The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (45 page)

He did not know how long he had lain slumped against the door's frame, but the evening shadows approached, and the rain had stopped. Wickham moved gingerly, but still the pain radiated through his chest. “Damn,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Now what?” He allowed his weight to rest against the sandstone walls of the cottage. “I need rest. Things will seem different in the morning,” he said with a less-than-optimistic snarl.

Wickham forced himself to his knees. Using the door's frame to support his weight, for the second time this day, he reached for the door's handle. However, unexpectedly, the portal gave way, and he found himself pitching forward to smack the floor of hardened earth and paving stones with his chest and face. “Arrgh!”

Barking orders with each step, Dolina rushed through Normanna Hall. “I want to leave in the mornin',” she told the maid who trailed in her wake. The girl, out of breath from the whirlwind activity surrounding her mistress, did not answer. She simply made a small notation on a scrap of paper she had taken from Lady Wotherspoon's room. Years of dealing with the Lady of the Manor had taught the young maid that if all her mistress's orders were not executed as she instructed, there would be hell to pay. No one crossed Dolina MacBethan without meeting the lady's wrath.

“Yes, Ma'am,” she mumbled when she realized her mistress's stare had settled on her.

“Remind the staff that I'll not be toleratin' anyone aidin' Lord Wotherspoon. Do ye hear me, gel?” she demanded.

The maid swallowed hard. “Yes, Ma'am.” However, the girl would not pass those orders on to the rest of Normanna's workers. Like the majority of those who held employment at the estate, the girl needed the new lord's goodwill. Few positions paid as well as this one. When Lady Wotherspoon took her leave of the house, the girl would give her loyalty to Dolina MacBethan's replacement.

Elizabeth awoke with a start. Her dream's shadow remained as she bolted upright. “Oh, my,” she gasped as she tossed the coverlet aside. “What could this mean?” Over the years, she had learned to listen to her dreams and premonitions. Only once had they failed her. Her
initial reaction to Darcy's too-quick evaluation of Elizabeth's family connections had clouded her interactions with the man. Of course, if she had admitted the truth she would have realized that flutter she had felt in the pit of her stomach every time they had met was not disgust, but genuine regard. Instead, she had convinced herself that she felt disdain rather than affection for Fitzwilliam Darcy.

“It was my defense,” she had told Jane a few days prior to the weddings that would so please their mother. Jane had inquired how Elizabeth now justified her change of heart regarding Mr. Darcy. “I thought to protect myself from the hurt Mr. Darcy's biting remarks had inflicted upon me. I had never felt more confused and uncertain. There were simply too many contradictions between the man Mr. Bingley admired and the one whom Lieutenant Wickham defamed. I began to comprehend that Mr. Darcy was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit me.”

Shoving thoughts of those tumultuous days with Darcy aside, Elizabeth concentrated on what she could recall of her most recent dream. She swung her legs over the bed's edge and slid her feet into her waiting slippers. Like Darcy, she thought better on her feet. Without considering the state of her clothing, she began to pace.

Images of Darcy's sister easily rose to her mind's eye. Georgiana was in a sparsely furnished room, and her sister appeared a bit worse for wear. Yet, the girl was alive. Elizabeth could see a few scratches and bruises upon Georgiana's arms and face, but it was her awkward movements that worried Elizabeth. With Georgiana in the dream was another presence, one Elizabeth did not recognize, but one she sensed meant no harm to Darcy's sister. Instead, she realized the other person held a great affection for Georgiana. “Who is she?” she whispered as she came to a sudden halt.

Wrapping her arms about her waist, Elizabeth closed her eyes to relive the moment, but nothing more came to her memory—
just the same scene replaying over and over: the woman hovering over Georgiana's shoulder. “I wonder if I describe what I have dreamed to Mr. Jacks if either he or the others might know of such a place in the area. It was too real not to be true.”

Hurrying to the mirror to right her clothes and to repin her hair, Elizabeth could not help but feel optimistic. She did not worry over whether the Alpin staff would think her eccentric to believe in dreams. “It shall be well worth the raised eyebrows if we can reclaim Georgiana,” she announced to her reflection. “What care I for their censure if Darcy's sister is safe within the Major General's arms.”

“Ye shud not be here,” Dolina hissed as she rushed into the room. Her brother's presence was not something of which she wished Domhnall to become aware. Having socked away a solid fortune of her own, she held plans for another beginning, and Dolina would not rile her eldest son any further than she had previously.

Oliver McCullough caught her arm and roughly pulled her into his body. “I want tuv know wot transpires at Normanna. Ye be keepin' secrets, Dolina.”

She attempted to ease herself from his grasp, but Oliver's fingers tightened about her arms. “No secrets,” she asserted. “Domhnall be thinkin' of makin' the gel Blane brung in his wife.”

“But she 'as knowledge of what ye did here,” McCullough growled.

“Wot
we
did at Normanna,” she corrected.

McCullough's smile widened. “Ye always be the sharp one,” he said easily. “And we always be together. Even after Lars McCullough planted ye in Coll MacBethan's bed.”

“The old bastard thought Coll too drunk to know what he be doin'; but Coll fooled us all. He took me so fast that I's barely had
time to remove me gown,” she stated matter-of-factly. She slid her arms about McCullough's waist and rested her head on his chest. Those years of the streets—living hand to mouth—still haunted her. Dolina recalled how the hunger had gnawed at her insides and how the cold never seemed to leave her. It was why she had demanded large fires in all of Normanna's hearths. McCullough's plan seemed plausible at the time, but it had gone nothing like they had assumed. Coll MacBethan had been gentle, but persuasive, and despite promising Oliver that she would not succumb to the man, she had secretly wanted to escape to a world she would likely never know. So, she had lain with a man who thought of her as nothing more than a whore. It was only afterwards that she had learned to despise Coll MacBethan. When he reminded her of her low connections. When he threw his many trysts into her face. Only then did she return to the one person who had always loved her.

“Lars had no way of knowin' ye had known a man before Coll, and yer husband could not recall that he was not yer first.” He stroked Dolina's back.

She snuggled into his chest. “Lars be lockin' me away until I be missin' me menses and then he dragged me off to Coll's doorstep. At least, me husband be honorable.”

“That be the only honorable thing 'bout the man,” McCullough grumbled. “He be takin' ye from me.”

“But not fer long,” she countered. “No one be keepin' us apart. Not ever.”

“No, me, gel. Not ever,” he said softly. “MacBethan could order me from his house, but not from yer life.” He kissed her forehead. “Wot do we do now?”

Dolina raised her chin so she might observe the steadiness in his countenance. Her eyes locked with his. “We leave together.”

Weir had proven invaluable in locating additional hands in the next village. He had a cousin named Linden living in the area; including the two of them, there were now six willing men to follow Edward's instructions. Darcy had left Bryn, the oldest of the three Alpin footmen they had brought with them, to guard Munro MacBethan. They would not release the man until they had recovered Georgiana. “We do not know exactly what we will find within the Normanna cellars,” he warned. “If half of what we suspect proves true, you will experience life's worst horrors on the other end of this cave.” The men nodded their understanding; yet, neither he nor Edward had described what they expected. It was too heinous to put into words, and secretly, Darcy had prayed to be wrong regarding what Lord Wotherspoon had permitted to be practiced in his household.

Edward handed out small lanterns he had procured for their descent into the karst. “I would prefer that no one lose his life in this endeavor,” he said ominously. “But do not allow that fact to keep you from discovering Normanna's secrets.”

Darcy did not like the anger his cousin had brought with him when he had returned from the war. Edward had always been the reasonable one, but something played heavy on his conscience. All Darcy could hope was their finding Georgiana would act as a balm for his cousin's troubled soul.