The man’s skin was cold, and his heart had ceased to beat. He had been dead for some time. She smelled the odour of bitter almonds as she rocked back on her heels. His arms were thrown out wide, and there was a bottle of something in one hand. Liquor, perhaps.
Against the tree rested a hunting gun, an ornate ‘L’ carved into the butt.
“I should escort you inside,” Mr. Darcy said, but she shook her head.
“Mr. Darcy,” she asked, “why does this man have a gun from Longbourn?” She eyed the distance between his position and the entrance to the house. “Oh.”
“I am here, Darcy,” Bennet said, walking into the library with Bingley. “What is it?”
Darcy pressed his lips together. “I believe Miss Elizabeth has found your cognac.”
Bennet and Fitzwilliam both tensed. They knew he would not have insisted on privacy for this revelation were there not something grim to relate.
Bingley did not understand. “Well, where is it?”
Darcy’s gaze flickered to his cousin and then to Bennet. “Next to the man who is lying dead in your copse.”
The men all froze. “Did he have the gun, too?” Fitzwilliam asked. “Did he . . .”
“He had a gun. Miss Elizabeth identified it as belonging to the estate.” He stared at his cousin for a moment before he realised what Fitzwilliam had asked. “No, it did not appear to have been fired.”
Bingley’s expression pinched. “What could have happened to him?”
Bennet stomped past them all. “I am damn well going to find out.”
They followed him out the French doors and down the steps to the lawn. At that point, Bennet slowed long enough to allow Darcy to guide them to the site.
“Miss Elizabeth was telling me that Miss Lydia had once hidden in a spot within direct sight of the house,” Darcy explained. “Unfortunately, it meant that she saw him before I did, for the man was . . .” He stopped and pointed at the tip of a boot that protruded from the ground cover. “Here.”
“Direct view to the house,” Bennet muttered. “Straight to the door.”
“Yes,” Darcy said flatly. “Miss Elizabeth noted as much.”
“Good God,” Bingley said, staring at the figure. He appeared more shaken than Miss Elizabeth had. Of course, her mother had practically raised her to nurse the sick and injured. She had not kept her girls from the realities of war. Some might have criticised the woman for that, but Darcy could not help but be relieved. What good was a delicate woman when there was difficult work to be done?
Fitzwilliam was silent, crouching next to the man and judging his angle to the front of the house. He stood up again with a scowl.
“Could he just have had an apoplexy?” Bingley inquired.
“Miss Elizabeth thought it might be laurel water. Easy enough to make, and anyone who collects butterflies might use it.”
Bennet kneeled next to the man’s mouth and sniffed. “Bitter almonds. I would concur with Lizzy.”
“Poison?” Bingley asked, alarmed. “Why would someone send you poison, Bennet?”
The general shook his head. “I cannot say, but then, it has been a rather busy autumn.”
“Forster and Wickham do not have the stomach for such a thing,” Fitzwilliam declared.
“Wickham did threaten Bennet directly,” Darcy reminded his cousin.
“I stand by my statement,” Fitzwilliam replied.
“Mr. Collins is happily installed at Lucas Lodge,” Darcy added.
“Mr. Todd has left the area.” Bennet huffed.
“That is quite a list of suspects,” Bingley noted in a darkly humorous way. “What sort of a father am I gaining, Bennet?”