The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy by Regina Jeffers Read Free Book Online Page B

will ask the colonel to join us and to bring along someone with investigative experience.”
    â€œAsk the colonel also to secure the services of a person to catalog Mr. Darcy’s archaeological finds. I believe the task beyond my skill,” Elizabeth admitted.
    Darcy said fiercely, “I doubt anything is beyond your abilities, Lizzy, but I suspect even Cousin Samuel would find the possibilities daunting.” He drew out another sheet of foolscap. “Allow me to send for the colonel; then you and I will search for any information that might lead us to the truth.”
    Elizabeth fanned the letters. “Would it be insensate to read the late Mr. Darcy’s correspondence?”
    Darcy’s countenance hardened. “Elizabeth, I would trust you with my cousin’s deepest secrets, but you must act on your instincts in this matter.”
    She nodded her gratitude. “You should pen notes to Mr. Drewe, Mr. Mason, Mr. Glover, and the head of the gypsy band for a beginning. We must also learn something of who discovered the Rom’s body.”
    â€œOur list may take the remainder of the day,” Darcy grumbled.
    Elizabeth reorganized the correspondence on a nearby table. She read each before placing it in one stack or another. “Our efforts will be for the good. Tomorrow, we will begin the necessary interviews.”
    Darcy lamented, “When I set Dorset as our destination, I possessed no idea of the hornet’s nest into which we would slip.”

    â€œMr. Darcy, my name is Andrzej Gry. You sent for me.” Darcy and Elizabeth had returned to Woodvine Hall for a second day. He marveled at how his beautiful wife had taken on this odious task with an air of excitement that permeated his cousin’s walls. Even after four hours of examining dusty volumes on the previous day, Elizabeth had awakened with a delightful light of curiosity in her eyes. Today, she oversaw the cleaning and cataloging of Cousin Samuel’s private quarters. Darcy would not have her present when he met with the gypsy leader or with Mr. Drewe. Mr. Mason was reportedly unavailable until week’s end. Knowing her disappointment with his decision, Darcy had reluctantly agreed to send for her when the surgeon called later in the afternoon.
    â€œMr. Gry. Thank you for coming so promptly.” Darcy gestured to a nearby chair.
    Gry smiled with wry amusement. “When a gadje sends for a Rom, a member of the band would be sorely lacking if he refused.”
    Darcy examined the man carefully. “You will pardon my saying so,” he said cautiously, “but you have the look of no Roma I have ever encountered, and your accent lacks the rolling Germanic base.”
    With a tilt of his head, Gry acknowledged the truth of Darcy’s words. “My branch of the family comes from the Nordic lines, hence the fairer skin tones and hair.” The man smiled easily, but Darcy held the feeling the Rom despised the English idea of politeness. “When my family was driven from Wales to America, I found it judicious to speak as those with whom I dwelled and conducted business.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned leisurely into the chair’s cushions, but tension remained in the taut lines of his muscles. “I have only recently returned to England to lead my family. We are a mixed band. My mother’s people are from central Europe, Sinti, although they had carved out a life of respectability by the time she was born. My father was Roma. Of course, I am neither. As an unmarried man, I cannot be Roma , at least, not in the word’s truest sense. Our home is in Essex.”
    Darcy fingered the gold thread that had worked itself free of the chair’s braid. “I suppose you understand, Gry, why I have asked you to join me today.”
    â€œRumors say you are Mr. Samuel’s cousin and heir,” the Rom said casually.
    â€œThe rumors are correct,” Darcy said