“Very well, sir,” Mr. Innings remarked, the door closing behind them bringing Elizabeth’s nerves to an edge.
Motioning toward a teapot and a plate of biscuits and small cakes, Mr. Darcy gave an awkward smile, “Please, help yourself. Mrs. Simmons provided an extra cup for Mr. Bingley and a mountain of treats, though he did not stop to enjoy them; too eager to celebrate at your home, I imagine.”
“I imagine,” she answered unconsciously as she moved about the room, the feel of his eyes evident as she decided where to begin, the weight of the note in her hand growing with each passing moment.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy began, “I know you find me a man deserving of scorn, and rightfully so. The apology I gave at our last meeting was not worthy of acceptance, though I give it again in sincerity and add to it, for what I supposed of you and your mother is in no way true.” Turning to view him, Elizabeth froze at the open, honest contrition of Mr. Darcy, the man’s eyes meeting hers as he continued, “I humbly beg your forgiveness, though I know it is not merited… and, as much as you deserve a more eloquent apology, I see you are distressed and wish to help. If there is anything I might do, you need only ask.”
His eyes held truth, as did his words, but could he be trusted in full? He had shown on two separate occasions aninclination of character toward rude, self-righteousness… and yet, his apology appeared at odds to such behavior.Lips thinned, Elizabeth frowned,Charlotte did suspect his behavior to be mere ill-humour rather than a true want of character… Truly it was too early to tell, and Mr. Darcy could well prove as unsavory as she had first assumed, but either way, what mattered was Mary’s safety. Unpleasant or not, Mr. Darcy might be just the man to help her; God willing.
“I fear, Mr. Darcy, I am of a mind to withhold my forgiveness for the present; though I hope in time it may be given, as your actions and words prove your character.” Moving to his side, she handed him the ransom note, “Yet here is a sign of good faith. It was given to me as I neared this house. I was already in search of Mary when a man appeared out of the woods and gave me this. He did not say a word, nor did he threaten me in any way, though I admit with no small amount of shame his presence unnerved me. Between my shock and the low hat and high collared coat he wore, I could tell you little about him save his eyes. They were a piercing blue. I cannot say who he was or where he went exactly, though he headed south of here at first–where he went after is unknown. All I do know is my sister has been taken, and I intend to get her back!”
Taking a seat as he read and reread the ransom note, Mr. Darcy’s frown deepened with each reading.
“I fear, Miss Elizabeth, that your sister has met the same fate as my cousin, and by the same hand. Here,” he said, pulling a letter from his pocket, “see the script. Though some pains have been taken by them to disguise their hand, the pattern is far too familiar to be mistaken for different.”
“Your, your cousin is…” she awed as she moved to sit across from.
“He is kidnapped, as is your sister. And given the sum I suspect it is no coincidence.” Leaning forward his eyes met hers, “I speak this in the strictest confidence. Some months back a man–Mr. Wickham–who in childhood I counted as a friend and whose father was steward to my own father. Well… my sister has an inheritance of thirty-thousand pounds, and, as Wickham lacked funds he deemed acceptable and also desired revenge against me, he ‘happened’ upon my sister while she was staying at Ramsgate and, having convinced her he loved her and she him, prepared to elope with her. She is not yet sixteen. That your note gives a sum equal to my sister’s dowry has me question if Wickham is not somehow involved.”
An enemy of his was the reason her sister was now in peril?Elizabeth reasoned, the knit of her brow severe as confusion and fury met.
“And what cause does he have to seek revenge? Let alone by the use of my sister? What part do you play in all this, sir?” she bristled, her narrowed gaze surprisingly still met by his.
“Wickham is a man of considerable charm and my father, unfortunately, saw in him a young man of promise; he did not see the constant gambling and debauched behavior he displayed away from Pemberley’s walls. Thus, an inheritance was promised in the form of a living as rector. Upon availability of that living and in honour of my late father’s wishes, I offered the position to Wickham who then claimed he had no desire for the church and to whom, instead, I provided no small sum of money in place of the living. That money spent, he returned to me for the living itself, which I had already given to another and therefore refused him; his fury was marked, but he chose to vent that anger by using my sister. Now, if he is as responsible as Ifear, he has chosen to use my cousin and your sister to exact revenge… why your sister, I am not wholly certain.”
Shoulders dropping, Elizabeth knew not how to proceed.
A suspect they had, but proof? They had none. For a matching sum and an irate man did not tell them for certain that the man had committed the crime. Worse still, it did nothing to tell them where Darcy’s cousin or her sister were.
Whatever might they do? Even Mr. Darcy could not manage the ransom figures of both his cousin and her sister. Still, there had to be something they could do to find them,Elizabeth thought, her brain fighting for an answer for some time, though aside from visions of finding Mr. Wickham and taking some heavy object to his head, no true solution ever seemed to come.
Hands growing warm, Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she considered the cup of tea nestled within; Mr. Darcy moved to a nearby bookcase where he searched for some title or another.
How long had she been sitting there?
“Here,” Mr. Darcy smiled as he returned to her, a book on roads by Lieutenant-Colonel Paterson and an atlas laid on a small table between them. “These may be of assistance. Already I have written to learn of Wickham’s whereabouts and what he has been doing these past months. If there is anything to discover, we will know it soon enough, but in the meantime, I think it is wise to find what paths they could have taken your sister.”
Two hours later, having looked at enough maps so as to make her eyes weary and her neck ache, Elizabeth stretched as she made her way over to the fire, the logs in the hearth nearly consumed, the pile of treats on the small table significantly lessened, and the once full pot of tea emptied. No proof could be found for any one direction in which Mary might have beentaken, though they had explored each possible path and all but disregarded some.
London seemed plausible, given its size and population allowing for someone to disappear into the throng–yet, the ease with which someone might discover them via paying for information did lend a bit of risk to taking one captive there, let alone two if they were kept in the same place. From there, however, more places were decided against than for; Brighton, Bath, and other fashionable coastal locales were deemed unlikely, as were Oxford, Northampton, or Cambridge. Either they were too busy, too small, lacking escape routes, or were known as towns of information. Scotland and Wales held hope, as did more remote parts of England, most to the north, but how could they know which way Mary had been forced? They needed to find some clue or another. Without it, what more might they do?
Rubbing the small knot which had long since formed between her eyes, she considered the reaction of her mother.She would be hysterical… and that would make word of Mary’s kidnapping spread rapidly. Jane could handle it, Father as well, but what of Kitty or Lydia? Their reactions she had little desire to witness. Ought she keep the news to herself? It would be cruel to do so. And if she told only Jane and Father, would the betrayal of trust with her mother and younger sisters ever be eased? Yet, if she did tell her mother and younger sisters and Mary’s reputation or, worse still, her safety were threatened, would that not be a worse thing?
“Why do you sigh, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked as he sat down near the fire, her attention drawn to his soft gaze.
“I did not know I had,” she answered quietly as she moved to sit across from him. “I fear I am concerned how my family willreact when this is made known. Father and Jane will manage the news with bravery, and keep it to themselves for Mary’s sake, but my mother, or Kitty, or Lydia? I know they will not receive it the same and I fear the tale may spread. It could ruin Mary once she is found… or worse, keep her from being recovered. Yet, even if I only tell my father and Jane, how can we convince the rest of my familyandthe town that nothing is wrong. If only they did not take her on her birthday, there would be a chance of hiding it, but now?”
Resting his chin upon his hand, Darcy sat silent for some moments before turning his eyes to hers.
“If she took sick, or twisted her ankle, or some such, that would have given her reason to remain here if she were passing by at the time. We would have to inform Bingley of this, and hope the servants can be kept quiet–through bribery if nothing else–but that would explain why she did not attend her party. After all, her family would know if she were to travel to visit someone and would question her lack of trunks, but an illness or accident, that is another matter.”
A plan. And a good one at that, or rather, as good as they might devise before she had to return home. They did not have the luxury of time. Not in this. And not in finding Mary or Mr. Darcy’s cousin.
If only Netherfield did not have a host of servants. Even bribery might not prove enough to maintain the secret.
“Very well,” she agreed. “Though I fear there is a great deal which might go wrong.”
“As it could,” he admitted reluctantly. “We shall however take every precaution against that.”
