The Phantom of Pemberley (46 page)

Behind her, Mr. Worth asked, “When did you realize the lieutenant was in the area?”

Mrs. Harwood glanced over her shoulder at him. “When Robert walked into the morning room with Mr. Darcy. From my first introduction to the de Bourghs, I assumed that Robert nursed a bruised ego because his plan had fallen through. I had no idea he had followed the lady to Pemberley.”

“Could the lieutenant have been in the house without your knowledge?” Darcy moved where she might see him.

“Do you mean could Robert be your murderer, Mr. Darcy?” Her tone became defensive again.

Darcy nodded.

“No…Robert had many faults…gambling chief among them… but except on the battlefield, Robert would never take another’s life.”The lady paused, looking off to the left as if seeing something only she could know. “To do so…to take another’s life, one must have known pain and love and passion. Robert knew none of those. He would chase a scheme only if it had a quick ending and a decent monetary outcome. Robert never knew hard times—even in debt, he still lived as if each day belonged to him. And Robert never truly loved anyone but himself. No…no, Mr. Darcy, Robert was not your killer.”

Sir Phillip gently squeezed the lady’s hand; he waited patiently for her eyes to meet his.“And you, Mrs. Harwood, have you known pain and love and passion?”

The woman knew she could hide her secrets no longer.“I have, Sir Phillip,” she said flatly.

“And Mrs. Jenkinson? Were you the source of the dear lady’s demise?”

Silence boomed through the small room—no one breathed—no one blinked. “They all thought it was the cup of tea. The remains of the arsenic on my fingers rested on the rim of the cup, but it was really the last of the broken pieces of ice Mrs. Jenkinson consumed. I broke them from the tree and offered them to her after spreading the arsenic up and down the icy surface.The lady herself placed the flavoring over the frozen powder, thinking it was sugar. Mr.Worth was correct; the ice deadened Mrs. Jenkinson’s taste.We all know the poison can be easily mixed with water, and several drops in a glass of wine or water might kill a person. So why not freeze the deadly liquid?”

“Why ever for?” Worth could not control the question. “Why Mildred Jenkinson? What did the lady do to earn such a fate?”

Mrs. Harwood still stared into Sir Phillip’s eyes. “That day on
the sledding hill, she thought she recognized me from Kent—asked if I had not been often at Colonel Cavendish’s table. Twice, Mrs. Jenkinson had accompanied Miss de Bourgh to one of the colonel’s weekly dinners. As an officer in the colonel’s unit, Robert was expected to attend, and as his wife, I was part and partial to the Regulars. Of course, society never seats a man and his wife near each other, but Mrs. Jenkinson noticed me just the same. As plain as I am, I still caught the lady’s eye. She asked if I had been at Dover, and even though I denied it, Mrs. Jenkinson kept staring at me. I knew it was only a matter of time before she said something to Miss de Bourgh, and then Robert’s plans would be for naught. I could not let that happen; I loved Robert too much for that. I could never bear to see him disappointed. I knew from the tidbits I overheard, mostly from the servants, that Miss de Bourgh had been found by her mother in Liverpool and brought to Pemberley. Her ruination was obvious.That was why I objected to Mr.Worth’s attentions to the lady. If she accepted Mr. Worth, Miss de Bourgh’s reputation would no longer be an issue. Robert’s big pay day and our ability to leave for Italy would be lost. You must understand; Robert and I planned to see Florence—to leave England. A person can live cheaply abroad. Mrs. Jenkinson stood in our way.”

“And so you planned to eliminate the lady?” Sir Phillip asked quietly.

Evangeline Harwood looked shocked by his accusation. “Planned…planned?” she asked. “I planned nothing…truly, it was never my intention.” She stared past the magistrate—through him actually. “The situation simply developed. My petticoat, you see… the lace pulled loose when we came down the hill the last time—hung below my clothing—and I asked Mrs. Darcy for help. I did not think I could reach the house without someone seeing. Mrs. Darcy suggested a nearby tool shed. While the men climbed the slope for the final ride of the day, I slipped into the building to repair my undergarment. And once I finished pulling the thread to free the lace trim, I realized what the building held—shovels and
hammers and spades and other gardening tools—and of course, the fertilizers and other compounds. I wrapped the lace into a tight ball and thought to place it in my outerwear pocket, but when I tucked it away, I found a letter from Robert there, and a plan developed before my eyes. It was as if Robert told me what to do. I took the paper from my inside pelisse pocket and put some of the powder in my husband’s message to me. It seemed only appropriate, after all. I did not know how I would use it, but the arsenic was there for the taking; and it was as if I could not resist it.

“Again, I thought of nothing but repairing my clothing when I entered the building.When I left the building, I thought of nothing but the poison. The opportunity seemed to present itself. When I returned to claim my spot among Mr. Darcy’s party, I still held no scheme, but when Mrs. Jenkinson herself suggested the frozen sticks, everything fell into place. Providence sent me to the tool building, and Providence gave me the means by which to remove Robert’s obstacle, without his approval or even his knowledge. I quite imagined my dear husband would congratulate me for my ingenuity.”

“So you offered Mrs. Jenkinson the icicle that you had laced with arsenic?”

Mrs. Harwood grimaced. “The powder clung to my hands and gloves—it was very difficult to use. Later, I burned the gloves and dumped the extra powder from the packet out my window into the snow. Mr. Darcy’s roses should do well in the spring.” She laughed as she gazed at her hands. “No matter how often I wash them, my hands still feel gritty.” She raised her hands to carefully inspect them. “Do you suppose it will ever go away, Sir Phillip?”

“I cannot say, Mrs. Harwood.”

“Might I see my husband, sir?” she asked suddenly.

Sir Phillip looked about uncomfortably. “I do not think that prudent, madam. The scene is not fit for a lady’s eyes.”

“I must say farewell—I never knew where Samuel Whitmore found his grave—buried at sea in the West Indies, but I can offer Robert my final prayers and see to his burial.”

The magistrate reluctantly nodded his agreement. He stood and offered the lady his arm. Motioning for Darcy and Worth to lead the way, he squired the two-time widow from the room.

 

Sir Phillip motioned for the footman to unlock the door.The magistrate caught the lady’s hand before they entered. “I must caution you against this once more, Mrs. Harwood.The lieutenant’s condition is quite repugnant.”

“I understand your concern, Sir Phillip, but I must see Robert for myself.” She seemed unusually composed.

Resigned, Sir Phillip reached for the door handle. He swung the door wide and stepped inside. Reaching back, he caught Mrs. Harwood’s arm at the elbow to support her weight, expecting the woman to collapse as soon as she saw her husband’s bloody body.

Instead, Evangeline Harwood calmly entered the room, her eyes resting on the lieutenant, fixing a glassy stare on the bloody wound—no longer red, turning black in the stifling air. Her husband’s body had begun to stiffen—the skin hardening and becoming inflexible—but she knelt beside it and took his pale fingers in her warm hands. Emotion choked her. Evangeline had known Robert Harwood for five years—he barely past his majority when they had met and her a widow of six and twenty. Her knees had trembled when he touched her hand the first time, and Evangeline had known that she would give him whatever he wanted. She supposed it was why he had chosen her: She had allowed him a certain freedom to flirt with other women as long as he returned to her. She had given Robert Harwood her heart, but he had never reciprocated. Evangeline had never understood why he married her—maybe he had thought her widow’s pension would see them through the worst of those early days of their relationship.

His handsome face had often unnerved her, but now dried blood framed it, and a grimace of pain held the muscles taut. Evangeline’s fingers touched the furrowed lines. She would have liked to smooth the expression, but his skin’s hardness prevented that act
of compassion. “I am sorry, my Love,” she whispered as she traced his bottom lip. “You deserved better than this.”

She rested Harwood’s hand across his waist before rising to her feet.“I thank you, Sir Phillip,” she murmured,“for allowing me this moment.”

“Of course, Mrs. Harwood.” The woman’s strength amazed him—he admired her courage, although the magistrate was now aware of the extent of her participation in the scheme the lieutenant had practiced on the de Bourghs. She had certainly planned to advance the claim he made and to create the image of ruination. Add to that perfidy a crime far worse—the death of an innocent—and he should find it impossible to offer the lady admiration, but he did. She had survived an abusive husband and a philandering one, and despite the evil she had brought to Darcy’s house, Spurlock saw the woman her late husband had described. Sir Phillip saw an angel. Not an angel of death, as he had once assumed, but an angel of love—twisted though it might be—one of love.

“Come,” he said softly as he placed the woman’s hand on his arm once more. Darcy and Worth waited barely inside the door, but they stepped aside to allow Sir Phillip to lead the woman away. “You will be confined to your quarters,” he explained as he conducted her along the corridor to her restored room. The baronet had set Darcy’s staff to organizing the disarray of their earlier search of the room. “A maid will attend you as is necessary, ma’am.Your meals will be brought to you, but other than those few moments, you will remain in isolation until I can arrange your transportation. Do you understand, Mrs. Harwood?”

“As you wish, Sir Phillip.” The lady turned to her jailer and offered him a polite bow of her head.“I shall await your pleasure, sir.” Evangeline Harwood entered the room—never looking back.

Behind her, Sir Phillip pulled the door closed and locked it from the outside. He motioned a footman forward. “No one is to enter this room unless Mr. Darcy or I give the order to do so.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

James hated the darkened passages and the stale air and the musty smell of mold and decaying animals. He would be happy to leave Pemberley’s dust-filled enclosure behind. Coming here had seemed a good idea when his friend had suggested it, but he preferred brightly lit parties with ladies in fine silks sporting low décolletages to decay and dampness. “Damn!” he cursed softly when he banged his knee against a jutting support beam, which had broken away from a cornice. “I am tired of being cold,” he grumbled. “Tired of cobwebs in my hair—tired of hiding away—tired of being absolutely quiet—tired of the sound of rats in the dusky shadows.”

He checked the openings to the many rooms accessible from the passageway. With the appearance of the magistrate and of Darcy’s cousin this morning, the activity in the house had increased. The men searched each room, and the women clustered together in tight-lipped pockets of dread.

Shoulders rigid, he made his way to the nearest peephole, a blur of unreality resonating through his mind. A flurry of color caught his immediate attention. Lydia Wickham swirled in place. “It is the most glorious of moments, Miss Donnel,” she declared boldly. “The officers choose their partners, and a kaleidoscope of colors unfolds as each lady’s skirts swirl in the dance—a continual swish to the quartet.”

Cathleen Donnel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Mrs. Wickham took great pleasure in frivolity. “It sounds delightful. Now, if you will excuse me, I promised His Lordship I would begin to gather my things. He hopes to make his departure tomorrow.” Cathleen curtsied and left the room.

“But I did not tell you about the promenade,” Lydia called softly to Cathleen’s retreating form. She collapsed dejectedly on a nearby bench.“No one seems to care.” She understood how others might see her life as superficial, but it was the life she had. “I know nothing else,” Lydia whispered to the empty room—the depth of her ignorance and shallowness evident. Suddenly, tears of loneliness—held in check for months—welled up in her eyes. “George,” she moaned. “I wish you were here.”

James watched and listened. A bitter laugh bubbled in his chest, but he pushed it away.The irony of the situation played through his head. A man of improper title might have the lovely Mrs.Wickham with a wink.The girl was so one-dimensional that she would never recognize the man’s true intentions—would actually follow him without question. Noting her vulnerability, James imagined himself stalking toward her—a seductive determination his only weapon. He could easily tempt Mrs.Wickham now; she would take no care to note the difference. James would have to be willing to pay the price for interfering in his friend’s affairs, but triumphing over her would give him pleasure in more than one way.

James reached for the latch, but a slight movement stayed his fingers. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Wickham, but the Mistress wishes you to join her and Miss Darcy in the music room.” The maid dropped a belated curtsy.

Lydia Wickham shoved lazily out of the chair. “What could Lizzy want in the music room? She certainly knows I possess no such talent.”

“I no be knowin’, ma’am. Mrs. Darcy just be sendin’ me to find ye.”

“Oh, all right. I will go.”

 

“What do we do about Mrs. Harwood?” Darcy sat in the chair before the desk, a feeling of déjà vu returning. He had often sat there when his father still lived. At the moment, he wished for the peace he had known then even as his father had lectured him regarding his obligations. He ached to recapture those moments, but then he thought of Elizabeth—of the goodness of her heart—and of how she had made things right with Georgiana—and of how only in this time had he truly been happy. And he realized he never wanted to be anywhere but in this place—even with the evil, which surrounded him.