Page 38 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

“Lord Joseph?” Anne’s voice sharpened with fear as she reached toward him.

The change when it came was so sudden as to seem almost theatrical, as though Lord Joseph were performing one final dramatic scene.

One moment he sat rigidly upright, the next he pitched forward, his body convulsing violently as he slid from his chair to the polished floor with a terrible thud that seemed to reverberate through the suddenly silent room.

“Good God!” Lord Matlock exclaimed, the first to break the frozen tableau as he strode forward. “Someone fetch a doctor immediately!”

Anne had dropped to her knees beside Lord Joseph, her face bloodless with shock. “Help him,” she pleaded, looking up at the circle of horrified faces now surrounding them. “Please, someone help him!”

Darcy moved with decisive swiftness, kneeling opposite Anne while motioning for the onlookers to step back. “Give him air,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the rising murmurs of alarm. “Harrison, send a footman for Dr. Winters. The rest of you, please move back.”

Elizabeth found herself guiding a trembling Georgiana and pale-faced Kitty away from the distressing scene, even as her own heart hammered with mounting dread.

Lord Joseph’s convulsions had become more violent, his limbs thrashing against the floor with such force that Darcy and Lord Matlock struggled to prevent him injuring himself.

“What is happening to him?” Georgiana whispered, her voice barely audible.

Elizabeth could offer no reassurance, for the sight before them admitted no comforting interpretation.

Lord Joseph’s face had contorted into a mask of agony, his features no longer recognizable as those of the good-natured gentleman who had recited poetry with such unexpected eloquence mere minutes earlier.

A froth of whitish spittle had formed at the corners of his mouth, tinged alarmingly with pink as though he had bitten his tongue in his seizures.

“Please, do something,” Anne implored in a near-scream. “He cannot breathe properly!”

Indeed, Lord Joseph’s breathing had deteriorated into shallow, desperate gasps punctuated by disturbing rasping sounds.

His eyes had rolled back, showing only the whites in a face now mottled with an unnatural flush.

Mrs. Jenkinson pushed forward, ostensibly to pull Anne away from the distressing scene, but her attempt was rebuffed with surprising vehemence.

“I will not leave him,” Anne declared, shaking off her companion’s restraining hand.

“How far away is the doctor?” Lady Matlock asked, her usual composure strained.

“Only two streets,” Elizabeth said, though the knowledge provided little comfort.

Lord Joseph’s condition was deteriorating so rapidly that she doubted the physician could arrive in time to be of service.

She did not know what to do, and neither it seemed did anyone else; even Darcy, usually so capable in every crisis, knelt on the other side of Lord Joseph with a look of utter helplessness on his face.

The violence of his convulsions began to diminish, but this change brought no relief to the observers.

Instead, there was something terribly final in the way his movements became increasingly feeble, mere twitches rather than the full-bodied seizures of moments before.

His breathing, too, had altered to irregular, shuddering gasps that seemed to require tremendous effort.

“Lord Joseph,” Anne called, her voice breaking as she leaned closer to him. “Please hold on. Help is coming.”

But even as she spoke, a change came over Lord Joseph’s countenance.

The tension that had contorted his features slowly ebbed away, replaced by a strange, distant expression.

His body gave one final, weaker shudder, and then grew still.

The laboured breathing ceased entirely, leaving a silence so profound it seemed to press against Elizabeth’s ears like a physical weight.

Darcy placed two fingers against Lord Joseph’s neck, his expression grave as he held them there for several long seconds. When he looked up, meeting first Lord Matlock’s eyes and then Elizabeth’s, the slight shake of his head confirmed what they all already knew.

Lord Joseph was dead.

“No,” Anne whispered, the single syllable saturated with disbelief, and then a soft wail of agony escaped her lips.

Elizabeth reached out, placing a steadying hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. Anne seemed not to notice the touch, her gaze fixed on Lord Joseph’s now-peaceful face with an expression of such raw grief that it was painful to witness.

The company stood in stunned silence, the elegant social gathering transformed in the space of minutes into a scene of inexplicable tragedy. The teacup from which Lord Joseph had drunk sat abandoned on the small table, innocent in appearance yet suddenly sinister in implication.

Elizabeth met her husband’s gaze over Anne’s bent head, recognizing in his expression the same terrible suspicion that had formed in her own mind.

Lord Joseph’s symptoms, the rapidity of his decline, the timing immediately after he had consumed refreshments: these details coalesced into a conclusion too dreadful to speak aloud, yet impossible to dismiss.

This had not been a natural death.

The silence seemed to stretch into infinity, broken only by Anne’s shuddering sobs as she knelt beside the lifeless form of her suitor.

Elizabeth felt frozen in place, her hand still resting on Anne’s shoulder, unable to find words of comfort for a situation that defied all ordinary consolation.

The afternoon musicale, with its refined pleasures and gentle social connections, had transformed in mere minutes into something from a Gothic novel, leaving the assembled company suspended between shock and disbelief.

Lord Matlock was the first to recover his practical faculties.

“Perhaps a sheet,” he suggested quietly to Harrison, who stood ashen-faced near the doorway.

The butler nodded and departed swiftly, returning moments later with a large linen cloth which Darcy and Lord Matlock used to cover Lord Joseph’s still form with careful dignity.

Anne made a small sound of protest as Lord Joseph’s face disappeared beneath the white fabric, but did not resist when Elizabeth gently helped her to her feet. She stood trembling, her gaze fixed on the covered figure as though unable to comprehend the finality of what had occurred.

“This is most distressing,” Lady Ashburton murmured, her fan working rapidly as though the room had suddenly grown unbearably warm. “Perhaps we should withdraw and allow the family privacy in this difficult moment.”

Several guests nodded in agreement, beginning to move toward the door, but Darcy stepped forward with uncharacteristic abruptness to block their path.

“I must ask that everyone remain,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying a weight of authority that instantly stilled all movement.

“The circumstances of Lord Joseph’s... passing.

.. are unusual enough to warrant investigation.

A messenger has been sent not only for a physician but also for a magistrate. ”

A ripple of consternation moved through the assembled guests. Viscount Shandly, his earlier theatrical manner entirely absent, stepped forward with a frown. “Surely you cannot think... that is to say, it was clearly some sort of fit or seizure. Tragic, certainly, but not a matter for magistrates.”

“The suddenness and violence of his symptoms suggest otherwise,” Lord Matlock replied, his tone measured but firm. “Until the authorities have examined the situation, I fear we must all remain as witnesses.”

“ Witnesses? “ The word circulated in shocked whispers. “Witnesses to what, precisely?”

Elizabeth caught her husband’s eye across the room, seeing in his grave expression confirmation of her own suspicions. The rapid onset of symptoms, the froth at the mouth, the convulsions, all suggested something far more sinister than a natural malady.

“Are you suggesting,” Mrs. Jenkinson demanded, her voice rising shrilly as she clutched Anne’s arm, “that Lord Joseph was... poisoned? Here, in this house?”

The word hung in the air like a miasma, causing several ladies to gasp and one elderly gentleman to sink heavily into the nearest chair. Anne’s already pale countenance became if possible even more bloodless, her eyes widening as the full implication struck her.

“We are suggesting nothing,” Elizabeth interjected firmly, moving to stand beside her husband. “We merely believe that the circumstances warrant proper investigation before anyone departs. I am certain that you all wish to see this tragic matter handled with appropriate care and respect.”

“This is outrageous,” Mrs. Jenkinson continued, apparently oblivious to the propriety of challenging her hostess so directly. “Miss de Bourgh is in shock and requires immediate removal from this distressing scene. You have no authority to detain anyone here, Mrs. Darcy.”

Elizabeth felt a flash of indignation at the woman’s tone, but maintained her composure.

“Mrs. Jenkinson, I understand your concern for Anne’s wellbeing.

Perhaps you might accompany her to the blue sitting room, where she may rest more comfortably while we await the authorities.

Harrison will provide any comforts you require. ”

“That is not what I meant,” Mrs. Jenkinson retorted, her thin face flushing with anger. “Lady Catherine would be outraged at your presumption…”

“Mrs. Jenkinson.” Lady Matlock’s voice cut off the woman’s words.

She stepped forward, fixing the companion with a stare of aristocratic displeasure.

“You forget yourself. My nephew and niece are acting with perfect propriety in a most unprecedented situation. No one will be leaving until the proper authorities have attended to this unfortunate matter. Lady Catherine, were she present, would understand the necessity perfectly.”