Page 41 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Chapter Fifteen

Darcy stood at the window of his study, watching rain streak down the glass in erratic patterns that matched his troubled thoughts.

Three days had passed since Lord Joseph’s collapse during what should have been a pleasant afternoon musicale, three days of investigators and constables moving through Darcy House with solemn purpose, transforming his home into something unfamiliar.

The coroner’s confirmation of arsenic poisoning had turned every guest who had attended into a potential suspect, every servant into a possible witness, and Darcy himself into an unwilling guardian of a house under shadow.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Hargreaves, the Bow Street magistrate who had taken charge of the investigation, “I understand your concern for your family’s privacy, but I must insist on speaking with Miss de Bourgh again.

Her testimony as the person closest to Lord Joseph in his final moments remains crucial. ”

Darcy turned from the window, maintaining his composed expression despite his inner disquiet. “Miss de Bourgh has already provided a full account of their conversation. She is in a delicate state, sir. The shock has affected her deeply.”

“Precisely why I must speak with her again,” Mr. Hargreaves replied, his tone not unkind but firm in its authority. “Initial statements often omit details that later recollection might bring forth. Particularly from witnesses experiencing profound shock.”

Darcy recognised the logic in this argument, though it did nothing to ease his reluctance.

Anne had scarcely spoken since the day of Lord Joseph’s death, moving through the house like a wraith, her customary pallor now tinged with something closer to translucence.

Elizabeth had scarcely left her side, concerned about the depth of grief that seemed to have hollowed Anne from within.

“Very well,” he conceded, “but I must insist that Mrs. Darcy be present during the interview. And that you exercise particular care in your questioning.”

The magistrate nodded, apparently satisfied with this compromise. “That would be acceptable. This afternoon, perhaps?”

“Tomorrow morning would be preferable. Miss de Bourgh requires rest.”

Mr. Hargreaves gathered his papers with a slight frown. “Every day that passes makes my task more difficult, Mr. Darcy. Evidence grows cold, memories become less reliable.”

“I am keenly aware of the urgency,” Darcy replied, unable to entirely suppress the edge in his voice. “But I have responsibilities to the living as well as to the dead. Tomorrow morning will have to suffice.”

After the magistrate’s departure, Darcy sank into the chair behind his desk, allowing himself a moment of unguarded weariness.

The past three days had been an exhausting exercise in balancing contradictory imperatives: assisting the investigation while shielding his household from its more intrusive aspects, maintaining proper decorum while supporting his family through shock and grief, and managing the whispers that had already begun circulating through London society regarding the death in their home.

The interviews had been particularly gruelling.

Each guest who had attended the musicale had been questioned at length, their movements during the interval scrutinised, their potential connections to Lord Joseph examined.

The servants too had undergone questioning, from Harrison down to the youngest kitchen maid.

No one had been explicitly accused, yet everyone felt the weight of suspicion, the unspoken questions hanging over each interview: could you, or would you, have poisoned Lord Joseph Sturt?

Lord Matlock’s arrival interrupted Darcy’s brooding thoughts. His uncle entered the study without ceremony, his normally confident bearing slightly diminished by the gravity of the situation.

“Nephew,” he greeted Darcy, taking a seat without waiting for invitation. “How fare matters with the investigation?”

“Progressing slowly,” Darcy replied, grateful for his uncle’s directness. “Mr. Hargreaves is thorough, but there seems to be little concrete evidence beyond the fact of the poisoning itself. Too many people had potential access to Lord Joseph’s tea.”

Lord Matlock nodded grimly. “The talk in the clubs is becoming increasingly problematic. Have you heard the latest?”

“I have deliberately avoided town these past days,” Darcy admitted. “My presence here seemed more essential.”

“Wise, perhaps, though ignoring the rumours will not dispel them.” Lord Matlock leaned forward, lowering his voice despite the privacy of the study.

“Some are suggesting a connection between the Marquess of Byerly’s absence and Lord Joseph’s death.

That he arranged the matter to eliminate a rival for Miss de Bourgh’s hand. ”

Darcy felt his jaw tighten. “On what evidence?”

“None whatsoever,” Lord Matlock replied with a dismissive wave.

“But since when has London society required evidence for its speculations? The timing is considered suspicious, especially given the marquess’s known interest in Rosings Park and his apparent displeasure at Lord Joseph’s attentions to Anne. ”

“The marquess was in Hampshire,” Darcy stated flatly. “His absence has been confirmed.”

“Which is precisely why some suggest he must have employed another to carry out the deed.” Lord Matlock’s expression reflected his distaste for repeating such gossip.

“I tell you this not to give credence to these rumours, but to warn you of their circulation. Your family’s name is becoming entangled in a most unpleasant narrative. ”

Darcy absorbed this information with outward calm, though internally he felt a surge of protective anger.

That strangers should speculate so callously about a tragedy that had brought genuine grief to his household, that Anne’s pain should become fodder for drawing room whispers, struck him as particularly despicable.

“I appreciate the warning,” he said finally. “Though I confess I see little remedy beyond allowing the investigation to proceed to its proper conclusion.”

“Indeed,” Lord Matlock agreed. “Though perhaps a strategic appearance or two might be advisable. Lady Matlock suggests that the continued complete seclusion of your household only fuels speculation.”

Darcy considered this advice, recognising its pragmatic wisdom even as he recoiled from the thought of subjecting his family to public scrutiny in their current state. “I shall give it thought,” he promised.

After Lord Matlock’s departure, Darcy sought out Elizabeth, finding her in the small sitting room where Anne, Georgiana, and Kitty had gathered.

The scene struck him with its poignancy: three young women whose natural vivacity had been so thoroughly dampened by shock and grief.

Georgiana sat at her embroidery, though her needle remained motionless in her hand as she stared unseeing at the pattern.

Kitty, normally so animated, leaned silently against the window frame, watching the rain with hollow eyes.

And Anne, pale as moonlight, sat with hands folded in perfect stillness, her posture correct but her spirit visibly absent.

Elizabeth rose when she saw him, concern immediately creasing her brow at whatever she read in his expression. “What news?” she asked quietly as they stepped into the hallway.

“Mr. Hargreaves wishes to interview Anne again. I have postponed it until tomorrow morning.” He kept his voice low, though the sitting room door was closed. “And my uncle brings word of unpleasant rumours circulating in town.”

Elizabeth’s expression darkened. “Regarding the marquess?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“It seems the most obvious direction for gossip to take,” she replied with characteristic perception. “A romantic rival conveniently absent when poison is administered.”

Darcy nodded, once again marvelling at his wife’s quick understanding. “Lord Matlock suggests we cannot remain in complete seclusion without further feeding such speculation.”

“Perhaps he is right,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “Though the thought of subjecting any of them to public scrutiny in their current state...” She glanced back toward the sitting room door.

“I know,” Darcy agreed, the weight of responsibility sitting heavily on his shoulders. “It feels unconscionable. Yet continuing as we are may do more harm than good in the long term.”

Elizabeth touched his arm gently, her understanding of his burden evident in her eyes. “We shall find a balance, my love. As we always do.”

Darcy descended the staircase the following morning to find his household wrapped in the peculiar hush that follows tragedy, a silence that seemed to dampen even the ordinary sounds of domestic activity.

In the morning room, Georgiana and Kitty sat at the breakfast table, their plates barely touched, their conversation sporadic and subdued.

Four days had now passed since Lord Joseph’s death, yet the shadow it cast seemed no less profound, particularly for the younger members of the household who had never before confronted mortality in such an immediate and shocking manner.

“Good morning,” he greeted them, taking care to keep his tone gentle rather than brisk. Both young women looked up with identical expressions of solemn acknowledgment, their usual youthful animation conspicuously absent.

“Mr. Townend has sent a note,” Georgiana said, indicating a small folded paper beside her plate. “He asks if he might call briefly this afternoon, though he understands completely if it would be inappropriate given the circumstances.”

Darcy noted the careful neutrality of his sister’s tone, the deliberate suppression of any hint that she might welcome such a visit.

“If you wish to receive him, Georgiana, there is no impropriety in it. A brief call from a friend offering support is entirely acceptable even in these circumstances.”