The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (24 page)

“Do you believe it so?” Lydia scanned the room's poor state.

Mrs. Bennet doubted anything would soften Lieutenant Wickham's nature. After all, Mr. Bennet had finally told her the truth of the man's ways, but she would not speak her thoughts aloud. That horrid scene in the curate's cottage had brought her husband's previous warnings squarely to her shoulders. She had once gloried in Lydia's connection to Lieutenant Wickham. Oh, how she rued her former words—those spoken in triumph after news had arrived from her brother Gardiner, announcing Lydia's upcoming marriage to the lieutenant.

“My dear, dear Lydia!” she had cried. “This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would be. I knew he would manage everything. How I long to see her! And to see dear Wickham too! I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!

“I will go to Meryton,” she had continued in all her ignorance of the situation's truth, “as soon as I am dressed and tell the good, good news to my sister Philips. And, as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long.”

And where had all that mirth-filled hope led? To second-class lodgings in Cumbria. Her darling daughter needed instruction on how to survive a loveless marriage, and she could provide such knowledge first hand. Although the man had hurt her in ways she would never confide to another soul, at least Mr. Bennet had never raised his hand to her. Instead, her husband's superiority and sharp tongue often rang with her worthlessness. She had accepted his censure because she had failed him by not producing an heir for Longbourn. Every day, her inadequacy hung heavy about her
shoulders. Shoring up her resolve to assist Lydia to a better place, she said, “Let us begin with rearranging the rooms. Remember that a man's heart is easily tamed by the fine design of a female hand.”

“At least, the private room offers adequate accommodations,” Elizabeth remarked as she surveyed the open area. “Perhaps, we might place a blanket upon the floor so Bennet and William can stretch their small legs. Children need to move to grow.” She handed Bennet to Mrs. Prulock. “I had hoped to reach Thornhill, but Mr. Simpson says the team requires a bit more rest. The terrain is hard on them.”

“So we shall arrive at Alpin Hall in the evening instead of the afternoon,” Mary remarked as she gestured the serving maid to the table. “A longer night's rest shall do us all well.”

Elizabeth heaved a sigh. How could she explain that she must reach Alpin Hall and correct the military's announcement of Edward's death? How might one express the urgency of her assuming the lead in Georgiana's recovery? She had thought to seek Darcy at the Bingleys' summerhouse, but it would likely be several more days before her sister Jane arrived in Newton Stewart. Darcy's and Mr. Joseph's early departures had thrown everything out of order. Elizabeth reasoned that if she could reach Alpin Hall first, she could stymie the rumors that would plague her husband.
There is that blessing
, she thought.

Resigned to a long evening of worrying about her family, Elizabeth seated herself before the serving dishes. “We shall make the best of our time together.” However, an anxious knock at the door drew her attention. She motioned Mrs. Prulock to remain seated, and she crossed to the portal. “I shall see to it,” she said over her shoulder. “Please. Enjoy the meal while it is hot.” Opening the door but a crack, she was surprised to see her trusted coachman. “Is there
more trouble, Mr. Simpson?” she asked tentatively. She wanted no further delays.

“Excuse me, Mistress,” he whispered hoarsely. “Might I be speaking with you privately?”

Elizabeth nodded and slipped from the room. Closing the door behind her, she asked, “What is it? Difficulty with the team?”

“No, Ma'am.” He ran his hat's rim through his nervous fingers. “The horses be seen to properly.”

“Then what may I do for you?” she said with more gruffness that she intended.

The man swallowed hard. “It is the Master, Ma'am,” he began.

Every nerve in her body came alive. “What of Mr. Darcy?”

“His horse, Mistress. Palos and the roan Garm are housed in the stables.”

Elizabeth attempted to calm the man's agitation. “Mr. Darcy sent horses ahead for his trip. He prefers not to let a horse unless necessary.”

“No, Ma'am. You misunderstand. The hostlers report a man of Mr. Darcy's description rode in early yesterday afternoon with an injured saddle mate. They were attacked by a highwayman.”

Elizabeth swayed as the news swept over her. Mr. Simpson's strong grip on her elbow was a blessing. “Mr. Darcy?” she rasped. “Is my husband still here?”

“Yes, Ma'am. I be asking before I come to fetch you. The Master has the two rooms at the top of the stairs.”

Elizabeth caught at his arm. “What do the stable hands say of the injured man?” she asked softly as she stepped away from the door.

Mr. Simpson's expression changed immediately. “They say the man had lost much blood. Mr. Darcy refused to allow the surgeon to bleed him. The Master say Mr. Joseph had suffered enough.”

Elizabeth clutched at her chest. “I must discover the truth before I speak to Mrs. Joseph of the incident. Thank you, Mr. Simpson, for your kindness.”

“Yes, Ma'am. Tell the Master that Jasper and I await his instructions.”

Georgiana awoke to the late evening shadows filling the small cottage. Her leg throbbed, but the pain was more bearable than earlier. Lifting her skirt, she found a makeshift cast.
How?
she wondered. Then she remembered the woman who had assisted her in those first few crazy hours when she had thought she would die on this wobbly cot. The woman had felt familiar, but she could not place a name or a face. That idea made sense in only the most bizarre terms: the woman possessed no face; yet, she could tell when the lady smiled or frowned or looked upon her with worried eyes, but Georgiana could not actually describe the woman. Had her companion assisted her with her injury? “Has received the best medical treatment this cottage can provide,” the voice had said when Georgiana had complained of her injury.

Pushing herself to a seated position, she surveyed the room. Someone had slammed one of the two chairs against the hearth. Wood splinters covered the bricks where the furniture had met the stones. The chair legs, she thought. That explained the brace she wore. Having been tied on with strips from her petticoat and the ribbons from her bonnet, the chair's spindles encased her leg on each side and the back of her calf. Had she done this or had it been the woman? “Are you here?” she called aloud when the room held no more secrets.

“Of course I am with you.” The familiar voice caressed her ear, but Georgiana did not turn her head. She understood that the
woman could not be behind her. The bed stood close against the wall. Yet, it did not matter. She had felt the warmth of the words as they caressed her cheek. “You should eat to maintain your strength.”

Georgiana did not argue. Instead, she reached for the simple meal before her. As if by magic, a tin plate holding strips of dried mutton and several hard rolls had appeared on a low table. Tearing off a piece of the bread, she popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly. Adding a bite of the tough meat, she waited for her mouth's moisture to soften the food. Immediately, her stomach growled. She laughed. “Not as good as Mrs. Olson's bread pudding,” she pronounced.

“I miss Mrs. Olson's bread pudding,” the voice said.

Georgiana sighed deeply. “Is there water?”

“Beside the table. You should go easy with it. It may be several more days before they rescue you.”

Georgiana glanced toward the window. “Do you suppose that Fitzwilliam and Edward search for me?”

“They are yet to know you are missing from Alpin Hall, but they are racing to your side, nonetheless. Neither will rest until you are safely with them.”

“And Elizabeth?” Georgiana smiled easily.

The voice chuckled lightly. “Your brother's wife leads the charge.”

Georgiana laughed also. “In my dreams, you are Elizabeth.”

“Who says you are in error? Would not your sister move heaven and earth to protect you?”

“I hold no doubt that Elizabeth would be an immovable force.”

Darcy read from Mr. Joseph's Bible. It had been among the man's possessions, and he had borrowed it to pass the time. He had sat beside Joseph's bed all night, tending his friend, a man with whom
he, in actuality, had but a fortnight's acquaintance: less than a week before Christmas and a sennight since Joseph had called at Pemberley. Yet, he had felt an affinity with the man from the beginning. He recognized bits of himself in the younger man.

“Then it's as Mrs. Joseph asserts? Yours is a love match?” Joseph had smugly challenged as they had examined December's icy road conditions. A blizzard had stranded them at an out-of-the-way inn, and the Darcys had agreed to share their quarters with the Josephs because Mary Joseph's confinement put her well past the time for traveling.

Darcy had felt the sting of the man's tongue. “I would have assumed, Sir, that you, too, cared deeply for your wife. Was I mistaken?”

“You have not erred. My wife holds my highest regard.”

“Yet, you refuse to admit to loving your wife,” Darcy had observed.

Joseph had countered, “I do not hear your professions, Sir.”

Darcy recalled how, at the time, he had found Joseph's prideful display amusing. “I see how it is. If I am man enough to admit to loving Mrs. Darcy, you could claim your own affection. If that is what it takes, Joseph, I confirm that I am hopelessly in love with my wife. You now have my permission to admit your own weakness.”

The man had reddened. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that I do not require nor seek your permission for anything.”

Darcy's smile widened with the remembrance of those first awkward hours of sharing their inn room with complete strangers. He had admired Joseph's loyalty to his wife and family. That is how he had judged the man as being someone he could trust. “And that's how it should be, Joseph. My affection for my wife, my decisions regarding my estate, my sister's guardianship—are all mine. They are none of your concern unless I choose to share them, as your life
belongs to you until you care to speak of it. Do not mimic another man's actions, Joseph. Do what is best for you. That is a lesson I learned from Mrs. Darcy.”

Only the crunch of their boots on the frosty lane had broken the comfortable silence that nestled between them. For several minutes, neither of them had spoken. Finally, Joseph had said, “I meant no offense, Mr. Darcy.”

“You did not offend, Joseph. I spoke because I observed in you my own tentative nature. We men are not free to express our feelings. Women strike up instant relationships. Look at our wives as proof. It is how Society deems our roles, so we must develop confidence in our choices, and, more importantly, we must guard against accepting outside examples as the norm. The true north is what serves you best—what gives you personal satisfaction in your life.” From that moment, he and Joseph had found an acceptance. Darcy had found theirs a gratifying connection. He treasured having another male friend with whom to share his experiences, and he would be sorely grieved to lose the man because of Lieutenant Wickham's attack.