No longer angry but merely frightened, Hugh looked to the older men. The face barely on the edge of manhood was now reverted to the pleading desolation of a confused youth. Darcy nodded to Mr. Allenton who retrieved a bundle of keys from his pocket. The muted scrape of a heavy object dragging across the wooden floor reached their ears as Mr. Allenton finally found the correct key and inserted it into the lock. He turned the knob, throwing the door open and nimbly stepping aside, clearly not wishing to be the first to view what they all feared to behold.

It was far worse than any of them had imagined.

The small chamber was freezing cold from the yawning windows and in utter ruin. Broken shards of glass and pottery lay everywhere; the linens had been violently flung off the bed with numerous ripped strips of fabric littering the floor; the curtains had been slashed with a knife and then wrenched from the wall, rod and all, to lie in a heap by the window; the tall mirror was smashed in four places by the heavy crystal tumblers whose remains could be seen in a pile at the mirror’s base; pictures were jerked from their wall hooks and tossed randomly; deep gashes marred one of the thick bedposts as if a sword fight had ensued with the unoffending column; and through it all were splatters of blood and bloody footprints.

As appalling as the room itself, even more gruesome was the sight of the eighteen-year-old boy slumped in the chair positioned before the unlit fireplace. He stared with lifeless eyes into the ashes, holding a sharp knife in his right hand and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in the other. Whether he was a handsome lad could not be discerned, so ravaged was his visage. His entire being was depraved: shoulder-length blond hair loose and snarled; eyes red rimmed and bloodshot; four deep, bloody fingernail scratches down his left cheek; torn, gaping, and blood smeared linen shirt displaying a bruised upper chest; stocking clad feet lacerated and bleeding from a dozen shard-inflicted wounds; and tremoring hands with swollen, bruised knuckles lifting the bottle to pale, dry lips. He muttered indecipherable words under his breath, momentarily unaware of the four shocked men standing in the doorway.

“Jared!” Hugh whispered. “My God, what happened to you?”

Jared glanced up blearily, blinking several times to focus, eyes alighting on his elder brother with bare recognition. “Brother. I told you to leave. Let me die as I deserve. Tell Mother… tell her I love her. Now, go away.” His voice was flat and low, and he turned away dismissively for further contemplation of the ashes.

Richard and Darcy shared glances. Richard cleared his throat and stepped forward, while Darcy whispered to Mr. Allenton to fetch the Sheriff. Hugh was shocked beyond words or coherent thought and stood pale and silent.

“Mr. Stafford, my name is Colonel Fitzwilliam. This is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. We are here at your brother’s behest to offer assistance.” He stepped closer, carefully avoiding the glass. “Perhaps you can share with us what has you so distraught?”

Jared shook his head, tears springing to his eyes. “No point. There is no point. It is over… my life is over.” He choked out a sob, drinking the last drops of whiskey and then staring into the container as if baffled why it was empty. “Over… over and done.” He laughed hysterically then frowned, his face darkening as rage abruptly swept through each feature. With a harsh yell he heaved the drained decanter at the opposite wall where it shattered.

“All over!” Jared screamed, lurching unsteadily to his feet and fixing Richard with a baleful glare. “Because she lied to me! Lied and screamed and screamed and screamed!”

“Calm yourself, Mr. Stafford. Are you talking about Miss Hazeldon?”

“Yes! Her! The lying strumpet! Said she loved me, wanted me!” He was raging and pacing imperviously through the rubble, dangerously brandishing the long knife, and words barely decipherable. “Said, ‘Meet me, Jared. Once we are truly lovers we can be together forever. No one can stop us.’ Then she says no. No! Can you believe it? First she wants it, wants me, then she doesn’t! Tease! Whore! A woman cannot do that! Then she starts screaming and would not stop! I told her to stop, begged her to stop, but she wouldn’t. Told me I was hurting her. Why would I hurt her? I was making love to her! I loved her!”

He halted suddenly, swaying as he glowered defiantly toward Richard. Darcy had moved cautiously into the room, circling to the left. Hugh was crying unabashedly from his weak slouch near the door, hands covering his face. None of them noticed the return of Mr. Allenton with Sheriff Weeden and two deputies by his side.

“Mr. Stafford, please, put down the knife and…”

“No! Go away I tell you! All of you!” Twirling about toward Darcy with knife raised in a surprisingly firm grip given his obvious level of intoxication, Jared stepped backward toward the open balcony doors. “Stay away! Leave me be so I can die in peace. Die like she… like… Oh God!” Releasing wracking sobs with head hanging dejectedly and knife dangling loose at his side, Jared succumbed momentarily to grief and remorse.

Darcy, who was now nearer, leapt forward and grasped onto the weapon-wielding arm of the deranged youth. His control was fleeting, however, as Jared reared precipitously, bodily knocking into the far larger man. Surprise was on his side, as Darcy was unbalanced and lost his grip. The knife was jerked out of Jared’s hand and flew through the air, nearly impaling Richard, who again called upon his excellent reflexes and ducked just in time.

An animalistic growl erupted from the young man’s throat, eyes scanning the room and noting the additional men. With a final shove square on Darcy’s chest, sending him staggering backward into the splintered bedpost, Jared pivoted and dashed toward the balcony.

“Jared, no!” Hugh yelled, brought out of his stasis and launching after his brother, but they were too late. Jared catapulted himself off the balcony.

Darcy and Hugh reached the railing simultaneously, just in time to see a miraculously unhurt Jared struggling to free himself from an enormous snowdrift mere inches from the rearward side of the solid woodshed. Covered with powdery snow, he managed to right himself enough to commence plowing through the knee-high drifts, heading in a zigzag pattern toward the woods.

“Jared!” Hugh yelled.

“He is heading for the woods.” Darcy proclaimed, twirling and hastening toward the door with long strides. “Damned fool will die out there dressed like that.”

“Thankfully his trail will be easy to follow,” Richard added, joining his cousin in his rapid exodus from the devastated chamber, Sheriff Weeden and the deputies marching along behind.

What ensued was a wild trek through the wet, frigid surrounds. The snow was thick in places; the terrain obscured so that frequent submersions into pits or painful collisions with bushes occurred. The continued snowfall and winds created flurries and fogs that distorted vision. Nonetheless, a weakened, inebriated youth was no match for six healthy men on his trail.

Jared Stafford was finally cornered against the trunk of a broad oak, huddled and shivering on a bare patch of frozen ground. The shock of all that had transpired in the past twelve or so hours caught up to him, and from there it was an easy matter, the tragic youth no longer offering any fight.

Richard and Darcy gladly returned to the warmth of the inn, leaving the issue in the capable, legal hands of the Sheriff. Word of the murderer’s capture spread hastily through the halls; the mixture of horror and relief generated an atmosphere of bizarre giddiness that would reign until late in the night. Neither Darcy nor Colonel Fitzwilliam were in the mood to share their part in the tale, retreating to their respective rooms early in the evening, thankful that the drama was behind them and abundantly prepared to return to the seclusion of Pemberley. 

Chapter Six

Catharsis

It was two damp, cold, and exhausted men who finally rode into the stable courtyard the following afternoon. The ride from Derby was miserable, despite the abated storm and rays of sunlight that now succeeded in piercing the scattering clouds. Stomping muddy boots and shaking snow-drenched cloaks in the north entrance foyer, servants dashing to assist, the men breathed deep sighs of relief.

Richard made a beeline for his room while Darcy inquired as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Darcy, informed that she and everyone else were in the court room cheering a tennis tournament. This was certainly the truth as far as it went. Georgiana and Kitty were currently engaged in a fierce competition, George playing referee from the net line, and the remainder of Pemberley’s guests applauding, whistling, and shouting encouragement. However, a rapid sweep of the room revealed that Lizzy and Jane were absent.

Darcy’s heart fell, but he had no time to deal with the disappointment before George spotted him. “William! It is about time! We thought you had gotten buried in a snow bank.” The lanky physician crossed the room in long strides, enfolding his nephew in a bone-cracking embrace and bestowing a stunning blow to his shoulder. “It is good to have you back, son. We have all missed your serious face, but none more so than your lovely wife and precious son.”

“Thank you, Uncle. Where might I find them?”

“In the conservatory. Your son decided it was mealtime and disrupted the entire game. Quite threw Georgie off and she completely missed the ball, match point to Miss Kitty.” He grinned.