richard was offended by the Sheriff’s tone and disgusting insinuations, but could tolerate the intimations with equanimity, as he understood to a degree why they had been rendered and he was not as easily affronted as his morally staunch cousin. They entered Darcy’s chamber, the incensed man heading directly to the armoire and removing his saddle bag. Without a word, he yanked the fastidiously hung shirts and jackets, shoving them into the large pockets with angry vigor.

  “Ah, Darcy? What, pray tell, are you doing?”

  “I am packing and I am leaving. You can accompany me or not, I do not care which, but I am going home.”

  Richard drew close, voice soft but firm. “William, listen to me. I sympathize with your feelings, I truly do, but you cannot leave.”

  “Watch me.”

  “What I will watch is one, or probably all three, of those burly deputies tackle you to the ground, clap you in irons, and lock you in one of the basement storage rooms. Furthermore, such an action will only cast greater doubt on your innocence. Aside from the distress this will cause your wife, imagine the confusion it will cause. You must think beyond your own selfish desires!”

  Darcy had continued to thrust items haphazardly into the pouches, apparently ignoring Richard, until the final words, at which point he rounded on him with a visage of icy fury. “Speak cautiously, Cousin.”

  “I will speak sense and it would behoove you to calm down and listen! A girl has been murdered, William! This horrendous occurrence takes precedence over your wishes. I am sorry for the brutality of that truth, but there it is. Sheriff Weeden may be a bit rough around the edges, but he has a job to do. Our responsibility as citizens of Derbyshire is to assist him in any way possible, and certainly do nothing that will distract him.”

  “It is ludicrous, Richard. We have nothing to do with this and he knows that. The man merely wants to exert his authority and is taking advantage of a woeful calamity to do so. It is disgusting.”

  “All that is true, but you are forgetting one incontrovertible fact, Cousin.”

  “What?”

  “He is the Sheriff and even you, Master of Pemberley, cannot overcome that. Do you think I like this any better? Being ordered about by a subordinate? I am a colonel for God’s sake!” He shrugged and spread his hands, mouth lifted in a faint smile.

  Darcy was assuredly not in the mood for humor, but Richard’s words did have the effect of dousing his anger. He sat onto the edge of the bed, hands falling between his knees as he leaned forward with a deep sigh. “How long do you think this will take? I do not have much faith in the murderer stepping forward and confessing his crimes, do you?”

  “Not especially. I suppose it depends on the situation.” Darcy looked at him questioningly. Richard shrugged again and sat next to his cousin on the bed. “I do not claim to be an expert in these sorts of crimes, but I do have some experience with the lower dregs of society and criminal element. Either this man is a calculated killer and has likely done such a thing before, or it was an accident. If it the former, then it may be impossible to discover the culprit, unless Sheriff Weeden is an excellent interrogator. If the latter—which is what I tend to believe—the perpetrator will be easier to crack.”

  Darcy smiled and lifted a brow. “You have a theory, Inspector Fitzwilliam?”

  He shook his head and laughed faintly. “Not really. Perhaps I simply prefer to think we do not have a soulless, homicidal maniac lurking about.” He slapped his palms onto his knees and stood up abruptly, “Enough speculating! I am famished, and I know food will improve your disposition. Let us see what the cooks have managed to throw together. Cheer up, Cousin! You still have me for company!”

  Darcy met Richard’s grin with a sardonic shake of his head. “Marvelous.”

  ***

  Darcy’s attitude was not much improved by coffee and a full stomach, but physically he felt better. He and Richard reposed in friendly companionship at the small table nestled near the fire. Darcy had purposefully crossed to the table farthest away from the window, having no wish to stare at the gloomy surroundings. The dining room was empty except for two other tables, one with an elderly couple and the other with a distinguished gentleman of some sixty years. They ignored each other completely. The girl who nervously served related that the other guests had all eaten and quickly returned to their rooms.

  The food was plain but satisfying. Aside from the undercurrent of persistent tension, it was a relaxing interval in a cozily warm room. The cousins conversed softly about a variety of subjects, none of which involved the current crisis. Mr. Allenton entered at one point, speaking timidly with Darcy and Richard before movin
g on to the other guests.

  “Poor man,” Richard said. “I doubt anything remotely like this has ever happened to him.”

  “I do pray his business does not suffer due to this event.”

  At that instant, a handsome young man of approximately twenty years appeared on the threshold. He was well dressed, comportment clearly revealing him to be a gentleman of means, but there was an air of distress about him that was equally evident. An accompanying servant pointed to Mr. Allenton and the young man hastily approached. Richard and Darcy curiously observed the interaction as Mr. Allenton frowned, then paled and glanced about the room. With readily apparent relief, he settled on Richard and Darcy, striding swiftly toward their table with the young man trailing him.

  “Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, this is Mr. Hugh Stafford. He and his brother are guests here, have been for a week now. Anyway, he is concerned as his brother, Mr. Jared Stafford, is not answering the knock at his door and Mr. Stafford here says he heard odd noises coming from inside.”

  “What sort of odd noises?”

  Mr. Stafford swallowed, clearing his throat nervously before answering. “It makes no sense at all, Mr. Darcy. We retired to our rooms late having, well, imbibed fiercely.” His face was beet red, head hanging as if expecting the older men to scold him. Richard smiled faintly, recalling his first youthful indiscretions and feeling for the lad. However, the events of late did not lend well to humor. Mr. Stafford resumed, “I was worse off than Jared, but we were both well in our cups. He is younger then I, but generally better able to recuperate from these overindulgences. Not that we do this often, you understand!”

  “Of course not, Mr. Stafford.” Darcy said placatingly. “Continue.”

  “I just rose an hour ago and was surprised Jared had not woken me earlier. I went to his room, but the door is locked and he does not answer. I hear banging about and”—he hesitated in embarrassment, face flushing—“I think… crying.”

  The three older men exchanged significant glances. “Mr. Stafford, are you aware of what has transpired at the inn today?”