“Perhaps he remembered who he was and fled,” she suggested.
“Perhaps he never forgot.” Darcy had not been fully convinced of Mr. Crawford’s claim of amnesia, and now was even more suspicious of its having been yet another one of his theatrical performances, this one enacted to escape prosecution for having killed Mr. Lautus.
He struggled to tie his cravat in the tiny glass. The effort went poorly, as he had not patience for it. The sooner Sir Thomas was informed of Henry Crawford’s latest disappearance, the sooner Darcy could have done with the entire matter.
Elizabeth crossed to him, took hold of the ends of the cloth, and tried to lend assistance. “It is still unfair to accuse the horse of complicity. Besides, I thought you told me last night that the Thoroughbred was in Neville Sennex’s possession.”
He frowned. “You are correct — she was. I had forgotten.”
“Well, then we cannot malign her for returning here. Were I her, I would escape Neville Sennex at first opportunity, too.” She loosened the uneven knot she had made and started over. “One wonders, though, how she was able to simply wander off from Mansfield Park’s stables. I would expect the groom to exercise better guardianship over the horses of guests.”
“As would I.”
She chuckled. “Perhaps Mr. Sennex went out for an early-morning ride and Lady Catherine’s fondest hopes have indeed come to fruition.” Her hands suddenly stilled, and her expression lost its mirth. “Darcy, you do not suppose—”
“That the horse threw him?” The possibility was not an outrageous one, considering how Mr. Sennex had treated the mare during his ownership. Until he had confirmation of any such accident, however, he would reassure Elizabeth. “I doubt anything unfortunate has befallen Mr. Sennex. I doubt he has even stirred from his bed at this hour.” He settled his hands on her waist. “I wish I could say the same.”
She awarded him a mischievous smile. “I see my wiles are working after all.”
“Quite well.”
“ ’Tis a relief. I had begun to fear that motherhood had diminished them. Perhaps I shall win that muff pistol yet.”
She released the ends of his cravat and stepped back. “Not, however, if I am judged by my skill with gentlemen’s neckcloths. I seem to have made an even greater tangle of this than before I attempted to help.”
Darcy retrieved a fresh neckcloth. In so doing, he spied the shot patch from the grove. Sir Thomas had not yet asked for its return for use in investigating Mr. Lautus’s death, but surely he would want it. He tucked the patch into one of his pockets.
Elizabeth’s observation about the horse prompted him to greater haste in calling upon Sir Thomas, despite the uncivilized hour. He did not believe in coincidences, and Charleybane’s unexpected appearance at the same time as Mr. Crawford’s disappearance raised questions in his mind that he preferred to settle without delay.
He would call on Sir Thomas before even breaking his fast. And he wanted Colonel Fitzwilliam to accompany him.
“Not again?” Sir Thomas stared at his gamekeeper incredulously.
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had no sooner been shown into the study than Mr. Cobb had entered to report another discovery in the now infamous grove.
“Yes, sir. Though found in a more timely manner, at least.” The gamekeeper conveyed the particulars, each one causing Sir Thomas increasing agitation. “Do you and the gentlemen want to come see for yourselves?”
Sir Thomas rubbed his temples. In the space of a minute he seemed to have aged a decade. “Of course. Tell Badderley to summon Mr. Stover.”
They arrived in the grove to a scene very much like the one they had found a se’nnight previous. Mr. Crawford sprawled lifeless in the grass.
This time there could be no mistake. The body was definitely his, and he was definitely dead. A scarlet hole in his chest and the blood soaking his clothing announced that a pistol had once more been aimed at him, this time with greater accuracy.
Upon the present occasion, however, Mr. Crawford was joined in death by a person familiar to them all: Neville Sennex. The viscount’s son lay in a heap about twenty paces away. He had not been thrown from his horse. Riding accidents generally did not leave a bullet hole through one’s heart.
Darcy observed Sir Thomas’s pale countenance with sympathy. Any death was a serious matter, but to have the son of a viscount discovered slain on one’s property, where he had been staying as a guest, was an event no one wanted to experience.
“I ought to inform Viscount Sennex immediately,” Sir Thomas said. “I understand his lordship is in failing health. I hope his heart can survive the news.”
“I have known the viscount for many years,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I will accompany you when you deliver the tidings, if you like; they might be easier to bear coming from a familiar person.”
“I would be most obliged.”
For a field that had seen so much death in recent days, the scene appeared oddly peaceful. Darcy observed no sign that the two men had engaged in any sort of physical struggle or pursuit that had led to the exchange of gunfire. Their bodies lay on their sides, more or less facing each other. Though the pistols themselves were absent, spent patches — two near Mr. Sennex, one near Mr. Crawford — littered the ground between them. Their deaths had been an orderly affair.
The colonel glanced from one body to the other. “Two gentlemen of means, one of whom eloped with the other’s betrothed. I have seen the results of more than a few duels during my career, and this certainly has the appearance of one.”
“Neville Sennex complained last night that he had been denied satisfaction in the matter of Miss de Bourgh’s elopement,” Darcy said. “The Sennex family takes honor seriously, and you and I both knew Neville Sennex to be a man of incendiary temperament. I would not be surprised if he called out Mr. Crawford and made him defend his actions.”
“Nor would I,” Fitzwilliam said. “In fact, the Sennex family is so honor-driven that it might bring the viscount some small comfort to know his son died in a contest of honor.”
“Small indeed,” said Sir Thomas. “He has lost his only heir.”
Darcy glanced at Colonel Fitzwilliam. With Neville dead, a son born to his lordship and Anne would inherit the viscountcy. There would be no dissuading Lady Catherine from effecting the marriage now. And, now that he needed to produce another heir posthaste, the viscount himself would likely press as hard for a timely wedding — provided he even had the mental clarity to realize what was at stake.
Colonel Fitzwilliam did not meet Darcy’s gaze, but rather, swept the grove with his own, frowning. “A proper duel involves veritable entourage of participants — not only the primaries and seconds, but also the presiding officer, four officer seconds, and a surgeon — at a minimum.”
Darcy quickly took his meaning. “It does not appear that ten or more men were tramping about here this morning. Much of the grass remains untrodden, and the shot patches seem to be lying where they fell.” He recalled Elizabeth’s words about whether a gentleman confronting a rival lover always adhered to form. He also remembered Neville’s confrontation with Sir John Trauth in the card room at the Riveton ball. “Perhaps Neville Sennex felt it unnecessary to heed all the precepts of the Code Duello. He is quicker to talk about honor than to practice it.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “A duel between Mr. Sennex and Mr. Crawford might well have been of a more… informal nature.”
“I wonder whether their unconventional duel began in an even more unorthodox manner,” said Darcy. “If Henry Crawford can be believed, Mr. Lautus claimed to have been hired by someone to teach him a lesson about honor. Perhaps that ‘someone’ was Mr. Sennex.”
“I deem it possible,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “Inasmuch as I believe Mr. Sennex likely to have issued a challenge to Mr. Crawford, I believe him equally likely to have delegated the first attempt to mete out punishment. Neville was probably the least honorable Sennex to have been born into that family in generations; very good at spouting off about honor but poor in his own demonstration of it. I warrant he would have had no qualms about letting someone else perform the dangerous work of defending his honor from foes.”
“And then when Mr. Lautus failed, he was forced to complete the business himself,” Darcy said.
