The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (53 page)

“How did you manage to reach this cottage?” Elizabeth asked Georgiana. She ignored Lieutenant Wickham's grumblings and mutterings as she tended to Darcy's sister. She had unbraided Georgiana's hair and had combed it with her fingers.

“Everything is a blur. When I ran from the truth of the Countess's letter, I meant to seek the ruins of a medieval castle I knew in the area. I had visited it several times since coming to Kirkconnel. It is a place I knew I could be alone with my thoughts.” As she had always done with Georgiana, Elizabeth simply listened. She did not judge or put her own interpretation on the tale. She allowed Georgiana to explore her own feelings. “When Bracken stumbled, I felt I was in a race with a terror I could not see, but one that existed nevertheless. Does that sound odd?”

Georgiana turned her eyes to Elizabeth as if she expected censure, but Elizabeth busied herself with smoothing the tangles from the girl's hair. “The moors hold many dangers. Who is to say what is real and what is not. If you believed someone or something pursued you, then so do I. You have never told me an untruth.”

Georgiana's eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” she murmured. “Even after Bracken galloped away, I ran, but my foot caught in a rabbit hole, and I went down. When I first woke in this cabin, I could not recall how I had come upon it, but over the days since, I have remembered bits and pieces of how it happened. There
was a woman. Pretty and fair. She found me on the moor and assisted me to this place.”

“The same woman of whom you spoke earlier?” Elizabeth asked.

Georgiana noted that Lieutenant Wickham had abandoned his plan to leave and now listened to her tale. “At first, I believed so, but my rescuer left me to find assistance. She never returned. The woman who saw me through those early days spoke of Fitzwilliam and Edward, and even of you, Lizzy; and she ordered me not to forsake hope. She told me I was resourceful and strong. The lady taught me how to find food and how to protect my ankle.”

Elizabeth slid her arms around Georgiana from behind. She nuzzled the girl's cheek. “Your mother,” Fitzwilliam's wife whispered into Georgiana's ear. “Your guardian angel.”

“What is that you are saying?” Wickham demanded. “What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Mrs. Fitzwilliam? Let me hear what it is.”

Elizabeth released her, but the feeling of love remained. Georgiana raised her eyes to the man she once had allowed to define her self-confidence. With Fitzwilliam and Edward and Elizabeth, she had discovered a woman she so much preferred to that foolish girl. Mimicking Elizabeth's earlier tone, she said teasingly, “We speak of angels and of the Devil, Lieutenant Wickham, and whether we would recognize either if he appeared before us.”

Darcy approached Normanna's master and Lady Margaret. “We must speak honestly.”

Wotherspoon stiffened. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. It be time to summon the magistrate.”

Darcy gestured to a private alcove. They had bound Lady Wotherspoon, but he had noted how the woman had quieted when Lady Margaret told her tale. Darcy would not have the house's mistress know of what he would suggest. “Keep your voices low,” he cautioned the couple as they settled where he still could observe what occurred in the main hall. “As you say, Wotherspoon, we must inform the authorities.”

The man glanced to where his mother fought against her ropes. “It is to be expected,” he said with resignation.

Darcy cleared his throat. “I had another thought.”

Wotherspoon's brows met in a deep frown. “I fear I do not understand, Mr. Darcy. Will you or will you not announce Normanna's shame to the world?”

“The crimes perpetrated by Lady Wotherspoon will become the business of the Scottish government, but to my knowledge, the head of the Wotherspoon family would have known nothing of what has transpired under Normanna's roof, as the gentleman in question has taken himself off to the Mediterranean to grieve over his father's passing.”

Wotherspoon's countenance held his surprise. “You would permit me to save face?”

“I would,” Darcy said flatly. “I am not certain at this point what tale I will give the authorities, nor can I warrant how much of your name I will be able to salvage. Too many people know what has occurred under your mother's reign to maintain your family's honor completely. Yet, I will promise to soften the public's opinion of your involvement in what has occurred.” He turned to the woman. “Lady Margaret, if you desire to return to the safety of Viscount Penworth's home, I will have someone to escort you.”

“In my condition, I doubt that I would be welcomed,” she observed. “I shall find my own way. However, if you could send a discreet note to my mother advising her of my continued health, I would appreciate it. The Viscountess deserves to know her youngest daughter lives.”

“As you wish, my Lady, but perhaps I could send her news of a happier nature. A note to explain that her daughter has found a man she esteems and with whom she intends to begin a family.”

Wotherspoon caught Lady Margaret's hand. “Mr. Darcy is correct. Marry me, Margaret. We will abandon our shame and build a life elsewhere. I will devote my days to making you happy.”

Lady Margaret shot a glance at Darcy, but before giving them their privacy, he warned, “I have instructed my men to wait six hours before they ride for the authorities. Not one second more. Am I understood, Wotherspoon?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Darcy. You will hear no more from me on the matter.”

“I wish you happiness, Wotherspoon. Lady Margaret.”

“So, I am the Devil. Is that how it is, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. I bear the label of the ultimate sinner. You think yourself so far above the rest of us,” Wickham charged. “You and the Darcys and the Matlocks and the Fitzwilliams; and, you are nothing but a spoiled, insecure girl.”

Georgiana felt Elizabeth's hand slip into hers. Her brother's wife gave Georgiana permission to exorcise her own demons. She could return to Lieutenant Wickham all those retorts that she had concocted over the years.

“Your insecurity does you no credit, Georgiana. It fools no one into believing you humble,” he persisted. “Your insecurities are pride in disguise.”

Georgiana squared her shoulders. “I admit to my insecurities, Lieutenant Wickham. At times, I have acted quite imprudently, but my mistakes were those of young woman finding her way in the world. How will God judge you, Sir? How will our Maker judge a man who requires the world's approval? Who cannot accept his lot and would steal another's identity? Who accounts his failures at another's hands? Who cannot bear his own reflection in the mirror?”

“And whence comes this expertise on the follies of man, Mrs. Fitzwilliam? What makes you an authority on my life?” he asked caustically.

Georgiana squeezed Elizabeth's hand in a moment of solidarity. “I have said previously that your life remains a mystery to me, and I should not judge you. When the Israelites were given into Midian, the Bible says that Gideon cried out to God. ‘Oh my Lord, if the Lord be with us, why then is all this befallen us? And where be all his miracles, which our fathers told us of, saying, Did not the Lord bring us up from Egypt? But now the Lord hath forsaken us, and delivered us into the hands of the Midianites.'”

“What is your point, Georgiana?” he demanded.

“As Gideon found, it is easy to blame others for our failures. When I returned to Pemberley after our aborted elopement, I blamed you for my shattered dreams. For my near ruination. Even for your quick desertion of a young girl who had placed her trust in your words of love. Yet, I found an aberration of my own making. To emerge from my arrogance, I had to face the knowledge that God sees our strengths rather than our weaknesses. The weaknesses are our domain. The faults we see in others are often found within our own souls. When I thought you had betrayed my trust, I was slow to admit that I had accepted your attentions because I could
not accept my own insensibility. I had sought my identity in someone else's eyes. Humility requires us to not place ourselves above others. There are no exemptions in life—only arrogance. We bring judgment upon ourselves. My advice, such as it is, suggests that instead of ignoring one's critics, it is better to embrace them, for they speak the truth. As the Bible says in Matthew 7, ‘Cast out first the beam out of thine eye, and then thou will see clearly to cast out the mote of thy brother's eye.'”

“Jasper, what are you doing here?” Darcy asked tersely. “I thought you were guarding the gatehouse?”

“This came for you, Sir. A messenger delivered it from the inn. I thought it important. It is from Mr. Jacks.”

Darcy nodded his acceptance. “You did well, Jasper.” He rarely reprimanded his men, but the current craziness had had him on edge.

“What is it, Darcy?” Edward appeared at his side.

“A message from Jacks,” he said as he stepped closer to a wall sconce for light.

“News of Georgiana?” Edward asked. His eyes followed Darcy's every move.

Darcy unfolded the paper and scanned the short note. “Jacks has word of Lieutenant Wickham's whereabouts.” He read further. “Damn! Elizabeth has confronted the man.” He turned toward the side entrance. “I must leave.”

“Take my horse. It stands in wait,” Edward called after him. “I will see to the final details and then follow.”

“Jacks is at the inn,” Darcy called over his shoulder.

“Jasper,” Edward instructed Darcy's footman. “Here is what I expect you and Weir to do…”

He had bidden Wotherspoon and Lady Margaret farewell and had given Weir and Jasper specific orders on when to contact the magistrate and what to tell the man of the Fitzwilliam family's involvement in capturing Lady Wotherspoon and her cohorts. Now, Edward rode with a purpose. He had checked at the inn to find that Darcy had followed Mr. Jacks's gig to an unknown destination. Edward knew he must overtake his cousin. He had read the note shoved into his hand as Darcy raced from Normanna. If Mrs. Darcy truly had located Lieutenant Wickham, Darcy's former friend could lose his life and Darcy himself his freedom. Edward did not think the world would regret the passing of George Wickham. For what the man had intended to do to Georgiana, Edward would gladly dispatch Wickham to hell himself, but he would not have Darcy tried for murder. If Wickham had laid one finger on Mrs. Darcy, it would be difficult to control his cousin's response.