Page 39 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)
Mrs. Jenkinson’s mouth opened and closed, but no further protest emerged. Even she dared not directly contradict a countess whose social standing far exceeded her own.
“Now,” Lady Matlock continued, her tone softening slightly as she turned to the company at large, “I suggest we remove to the sitting room, and perhaps the gentlemen to the library, where we may await the authorities in greater comfort.”
Elizabeth gratefully accepted this practical suggestion, appreciating Lady Matlock’s deft handling of both the recalcitrant Mrs. Jenkinson and the wider situation. “Of course. If you would, ladies, gentlemen?”
As the guests began to move toward the door, Elizabeth noted how they carefully maintained distance from the covered form on the floor, as though death itself might be contagious.
Anne moved as one in a dream, allowing herself to be guided but seemingly unaware of her surroundings.
Kitty and Georgiana clung to each other, their youthful faces marked by an identical expression of stunned disbelief.
Elizabeth caught fragments of conversation as she moved among guests, ensuring everyone was attended to:
“Always thought his heart was weak, given his family history...”
“But convulsions like that? Most extraordinary...”
“The tea, did you notice? He drank it just before...”
“Who would want to harm such an amiable gentleman?”
This last question, posed by Lady Ashburton to her neighbour, struck Elizabeth forcibly.
Indeed, who would wish Lord Joseph harm?
His poetic excesses might have provoked amusement, even occasional derision, but never hostility.
He had no known enemies, no apparent vices beyond literary over-enthusiasm, no involvement in scandalous affairs or financial improprieties that might motivate murder.
Unless, a small voice whispered in her mind, someone objected to his growing attachment to Anne.
Elizabeth’s thoughts turned unwillingly to the absent marquess, whose calculated pursuit of Anne and her inheritance had been temporarily thwarted by his convenient ‘business’ in Hampshire.
Could his absence be too convenient? Had he somehow arranged for Lord Joseph’s elimination while establishing an unassailable alibi for himself?
She dismissed the thought as unworthy. Suspicion in such circumstances was natural but dangerous, potentially leading to grave injustice. The truth would emerge through proper investigation, not idle speculation.
Returning to Anne’s side, Elizabeth found her sitting utterly still, her gaze fixed on nothing. Mrs. Jenkinson hovered nearby, her expression torn between concern for her charge and lingering indignation at being overruled.
“Anne,” Elizabeth said gently, taking the seat beside her. “Is there anything I can get for you? Some tea, perhaps, or smelling salts?”
Anne turned to her slowly, her eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. “He wrote that poem for me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “This afternoon. It was beautiful, Elizabeth. Not like his usual efforts at all. It was... it was real.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed softly, taking Anne’s cold hand between her own. “It was very beautiful. He spoke from his heart.”
“And now he is gone.” The simple statement, delivered with such quiet devastation, made Elizabeth’s own eyes fill with tears.
What could one say in the face of such sudden, incomprehensible loss?
No platitudes about time healing all wounds or the mysterious ways of providence seemed adequate to address the brutal swiftness with which Anne’s newfound happiness had been snatched away.
Out in the hallway, Elizabeth heard the distant sound of the door knocker, followed by Harrison’s measured step . The authorities had arrived, and whatever came next would determine whether this afternoon’s tragedy was mere misfortune or something far more sinister.
Elizabeth guided Anne, Georgiana, and Kitty into her private sitting room, closing the door softly behind them to shield them from the commotion now filling the main areas of Darcy House.
The Bow Street magistrate had arrived with several constables, their official presence transforming their home into something unfamiliar and forbidding.
She had glimpsed Darcy speaking with them in the hallway, his expression grave as he directed them toward the drawing room where Lord Joseph’s body still lay beneath its linen shroud.
Within the half-hour, the guests had thankfully been allowed to leave, though not before each and every one of them had been required by the magistrate to provide their name, place of address and agree to make themselves available to be interviewed within the next two days.
Elizabeth had farewelled each of them, accepting their murmured condolences even while knowing the gossip would be spreading as fast as their servants could carry notes to their friends’ homes.
Right now, however, her immediate concern was for the three young women under her care, each pale-faced and silent with shock. She dismissed Mrs. Jenkinson to her own room despite the companion’s protest, channelling Lady Matlock’s icy aristocratic composure and simply saying;
“I gave you an order, ma’am,” and waiting until Mrs. Jenkinson dropped her gaze and left.
“Sit down, all of you,” she urged gently, guiding Anne to the most comfortable armchair near the fire.
Georgiana and Kitty settled together on the small sofa, hands clasped tightly as though drawing strength from each other.
Elizabeth rang for a maid, requesting tea laced with brandy and some light biscuits, though she doubted any of them would have much appetite.
“This cannot be real,” Kitty whispered, her usual vivacity entirely absent. “To think that he was just reciting that lovely poetry, and now...” She trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.
Georgiana nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “He was always so lively, so present. It seems impossible that he could simply... not be.”
Anne remained silent, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace.
Her stillness was more concerning to Elizabeth than Kitty’s stunned disbelief or Georgiana’s quiet tears.
It suggested a shock too profound for ordinary expression, a grief that had moved beyond the reach of common consolation.
“Anne,” Elizabeth said softly, kneeling beside her chair. “Would you like to lie down? Perhaps in your bedroom, where it’s quieter?”
Anne slowly turned to look at her, her eyes dry but filled with a desolation that pierced Elizabeth’s heart.
“I cannot understand it,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“He was perfectly well, and then... such suffering. Such terrible suffering.” Her composure fractured slightly, her hands beginning to tremble. “I could do nothing. Nothing at all.”
“None of us could,” Elizabeth assured her, taking Anne’s cold hands between her own. “It happened so quickly. Even if a physician had been present, I doubt the outcome would have been different.”
“But why?” Anne’s question contained all the bewilderment and pain of sudden, inexplicable loss. “Why him? Why now, when he had just...” She stopped, unable to continue.
“When he had just shown you his heart,” Elizabeth finished gently. “I know. The timing is cruelly unfair.”
A soft knock at the door announced the arrival of the maid with the requested refreshments. Elizabeth thanked her and poured cups of the fortified tea, pressing one into Anne’s unresisting hands. The warmth seemed to penetrate her somewhat, a flicker of awareness returning to her vacant gaze.
“Drink a little,” Elizabeth encouraged. “The brandy will help with the shock.”
As the three young women sipped their tea, the door opened again to admit Darcy.
His expression softened slightly at the sight of them, though the grave concern remained evident in the tension around his eyes.
Elizabeth rose to meet him, moving closer to the door where they might speak without being fully overheard.
“How are they?” he asked quietly, his gaze lingering on his sister’s tear-stained face.
“In shock, as one would expect,” Elizabeth replied, keeping her voice low. “Anne particularly so. What news from the magistrate?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Mr. Hargreaves from Bow Street has begun questioning the guests and servants. A coroner, Dr. Hoylake, is examining... examining Lord Joseph. How is Anne bearing up?”
Elizabeth glanced back at the still figure in the armchair. “She is devastated, though containing it as she has been taught to contain all strong emotion. I fear for her when the numbness wears off.”
Darcy nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Stay with them. I will return when there is more to report.” He hesitated, then added in an even lower tone, “The magistrate is taking this very seriously, Elizabeth. The symptoms strongly suggest deliberate action rather than natural causes.”
With that sobering statement, he departed, leaving Elizabeth to return to her charges. She found Anne staring into her teacup as though it might contain answers to the incomprehensible events of the afternoon.
“Was that my brother?” Georgiana asked, her voice small. “What did he say?”
Elizabeth chose her words carefully. “The magistrate is speaking with everyone who was present. It will take some time.”
“They think someone killed him, don’t they?” Kitty’s direct question hung in the air, giving voice to the suspicion none of them had yet stated outright.
Before Elizabeth could formulate a response that balanced honesty with sensitivity, Anne spoke. “Of course they do.” Her voice was hollow, devoid of its usual gentle cadence. “You saw how he died. That was no natural passing.”
“Anne,” Elizabeth began, uncertain how to proceed. “We must not leap to conclusions before the authorities have completed their investigation.”