The Phantom of Pemberley (50 page)

The young man pompously strode across the room. “I am surprised you do not recognize me.”

Elizabeth gestured to the unlit candleholder. “It must be the
poor lighting.” Her eyes followed him as he paced the area. “Your name, please, so I might address you properly.”

“Peter Whittington, son of Lord and Lady Whitlock.”

Elizabeth tried to purposely catch him off guard—a minor victory, but one nevertheless. “Then it is Sir Peter or Sir Whitlock? I am afraid I remain unaware of your family seat. I hail from Hertfordshire originally, you see.” Unlike James Whitey, the young man did not heed the warning voice in his head, a fact Elizabeth would use to her advantage.

“My older brother is to inherit,” he said, his hauteur even more evident than before.“I am simply a ‘Mister,’” he informed her as he tossed a blanket across the overflowing chamber pot in an attempt to quell the smell.

Spotting another blanket crumpled on the mattress, Elizabeth controlled the tone of her voice. “Mr. Whittington, would you mind if I have use of the other blanket?” She gestured to the dark brown cloth. “I have no cloak, and I am quite chilled.”

He examined her closely, his dark brows narrowing; she had surprised him again. “I see no reason to deny you.” He flicked his wrist magnanimously in the direction of the mattress.“Gregor will have no need of it now.”

Elizabeth bent tentatively to reach the bound wool cloth.“This is most kind of you, Mr. Whittington.” She kept her voice neutral as she folded the wool and wrapped it around her shoulders, seeking the warmth.“Would it be too much to know, Mr.Whittington, who Gregor might be?”

“Believe me, Mrs. Darcy,” the modulating voice continued, “you do not wish to meet Gregor MacIves. He is the worst of us. He is the one who took the lieutenant’s life, and James sent him away for awhile.”

Behind him, Elizabeth saw Lydia shrug her shoulders to indicate her own lack of knowledge of the man. “Well, then, I shall be happy for your company, Mr. Whittington.” She realized she must be aware of the different stories Mr. Wickham now told in order
to deal with the man. “Are there others, Mr. Whittington? Others traveling with Mr.Wickham?”

Peter offered her a measuring stare, but then he smiled noncommittally. “Mr. Wickham is rarely with us these days,” he declared mockingly. “Actually, as I come from the only titled family among us, I suppose the others travel with me.”

Elizabeth remembered once thinking Mr.Wickham’s smile one of the most compelling she had ever seen; now, she saw it for the evil behind it. Reluctantly, she nodded her head in understanding. “Then there are just the four of you?” She tried to wordlessly encourage her sister to help her, but Lydia remained compliant and silent.

Peter Whittington, or whatever he called himself, made no response to her question, but a soft, malevolent chuckle sent a shiver down her spine and her heart pounding in her throat. “I suggest ye be takin’ yourself along,” he growled threateningly in a Scottish brogue. “I not be a bleeding book of answers.”

Wickham’s bleary gaze made Elizabeth think he was suddenly very drunk. “I am prepared to go with you, Mr. Wickham.” She kept her voice low, hoping he would find no offense. His behavior baffled her, and Elizabeth did not know how best to react to this singular game he practiced.

“Ye be thinkin’ I be that bloody braggart? Nay, I didnae think ye would offer me a dagger to the heart, lass—ye would not curse me as such.” He threw items into a cloth bag. “Didnae ye think to bring us some food? Or something we ken be selling?”

“I am afraid, sir, that we had no time to pack properly.” Elizabeth nervously gestured to the blanket she wore about her shoulders. “Mr. Whittington kindly loaned me this wool cloth for warmth. However, if you wish, my sister and I could return and find you the gold and silver in Mr. Darcy’s house.” She did not know why Mr.Wickham chose to act out these scenes, but his portrayals made her more determined to find a way out on her own or to stall until Darcy came for her.

“A mon cannae send a lass to do his work,” he asserted, standing before tossing the bag over his shoulder.“I be havin’ me revenge on the mister soon enough.”

 

“Do you understand what I want you to do?” Edward Fitzwilliam quickly organized the search.“Sir Phillip and Mr. Baldwin will stay with the ladies. Mr. Baldwin, I want no one below stairs. It is too dangerous. Collect Mrs. Harwood and place her with the rest of the women in the blue room. No one comes in or out except those of us in this room.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Worth, you will take men through the cold cellar entrance.” Each man simply nodded his agreement. “Stafford, you will go through Harwood’s room. Murray, you and St. Denis will come through the east wing. The latch in each room must be the same. Take lanterns and weapons, and do not hesitate to use your gun if you can get a clean shot at Mr. Wickham.” No one answered him, but the intensity on each man’s face told the tale. “Are you ready, Darcy?” Edward placed a gun in his waistband, another in a holster under his arm, and sheathed his rapier.

Similarly outfitted, Darcy rolled the map he had been inspecting with Mr. Steventon. “There is an exit to the wooded area behind the stables, one closer to White Peak, and one leading to the waterfall toward the turnpike road.”

“I am betting on the stables. Wickham needs a fast exit, and horses are the only solution in this weather.”

“Hurry, Edward. Elizabeth cannot leave this estate with that madman.”

ELIZABETH SUPPORTED Lydia’s sagging body as they followed Wickham through the shadowy twists and turns. She would run for safety if she could simply make Lydia respond, but Elizabeth would not leave her younger sister behind. For some unexplained reason, Lydia was cowed by Wickham’s playacting. Elizabeth sometimes wondered how she and Lydia could be children of the same parents.

“Is this normal for Mr. Wickham?” she whispered close to Lydia’s ear. Lydia frowned for a moment and then nodded. “Does your husband make you call him by these silly names?”

Lydia shot a frightened glance at her husband, obviously praying he did not hear them. “You do not understand, Lizzy.” She hesitated, keeping her eyes locked on Wickham’s back. “He is not playacting. Mr. Wickham is each of those men, and you had best remember that.”

 

Darcy and Edward led a handful of Pemberley’s best men into the depths of the darkness. “My God,” Darcy moaned, “who would have thought?” He raised the lantern to get his bearings.“The corridors must follow the house—the T shape of the sleeping quarters. There is nothing behind us.We know from what Wickham said to Miss Darcy that some rooms provided him only a way of spying on us. Others have openings such as this one. Stay sharp—the man is dangerous—has killed three people already. I do not want Mrs. Darcy to be his next victim.”

“Slowly,” Edward cautioned. “Mr. Wickham knows these passages; we do not. Remain alert to all possibilities.”

 

Despite wanting to rush through the water-soaked enclosure, Darcy listened to his cousin’s advice and moved cautiously along behind Edward—his eyes and ears straining for a glimpse or a sound somewhere ahead of him.When they reached the intersecting halls, they spread out.

“Which way?” Lucas asked as he turned in circles.“Up or down?”

“God! I do not know!” Darcy ran a hand through his hair.

“Down,” Edward stated flatly.“Has to be down.” He led the way as the corridor took a sharp descent between the house’s flooring. “Be careful,” he called over his shoulder.“The steps are narrow and moldy. If your foot slips, you are dropping into the darkness.”

Darcy shadowed his cousin, unable to think for himself. Not since Elizabeth’s initial refusal had he felt such anguish—such disorientation. If he lost her now, he did not think he could survive. His eyes searched for any sign of her—and then he saw it.“Edward, look!” He pushed past his cousin to snatch up the scrap of material. “It is Elizabeth’s—from the lace on her wedding gown. See.”

“At least, we know we are going the right way. Stay close. It appears Mrs. Darcy is leaving us a trail.”

“Do you suppose?” Darcy gripped his cousin’s arm.

“Absolutely.” The colonel smiled. “You have always spoken highly of Mrs. Darcy’s intelligence—her good sense. Your wife leaves you a message, Darcy. Can you not join her in finding a way to defeat Wickham? Use your connection to the lady to find her. The two of you together can be a most powerful force.”

Darcy swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. Edward was right. He was not helping Elizabeth with his panic.

“’Tis as dark as a coffin,” Lucas said from somewhere behind them.

“But it is not
our
coffin,” Darcy growled, “not today, not ever. This is my house, and Mr. Wickham has taken my wife. If anyone
is to die in this hole, it shall be he.” Darcy nodded to his cousin. “I am with you, Edward. No more fear of losing Elizabeth. Neither she nor I will allow our separation.”

“Then let us find your lady.” Edward lifted the lantern again to take the lead. The colonel thought of what Darcy had with Elizabeth, and he nearly moaned in despair. He had spent enough years alone and enough years establishing his own good name to consider finding a wife and happiness at last. Then the image of a slender, golden-haired beauty planted itself firmly in his memory.
Come back to me.

 

“’Tis dangerous to spe’k when ye should be verra quiet.”Wickham pulled up short, and Elizabeth staggered to keep from slamming into his backside. He caught Lydia brusquely by the arm. “Dinnae James teach ye when ye ken and cannae spe’k?”

“It is my fault.” Elizabeth tried to insinuate herself between her sister and Mr. Wickham. “I am a bit confused and asked my sister what she knew of you.” She eased his grip from Lydia’s arm.

“Ye cannae conceive of such a mon? That be it, Lass?” He actually reached out gently to caress Elizabeth’s cheek.“Ye be the smart one; I remember.”Then he caught her chin and turned it brashly to him. “I believe ye be a passionate woman, Eliza: I see it in ye eyes, and I will revel in havin’ ye.” He smashed his mouth hard against hers, kissing Elizabeth roughly. As quickly as he took her mouth, Wickham released her.Turning his back on them again, he grabbed Lydia to his side.“Come along,” he said in the voice Elizabeth now recognized as James Withey.

Without another word, she fell into step behind the couple. Surreptitiously, she used the back of her hand to wipe away Wickham’s taste from her mouth. She wondered how she could ever have preferred George Wickham to Darcy. She now fully understood, along with her Aunt Gardiner, that Darcy’s real defect of character was his obstinacy. He had been accused of many faults at different times—she had been among his greatest critics—but obstinacy was his one true
one.With Wickham and Lydia, Darcy had followed them purposely to town; he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research. He had frequently met with, reasoned with, persuaded, and finally bribed the man whom he always most wished to avoid and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce—the man who had invaded their home.

For herself, she was humbled; but she was proud of him—proud that in a cause of compassion and honor, Darcy had been able to get the better of himself. Now Wickham repaid her husband’s compassion by bringing death to Darcy’s doorstep. Somehow, she would stop him—she would free Darcy of George Wickham’s malice, and she would free Lydia of her husband’s libertine ways.

 

When the footman stepped on the flooring of the landing, no one at first knew what happened until it happened.The wooden planks gave way under the man’s weight, and he plunged into the dry well.

“Redman!” Darcy called as he peered into the blackness.“Redman, can you hear me?”

A groan and a muffled curse told him the man lived.

“Redman!”

“Here, Mr. Darcy,” a breath-deprived voice returned Darcy’s plea.

“Can you move?” Edward knelt beside Darcy, holding a lantern over the hole, trying to determine the situation. “Looks as if he is on that shelf.” He indicated a small ledge about ten to twelve feet below them.

A scratching sound followed by another curse answered the question. “It’s me leg, Colonel.”

“Great.” Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. “Now, what do we do? I am not even sure where we might be in the house.”

“We will have to send Lucas for help.” Edward assessed the situation quickly.

Darcy nodded his agreement, but before any of them could move, light bathed the space as a wall shifted, and Lord Stafford’s head appeared in the opening.

“Thank God!” The colonel exhaled the words. “Stafford, we need your help.”

Adam Lawrence squeezed through the opening, followed by two footmen. Immediately, he and the others stood beside Darcy and the colonel. “What happened?” He held the lantern aloft.

“Redman fell in,” Darcy informed him.“We need him out, and I need to find Elizabeth.”