“It is ludicrous, Richard. We have nothing to do with this and he knows that. The man merely wants to exert his authority and is taking advantage of a woeful calamity to do so. It is disgusting.”

“All that is true, but you are forgetting one incontrovertible fact, Cousin.”

“What?”

“He is the Sheriff and even you, Master of Pemberley, cannot overcome that. Do you think I like this any better? Being ordered about by a subordinate? I am a colonel for God’s sake!” He shrugged and spread his hands, mouth lifted in a faint smile.

Darcy was assuredly not in the mood for humor, but Richard’s words did have the effect of dousing his anger. He sat onto the edge of the bed, hands falling between his knees as he leaned forward with a deep sigh. “How long do you think this will take? I do not have much faith in the murderer stepping forward and confessing his crimes, do you?”

“Not especially. I suppose it depends on the situation.” Darcy looked at him questioningly. Richard shrugged again and sat next to his cousin on the bed. “I do not claim to be an expert in these sorts of crimes, but I do have some experience with the lower dregs of society and criminal element. Either this man is a calculated killer and has likely done such a thing before, or it was an accident. If it the former, then it may be impossible to discover the culprit, unless Sheriff Weeden is an excellent interrogator. If the latter—which is what I tend to believe—the perpetrator will be easier to crack.”

Darcy smiled and lifted a brow. “You have a theory, Inspector Fitzwilliam?”

He shook his head and laughed faintly. “Not really. Perhaps I simply prefer to think we do not have a soulless, homicidal maniac lurking about.” He slapped his palms onto his knees and stood up abruptly, “Enough speculating! I am famished, and I know food will improve your disposition. Let us see what the cooks have managed to throw together. Cheer up, Cousin! You still have me for company!”

Darcy met Richard’s grin with a sardonic shake of his head. “Marvelous.”

Darcy’s attitude was not much improved by coffee and a full stomach, but physically he felt better. He and Richard reposed in friendly companionship at the small table nestled near the fire. Darcy had purposefully crossed to the table farthest away from the window, having no wish to stare at the gloomy surroundings. The dining room was empty except for two other tables, one with an elderly couple and the other with a distinguished gentleman of some sixty years. They ignored each other completely. The girl who nervously served related that the other guests had all eaten and quickly returned to their rooms.

The food was plain but satisfying. Aside from the undercurrent of persistent tension, it was a relaxing interval in a cozily warm room. The cousins conversed softly about a variety of subjects, none of which involved the current crisis. Mr. Allenton entered at one point, speaking timidly with Darcy and Richard before moving on to the other guests.

“Poor man,” Richard said. “I doubt anything remotely like this has ever happened to him.”

“I do pray his business does not suffer due to this event.”

At that instant, a handsome young man of approximately twenty years appeared on the threshold. He was well dressed, comportment clearly revealing him to be a gentleman of means, but there was an air of distress about him that was equally evident. An accompanying servant pointed to Mr. Allenton and the young man hastily approached. Richard and Darcy curiously observed the interaction as Mr. Allenton frowned, then paled and glanced about the room. With readily apparent relief, he settled on Richard and Darcy, striding swiftly toward their table with the young man trailing him.

“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, this is Mr. Hugh Stafford. He and his brother are guests here, have been for a week now. Anyway, he is concerned as his brother, Mr. Jared Stafford, is not answering the knock at his door and Mr. Stafford here says he heard odd noises coming from inside.”

“What sort of odd noises?”

Mr. Stafford swallowed, clearing his throat nervously before answering. “It makes no sense at all, Mr. Darcy. We retired to our rooms late having, well, imbibed fiercely.” His face was beet red, head hanging as if expecting the older men to scold him. Richard smiled faintly, recalling his first youthful indiscretions and feeling for the lad. However, the events of late did not lend well to humor. Mr. Stafford resumed, “I was worse off than Jared, but we were both well in our cups. He is younger then I, but generally better able to recuperate from these overindulgences. Not that we do this often, you understand!”

“Of course not, Mr. Stafford.” Darcy said placatingly. “Continue.”

“I just rose an hour ago and was surprised Jared had not woken me earlier. I went to his room, but the door is locked and he does not answer. I hear banging about and”—he hesitated in embarrassment, face flushing—“I think… crying.”

The three older men exchanged significant glances. “Mr. Stafford, are you aware of what has transpired at the inn today?”

“No, Mr. Darcy.”

“A girl was murdered last night, Mr. Stafford. Miss Hazeldon. Do you know her?”

But the question was redundant, as all the blood had drained from Mr. Stafford’s face, his knees giving out as he sank into a nearby chair. “Sweet Jesus! Miss Felicity? Do you mean Miss Felicity? Murdered? No! It cannot be! Oh dear God! Who could do such a thing? How…” His voice broke in a sob, “How did she…? Oh God!”

“How well did you know the young lady, Mr. Stafford?” Richard asked sharply.

“I… That is, I knew her a little. They have… the Hazeldons have been here for, what four days now, Mr. Allenton? She is a lovely young lady, so sweet and kind. Jared will be crushed! He fancied her a bit, you see. Her poor, poor parents! This is horrible! Too horrible!” He released a moan, head cradled in shaking hands. “Have they caught the villain who did this?”

Mr. Allenton had watched and listened with a dawning fear that he attempted with all his might to submerge. He honestly liked both young men, judged them of the finest caliber, so the thought of either of them being involved had not entered his mind despite the friendly association between the two families. Mr. and Mrs. Hazeldon were also fond of the fellows, knew them to be reputedly of an excellent family, so had not inhibited the acquaintance between their eldest daughter and Mr. Jared Stafford. The innkeeper had placed their names last on the guest list given to Sheriff Weeden and obviously Mr. Hazeldon had not mentioned their names with any sort of suspicion. Given the rather flirtatious and forwardly improper personality of the deceased girl, Mr. Allenton had reckoned it could be any of the dozen men currently residing at his establishment.

Darcy and Richard were grim. “Mr. Allenton, has Sheriff Weeden spoken with Mr. Jared Stafford? Does he know about the girl?”

“I have not seen him yet this morning, sir. The Staffords are last on the list and I know the Sheriff has not seen everyone yet.” He paused, spreading his hands. “I do not know for certain, sir, but think it unlikely. They were quite intoxicated last night.”

Richard looked at Darcy. “Locked in his room and sobbing? Seems an odd crapulent reaction, no matter how intense the headache. Sounds like guilt to me.”

“Or fear.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Mr. Stafford was glancing from one troubled face to the other in confusion. “Are you suggesting… Wait!” He jumped up angrily, “Are you suggesting my brother had something to do with Miss Felicity? That is absurd! How dare you—”

“Calm down, Mr. Stafford.” Richard rose and placed his hand lightly onto the upset young man’s shoulder. “Lead us to your brother’s room and let’s see what we can discover.”

The chamber of Mr. Jared Stafford was at the end of the hallway, just beyond Richard and Darcy’s chambers. The three older men stepped in the wake of a fuming Mr. Hugh Stafford, who paused before the closed door and angrily glanced at the others before pressing his lips together and rapping on the solid wood.

“Jared? It’s Hugh. Open up and let me in.” Silence. “Come on, Jared! It is well past the lunch hour and I am famished. We need food, Brother.” Nothing. “Jared, you are worrying me. Open the door, please.”

“Go away, Hugh,” a muffled, slurry voice issued from behind the stout door. “Run back to mother and father. Tell them I am dead. Gone, gone… into the abyss… no hope… no bloody hope…” The words trailed off into hushed gibberish accented by the crash of something glass shattering against the wall.