Murder Most Pemberley (Eliza Darcy Mysteries Book 1) by Jessica Berg

Author:Jessica Berg [Berg, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: jane austen, darcy, cozy, cozy mystery, murder, female protagonist, female detective
Publisher: Red Adept Publishing, LLC
Published: 2021-02-15T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Things Go Bump in the Night

I do not know how I can write without trembling. A little while ago, a terrible noise roused Darcy and me from our bed, only to find poor Higgins bloodied and bruised. Darcy sent me upstairs under protection from two of our footmen. I am not sure what to think, but I do know this, I shall cling to Darcy for the rest of the night.

—Lizzy Bennet Darcy

Pemberley 1811

Eliza waited for silence to descend upon Pemberley. Her only partner in crime, Caesar, sat by her head, occasionally licking her forehead.

“Knock it off. I have no idea where your tongue has been.” But Caesar’s warm breath gave evidence of a fish dinner earlier. Tuna. “Yeesh.” She nudged the cat away and rolled out of bed. “Time for some real sleuthing,” she whispered to Caesar.

In the darkness, she kicked around for her flip-flops but decided against them. Barefooted and clad in black yoga pants and a black turtleneck she’d stolen from Joy, she snuck out of her room. No Heath. Refusing to feel abandoned, she continued down the hallway, her bare feet whispering against the carpet. The darkness and silence surrounding her heightened her senses. Something furry touched her foot. Squelching a yelp, she twisted around and met Caesar’s slitted green gaze.

“That’s it. You’re on the next plane home,” she hissed.

He blinked and licked himself.

Growling, she ventured on, sans cat, and tiptoed down the steps. Creak. She held her breath, her ears straining to hear the slightest sound. When no alarms or gongs or shouts awakened the house, she scurried down the rest of the stairs and came to a halt at the bottom. Risking some light, she flicked the flashlight icon on her phone and shined the beam of light around the deserted foyer.

Eliza swallowed a scream. Tash slumped against the far wall, blood trickling from his temple and pooling on his white undershirt. “Oh my gosh.” She knelt beside the butler, his eyes flicking open at her touch. “Tash, can you hear me?”

“Ah, Miss Eliza to the rescue,” he rasped in a weak voice.

Finding nothing else, she whipped off one of Tash’s socks and pressed it to the gaping cut.

“I am sorry you must see me in such a state.”

“Shh. I’ve seen an undershirt and boxers before.”

The old Tash might have quirked an eyebrow, but the Tash on the floor didn’t flinch.

“I need to find help. Stay here.” She pressed his bloodied hand over the sock and took the steps two at a time.

“Uncle?” She tapped lightly on his and Nancy’s bedroom door. “Uncle?” She rapped a little louder.

A creak and a squeak and the door opened a crack. “Eliza?” Uncle Fitzwilliam’s hair looked as if he’d slept with ducks.

“It’s Tash. He’s hurt. Come quick. The foyer.”

“Give me a moment. I’ll call the ambulance.”

Eliza sprinted to Tash. His pale skin had grown porcelain. “Tash, Uncle is coming.”

Only his eyelashes fluttered in response. His hand still held the bloody sock but had fallen to the floor, palm open.

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