“How curious,” Elizabeth said as nonchalantly as she could. “What remedy does Mr. Darcy suggest, seeing as his recollection does not match mine?”
“Mr. Darcy, of course, is eminently concerned about his reputation,” Wickham said. “Given the stories you’ve told around this inn, he felt it best if you had time to… recover. He mentioned a very fine establishment near London, quite discreet, where ladies of quality can rest and regain their equilibrium.”
A sanatorium. He was threatening her with a sanatorium, using Darcy’s supposed authority to legitimize the threat. Elizabeth forced herself to appear thoughtful rather than terrified, though her pulse hammered in her throat.
“How kind of him to think of my welfare,” she managed. “Though I confess I feel quite well. I believe I shall await further word from Mr. Darcy himself before making any decisions about my travel arrangements.”
Wickham’s smile tightened. “I’m afraid that would be most inadvisable. Mr. Darcy was quite clear that you should be conveyed to London without delay. He has arranged for you to stay at a… restful establishment while he attends to his business.”
“For how long?”
“Difficult to say. Estate business can be… complex. Weeks, perhaps months.” Wickham studied her reaction carefully. “But you needn’t worry about that now. The important thing is ensuring you’re properly looked after.”
Months. Elizabeth’s heart sank even as her mind rejected the possibility. Darcy would never leave her for months without word, regardless of estate business. Something terrible had happened to him—she was certain of it.
She needed information—accurate information—about whathad happened to Darcy. And time to formulate an escape from whatever trap Wickham was setting.
“I see,” she said, adopting an expression of thoughtful consideration. “Mr. Darcy is, as always, most attentive to my needs. When do you propose we depart?”
“I have secured transportation. We could leave within the hour, if you are prepared.”
“So soon?” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her chest in a gesture of feminine distress. “I confess, Mr. Wickham, the suddenness of this change in plans has quite overwhelmed me. Might I have a little time to gather my belongings and compose myself? Perhaps we could depart after I’ve taken some refreshment?”
Wickham hesitated, clearly torn between his desire for immediate control and the risk of causing a scene that might draw unwanted attention.
“Perhaps a compromise,” Elizabeth suggested, seeing his indecision. “Allow me an hour to rest and prepare. We can depart at one o’clock, refreshed and better equipped for the journey.”
“Very well,” Wickham conceded after a moment. “One o’clock. My companions and I can take lunch while we wait.”
Companions. So he was not alone. The situation grew more perilous by the moment.
“Your consideration is most appreciated,” Elizabeth said, dipping into a curtsy that disguised the trembling in her limbs. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall take a light repast in my room. The events of recent days have been most taxing.”
Wickham bowed, the picture of a gentleman. “Of course. Rest well, Mrs. Darcy. The afternoon promises to be eventful.”
The subtle threat beneath the words was unmistakable. Elizabeth nodded and withdrew, maintaining her composure until she was safely back in her chamber. Only then did she allow herself a moment of pure, undiluted terror.
Something had happened to Darcy. Something that had placedher husband in Wickham’s power and now left her vulnerable to the same fate. But what? And how could she possibly escape it?
She needed information, and quickly. Descending to the taproom would be too obvious; Wickham would surely be watching. But perhaps the innkeeper’s wife might be persuaded to share what she knew.
Elizabeth rang the bell, and the woman appeared promptly.
“I wonder,” Elizabeth began, pressing a coin into the woman’s palm, “if you’ve heard any news of incidents on the London road this morning? My husband is considerably delayed, and I grow concerned.”
The innkeeper’s wife pocketed the coin with practiced swiftness. “There’s been talk, ma’am. A gentleman attacked by highwaymen not a mile from here, they say. Some claim he was gravely injured, others that he was merely robbed.”
Elizabeth’s heart constricted. “This gentleman—did anyone mention his name?”
“No, ma’am. Though one traveler mentioned he was driving a fine curricle with matched bays.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath Elizabeth’s feet, but she steadied herself against the bedpost. “I see. And what became of this gentleman? Was he brought back to Barnet?”
“That’s where accounts differ, ma’am. Some say he was taken to London for medical attention. Others claim…” The woman trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“Please,” Elizabeth urged, pressing another coin into her hand. “I must know.”
“Others claim he did not survive the attack, ma’am. That his body was taken away in a hearse.” The woman crossed herself. “But it’s just talk, you understand. The sort of wild tales that follow any incident.”
