Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

“Mr. Crawford? I thought Mr. Crawford was dead?”

“He is now,” said Sir Thomas.

A chessboard sat on the small table beside the viscount, and he took up one of the pieces. He turned the black knight over in his hands, at last setting it down to one side of the set. “At least Neville settled that business properly.”

As Sir Thomas spoke with Lord Sennex, Darcy surreptitiously scanned the viscount’s room. In the far corner stood a wardrobe, one door slightly ajar. Within, Darcy could see two hanging frock coats and a large mahogany case inlaid with a gold chess castle. His lordship’s trunk rested in another corner of the chamber, its lid closed. Against its side rested a valise.

The viscount tried to stand. “I must make arrangements to have him transported back to Buckinghamshire.”

“The coroner is still examining him,” said Sir Thomas. “In the meantime, I have a few questions for your lordship about the pistols he might have used.”

“My son is dead. What does it matter which pistols he used?”

Sir Thomas produced the small pistol they had found with Mr. Lautus. “Have you seen this before?”

“I–I have never seen that pistol in Neville’s possession.” He glanced from one man to the next. “Must we do this now? My son will be just as dead tomorrow.”

“My lord—”

The viscount stood, leaning on his cane. “I am not familiar with every belonging of my son’s.” His voice trembled, and he rocked slightly.

Sir Thomas caught his elbow. “Perhaps this might be easier if you sat back down.”

“I do not want to sit down!”

“My lord, I do not mean to further distress you,” said Sir Thomas. “Please understand that I am merely discharging my duty as an agent of the Crown to ensure justice is served in the matter of your son’s death. And that of Mr. Crawford.”

“I do not give a damn about Mr. Crawford.” He raised his right arm and shook a finger at Sir Thomas. Actually, his arm might have shaken of its own accord — the viscount grew more agitated with each passing minute. “As for my son, if he died defending his honor, then I am satisfied that justice was served.”

“My lord—”

“Cease my lord -ing me! If you wish to show respect, end this interview altogether and leave me in peace.”

Darcy interceded. “If you will but allow us a couple questions more, we shall not have to disturb you further.”

The viscount sighed heavily. “What are your questions?” He sounded exhausted, and somehow looked smaller and more frail than he had when they arrived.

“There was a guest registered here by the name of Mr. Lautus,” Darcy said. “Do you know him?”

“Should I know him?” He turned to the colonel, his expression all confusion. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, is Mr. Lautus one of our neighbors? Pray, help me remember. His name is not familiar to me, but I — from time to time I forget things…”

“No, my lord. He is not one of our neighbors. But he did occupy this room before you arrived. Did you by chance find anything he might have left behind?”

“The only items in this chamber are my own possessions.”

Darcy could listen to the interrogation no longer. The viscount was obviously overwhelmed; to prolong the questioning was to torture an old man who had not been given even a minute in which to grieve for his son. “Perhaps, Sir Thomas, we can continue this later?”

“We are done.”

Sir Thomas apologized to the viscount for the necessity of having to so question him. Lord Sennex merely nodded and sank into his chair once more.

As they left, he swept the pieces off the chessboard with a single motion. And put his head in his hands.

“When a man dies, it seems that someone ought to mourn him,” Elizabeth said as they retired to their room that evening.

It had been a long day, and Darcy anticipated the next several would prove still longer. “To which man do you refer?”

She did not immediately answer. “All three of them, I suppose,” she finally said. “Mr. Crawford’s actual demise has inspired far more gossip than grief — I expect because anyone inclined to regret his passing got an early start when he died the first time. Though Neville Sennex’s death has deeply saddened his lordship, Lady Catherine is jubilant, for it has opened the way for Anne to give birth to a future viscount. Mr. Lautus, nobody here knew, although perhaps there might be someone in Birmingham who will miss him.”

“Sir Thomas travels there tomorrow to determine that. He hopes to learn who might have hired him to kill Mr. Crawford.”

She sat down on the bed. “Perhaps Sir Thomas will also learn more about the pistol found with him.”

Darcy hesitated. “That, it seems, has fallen to me.”

“Oh?”

“The coroner’s examination confirms that Henry Crawford was shot either with the same pistol that killed Mr. Lautus, or a matching one. Mr. Stover compared the bullets found in both bodies, borrowing Mr. Dawson’s apothecary scales to weigh them, and marks on the gun patches indicate the same distinctive rifling of the barrels for both shots. Meanwhile, the bullet found in Neville Sennex was larger, as were the other two patches found this morning, indicating that his killing shot came from a bigger pistol. Yet the patches from those shots share the same fabric and rifling as those from the smaller pistols. Somehow, the pistols are related, and we need to determine the connection.”

“How will you do so?”

“I am bringing the one pistol in our possession to the gunmaker himself. The gun’s furniture — its engravings and so forth — is distinctive, and Mr. Mortimer will have records. He should be able to tell me for whom it was made, and whether others were produced for the same purchaser.” He retrieved the portmanteau he had used on his journey to Scotland and opened it on the bed beside her.

“Why does Sir Thomas not undertake the errand himself?”

“He has contacts in Birmingham that will make that aspect of the investigation easier for him to complete than if someone else attempted it, and he does not want to delay pursuing one lead for another. So he has asked me to go to London bearing a request with his official seal as magistrate, which should be sufficient to obtain Mr. Mortimer’s full cooperation.”

Her expression was wistful as she watched him pack a few essentials. “Do you expect to be long in London?”

“I shall depart at first light. I hope one or two days will prove sufficient to obtain the information we need, plus a day’s travel there and another back. Mortimer produces a high volume of arms, however, so if the pistol is not a recent purchase it might take some time to locate it in his records.”

She removed one of his shirts and refolded it. “I would offer to accompany you, but I do not want to leave Anne. Lady Catherine is now pressing her harder than ever to marry Lord Sennex with all possible haste, and since Colonel Fitzwilliam made his offer your aunt looks upon him almost as an adversary. She thwarts any opportunity for private conversation between your cousins. I have hopes that Anne may yet muster the courage to stand up to her mother, but in any event, she needs the support of a friend.” She returned the shirt to the travel bag, her hand lingering upon it.

He wished she could accompany him. He had grown weary some time ago of this inn and its company, and wanted nothing more than to steal away with his wife to someplace — anyplace — far removed from the murders and machinations with which they had been surrounded. He most desired to go home to Pemberley, but barring that, London would do. However, as much as duty called him forth, it required her to stay.