by J Dawn King
She watched as the man and woman walked on each side of the young lady; the man with his hand tightly gripping the lady’s arm. Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia, had a similar appearance to the captive; for that was how Elizabeth considered her. She had a woman’s body, but not the bearing of one who had spent several years mixing in society. The girl must have been close to Lydia’s age, about fifteen.
Elizabeth followed them into the inn where the man let go of the girl and seated himself at a corner table, flirting with the barmaid as she brought him a pitcher of ale. The room set aside for ladies to refresh themselves was down a narrow hall that led to the back of the building. A small room contained a blocked-off area that allowed for limited privacy. Elizabeth stood behind the older woman to wait her turn. When the young girl came into view, there were more strongly whispered words and a quick grab of the girl’s chin, lifting her head so the young lady and her companion looked eye to eye, before the woman moved behind the wall. The girl stood stiffly with her head again bowed and Elizabeth saw her slim shoulders shake and the first tears drop onto the filthy wooden floor; dark spots that bore witness to the girl’s terror. She radiated sadness.
Elizabeth longed to help her, but since she did not know the circumstances, she was unaware of how she could provide assistance.
A thought occurred to her. It would be a daring move. However, if the young girl had been her impetuous sister, Lydia, Elizabeth would desperately hope that a caring stranger would take the risk of doing whatever was necessary to come to her aid. Putting her right index finger to her lips to indicate silence, she reached over and tugged on the girl’s reticule. The girl immediately raised her head and her reflexes pulled her bag closer to her and out of Elizabeth’s reach. Elizabeth raised both eyebrows and mouthed the question, “Help?” and was unsurprised when the girl gave a quick nod.
Motioning her intent with her hands, Elizabeth exchanged reticules with the young lady. It was a slim chance that this would work, but she needed to take that chance. The girl let go of her bag with reluctance. Elizabeth started to smile at the girl when the companion finished refreshing herself, grabbed the girl’s arm, and marched her outside the room.
After a quick wash to remove as much grime as possible from her face, she used the privacy of the room to search the reticule. Elizabeth’s relief was intense. There was a letter inside addressed to Miss Georgiana Darcy from Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Darcy House, Grosvenor Square, London. From the content of the letter and the fact that it was from a gentleman to an unmarried lady, which she had determined from the mention that Georgiana Darcy was a “Miss”, the letter could only be from a relative; a kindly relative.
Elizabeth removed the precious coins she had sewn into the hem of her petticoat and left the room in search of pen and paper. Seating herself across the room from her fellow travelers, she quickly wrote to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. It took very little time until the innkeeper had engaged an express rider who was commissioned to place the missive into the hands of no one but the addressee. It was just a few minutes until the rider was out of sight. Elizabeth returned to the room to wait and hope.
There was, now, nothing to do but wait. And, reflect on her own circumstances.
Her time in London had been a delight. Though her Gardiner relatives were heavily immersed in trade, they were greatly superior to the majority of their fellow business associates in manner and education. Mr. Edward Gardiner was broad-minded and agreeable. Mrs. Madeline Gardiner was an elegant woman and a great favorite of her niece. Their intent had been to travel to the Peak District for the summer months, but a new venture with a consortium from the Americas had disrupted their plans. Instead, they had invited their niece for the season. It was only upon the unanticipated request of her father that she was returning home.
Her father’s sarcastic bent was occasionally a source of frustration to Elizabeth. Mr. Bennet often found humor in the foibles of others. Rather than exerting himself for the benefit of his family, he retreated to his small overstuffed library to laugh at life’s inconsistencies.
Elizabeth’s home, Longbourn, was entailed to the male line for another generation. Since she was blessed with four sisters and no brother, the next in line to inherit the estate was a distant cousin, Mr. William Collins.
Mr. Thomas Bennet was not a good correspondent. His brief comments in his summons that Mr. Collins was to arrive at Longbourn seeking a wife from the Bennet daughters had unsettled Elizabeth. Her two youngest sisters were not ready to marry and the middle sister, Mary, had decided years ago that she would devote her life to her religious studies and sought the life of a spinster to accomplish her goal. This left her or her eldest sister, Jane as the potential wife for Longbourn’s heir.
Jane was all that was gracious and beautiful. Mrs. Bennet had long proclaimed that her first child would marry well and save them from being thrown in the hedgerows upon her impending widowhood. It was a claim she had made for the past two and twenty years since Jane’s birth. Elizabeth could imagine that her mother’s nerves and fluttering would manipulate her father into refusing Jane as a bride for his cousin. Mrs. Bennet had spent her time, since becoming mother to daughters only, speculating about the rich, handsome man her eldest would marry. After all, according to their mother, “Jane could not be so beautiful simply for nothing.” That left Elizabeth. Her sympathy toward the young lady at the inn increased as Elizabeth realized that they both likely faced an uncertain future.
***
Traffic had been heavy and the coachman cared diligently for the health and safety of his team. He knew the value of good, steady horseflesh and the four that pulled the coach had served him well. Thus, nothing would move him to hurry his departure. Not the pleas of the gentleman or the woman. The coach and its four passengers would arrive in Meryton when they got there. He had a suspicion that the young miss would not mind the delay.
The coachman had years of service running the north road out of London and suspected that the end destination for the three was Gretna Green in Scotland for a hasty marriage over an anvil. It was not his place to interfere, though the bride-to-be looked unwilling. At the end of the hour, the groom hitched the horses back to the coach and the four passengers boarded. It would be two more hours of busy road and his focus needed to be on the task at hand, not the motives of the fares inside.
CHAPTER TWO
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had been in his study for several hours handling the multitude of business matters that came with owning one of the largest properties in England. His interests in inventions and opportunities for trade with the Honorable East India Company provided him with both added income and more correspondence than he wanted to care for each day. It was not rare for him to receive requests for information or emergency notifications via express. Therefore, when the rider reached his home, he had just completed his work and was intending to relax in his study before he was to receive his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, for dinner later in his home. However, Richard walked into Darcy House just behind the deliveryman.
"Business?" Richard intended to spend the night with a bottle of Darcy's finest brandy after he enjoyed a good meal provided by his cousin's kitchen staff. The majority of his peers in a similar position had chosen to live off of their elder brothers rather than to pursue a career. Richard was not one of them. As the second son of the Earl of Matlock, he determined early on to be a success— whether he chose the army, the church, or the law. He had worked his way up the ranks in the military by due diligence and had the battle scars to prove that his position in His Majesty's army had been earned, not given to him. Under normal circumstances, he enjoyed his duties. However, training new recruits was no more than glorified babysitting and he was weary.
Darcy did not recognize the handwriting on the front of the envelope. What he did note was that it was a hurried scrawl. Whoever the author was of this particular missive must have been rushed in some manner. His curiosity getting the better of him, he opened
it while standing in the entrance hall of his home. He had yet to welcome his cousin to Darcy House. And he would not.
"No! No! No!" All color leached from Darcy's face as he furiously balled the note in his fist. He was stunned and his anger was quick and intense. Taking a needed breath in through his nostrils in an effort to calm his pounding heart, he stuffed the crumpled letter in his pocket. Darcy spun around and demanded his horse be prepared immediately. He was leaving for Hertfordshire and he did not want to go alone.
"Richard, I hope your horse is rested because we need to ride— now." Before the colonel could reply, Darcy was running up the stairs calling for his valet. It was only moments before he returned downstairs and almost ran out of the front door. Gratefully, the colonel was ready and Darcy's groom had saddled his daily rider, not the stallion that had all the speed but little stamina. They needed to arrive in Meryton as soon as humanly possible.
It was the mark of their long friendship and Richard's own responsibility as co-guardian of Georgiana that Richard followed without a word. There were only two people of his acquaintance he trusted and they were Darcy and his own mother, Lady Matlock. Rarely had Richard witnessed his cousin in such a state. He had been on the continent fighting Napoleon's forces when Darcy's father had died almost five years earlier, so he had not been there to support his cousin. Nor had he been there when Darcy's mother had died at Georgiana's birth. Darcy was more like a brother to him than a cousin and he felt his pain in his own heart at what he had suffered at those losses. He vowed to himself that, whatever the letter contained that was so distressing to his cousin, he would be there for him now.
As soon as the men cleared town, they settled into a rapid gait. Both horses were trained for endurance. Colonel Fitzwilliam waited until the traffic had thinned before he questioned Darcy. He looked to his left and noted Darcy's eyes glued to the road in front of him, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle beating in time with the hoof beats as his cousin restrained himself from pushing his horse to the limit.
"Pray tell, Darcy, would you share the nature of this mission?" Richard knew little of their destination. The only bit of information that he had been able to retrieve from his cousin was that they were headed into Hertfordshire on the well-traveled north road out of London. A small village called Meryton was to be their final destination.
Darcy did not respond to his cousin's question, so Richard repeated it a bit louder. When his words still did not seem to penetrate Darcy's anxious mind, Richard used his colonel voice. It was as if his cousin had not even been aware that he had company riding next to him.
"I apologize, Richard." Darcy did not slow the pace of the horses as he spoke. His voice was a monotone as he struggled to regulate his emotions. "The express that I received was from an E. R. Bennet of Meryton. He said that he had traveled in the stagecoach from London with a man, a woman, and a young girl who he claimed was Miss Georgiana Darcy. Miss Darcy was suffering from being ill-treated by the man. The woman offered no protection. In fact, it appeared to Mr. Bennet that the man and woman were working as a team and Georgiana was in distress. The coach had arrived in London from Ramsgate. It was there that Mr. Bennet joined the three passengers to travel to his home, Longbourn in Hertfordshire."
"What!" Richard pulled on the reigns, causing his horse to stop in its tracks. Darcy continued on. The colonel loved Georgiana like a little sister and his fierce protective instincts rivaled Darcy's. "Wickham!" He spat the word out.
"I believe so, Richard." Darcy's mind was racing with one plan after another. "If the information from Mr. Bennet is to be trusted, Mrs. Younge has proven to be in collusion with Wickham and Georgiana is in grave danger. Since they are on this road north, I believe their final destination is Gretna Green. If we cannot intercept them and recover my sister, I fear the damage this will do. Wickham's revenge will be complete."
"I think you are correct, cousin." Richard was practiced in strategy, yet his mind could not compare with the logic of Darcy’s. Time after time when they were young, it had been his younger cousin who had outsmarted him in their play. The colonel's specialty was brute force and his skill with a sword was unparalleled. Even Darcy could not best him.
"You can transport the woman to the colonies when we find them, Darcy, but Wickham is mine. He will never leave England alive." There was no softness to his words. It would be the end of their childhood friend, George Wickham.
Wickham, the son of Pemberley's faithful steward, had been raised alongside Darcy but had chosen a path of ease and debauchery while at Cambridge. He had honed those skills in the years since, until he was completely dissolute. Both men were filled with horror at the thought of their innocent relative being in Wickham's company.
Unknowingly, they both kicked their horses to a faster gait.
It was less than two hours later when they reached Meryton. The coach was still outside the building, but the groom had just finished putting the horses in their traces. The call to the passengers was being made to board for the next leg of the journey when the men rode up.
Richard's plan was to burst through the door of the inn and skewer Wickham with the blade of his sword. Darcy felt there was some merit in that plan. However, there was the potential danger that Georgiana might be hurt and nothing, not even his own desire to harm his former friend, would move him to exercise anything but caution.
As it was, there was not time to formulate tactics since Mrs. Younge walked out of the inn before they could dismount. She was so intent on gaining her seat in the coach that she did not see the men. Through the doorway just behind her came Wickham, his arm tightly clutching a tearful Georgiana. Before they could reach the carriage, another young woman came from inside. She rushed to overtake Wickham.
"Miss. Miss." She raised her voice to gain Wickham's attention. "You dropped something from your reticule. Miss!"
At that, Wickham stopped and turned back. He had instructed Mrs. Younge to have Georgiana bring the few pieces of her mother's jewelry that she had brought with her to Ramsgate. He knew a pearl brooch and earrings were inside her bag. Georgiana had often worn them when she was in his company, hoping to make herself appear older. They would need those gems to have the funds for travel. His many trips from Pemberley to London over the years had educated him on the appropriate places he could pawn the items and gain the most money. They could not lose that reticule or any of its contents.
As Wickham waited for the young woman to catch up to them, the men rushed to each side of Wickham and Richard struck the side of Wickham’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. Georgiana, in a tearful daze, felt the pull against her arm as Wickham fell. Since she had not raised her eyes from the ground, she was unaware that salvation had drawn near.
Darcy grabbed his sister and held her tight, whispering soft, soothing words to her to calm her and release her from her terror. He watched as Richard pulled Wickham to his feet. Behind them, the young woman had stopped, her eyes darting between the three men.
Georgiana continued to quiver as Wickham ran from Richard and prepared to leap into the coach. On the way past Darcy, he grabbed the reticule Georgiana loosely clutched in her hand. Richard moved to follow and met Wickham at the door. Another punch put the villain to the ground. The colonel's drawn sword kept him there.
"What do you want me to do with this riff-raff, cousin?" Not a muscle moved as Wickham felt the point of the blade at his throat. He knew that his plans had come to naught and could see no way out of this current situation.
Mrs. Younge took advantage of the distraction and tapped the roof of the carriage. The coachman ignored the small group that had gathered to observe the fray and moved his team into action. They left in a cloud of dust.
Darcy looked at Wickham closely. His clothes were covered in dust, his face was pale with fear and trepidation filled his eyes. Darcy wondered how long this man would plague his family if he was left alone and knew that it would never be over as long as Wickham was in England.
"I s
hall find a constable, Richard, and we will have him locked up." He surveyed the small group of men that had gathered outside the inn. They looked to be local farmers and none bore the authority of a man of law.
"Excuse me, sir," the young woman spoke. "The constable is Mr. Moore, the butcher. His shop is at the far end of the street." Calling one of the young boys who had been drawn to the violence like flies to the meat that hung in the butcher’s shop, she asked one to run and retrieve the man. Once this was done, she turned back to the handsome gentleman holding the young girl in his arms. This must be Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. "Sir, while you bring this chaos to some level of order, might I attend the young lady?"
Darcy saw the wisdom in the woman's words. It would not do for Georgiana to stay on the street and witness Wickham being led away bound to the jail. He had been averse to thinking about the consequences of Georgiana's hasty departure from Ramsgate until now. Resignation washed over him at the probable loss of her reputation. If the servants at the house he had established for Georgiana at Ramsgate spoke of an elopement to others, all hope for his sister being able to retain her position in society was gone. The Darcy name would suffer. Her ability to make her come out, her presentation to the queen, and be accepted into society would be nil. It would also lessen her changes of making a match fitting the Darcy name and heritage. All of this ran through his mind as he looked blankly at the woman in front of him.
