Author: Alix James
Category: Other
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He dismounted the coach and hurried to the door, but when he reached it, he found it unlatched. He pushed it open, the hairs prickling the back of his neck.
“Anne?” he called. No answer. “Anne!” he tried again in a louder voice.
Surely she was only out walking with Miss Long. He dashed outside again, but they were not behind the cottage in the vegetable patch. Nor were they in the meadow.
“Anne! Miss Long!” he called again. He turned back, thinking to search for the farmer. Surely, he or his wife would be able to give an answer, but… where was he? Darcy cast about, searching for either the man or his old plow horse… but where the wagon had stood, now there were only fresh tracks in the mud.
Darcy stepped back, tilting his head as his gaze followed the tracks. They led off toward the wood, vaguely in the direction of Meryton.
“Follow those tracks!” he ordered his driver.
All Mr. Bennet had desired was a full day alone in his book room. Prospects had been fair for such a boon, but now, all hope was dashed. In quick succession, he had been confronted with his wife, outraged that Elizabeth had gone away, Mr. Collins, braying some nonsense about wishing to exhibit his betrothed to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and then, there was the great lady herself.
Why Mr. Collins’ patroness had come all the way to Longbourn did not remain a mystery for long. She had insisted upon seeing Mr. Bennet in person and in private, and then proceeded to demand the location of her daughter, a woman he had never seen in his life. When that failed, she insisted to know the whereabouts of his daughter—something about a pretender to Mr. Darcy‘s affections or whatnot.
Mr. Bennet simply tapped his pipe and tilted his head. “Who is your daughter, and what makes you think she is here? To be sure, I have enough daughters of my own, one more can hardly make much of a difference, but I think I would have noticed an extra mouth to feed. As to Lizzy, you may feel free to search the grounds for her. I will even lend you my Wellingtons for the task.”
“Insolent miscreant!” the lady huffed. “I never implied that she could suffer residing in such an abode as this, but I know her to be somewhere in the region. My rector could give no answer, my nephew refused to speak, and my other nephew has vanished. As I could get nothing from any of them, I have come to learn any intelligence I may from the neighbors. What is the finest house in the neighborhood, other than Netherfield? ”
“I am afraid I do not know of anything half fine enough in all of Hertfordshire.” Bennet sat back in his chair with a pleased grin. Few things pleased him so well as thwarting those who would belittle him, unless it was marveling over their ignorance. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy! Most amusing. Ah, he ought to have called for his daughter to come and share a laugh with him over the affair.
Lady Catherine stormed and fumed for several minutes longer, abusing his character and vowing that he would regret not helping her, but eventually she must have decided that he truly did not have the information she sought. Her carriage pulled out of the drive shortly thereafter, and Bennet watched her go from the window.
“Jane,” he called, still chuckling under his breath. “Send for Lizzy, will you?”
Jane stepped into his study, her eyes round and meek as she clasped her hands. “Papa, I cannot find her. Mama sent her upstairs before Lady Catherine came into the house, but she is gone.”
“Gone? Indeed. Perhaps our Lizzy has invented a better means of managing Lady Catherine’s sort than I have, eh? I ought to follow her example in the future.”
He settled back in his chair, intending to relish his port and a book for at least another hour, but only moments later, Sir William arrived and begged to speak with him. Bennet sighed and surrendered.
Sir William ensured the door was bolted, and even lingered a moment as if trying to determine if youthful ears were pressed against it from the outside.
“Bennet, it is the most dreadful thing. You know that Miss Long has been unaccounted for this last fortnight?”
“I heard something of that. Gone to see her father, they say?”
“Everyone knows that is impossible. There was talk of a second young lady, too—passing through town, they say, and I do not know her name, but she appeared to be a woman of means from what I hear. Collins claims to know something of her, but he will not name her. And then, just this morning came reports that Miss King has vanished—no one has heard a thing of her.”
“Indeed! This is most concerning,” Bennet replied, though his tones were still quite casual.
“It grows still worse. I had been in town trying to learn what I could when my Charlotte returned to tell me of her conquest. I was happy for her and gave my blessing at once, but my poor Maria was terribly envious over the affair—you know she has been suffering low spirits these last months. She ran out to the garden, but I went to seek her later and discovered her to be gone! Four young ladies of good family, Bennet, all vanished!”
“Surely, there is some explanation,” Bennet declared. “Young ladies can have gone anywhere, and it is not likely they are all kidnapped.”
“Bennet,” Sir William begged, “I would speak with your Elizabeth. Maria had told me before that she overheard some suspicions she had regarding Miss Long, and Charlotte could not tell me anything I did not already know. I believe Elizabeth can confirm it, but I would not make accusations without being certain. The implications, if the man she indicated could truly be behind it all…”
“Who?” Bennet asked.
“Mr. Darcy, that is who.”
27
Darcy was leaning out of the carriage window, desperately hoping that the wagon would trundle into view with Anne perched safely in the back. What he had not accounted for was seeing Elizabeth just beside her. And until she could recognize his face and voice calling to her, it looked as if she had been on the alert, readying both of them to jump from the wagon and race into the trees.
He raced from his carriage to both of them. Anne was hanging back, but Elizabeth was boldly prepared to leap to the ground on her own, until he stood below her and offered his hand. Her cheeks brightened, and she smiled shyly as she accepted his help. Much to his delight, there was no graceful way for a lady to descend the wagon—rather, she nearly fell into his arms and instinctively caught his neck for support before he set her on the ground.
“Mr. Darcy! We feared it was Lady Catherine following us at first,” she said. “You must have heard she had come to Longbourn?”
“She came to Netherfield first. Do you mean to tell me that you saw my aunt, and then hurried here to warn Anne yourself?”
She tipped up her chin. “You would have done no less.”
Darcy smiled down into her pert countenance, longing to caress that rosy cheek. “Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. It was very good of you.”
He looked back up to his cousin, then. “Anne, we must go.”
“Where are we to go, Darcy?” she asked nervously. “Mama will find us wherever we go, unless you mean to drive me to Plymouth at once. You know she will try to make us marry if you take me alone!”
Darcy looked down to Elizabeth, who was standing closer than she had been a moment ago—any nearer, and her hand would have been resting on his chest, her deep flashing eyes set on his face. “Over my dead body,” he answered in a low voice. She laughed softly.
“Elizabeth, please go back with Mr. Brown and Miss Long,” he told her.
“And what of you? You are going to Plymouth?”
He set his jaw. “Whatever I must do. I will come back—you are not rid of me that easily, Elizabeth Bennet.” He allowed himself to cherish one last look at her, then pulled himself away. “Mrs. Brown? Might I impose on you for one last service?”
And so it was that five minutes later the vehicles parted company. Elizabeth and her friend rode eastward behind Mr. Brown. Darcy, Anne, and Mrs. Brown boarded the hired carriage and set out to the west.
Fitzwilliam was still pacing the drawing-room. Gone was any effort at nonchalance—
he was massaging his neck and swinging his fists and prowling about like a caged tiger when Miss Bingley walked into the room.
“Why, Colonel!” she exclaimed. “Is something amiss? Did I hear that Lady Catherine de Bourgh came not half an hour ago?”
He tugged at his pocket watch. “It has been just over two hours.”
“Oh! Then I am sorry to have missed her arrival. My toilette, you understand. I fear my brother may not have offered the formal welcome she is accustomed to, but I shall remedy that. I presume she is in the eastern wing quarters?”
“She is not here at all. She remained long enough to see that the persons she sought were not present, and she left. Heaven help the house she lights upon next.”
“What?” Miss Bingley cried. “Gone away already? I shall have to speak to Charles about this. Oh, Mr. Darcy must be most insulted on behalf of his aunt! I must apologize to him—pray, where can he be found?”
“Halfway to Salisbury, with any luck,” Fitzwilliam grumbled.
“What?”
Miss Bingley’s gasp of dismay was lost in the next moment, for Bingley rushed into the room. “Colonel, I’ve just received Sir William, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Collins. Something terrible in Meryton—I had them shown into the study, but—oh, you must come. The news is too horrible!”
Fitzwilliam jerked his uniform front and gave a crisp nod. At last, something more suited to a soldier to keep him occupied.
“Kidnapped?” Fitzwilliam repeated incredulously. “Are you quite sure?”
“My life on it,” Sir William vowed. “Three of our finest young ladies—”
“Four!” Mr. Collins interjected. “And yet another whose name I suspect, but I dare not speak. We cannot overlook her, for she outranks them all!”
“Five, then,” Sir William amended unhappily.
Bingley was cradling his head in his hands, but Fitzwilliam was standing at attention, fists locked behind his back, and his scrutiny fixed on Mr. Bennet’s face. “Who were these ladies you claim have vanished?”
Bennet pursed his lips and did not reply at once. Sir William, uncomfortable with even an instant of hesitation, answered for him. “Miss Sarah Long, our esteemed neighbor’s niece; Miss Mary King, who likewise dwelt with her aunt; a unknown young lady of obvious breeding—Mr. Collins seems to know who she is; and our own daughters—my sweetest Maria and Elizabeth Bennet.”
Fitzwilliam’s mouth twitched, and he began to strut the length of the room. “I can relieve your minds about two of the ladies. Miss Long and the… er… nameless damsel from the inn are both quite safe.”
“But in whose company?” insisted the rather excitable Mr. Collins. “I have it on good authority that they have taken up with Mr. Darcy!”
He frowned. “I do not know how the information came to you, but yes, they are with Darcy.”
“Then the others must be, as well. Such a tragedy for his poor aunt, to learn her nephew—her own nephew could be colluding to rob young ladies of their innocence!”
“Now, I hardly think—” Mr. Bennet began, but Sir William cut him off and addressed Fitzwilliam.
“I know he is your cousin, my good man, but it seems Mr. Darcy has lured to himself more young ladies than any man has a right to. Surely, he knows the whereabouts of the other girls.”
Fitzwilliam paused and thoughtfully scratched his chin. “Darcy does have a way of attracting women, whether he likes it or not. I cannot say about Miss Lucas or Miss King, but I would not be surprised to find Miss Bennet somewhere in the same vicinity as Darcy.”
“You see! I feared as much—did I not tell you, Bennet? He has slipped into our midst as a wolf among sheep to charm our daughters into the worst sort of slavery. By George, if he has taken them to London—”
“What is this?” Bingley cried, over Fitzwilliam’s own objections. “Slavery? Darcy kidnapping girls? Impossible!”
“Utterly impossible,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “Mr. Bennet, you are very quiet—surely, you do not credit this outlandish notion.”
Mr. Bennet carefully crossed his feet and laced his hands over his stomach. “The young ladies are unaccounted for, and two others my friend has not mentioned—a farmer and his wife. To be quite honest, I am well accustomed to my Lizzy setting off for her favorite haunts with little word as to her return, but as to the others, I cannot say. Mr. Darcy was seen to dance twice with Miss King last evening, and he spent the supper with my Elizabeth, both greatly to the surprise of everyone who observed them. It is difficult to argue there is no connection… but I am reluctant to make the same accusations that my neighbors are making.”
“‘Neighbors?’ Others are speaking of this?” Bingley asked in trepidation.
“All of Meryton,” Sir William announced. “Where is he, if you please? I am the nearest magistrate, and I would have words with him!”
Fitzwilliam shared a glance with Bingley, who was beginning to look nervous, indeed. “He is not here, but I can attest to his innocence. As to the missing young ladies, I will ride over and speak with Colonel Forster at once.”
“I have already done as much,” Sir William announced, thrusting his chin out and staring back in near defiance. “He is sending troops out to search for Mr. Darcy as we speak. If there are any missing persons in his company… it will not go well for him.”
28
“Darcy, are we not going to Plymouth?” Anne peered out of the coach window and then back at him. “Why are we taking this turn off to the south?—what, are we turning back?”
“No, we are not going straight to Plymouth,” he answered.
“But Meryton—Mama will have taken a room at the inn!”
“I doubt that. She will be on her way to London if she could get no satisfaction from Richard at Netherfield. We are going to try to catch her up.”
Anne’s face reddened. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, have you gone mad? Back to London—back to the earl’s house? I will not go!”
He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Anne, I cannot force you, but it is the only honorable course. If you run to Plymouth now, you burn every last bridge. Come to London with me, speak to your mother, and at least behave reasonably yourself before you expect her to do the same.”
“Behave reasonably! Darcy, I thought you were on my side of things,” she sniffed.
“I was, and I still am. I persuaded myself for an instant that I could secret you to Plymouth, keep out of the way until your wedding to Sullivan, and then wash my hands of it. I even accepted Richard’s arrangement with the carriage and all—but it is no good, Anne. I saw it this morning, when…”
“When you were mooning over Elizabeth Bennet,” Anne snapped. “I swear, Darcy, you were a veritable calf, the way you were staring at her.”
He allowed himself a contented smile. “Perhaps I was, but you have the right of it. For Elizabeth’s sake as much as for mine and your own, we must do the right thing here and now. Driver—” Darcy rapped on the roof and waited for the man to acknowledge him. “Stop off in Cheshunt, please. I have a note to dispatch before we go on.”
Anne crossed her hands over her lap and looked at Darcy out of the corner of her eye. “For Elizabeth Bennet?”
“No. For Sullivan. I wish to inform him we will be in Plymouth on Wednesday as planned, and I am hoping we shall have a few wedding guests to accompany us.”
Darcy pressed his ring into the wax, then gave the sealed and franked note into the keeping of the post rider. Anne and Mrs. Brown had taken a moment to disembark and refresh themselves, so he crossed the street to the local coaching inn. The ladies would be out shortly, he was assured… but someone else caught his eye. Leaning against the counter at the back of the room, his hair disheveled and his boots covered in dust, was George Wickham. Without a uniform.
He is deserting! Darcy realized. But why?
He slowly gave his hat to the boy at the door and performed an unconscious check of the room. There was a door in the back through which Wickham could escape, if ala
rmed to his presence. He moved stealthily toward a nearby stool, meaning to take the man by surprise. If he approached in such a way as to block off the escape…
“Mr. Darcy?” cried a somewhat nasal voice.
Wickham jerked like a cat and spun around, his hands braced at the edges of the bar. He was gaping, staring back and forth between Darcy and the red-haired Mary King, who had just come out of a ladies’ retiring room. “Darcy?” he slurred under his breath. “Am I never to be rid of you?”
Nothing daunted, Miss King smiled in broad welcome. “George did not tell me you were coming with us. Oh, what a merry drive we shall have! George and I are getting married, did he tell you? I knew no one would credit it—why, Maria Lucas was nearly green last evening when I told her George favored me, but so it is! We shall marry in London and then we mean to take a long wedding tour, just as soon as we see my banker. Did you hear my uncle just died? He left me ever so much money, and George and I mean to live in Paris and Lisbon and… Why George!”
Darcy was trying to placate the young lady while keeping an eye on his quarry, but too late. Wickham had scattered, and the rear door of the building banged closed behind him.
Miss King’s expression melted—her freckled countenance dissolved into tears, and she held out her arms in mournful entreaty. “George, come back! My George!”
Darcy was not practiced in the art of consoling a jilted woman, and did not dare attempt it. He offered a comforting word or two, but it was Mrs. Brown, just coming back with Anne, who instinctively went to the tear-stricken Miss King and embraced the weeping girl.
Anne gestured to the young lady and tipped her head close to Darcy’s. “That girl is from Meryton, is she not? We will have to take her back home. We cannot leave her here alone!”
Darcy nodded his agreement. “I wish I could go after Wickham instead and bring him to justice, but you are right—tending to Miss King is more important. Her guardian must be dreadfully concerned for her, if she has been gone all day. Perhaps it is not too late—”