The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy by Regina Jeffers

Matlock’s and Lady Catherine’s homes, but he had never suspected that he would discover one in Samuel Darcy’s house. After all, Samuel’s manor was a modest abode in comparison to the sprawling estates of Matley Manor or Rosings Park. “Lizzy,” he said cautiously, “I need for you to make some sort of noise to cover what I do next. I do not want Samuel’s servants to know what I have discovered.”
    Her hazel gaze lifted at his strange request. “Fitzwilliam, I do not understand,” his wife said in concern.
    Darcy glanced at her. “I know, my dear,” he said softly. “Just trust me for a moment more.”
    Elizabeth held his gaze for an elongated moment, and then his incomparable wife nodded her agreement. She opened her mouth and began to sing a Scottish love song, the same one she had sung that memorable evening at Sir William Lucas’s home in their early days together at Hertfordshire. It was one of the most exquisite evenings he could ever recall. She had mesmerized him with her song.
    Darcy smiled at her and then returned to the lever. Lifting the protruding metal tip with two fingers, Darcy focused on the sound of the bookshelf’s separation from the wall. It was a disquieting sensation echoing through his body. A sucking noise signaled the release.
    As the air filtered through the small opening, Elizabeth stammered to a halt, but with a sly smile, she renewed her efforts and broke into another verse.
    Darcy scrambled from the stool. Pulling the drapes partially closed to prevent anyone from observing their actions, he turned to kiss her cheek. “Keep singing for a few minutes more, my love,” he whispered close to her ear.
    Quickly, he lit several candles before he wedged his fingers into the opening and pulled with all his might. As if on a silent cloud, the shelving wall slid open. He saw Elizabeth’s eyes widen, and he reached for her. Expecting that someone eavesdropped beyond the locked door, he said loudly, “You have a beautiful voice, my dear. Come to me, Lizzy.” The servants would gossip about his infatuation with his wife, but the rumors would be a fair price for the privacy they required. Darcy handed his wife a candle and pulled her through the opening.
    As she came to a stumbling standstill behind him, Elizabeth gasped, “My goodness, Fitzwilliam! What in the world is this?”
    Darcy, too, stared in disbelief. “Cousin Samuel’s treasure trove,” he said reverently as he descended the last few steps into the hidden room.
    Elizabeth’s hand rested on the small of his back. She asked curiously, “Do you suppose there are armed traps?”
    Despite his wife’s trepidation, Darcy smiled. “I doubt Cousin Samuel would go to such extremes. What my cousin considered of value might not pique the interest of those who have never studied ancient civilizations.”
    Elizabeth stepped beside him, and they surveyed the room together. Darcy held his candle high, allowing the light to creep into the dark shadows. “It is amazing,” Elizabeth said in awe. “I have seen nothing to compare—even in London when Uncle Gardiner escorted my sister and me to the museum.”
    â€œPerhaps that will change with Cousin Samuel’s donation,” he said with pride. “It will be a great legacy—one bearing the Darcy name.”
    â€œMay we make a quick tour of what the room holds?”
    Darcy caught her hand. “Watch your step.” He turned to the left where row after row of glass cases displayed a variety of weapons, eating implements, bones, and jewels. “These appear to be from Egypt,” he said as he set his candle on the corner of one of the cases. He glanced to another nearby row of glass boxes. “Those items appear to have come from India or Persia.”
    â€œWhat are these?” Elizabeth asked as she leaned over the case closest to where she had