The Phantom of Pemberley

by Regina Jeffers

  The sisterly exchange emphasized the immaturity of one sister and the innate superiority of the other. It had not taken Evelyn long to assess the situation. Mrs. Darcy’s obvious intelligence had challenged Mr. Darcy’s arrogance, and he had fallen heels over head in love with the woman.The younger sister, however, offered nothing to merit her being in the same family. Lydia Wickham was spoiled and self-centered. Elizabeth Darcy made her point, and Evelyn’s estimation of the woman grew.

  Georgiana Darcy sat close to her brother. She barely spoke to him or to their aunt, but the girl’s eyes did her talking for her. Miss Darcy regretted keeping from her brother her part in the boy’s educational plans. She would beg Mr. Darcy’s forgiveness in private ; yet, despite her shame, the girl’s comfort came from her older brother, and she clearly esteemed him above all others. Brother and sister tolerated their aunt in a respectful manner, but neither accepted the lady’s precepts.

  Viscount Stafford openly demonstrated his affection for his cousin, although Evelyn suspected Cathleen Donnel no relative of the man. They shared no features in common, and the viscount held a reputation, according to Mr.Worth, as a rake.The cut of Miss Donnel’s dress said mistress. Likely, Mr. Darcy was aware of the relationship and demanded the viscount safeguard Miss Darcy’s innocence in exchange for room and board. If the viscount had known the depth of danger into which he brought the woman, Evelyn was sure he would have chosen another shelter.

  Finally, she watched Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Worth. It irritated the woman to observe their blossoming relationship. Only yesterday, the man had courted the now-deceased Mildred Jenkinson. His affections shifted easily from one woman to another. However, Evelyn blamed Anne de Bourgh, instead of Worth. The woman blatantly flirted with the solicitor. Evelyn thought she knew Miss de Bourgh’s type: the woman who pretended to know nothing of men, but who manipulated hearts on a whim. She held no respect for Miss de Bourgh or the lady’s wantonness.Women such as Anne de Bourgh led men to commit desperate acts.

  “As the evening is lost, I suggest we retire,” Darcy announced. No one voiced dissent; it was as if they had waited for someone to make the suggestion.

  Slowly, the party climbed the main stairway. By silent assent, each paused outside his or her respective door, and with a slight nod from Lady Catherine, in unison, they entered their rooms. A succession of locks clicked to block out the evil.

  Darcy saw Elizabeth to her chambers and then made the excuse of checking on the household before he retired. She let him go without reproof, knowing that his nature required solitude—time for him to analyze all that had happened.

  She, too, needed time to work through what plagued their household. Her husband had not been forthcoming with information, and although she realized Darcy had withheld the details to spare her, Elizabeth took offense. From the day she had accepted Mr. Darcy’s proposal, she had envisioned theirs to be a different sort of relationship—one of equals. She appreciated his position as the master of Pemberley and understood his responsibilities; but she was the mistress of Pemberley, and those responsibilities were equally hers. Up until these incidents—until this storm—Elizabeth had felt that Darcy shared everything, even the most insignificant details. Now, she saw the pompous, selfish, and somewhat overbearing man she had initially despised. Of course, Elizabeth knew her husband was none of those things—it was her Bennet peevishness shining through. She wanted Darcy to trust her enough to tell her the things he had shared with the viscount and Mr.Worth. She was his wife—his life partner. And they were strangers to each other.

  So for two hours, she fumed—she sighed—she stifled her temper—and she waited impatiently for Darcy to return to their shared chambers. She even looked into his room twice to see if he had returned to his own bed without bidding her good night.“Enough is enough,” she grumbled as she reached for her robe and slippers.

  She took a single candle and made her way to Darcy’s study. The door stood ajar, so Elizabeth gave it a mighty shove, sending it slamming into the wall. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, I am your wife,” she declared.

  Darcy had personally checked all the outside doors, and then he visited the attic, which held both the bodies. He had placed them there and opened the windows to keep them from deteriorating so quickly. He did not know what he would do with them if the storm did not lessen soon. He pulled the sheet away and looked at each face, wondering what he could have done differently, somehow preventing this tragedy.

  “If it is I he wants,” he spoke to the empty room, “then I wish he would come for me. Leave the innocents out of this.”

  Finally, he found his way to his study, where he spent an hour going over every detail of the past few days. One of my guests—that was his conclusion—one of my guests practices murder under my roof. He had just taken out foolscap upon which to write notes when his study door slammed open and a voice announced, “Fitzwilliam Darcy, I am your wife.”

  An amused smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he saw his wife framed in the doorway. “I am pleased to hear it, Madam.”

  Elizabeth flushed. Her declaration had not come out as she had planned, but she shifted her shoulders back, trying to appear taller and more imposing. “Then, sir, I expect you to treat me as such!”

  Darcy stood and moved toward her. Despite the dudgeon of his thoughts, his body reacted to his wife’s presence. The shift of her shoulders brought her breasts to where they pushed against her gown’s white muslin, and Darcy could see them clearly. “And how should a man treat his wife? Have I neglected you, Mrs. Darcy?” He stood before her and reached casually for her hand. Darcy sought to address whatever objection he heard in Elizabeth’s voice, as well as the balm her touch always offered. “If it is neglect of which you charge me, I will happily amend my ways immediately and devote myself to you.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist.

  Instinctively, Elizabeth leaned toward him; then she caught herself. She surreptitiously removed her hand from his. “Your wife does not accuse you of neglect in that realm, sir.” She tried to sound precise and chastising. “Instead, I am of the persuasion that you consider me your intellectual inferior when it comes to restoring peace to Pemberley.”

  The smile of amusement Darcy sported only moments ago quickly disappeared. He realized the seriousness of his wife’s charges. “Elizabeth, I have always esteemed your mind. How can you say such a thing?”

  “Because you have turned to strangers—relative strangers—when it is I in whom you should place your trust,” she asserted. “You expect me to stand beside you—to support you—but you tell me nothing. I hear the news of your investigation at the same time as the other women. I will tolerate it no longer, sir.” She tried her best to stare him down—to show Darcy she meant business.

  He wanted to reach for her, but he forced his arms to remain at his sides. “Elizabeth, you know I only wished to protect you.” He lowered his voice, compelling her to listen to his plea.

  However, Elizabeth knew his ploy—had observed this trick in his business dealings and when her husband wished to reason with his cottagers. “Do not try to manipulate me, Mr. Darcy,” she warned. “I am not a shrinking violet. And I am capable of protecting myself.” She brushed past him, walking closer to the hearth, needing its warmth and also needing to be released from Darcy’s ’s intense gaze.“You men seem to think you have the superior minds, but your insights are so narrow—you miss the forest because you study the trees,” she asserted.

  He loved his wife, but they had argued more than once along these lines. Normally, he took Elizabeth’s protestations with good humor, but the strain of the past few days caused Darcy to snap at her. “Then pray tell, my good wife, how you have suddenly found yourself to be so astute.”

  “Suddenly!” she countered. “I see!” She stormed toward the door. “I will bid you good night, sir!”

  His initial anger waned as he realized the truth of her charge. She was nearly out the door before Darcy could catch
her arm and pull her to him. “Elizabeth.” He tightened his grip when she started to resist him. “Do not…” he began. “Do not…walk away from me…Not now, when I need you more than ever before.” When she stilled, Darcy cupped her chin. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he beseeched her cooperation. “I was terribly terse; it was abhorrent of me.” He tugged her closer, so he might wrap his arms about her. When Elizabeth acquiesced and rested her head on his chest, Darcy sighed.“I am truly sorry, Sweetling. I need you every minute of every day.You must know that.” He stroked her back.

  Elizabeth’s arms encircled his waist. Reluctantly, she relaxed into his embrace. What is the purpose of fighting him? Anyway, it would be impossible for him to change. He had been born overly protective. “I did not mean my words, Fitzwilliam,” she murmured.

  Darcy knew her temperament—knew his Elizabeth grudgingly offered an apology. “Please tell me what I missed,” he whispered close to her ear. “What does the forest look like?”

  “It is nothing,” Elizabeth said and shrugged her response.

  “It is something,” Darcy insisted. “If what you felt was important enough for you to bring your anger to my study door, then I need to listen to your thoughts.”

  She suddenly felt very foolish for losing her temper with him. “It is just a silly feminine whim,” Elizabeth muttered before dropping her gaze.

  “Although you are all woman, my Love, you are not the type of female to have feminine whims.” Darcy smiled at her, but Elizabeth’s face said she doubted his sincerity. “Please, Elizabeth. I must know your mind. I concede my own bafflement. I have dwelt on what is happening in this house, and I can see no end to it.”

  “My supposed insights will not solve the mystery, my Husband.” She allowed her index finger to trace the outline of his lips.“I simply saw the fault of your suppositions.”

  “Then come.” He took her by the hand and led Elizabeth to a chair near the fire. He sat and brought her to his lap. Pulling her close, he settled his wife in his arms. “Tell me what you saw that I did not.”

  “It-it is nothing of genius,” she stammered. Elizabeth paused, feeling somehow inept in her husband’s presence, but when Darcy remained silent, she continued.“Take young Lawson. Even without Georgiana’s story, I knew that he had not committed suicide.”

  “And how is that?” An eyebrow shot up as he weighed what she had said.

  Elizabeth shifted her position so that she might command her husband’s full attention. “Let us look at the facts,” she stated. “First, in order for Lawson to plunge from the window, he would have needed to step up to the opening, catch the shutters, and step back. Then Lawson would have had to take another step forward, undo the latch, and open the window. Then he would have had to walk a few paces back, turn, run toward the window, and fling himself to the ground. Do you not see the ludicrous position in which you found Lawson? A man set on suicide would not plunge from a window if he literally had to step up three times to throw himself from the opening. A man’s nerve would not allow him to step forward, step back, step forward, step back, and then step forward again in order to jump.” Excitement now filled her words.“Besides, even if Lawson would have had the nerve to jump from the third floor, he would not have been found lying face down and spread out like an eagle in flight. A man, no matter how desperate—even desperate enough to take his own life—would fight for that same life as he fell through the air. He would not simply spread his arms and legs as if he were a bird and welcome the impact that might kill him. He would have split-second questions about whether he did the right thing. He would try to stop the outcome he had chosen. Such a man would not be so positioned. He would need to be unconscious and pushed from the window in order to be found in the position in which you described Lawson.”

  “Really? Anything else?” Darcy questioned, awestruck.

  “Actually, there is one more important fact that you overlooked.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Well, Mr. Darcy,” she said with sarcasm, “you forgot that Lawson was a devout Catholic.The boy would have considered the act of suicide more damning to his soul than the theft of a few household items. He could have offered retribution for the dishonor of the thefts,” she declared with certainty. “However, no absolution could be offered for the taking of his own life.”

  Darcy sat perfectly still, Elizabeth’s assumptions weighing heavy on him. “You saw the scene with clearer eyes than I,” he muttered.

  Elizabeth hid her triumph.“Men and women see life and death differently.Women always see the emotion associated with each act. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us.Those emotions give us a different perspective.”

  “What else?” he asked impulsively.

  “Mrs. Jenkinson’s death,” she said.

  He caught Elizabeth’s hands in his; he rubbed his over hers, trying to warm her slender fingers. “What of the lady’s demise?” Darcy asked quietly, steeling himself for embarrassment.

  She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the palm. “I love you, Fitzwilliam.” She held his hand to her cheek in quiet devotion. “Maybe we should simply find some sleep.You are exhausted, my Husband.”

  “I would hear your opinions first, if you please, Mrs. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth let out a sigh of exasperation. “If you insist, Mr. Darcy.” She regretted the implanted tone as the words escaped her lips; she recognized the tenuous grounds upon which she stood. She would be a fool to prove her husband inept-a fool to destroy her marital happiness just to prove a point.“Although I believe,” she began slowly,“that the stranger you seek was in Mrs. Jennings’s kitchen the afternoon of the poisoning, I cannot imagine the phantom footman placed arsenic in one cup of cider and let Fate guide it to Mrs. Jenkinson’s lips.”

  “But the man threatened the lady.” Darcy played the devil’s advocate.

  “Exactly.” Elizabeth waited for him to draw the same conclusions as she, but when her husband did not follow her thoughts, she offered up a few hints. “It is not logical, Fitzwilliam.” She waited again. “This is the same man who stole a complete set of bedding under your servants’ noses.” Still silence. “Whoever this man may be, he would leave nothing to chance. If he wanted to specifically kill Miss de Bourgh’s companion, he would devise a practically foolproof plan to do so. He evidently has access to this house’s many chambers. Poisoning would not be his mode for murder. He is too ingenious to let Fate guide his hand.”

  A deeper silence filled the room.“Then you think there is more to the lady’s death than a reported threat from our mysterious staff member?”

  “I cannot say what all the fuss might be. I have made no assumptions. But the facts do not equal such a neatly packaged death. If you recall, Mrs. Jenkinson offered me the poisoned cup before she drank it herself. If Fate had taken a twist, it would be I in that cold attic right now.”

  A shiver ran down Darcy’s back. “Do not even speak such words,” he cautioned. “I could not live without you, Elizabeth.”

  “Of course, you could.You would remain the master of Pemberley.”

  Darcy brought her to him, needing to feel her closeness. “Breathing is not necessarily living, Elizabeth. I never truly lived until you defiantly breezed into my world.”

  “Nor I you,” she whispered close to his ear.“I should never have fought you.”

  “On that point, I would agree.We wasted valuable time that we should have spent loving each other.”

  Elizabeth teased him. “I am ashamed that women are so simple to offer war where they should kneel for peace, or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, when they are bound to serve, love, and obey.”

  “Ah, The Taming of the Shrew.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Shakespeare is correct. Neither a man nor a woman should claim dominion over the other. I should listen not only to my heart but also my head.” He stood suddenly, lifting Elizabeth in his arms. “Will you
permit me to carry you to our bed,Vixen?”

  “I thought you would never ask, Mr. Darcy.” She laced her arms around his neck. Resting her cheek against his chest, Elizabeth sighed contentedly.

  Nearly at the top of the stairs’ first flight, Darcy paused long enough to nuzzle behind her ear. “I need to limit all those cups of chocolate you have devoured of late,” he murmured teasingly as his tongue circled Elizabeth’s ear.

  “What is wrong, my Husband? Married life making you soft?” Elizabeth taunted.

  He renewed his efforts and turned toward their private quarters. “I might offer you the same criticism, my Love.Your sweet tooth has grown demanding of late.” His words struck a chord, and Elizabeth squirmed to release his hold, but Darcy tightened his embrace. He leaned against the inside wall’s painted brocade to steady himself. “Elizabeth, it was a poor attempt at humor.” He whispered so as not to wake his guests.

  “Put me down, Fitzwilliam,” she insisted in hushed tones.

  “Do not…do not pull away from me,” he pleaded.

  “Put me down, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth repeated.

  Slowly, he lowered her to the floor. “Elizabeth?”

  But his wife turned and walked purposely away from him, closing and locking her chamber door behind her.

  The moment of passion had died—killed by an unwise remark. He rushed to his own door, sending his valet away with just a nod of his head. Darcy did not pause; instead, he traversed the distance between his and Elizabeth’s shared dressing rooms and entered her quarters without knocking. “Eliza—”The sight of her froze Darcy in mid stride. She was stretched out across her four-poster, wearing nothing but a smile and her waist-length auburn hair draped about her shoulders.“I-I thought you angry with me,” he stammered. His eyes drank their fill.

  “Men are so obtuse!” she declared.“I came to my room because what I have to say to you could not be said in a hallway with Pemberley footmen every twenty feet.”