“Yes, Mr. Darcy.”

“And, Murray, I do not want the boy to have access to my sister alone late at night again—maybe we should see about transferring him to Mr. Steventon now. I wanted to wait until he turned eighteen, but we should see to it sooner.”

“I agree, Mr. Darcy.” Murray took the safety of the family personally. “I am sure that nothing happened, sir,” he added.

Darcy glanced toward the stairs again. The phrase Georgiana, lovely Georgiana rang in his head. Could Lawson be Georgiana’s intruder? “Just let me speak to the boy first—I have some questions to which I require answers.”

Murray nodded and bowed and departed. Slowly, Darcy trudged up the stairs. He hated the disorder surrounding him at the moment. Maybe Mr. Baldwin is right, he thought. Maybe a curse besets this household. No other explanation seemed as plausible.


In the middle of the night, a light but persistent tapping brought Darcy to his wife’s bedchamber door. He almost expected to see Georgiana huddling in the dimly lit hallway—perhaps her night-mares had returned. Finding his cousin took him by surprise.

“Anne,” he whispered, trying to let Elizabeth go back to sleep. “What is the matter?”

Tears ran down his cousin’s cheeks. “Please come,” she pleaded. “It is Mildred. She is very ill. I cannot…I cannot lose her.”

Darcy shoved the door open. “Let me—” he began, but then Elizabeth slipped his shirt into his hand. “Lead the way,” he indicated, pulling the shirt over his head as they hurried through the hallway.

He heard Elizabeth behind them.When she turned toward the servants’ staircase, he intuitively knew that she sought Mrs. Reynolds for medical help. He followed Anne to Mildred Jenkinson’s small room. The woman’s gaunt figure thrashed about in pain. Darcy rushed over to steady her, making sure that her violent movements did not cause her to fall from the raised mattress.

“Light more candles, Anne,” he ordered as he touched the woman’s head, checking for a fever. “She is cool and damp to the touch. Bring a cloth and some water.” Darcy took the woman’s shoulders and repositioned her in bed.

Mrs. Reynolds, followed by Elizabeth, rushed into the room. Both women were wearing muslin gowns and robes, with their hair in long braids down their backs. He often considered how his housekeeper had taken on the role of Elizabeth’s mother some time ago, but this picture solidified the image. Mrs. Reynolds pushed him out of the way so that she could examine the woman.“Tell me what you know of her illness,” she demanded. She touched Mrs. Jenkinson’s stomach, and the woman recoiled in pain. “She has a tenderness in her lower abdomen.”

“Mildred ate so little at supper,” Anne barely whispered as she came to the bed’s end. She handed Darcy the water bowl and the cloth. “She said she did not feel well; we thought maybe she took an ague, being out in the cold so long today.” Elizabeth moved beside Anne, sliding an arm around the woman’s waist. “She took a tray in her room, saying she was chilled.” Anne caught the post for support, swaying in place.“Mildred never complains, so I knew that she was not well; I kept checking on her. She has been experiencing stomach pains for several hours. I came for you, Fitzwilliam, when she brought up her meal in the chamber pot I held for her.”

Darcy moved to where he could see the pot. He knew from his parents’ final illnesses that the contents of one’s stomach give clues to the illness. The yellowish tint of the congealed liquid in the pot told him that his cousin’s companion suffered greatly. Mrs. Jenkinson’s body shook with pain. “If I did not know better,” Mrs. Reynolds spoke for Darcy’s ears alone, “I would suspect cholera. I saw cases of it when I was a mere child, and this woman shows all the signs.”

He shook his head in denial, and the woman who had served him for six and twenty years swallowed her words.“Let us try some warm barley water to settle her stomach. Mrs. Darcy, will you ask Mrs. Jennings to send up some barley water and maybe some peppermint or ginger?”

Elizabeth nodded and rushed from the room. Mrs. Jenkinson’s eyes flew open in terror. She fought to reach the edge of the bed. Darcy brought the pot to her as Mrs. Reynolds supported the woman’s body. Mildred Jenkinson retched repeatedly—her body convulsing. Blood and saliva seeped from the corners of her mouth; however, nothing but dry heaves came from her efforts.“Rest now,” Mrs. Reynolds whispered as she gently pushed the woman back against the pillows.

“Anne, come closer…my Girl.” The hoarseness of Mildred’s voice caused Anne to tear up again, but she went to sit by her only friend. With much difficulty, the woman offered Anne peace. “I will…see my…husband and baby girl soon.”

“No!”Anne pleaded, grasping the woman’s hand in hers, kissing it gently.

The pain caused Mrs. Jenkinson to contract, but she continued her farewells. “Find your heart …my Girl…let love…guide you.”A paroxysm shook her—and then a shudder released it slowly through her clenched teeth as the woman collapsed in a final peace. Mildred Jenkinson breathed her last breath.

Moments later, Elizabeth rushed into the room to find a terrible tableau. Mrs. Jenkinson lay lifeless on the bed, with a sobbing Anne de Bourgh lying across the woman’s body. Mrs. Reynolds stood with her face buried in Darcy’s shoulder as he lightly stroked the woman’s hair. Elizabeth gasped and froze like the others for a brief moment before she took charge.“Come, Anne,” she said and pulled her husband’s cousin into her embrace.“Let me take you from here.”

His wife’s voice brought Darcy out of his trance. He turned Mrs. Reynolds in his arms before catching Elizabeth’s eye. His wife mouthed “Georgiana,” and he nodded his agreement. He would not entrust Anne to her mother’s care this evening. Lady Catherine could not offer the compassion his cousin needed.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he sat the woman away from him, “find Mr. Baldwin. Move Mrs. Jenkinson’s body to the other wing. I do not want it where it might remind my cousin of her loss. It is too cold and the ground too frozen to bury the lady right away. Clean this room from top to bottom in case of disease, although I do not suspect any such condition exists here.We will need to move Miss de Bourgh to other quarters and assign someone to be with her at all times.”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy.” She wiped her eyes on her gown’s sleeve.

“I will want to speak to everyone in the morning. Set up the main drawing room. We need to reach the bottom of this—the missing items, Miss Darcy’s visitor, Miss Donnel’s fall, a phantom footman, and now this.”

Mrs. Reynolds frowned in puzzlement. “Do you suspect foul play? Not at Pemberley, sir!”

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” he murmured as he pulled the sheet up to cover Mrs. Jenkinson’s face. “Please send Mrs. Jennings to my study right away.”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy.”


Nearly an hour later, Elizabeth found him in his sanctuary. He stood before the fireplace, his head resting on his arm as he leaned against the mantel for support. “I brought your robe, as well as stockings to warm your feet.”

Darcy glanced as his bare toes. “I hardly noticed.”

Elizabeth came forward to hold the robe for him. Absentmindedly, Darcy slid his arms into the sleeves. Going on her tiptoes, she straightened the material across his shoulders and turned him around to cinch the cloth belt in front. Darcy allowed his wife to address his needs, but he never saw her: He watched a scene of horror over her shoulder—seeing what no one else saw. “Come,” she pulled on his hand and led Darcy to a nearby wing chair. “Let me pour you a brandy.” Elizabeth found the decanter and a glass and filled it. Handing it to her husband, she ordered,“Drink this.”Then she dropped to her knees before him and began to cover his feet with stockings. “I brought your old dance shoes,” she explained. “I did not think I could wrestle on boots.”

Darcy sipped the drink, slowly becoming aware of Elizabeth’s tender care.“Anne?” he asked as his wife rested her chin on his knee.

“Mrs. Reynolds gave her something to help her sleep. She shares a bed with Georgiana.Your sister showed such mature compassion; I was very proud of her.”

“How do we handle this?” Darcy’s voice sounded far away.

Elizabeth came up on her knees, where she might give him comfort. “We cannot reach the magistrate. Mr. Baldwin says it is snowing again.You will need to do the investigation yourself.There has to be a logical explanation: A woman who is thoroughly enjoying herself, as Mrs. Jenkinson was today, simply does not suddenly up and die.”

Darcy gave a little tug on Elizabeth’s hand, and she came willingly into his embrace, curling up on his lap.“Nothing like this has ever happened at Pemberley,” he whispered into her hair, resting his head on hers.

“Then we aggressively seek the culprit.” Elizabeth’s words held a resolve. “The Darcy name will not be blackened in the country.”

“I wish I were as sure as you.” He tightened his arms around her as she snuggled against his chest. “I watched my father devote his every breath to protect this estate, and I was groomed in his image. I always thought the threat would come from without—the factory’s draw on the workers—but the real demon is within these walls.”

“We will find who performs this farce if we have to tear down the walls to reach him.”

Darcy stroked her back as he contemplated what to do next. “I intend to speak to our guests in the morning. As much as I do not wish to frighten them, I must make them aware of what goes on in my home.” Elizabeth heard the defeat in his tone.