Darcy stared at his cousin, neither man speaking for a time. Colonel Fitzwilliam, commander of soldiers in numerous battles, warrior and dealer of death in times of war, was no stranger to the evil that haunted this world. There were things he had seen, things he himself had done in the name of Country and Honor that no one knew, not even Darcy. He was far from innocent, by any stretch of the imagination. Serving the Crown was frequently the polar opposite of glorious. It was more often ugly, dirty, brutal, messy, repugnant, and hellish. The contemptible reality of the baser elements had hardened his heart to a great degree. Nothing truly shocked him.
Darcy, on the other hand, for all his education and awareness of the broader world, was an innocent. His knowledge of evil in its myriad manifestations was primarily read about in books and newspapers. The death and subsequent grief that was a part of his life was of a normal nature, the result of accidents or fate. Other than a couple of incidents of thievery among his workers and once with a Pemberley servant, the typical scheming machinations of businessmen, and cheating with cards or dice, Darcy had no personal experience of truly heinous sinfulness.
The sound of footsteps in the corridor and lifted voices reached their ears. Individual words could not be distinguished, Richard returning to his contemplation of the snow while Darcy closed his eyes.
When the agonizing wails of a man and woman reached their ears, they barely flinched. Unconsciously, they had been expecting it and were strangely relieved to have the tormenting anticipation over. The muffled murmur of placating voices filtered through the cries, the sporadic bark of a dictate uttered by a voice of authority, and the tread of multiple feet.
It was Richard who answered the knock when it came. A deputy stood without, bowing briskly. “Mr. Darcy?”
“I am afraid not. I am Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Excellent! Sheriff Weeden wishes to speak with you Colonel as well as Mr. Darcy. If you please?”
Bypassing the brawny attendant guarding the scene of the crime, they followed the deputy down the stairs and eventually to a cluttered office located beyond the kitchen. The clink of pans and pottery mingled with pleasing aromas caused both men’s hungry stomachs to growl. Sheriff Weeden sat behind the desk, several pieces of parchment laid before him as he scribbled. Without glancing up at the Deputy’s introduction, he waved both men to the seats situated before the desk.
“Cross, bring us fresh coffee and a tray of something to eat. I do not know about you gents, but I am famished. Roused from my warm bed with news of a murder does not allot the liberty of a leisurely breakfast.” As he spoke, the Sheriff continued to write, not yet formally acknowledging either gentleman nor even meeting their eyes.
Darcy frowned, not at all used to such rudeness, glancing toward Richard whose brows were raised with a similar expression of surprise. The room was small and windowless, disorderly with stacks of papers and boxes stuffed to overflowing with an assortment of items. A pair of mounted, smoky oil sconces and one lamp on the messy desk provided the only illumination. The fastidious Darcy found the whole environment depressing. His desk may be a bit cluttered, but it was an organized clutter and always clean.
The Sheriff of Belper was a middle-aged man, short and portly, with graying black hair and a face tired and lined. Thick, bushy eyebrows framed small, sunken eyes aside the bulbous nose of a chronic drinker.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the Sheriff spoke abruptly, looking at Richard with an intimidating stare. “I am to understand that you were the first to look closely at the deceased?”
“I suppose that is true.”
“Why?”
“I beg your pardon? I do not understand—”
“Why did you feel it your place to exert your authority and examine a crime scene? Are you a professional investigator?”
Richard bristled. “I believe you are mistaken, Sheriff Weeden. I did not ‘examine’ anything. We entered with Mr. Allenton to identify the girl. That is all.”
“You covered her, yes?”
“Only to preserve decency. I disturbed nothing, I can assure you.”
“Hmmm. Perhaps. Why did you feel the need to get involved at all?”
“It was utter chaos and Mr. Allenton was unable to cope with the situation. I was merely trying to help.”
“Did you know the girl, Colonel?”
Richard inhaled several times in an attempt to calm his irritation before replying. “Sheriff Weeden, I am not appreciative of your tone. I comprehend that you have questions but do not approve of the rudely accusatory inflections.”
“A crime of the most heinous variety took place in this establishment last night, Colonel, and I intend to find out who did it. Forgive me for not extending the customary pleasantries, but under the circumstances, it is a waste of my time. I repeat: did you know the girl?” His voice had risen slightly, fleshy chin thrust forward pugnaciously.
“No, I did not. I recall seeing her with her family while dining and later in the common room briefly. I did not speak to her, exchanged the merest glances, do not know her family, nor did I see when she left the room.”
“You were present as well, Mr. Darcy?” Darcy nodded, face a mask of regulated disapproval. “Did you know the girl or speak to her at any time?”
“I did not notice her at all.”
“What brings you two to Belper?”
Darcy answered, “We were caught in the storm and could go no further. I am sure it is a similar tale for most of the guests.”
“Traveling north or south?”
“North from Derby.”
“Why, pray tell, were you in Derby so soon after Christmas? Why would you not be at Pemberley with your new wife, Mr. Darcy?” Darcy’s eyes were flinty, lips a tight line as he pierced the Sheriff with his most menacing stare. He did not reply. The Sheriff steepled his fingers and sat back into the chair, meeting Darcy’s gaze unflinchingly. “Refusing to answer me is not wise, Mr. Darcy.”
“I will answer any question you place before me that is of relevance to the matter at hand. My personal affairs have no bearing.”
“Oh, but they do. A young girl was raped and killed. And I have before me two men without female companionship who leapt at the opportunity to place themselves on the scene, a devious method of displacing suspicion, one of whom it was reported to me had a light shining from his room at the wee hours of the night! Can you explain that, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy was absolutely livid. He stood stiffly, back straight and tense fury emanating from him in waves. Nonetheless, his voice was soft and calm, “I regret that I can shed no light on this tragedy, Sheriff Weeden. I heard nothing and saw nothing until the tumult this morning. I awoke at 4:30 and started a fire as my room was cold. I rang no one, instead sitting and reading. That is all I have to offer on the subject I am afraid. If you have further need of me, I will be at Pemberley.”
He turned to exit the room, the Sheriff’s smug voice staying his steps. “You will be going nowhere, Mr. Darcy. Until the guilty party is discovered, all here are suspects, including yourself. I am the authority now, sir. Remember this. Colonel, you may go back to your room as well. I will call if I have further questions.” And he recommenced his writing without another word.
Noon approached with the atmosphere unchanged. The staff resumed some of their duties, primarily the preparation of food, always watched over by the deputy guarding the rear door. Rooms were not cleaned or beds made, baths were not drawn, and most of the guests preferred to dress themselves rather than interact with anyone. Meals of plain fare were served in the dining room, people sitting alone and eating quickly. Conversation was minimal and suspicious glances abounded. Word had spread despite the subdued environment, the full fate of the girl known by all.
A pall of death had fallen over the entire building. The weather remained cloudy, with steadily falling snow fostering the sensation of exclusion from the rest of the world. The exception to the rule was the coroner and undertaker, who reported by mid-morning, and later left with the shrouded body accompanied by a grieving father.
