Mr. Allenton had managed to collect himself. He remained pale but was focused and responded in a firm voice. “Milton,” he said to the boy, “take Alice as the Colonel commands. Bolton,” he signaled to another lurking servant, this one an enormous black man, as Milton and Alice moved away. “Send Mackenzie for the Sheriff. The remainder of the staff is to wait in the common room. No one is to leave! You guard the door.”

This accomplished, Richard again addressed the innkeeper. “Do you recognize the young lady, Mr. Allenton?”

He swallowed, eyes closing in silent prayer before bravely looking into the room and taking a hesitant step over the threshold. Richard followed, Darcy pausing in the doorway.

The girl was no more than sixteen. There was no doubt that, in life, she would have been a pretty thing, shapely figure with full breasts and narrow waist, all of which were tragically on display. She lay exposed on the bed, chemise ripped open and body splayed in a bizarre angle with smudges of blood on her thighs and the bed sheets by her legs. Her once lovely, innocent face now bluish tinged and frozen in an expression of horror. Darcy had witnessed death in all its ugliness on more occasions then he wished to recall, but nothing that compared with the raw brutality before him. It required every ounce of discipline at his disposal to remain standing calmly, but his stomach churned.

Mr. Allenton released a moan, fist clenched before his mouth with voice faint. “It is Mr. Hazeldon’s daughter. Oh sweet Jesus! How could this happen? In my inn!” He broke down in sobs, rushing from the room and leaning into the hallway wall where Mr. Carlyle still stood.

“Richard, how should we handle this?” Darcy asked in a quiet, sick tone.

Richard was staring at the girl with a frown on his face. “I remember her. In the dining room with her parents, I assume, and a younger sister. I only noticed because I thought the gentleman looked vaguely familiar. I could not place from where, and as I do not know a Mr. Hazeldon, it must just be that he resembles another. Be that as it may, I was startled at one point because this young lady was staring at me with a flirtatious expression. I have been on the receiving end of enough such coquettishness to recognize it. This startled me, however, as she is so young and I am not in uniform, which is generally the stimulus.”

“I do not recall her at all.”

“Of course not. You were brooding far too much and rarely noticed a pretty face even when you were unattached. What an absolute pity! Come. We should leave her be and let the Sheriff deal with this.”

“Someone needs to find the parents. They obviously do not know she is missing.” He stopped, throat tight and eyes misty. “Can we not at least cover her?”

Richard nodded tersely, lips compressed as he stepped to the bed and drew the counterpane over her pale and lifeless body. “Go with God, little one,” he murmured.

The following hours were tense ones to be sure. Richard and Darcy retired to their respective rooms to shave and dress. Mr. Allenton coped with the situation as well as possible, placing a guard in front of the ill-fated girl’s door and appeasing the upset staff. He prayed that the Hazeldon family, who were situated in two rooms on the third floor, would remain asleep until the Sheriff arrived. In this, at least, he was fortunate.

Those guests and servants who knew of the tragedy trembled in their chambers behind stoutly locked doors. It would be the Sheriff who first uttered the word, but they were all thinking it: Murder.

Richard joined Darcy in his room once dressed. The two sat in silence, waiting.

Now that the sun was well over the horizon, the outer world beyond the cold glass and benumbed atmosphere within the walls could be seen. Darcy’s prediction was accurate. Snow sat in deep drifts with fresh flakes falling airily. The sky was grayish-black with thick clouds offering nominal breaks to visualize sunny blue sky. The winds had died, thankfully, but the snowfall itself volunteered no hint of abating anytime soon.

He experienced pangs of guilt over the thought, but the honest truth was that Darcy merely wanted to be home. He did not know the girl, but that did not preclude him from sympathizing with the family. In fact, it was the image of his beloved sister, who was not much older that the stricken girl, in such a horrific pose that increased his urgency to be with his family. The additional responsibilities now lying upon his shoulders as a husband and father were keenly felt and taken very seriously. He trusted the Pemberley staff, knew with fair certainty that the house and its occupants were well protected, but this incident proved that the criminal element stalked and would strike indeterminately. In a reaction typical of most men, he illogically believed that his mere presence would shield his family from any tragedy.

“As soon as feasible, I wish to depart. Are you prepared to brave the cold?”

“Under the circumstances, yes. Suddenly Pemberley has never appealed to me more, or Rivallain for that matter. Depending on whether we ever have breakfast, I may desert you at Matlock.”

Darcy sighed. “I would be delighted just to have coffee. What will be the procedure, Richard? You know more of the law than I do.”

Richard shrugged. “I know military law, which is different. I imagine the Sheriff will need to question everyone, try to piece together what happened. My God, William! A crime such as this not eight doors down! Did you hear anything?”

“A number of doors opening and closing as you and I retired earlier, but nothing untoward. Just the wind howling incessantly. I slept well, but woke at four-thirty absolutely freezing. The wind had died down to a moderate whine, and it was fairly quiet aside from the usual crashing of over-burdened tree branches. Whatever transpired was likely long since concluded.”

“She was strangled.” Richard said softly from where he stood by the window. “That was evident. I have seen death from strangulation a number of times, although not as often as…” He paused, turning to Darcy. “She was violated, William, before. I am sure of it. Someone who is here, a guest or servant perhaps.”

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.