The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (21 page)

“Yours is a thought that has crossed my mind during these travels. I have made it my practice to never spend more than eight and forty hours from Pemberley. That is why Mrs. Darcy accompanied me to Newcastle when we first met.” Mr. Joseph nodded his empathy. “We have been away longer than that already and have yet to achieve our destination. My only consolation is that my actions will benefit my son's future.” It was Darcy's turn to pause in reflection.

A profound silence filled the moment. “It is a decision designed for a man. Women are too practical to search for the golden apple.”

Darcy leaned back against a large rock formation and tried not to look smug. “Mrs. Darcy would declare herself content with what we possess and would refuse to leave Bennet behind.”

“This plays to accepted stereotypes. Men remain the hunters and women the nurturers,” Joseph declared.

He watched as Joseph's mouth twisted bitterly. Companionship had never been easy between them; they were very much of the same nature. Darcy and Matthew Joseph had butted heads in the beginning. It was only through their wives that they had come to respect each other. With a deep sigh of resignation, Darcy stood. “I suppose we should continue. I will bring the horses around if you will see to the remnants of our meal.” Catching Palos's reins, he led the gelding to where Mr. Joseph's mount munched on a tuft of grass. “Easy, boy,” he said softly as he stroked the animal's hindquarter. He had sent a string of horses north when he had made the decision to investigate Parnell's business proposal, but the horse Joseph rode was a relatively new one from his stables. In fact, Darcy had never ridden the large-shouldered roan. “Come along, boy,” he coaxed. Running his gloved hand along the horse's neck, he reached for the reins. “Time to continue our journey.”

Turning the animal in a tight circle, Darcy brought it alongside Palos. “Not much farther.” Holding the horse's head still while
Joseph tied the sack to his saddle, Darcy stroked the roan's nose and fed it a small apple he had saved for Palos. “Good horse,” he said softly as the animal crunched away at its treat.

Finished with his task, Joseph said, “Let us be about it.”

Darcy swung up easily into the saddle. Not as accustomed to traveling by horseback, Joseph moved stiffly to set his foot. Darcy turned his head to the waiting road, and then he saw him: a lone gunman set for the shot. In that moment, everything moved in slow motion. Darcy's heart lurched with dread. In the blink of an eye, he had recognized the man, but before he could react, the sound of exploding gunpowder filled the air.

Her head throbbed with a sharp pain behind her left ear, but with gritted teeth, she managed to open her eyes. The room felt familiar, but she could not recall when or where she had seen it. The stone walls and meager furniture said it was not a place in which one would wish to dwell, but, somehow, she realized that was exactly what she had done. Yet, she could recall no details of her most recent stay in this unwelcoming place.

Slowly, her wakening awareness spoke of a hard, rough surface, likely the floor. Even without a point of reference, she knew, instinctively, that she did not belong in these surroundings. She had never experienced such conditions previously.

“She stirs,” a nervous female voice said from somewhere above her. Yet, despite the comfort of being cradled in another's arms, she knew not the woman's purpose or identity. The realization of that fact sent a shiver down her spine.

“I have you. “ A familiar feeling of safety filled her, and she awoke to find herself lying on the hard cot. She could not recall how she had
regained the safety of the crude bed, but she assumed it had something to do with the person with whom she shared the small area. Opening her eyes wider, Georgiana could see the dust flakes as they danced in the shaft of light streaming through a filtered opening. The space appeared more organized than when she had first sought her safety within its walls.

A shadowy figure moved about the room, and she gave her head a shake to bring the person into focus, but try as she might, the edges of the figure's outline remained blurred. Forcing liquid to her dry mouth, she murmured. “Please. Please tell me…to whom…I owe my gratitude.” Although the lines stayed in shadow, the familiar figure came nearer, and Georgiana breathed a sigh of relief.

“You know me,” the voice said. “I have watched over you for years.”

With difficulty, Georgiana turned onto her side. “How did you find me?”

Even without actually seeing the woman's expression change, Georgiana felt the figure smile warmly. The gesture told her that she would survive. “Finding you was never the issue. The question is how to return you to your brother's arms. That may be more problematic.”

“But now that you are here…” Georgiana ventured.

The woman corrected, “I have protected you from death's claw, but you are still not completely safe. We must wait for Fitzwilliam and Edward to come for you. Until then, we shall do as best we can with what we have.”

“Edward?” Although afraid of the answer, Georgiana breathed the question.

“Is safe,” the woman whispered close to her ear. “Rest now. Your husband and your brother shall arrive soon.”

For a brief second, Darcy's brain told him that his vision had betrayed him. It could not be George Wickham aiming one of the military's best personal weapons at him, but he rejected that erroneous assumption immediately. It was Wickham, and Darcy was the target. He spun his horse to charge the man, knowing he must stop his old foe. As he had always done, he would intercept his former rival's machinations. He would protect others from Wickham's deceit, but then from the corner of his eye he saw Matthew Joseph's body lurch first backward from the bullet's impact, and then forward, slumping over the roan's neck. Frightened by the noise and suddenly loose reins, the horse sprang forward and galloped away.

With a curse of alarm, Darcy abandoned his attack; turning Palos, he gave chase. The roan raced helter-skelter over the rocky terrain, bucking and twisting, trying to dislodge his rider. “Hold on, Joseph,” he shouted as he urged his gelding closer. Luckily, the skittish horse turned back the way he had come and galloped toward Darcy. As the horse swung past him, Darcy reached out and caught the flailing reins with his left hand, while simultaneously pulling tightly on the bits of both animals. His arms and shoulders revolted from the action, but he gritted his teeth and held on. He now fully understood the concept of being drawn and quartered. Thankfully, Palos ceased his battle with Darcy's right shoulder and turned enough on his own to permit Darcy to tighten his grip on the roan. “Ho!” Darcy grunted as the animal stopped fighting him and came to a halt.

With a shake of his aching arms, he reached for Joseph's reeling body. “Easy, Joseph,” he coaxed as he slid from his horse and braced the clergyman's body to the ground. Resting the man against the slight rise of the rolling terrain, Darcy began to search Joseph's body for his injuries. Ripping the handkerchief from his friend's pocket, he said, “Looks as if it is only the shoulder.” He pressed the
cloth to the wound. “I will escort you to the village. Just stay with me.” Blood quickly covered Darcy's fingers. Racing to the roan's saddle, he unrolled the napkins, which had held the remains of the meal they had recently shared. Using the heavy linen as a bandage, he placed it over the wound.

“We need assistance,” he grunted as he edged Joseph to his feet. Using his gelding for support, he lifted Joseph's limp body into the saddle. With one hand steadying Joseph, Darcy swung up behind the man he had learned to call “friend.”

Allowing Joseph to lie limply in his arms, Darcy turned Palos toward the road where Wickham had staged his ambush. Needless to say, the scoundrel had escaped.

With his head on Darcy's shoulder, Joseph stiffened and caught at the gelding's mane. “Tell Mary I love her,” he rasped. “Her and William. Promise me.”

Darcy used one hand to press harder against the wound and the other to control the horse's reins. “You will tell them yourself, Joseph. My Elizabeth would demand nothing less, and I am not of the habit of disappointing my wife.”

“How much farther, Mrs. Darcy?” Ruth Joseph asked as she shifted in the coach's seat.

“Mr. Simpson reports that we should be in Gretna Green within the hour. We shall spend the night. I would like to share some time outdoors with Bennet. I miss walking about with my son in my arms.”

“From Gretna, where to next?” Mary asked as she searched the landscape.

“Tomorrow, we shall turn toward Dumfries and then onto Thornhill. The next day we shall arrive at Kirkconnel.” Elizabeth,
too, stared at the changing scenery. “The land seems so hard,” she said as she thought of her home. “I once considered Derby and the Peak District quite savage, especially as compared to Hertfordshire. Yet, it was not wild, but wonderfully majestic and as old as time. Now, I look at this rugged terrain and wonder about those who live here in the Scottish Uplands.” Elizabeth sighed deeply. “Will these people have nurtured Mr. Darcy's sister? Is she safe among those who eke out a living in this rocky soil? Will such people treat kindly a girl who until not two years prior shrank from her own shadow?”