Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

He closed the case and set it on the seat between him and the servant. “It is a long journey to Scotland, so we might as well all be acquainted.” He gestured toward the servant. “This is Antonio. He will help me keep an eye on you. Antonio, this is Mrs. Darcy and my fiancée, Mrs. Crawford. Or, I suppose I should call you Miss de Bourgh, should I not, since your marriage to Mr. Crawford was of questionable status?”

“I did not realize your lordship was aware of that fact. I thought my mother managed to keep the particulars from you.”

“One has only to listen to the right conversations to learn all manner of interesting information. And nobody pays attention to senile old men.”

“Is that why you perpetrated the charade?” Elizabeth asked. “To spy upon people?”

“Not at all, my dear lady. The pretense began for Neville’s benefit. He did not, however, appreciate it.” The viscount’s expression hardened. “My son did not appreciate much.”

Elizabeth could hear the barely restrained hostility beneath his words. “You appeared to be mourning him deeply these two days past.”

“I have been mourning the man he could have been. Ought to have been.” He regarded the pistol in his hand. “Neville was the greatest disappointment of my life. Dying was the most honorable thing he ever did.”

Elizabeth had not been particularly impressed by Mr. Sennex, but the depth of the viscount’s acrimony surprised her. “That is a harsh thing to say about your only son.”

“He was not my son.”

Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam questioned everyone, searched everywhere. Those who had witnessed Elizabeth and Anne depart saw only that they had climbed into the carriage willingly. Lady Catherine had been vexed that Anne went without taking proper leave of her mother, but had attributed the neglect to pique over her engagement to the viscount. The note Elizabeth had left for Darcy offered no clues.

Darcy’s heart pressed against his rib cage as he and Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the viscount’s chamber. He had begun to doubt their finding any indication of where Lord Sennex might have taken Elizabeth and Anne.

“What chafes my conscience the most is that I saw the deuced pistol case,” Darcy said. “Right there, in the wardrobe, while we questioned him. I saw the rook — the chessman — on its lid and took it for a game case.”

“Why would you have thought anything else? Quad sets are so rare that we certainly were not seeking a gun case of that size — perhaps two smaller ones, if anything — and he had a chessboard set up on this table. I am certain the double entendre of the ‘rook’ was intentional. The viscount has always preferred the challenge of intellectual games to the sports his son favored.” He frowned and ran his hand over the table upon which the chessboard had rested. Fine black particles clung to his fingers.

“Priming powder. He loaded the pistols in here.”

At Elizabeth’s startled reaction, Lord Sennex clarified. “Do not mistake my meaning — Neville was of my blood. I do not cast aspersions upon my late wife. But he had no understanding of the legacy he inherited along with his name, and the responsibility that comes along with it. He did not take care to protect his reputation or our fortune. He squandered both through gaming and intemperate living, and never considered the consequences. Nor did he develop a gentleman’s control over his temper.

“For years I followed behind him, tidying his messes as best I could, trying to salvage our family’s dignity and prevent him from spending us into bankruptcy or humiliating us out of good society. But my efforts had the opposite effect — he came to take me for granted along with everything else, and assumed that whatever scrape he got himself into, his father the viscount would repair the damage. I wondered if by my own actions I had inadvertently encouraged his irresponsibility.

“And so my ruse began. I pretended to fail, both in mind and body, in hopes that my perceived decline would bring about greater consciousness of duty on his part. But it only worsened his conduct. In his mind, my frailty removed me as an obstacle to his selfish pursuits. Any words I spoke about honoring one’s birthright he dismissed as the ramblings of an old man.”

“And this is the man I would have wed?” Anne said. “He sounds no better than Mr. Crawford. I cannot believe my mother initiated the match.”

The viscount chuckled, a hollow sound, devoid of mirth. “Your mother only thinks she initiated the match. By the time she arrived at Riveton, anxious to preserve her daughter from spinsterhood, Neville had depleted our estate. We needed a rapid infusion of funds, and marriage to an heiress was the ideal solution. When she began calling upon every family in the neighborhood with an unattached son, I was ready. She thought she was taking advantage of my weakness, but without even realizing it, she advanced my scheme. We both would have emerged from the church doors satisfied, were it not for Mr. Crawford’s interference.”

The venom in his voice as he pronounced the name “Crawford” was potent. He gripped his pistol so tightly that Elizabeth thought he would bruise his leg with the butt cap.

“Was it you who hired Mr. Lautus to kill Henry Crawford?” she asked.

The viscount emitted a derisive noise. “Certainly not. Hired assassins are for cravens. Mr. Crawford’s elopement with Neville’s betrothed insulted my son’s honor, and he was eager for revenge. Their dispute should have been settled in a gentlemanly manner — civilized, prearranged combat — a dignified contest such as the ones I fought in my own youth. I told Neville as much, and lent him these pistols, which had served me so well.

“But Neville was lazy and cowardly, and did not want to face Mr. Crawford himself. Without my knowledge, he hired Mr. Lautus — where he found such a character, I do not know. He instructed the buffoon to stage a duel of sorts, and equipped him with two of my pistols. My pistols! The very weapons I had used to defend our family honor in years past were given to a stranger to make a mockery of a sacred gentlemen’s rite.

“When I learned the truth, I was furious. My senile ruse prevented me from giving full vent to my anger, but my son had disappointed me. In a way that could not be forgiven.”

Having nowhere else to seek hints of the viscount’s destination, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam searched the courtyard and perimeter of the inn. The ostler had said he saw Lord Sennex and the two ladies approach the carriage from one side, near a large hedge. A look about produced the viscount’s cane lying forgotten on the ground.

Darcy examined it closely. It was an ordinary cane — no blades on the end or hidden compartments at the top. What was extraordinary about it was that they should find it at all.

“I do not believe I have seen the viscount walk without aid these several years, at least,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I wonder how he is getting around without it.”

“Quite well, if I might say so,” declared a young voice on the other side of the hedge. Nat Gower came around. “I saw him walk with the ladies from here to the carriage, and he appeared to have no trouble.”

“Did you see him drop the cane?” Darcy asked.

“No, sir. I was on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. Darcy had asked me to keep a lookout for the viscount so he wouldn’t wander off, so whenever he went outside I stuck close but stayed where he wouldn’t notice me.”

Faint hope began to flicker inside Darcy. Perhaps this boy had observed something no one else had. “Did you hear anything he said to Mrs. Darcy or Mrs. Crawford?”

“I didn’t follow Lord Sennex when he first came over here with the ladies — I figured if Mrs. Darcy was with him, all was well, and I didn’t want to eavesdrop. But they were out of my sight for a while, and I got to worrying that maybe they had parted and the viscount had wandered off some other way. So I came closer. Didn’t hear much — the viscount said something about weddings and anvils and accommodating his bride — and then they started walking so I ducked out of sight.”