The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (50 page)

The earl looked off as if imagining the scene they had discovered. “It was derelict of me to not attend to all the details of my succession, but I so despised my return to this house that I did not perform my duties as I should have. It was easier to permit others to carry on as they had in my absence.” His countenance grew studiously grim. “It may appear insignificant to one whose family name contains no stains, but I had no desire to inherit the MacBethan legacy.”

Darcy diplomatically acknowledged, “We are aware of the legend associated with the Bean family.”

“It is no legend, Mr. Darcy,” Wotherspoon averted his gaze from Darcy's measuring one. “In England, few made the connection of the name MacBethan to Sawney's descendants, but in Scotland, one must face it every day. Can anyone blame me for wanting to leave
the association behind?” The man did not wait for a response before he continued, “To make no further excuses, I ignored my responsibilities until I stumbled upon the evil lurking in the branches of this family's tree.”

“And what did you do when you discovered what was happening below?”

Wotherspoon buried his face in his hands. “Obviously, not enough. Another man died yesterday.” Only the girl's whimper could be heard in the room's silence.

“Explain your actions,” Darcy said evenly.

Wotherspoon raised his head slowly. The images would haunt the man forever. Darcy held no doubt of the fact. “I came across the hell on Earth my mother has created one night when I had gone looking for a bottle of wine in the lowest cellars.” He turned to the woman who sat beside him. Despite the tension between them, the lady took Wotherspoon's hand in both of hers. The Scot intertwined their fingers. “I thought my cousin Munro daft when he insisted that I be the one to retrieve the wine. Little did I know at the time what I would discover under my very nose. It was the first time I ever laid eyes upon you, Lady Esme. Your lovely countenance stung my soul, my Lady.”

The macabre image of the horrors below brought a grimace to Darcy's lips. “You were a prisoner?” he directed his question to the woman.

Before the lady could respond, Wotherspoon said, “Lady Esme was unfortunate in the respect that she was found on the moor by one of my mother's henchmen. I lied to you earlier when I said I knew nothing of the horse you sought. Lady Esme rode the animal when Blane captured her. I possess no knowledge of the horse's whereabouts at this time.”

Darcy noticed his cousin's stature shift. Edward listened carefully to their exchange. “We are in possession of the horse and its rider,” he disclosed.

The girl said, “I vaguely recall riding a horse across the moor, but little else of how I came to be there.”

Edward stalked toward them. “But that means if you rode Georgiana's mount that you must have met Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Can you recall anything of her?” He opened his pocket watch to display a likeness of his wife. “Did my wife seek your assistance? Could you have been on an errand of mercy?”

The woman examined the rendering closely. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam is quite lovely, but I fear I am of little use to you, Sir. It is not a countenance that I hold in my memory.”

In frustration, Edward snapped the watch closed. “Finish it, Darcy. I want to be on the road soon.”

Darcy nodded his understanding. “We can surmise your shock when you finally discovered the scale of your mother's perfidy. Explain what you did when the situation became apparent.”

“I demanded that Lady Wotherspoon cease her operations. The prisoners were to be fed small portions at regular intervals. With the first one I tried to nurse to health, we fed him large portions, thinking that be what the man required after having been nearly starved to death under my mother's orders. Yet, believe it or not, he ate so much that it killed him. From then on, I have gradually increased their portions.”

“You claim charity, but there are still men housed below in the darkness. They are chained to the walls!” Edward's voice boomed throughout the room. He slammed his fist against a small table, sending its contents crashing to the floor.

Wotherspoon looked away in regret. “I did not know what else to do. You must believe me, Mr. Darcy. I have made moves to alter
what has happened with my mother's orders, but I could not change everything at once. Please understand. Those men have been taught to expect the worst. I am trying to wean them from their dependence on Lady Wotherspoon's whims. I have already moved two of the victims to other parts of Scotland. I have bestowed a settlement on each to better his life.”

“You paid them not to testify against Lady Wotherspoon,” Edward accused. A cloud crossed his countenance.

Wotherspoon looked to where his mother lay bound and gagged. “She is still family,” he said flatly. “I meant to see her sent away.” He shook his head in disgust. “It was all I could think to do. In hindsight, it was not enough.”

Lady Esme pointedly released his hand. “Was that why you proposed marriage? So I would not testify against your family?” She stood suddenly as if to leave, but Edward's hand on her shoulder forced the woman to resume her seat beside Wotherspoon.

The earl caught her hand to his cheek. “Look at me, Esme,” he insisted. “My feelings are sincere, but I thought to clear my family name before I permitted you to become involved.” He kissed her palm. “You must believe me. I swear in the name of Saint Margaret. Just as the Queen Consort ferried pilgrims from Dunfermline Abbey, I would see all my mother's victims safe.”

The lady's eyes grew wide and her skin paled as she once more shot to her feet. “Margaret,” she gasped. “Lady Margaret Sarah Caldwell.” She swayed as her hands unconsciously lifted to massage her temples.

“I beg your pardon,” Edward said softly as he encouraged the girl to sit once more.

She turned to Darcy. “Lady Margaret Sarah Caldwell.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Second daughter of Viscount Penworth. Surely you have heard of her. Of me.”

“Good God!” Darcy exclaimed. “Do you claim to be Lady Margaret? Everyone assumes her to be dead. Lady Margaret disappeared at least two months ago.”

The lady's hands trembled, and tears pooled in her eyes. “On June 3…the day…Mr. Vincent and I raced toward the border.” A sob swallowed her words, and Wotherspoon slid his arm about the woman's shoulders.

Darcy finished the tale. “When the younger of the Earl of Hamby's heirs drove his carriage off the road and into a rain-swollen stream—robbing Lord Hamby of his spare and the older of Hamby's sons of his intended. The incident was in every scandal sheet, as well as in the more legitimate papers.”

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Lady Margaret took up the story. “My father and Lord Hamby had come to an agreement when the future earl and I were but children; I was three and Stephen Vincent nine, but I had not yet met Samuel Vincent. Men deride women's belief in love at first sight, but at my sixteenth birthday celebration, I saw Samuel Vincent across a crowded ballroom, and my heart became engaged. For over two years, we denied the attraction. Initially, it was easy because we were rarely in each other's company, but Lord Hamby had insisted on my Presentation, and so my family made the trek to London.

“Stephen resented having to play attendant upon his future bride, so he had passed my companionship to his brother. Things progressed quickly.” Her cheeks flushed with color; it would not be politic to admit the nature of her relationship with Mr. Vincent. And although she never said the words, the three gentlemen understood that she and Samuel Vincent had anticipated their love. “We saw no other way from the engagement,” she said softly.

Darcy asked, “What happened on the road?”

Her gaze dropped to her intertwined fingers. “We thought ourselves so clever. We realized my father and the Earl would give pursuit, and that they would assume we would journey to Gretna Green. Samuel said we should travel further into Scotland. We would marry before our families could deny us.”

Darcy asked incredulously, “Did Hamby truly send a professional tracker after his own son?”

“Samuel had shamed his brother, and the Earl would have none of it. Thinking ourselves safe, we traveled more leisurely once we crossed into Scotland. At the end, Samuel raced toward the nearest village, but Lord Hamby's men had given chase. Samuel saved me when the carriage tumbled after us on the slope. He took the brunt of the coach's weight. It pinned him under the water. I tried to free him, but I could not budge the carriage, and seeking their release, the horses dangerously pawed at the coach. Samuel touched my lips with his fingertips and then shoved me clear of the animals. My dreams destroyed, I permitted the current to carry me downstream. Finally, I caught a limb and pulled myself to freedom.” Her gaze returned to Darcy's face. “I knew my parents would force me to marry Stephen if I returned, and I could not spend my life with the brother of the man I loved. I ran. For days. For weeks, I roamed the moor. Taking shelter where I could.”

“Is that how you found my sister's horse?” Darcy asked the question to which his cousin wanted to have an answer.

The lady shook her head in the negative. “I still do not hold a memory of how I came to be riding the horse in question, but I shall put my energies to giving you something useful.”

Darcy sighed deeply. “Then perhaps we should decide how best to handle the chaos below.”

Elizabeth stared intently at the cottage nestled in the side of the hill. It sat on a plateau, and the craggy slopes held the small building tightly in their grip.

“Be this the one ye dreamed?” Mr. Jacks asked as he pulled up on the gig's reins. When Elizabeth had insisted on searching for this place, Mr. Jacks had agreed to drive her rather than permit Himself's wife to become lost like her sister. He was more familiar with the area than some of the younger Alpin workers were, and he had insisted that he could competently handle the carriage he had chosen for the journey. It had taken them over an hour to reach this deserted area of the moor.

“I believe it is,” Elizabeth said distractedly. She stared at the small window on the front of the cottage. “I wish I could see the left side to observe whether there is a window there as well.”

Jacks pointed to the rising smoke. “Someone be taking shelter within. Maybe we should be thinking twice before we venture forward,” he cautioned. “There be a rough sort roaming the moors, Ma'am.”

Elizabeth did not want to turn back. She had vividly dreamed of Georgiana in such a shelter, and she would not leave until she had proved herself wrong. “I mean to know whether Mrs. Fitzwilliam is within,” she said as she clamored from the carriage before Jacks could scramble to assist her. She dug in her reticule and pulled out a small pearl-handled pistol, which Darcy had given her on her last birthday. “Bring your musket, Mr. Jacks.” Elizabeth began to climb at a steady pace.

The incline was steeper than it appeared. Halfway up, the Scot caught up to her as she stopped to catch her breath. Being enceinte made it more difficult to maintain her momentum. “I see no movement from inside,” Jacks observed. “Whoever be within do not know we be coming.”

Elizabeth glanced about as she inhaled several deep, steadying breaths. “A person has a good view of the whole valley from here,” she said softly.

“Better to keep enemies in check.” Jacks supported her step. “Allow me to go first, Mrs. Darcy,” he said as he raised his musket higher.

Elizabeth stepped to the side to permit him easier access on the narrow path. Then her eyes caught the slightest of movements near a cluster of scraggily looking trees. “Mr. Jacks, what is that over in the bushes?” Her arm directed the man's sight to the spot.

“Don't know,” the man said gruffly, “but we best be finding out. Don't want no surprises.” He led the way off the path and down the hill to the shrubbery. As they closed in on the place, he said sharply, “Well, I be.” He lowered his gun.

“What is it?” Elizabeth could not see around the man. She stepped further to the right for a better view. “A horse?”

Jacks shot a glance at the cottage. “Not just any horse, Mrs. Darcy, but the one Mr. Hurlbert, or whatever be the scoundrel's name, rode out on right before you and Himself arrived at Alpin.”

Elizabeth, too, allowed her eyes to drift to the cottage. “The prayer the Devil answers,” she mimicked her husband's favorite saying. She had no doubt that she had found Darcy's sister, but this was an unexpected development. “Lieutenant Wickham is likely inside,” she said aloud to confirm her suspicions. She thought of Georgiana and of the number of years Darcy's sister had suffered from the insecurities following her experience with George Wickham. She and Darcy had carefully guarded Georgiana's encounters so there would be no opportunity for Darcy's sister to “accidentally” encounter the man who had once shattered the girl's illusions about romance. Now, Lieutenant Wickham likely had Georgiana cornered and at his mercy. Anger coursed through Elizabeth. “Mr.
Jacks,” she ordered, “I want you to take the gig and find Mr. Darcy at the Ayrshire inn from which his last message came. Tell him that I have discovered Lieutenant Wickham's whereabouts, and that the gentleman likely has Mrs. Fitzwilliam with him.”