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.
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.