The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

by Regina Jeffers

  “A countess?” Dolina said greedily. “I knew Lady Esme be from quality.”

  Munro ground his teeth in frustration. He knew what Dolina had planned for Lady Esme before Domhnall had stepped in and put a stop to his mother’s schemes. “She not be Lady Esme. The gel’s name be Georgiana Fitzwilliam. Her brother reportedly owns the biggest estate in Derbyshire. When she learned of her husband’s fate, she rode away, and no one be seeing her since that day.”

  “Must be when Blane finds her and brings her in,” Dolina mused. Her jaw tightened, and the darkness returned to her eyes. “I shan’t be fightin’ Domhnall if he chooses the gel.”

  “But ye be promisin’ Lady Esme for me,” Aulay protested.

  Dolina’s frown lines met. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam be related to an earl. She has a powerful brother. The gel be needin’ a powerful husband. A man with his own title and land. They be payin’ to keep her reputation sound. Domhnall has demonstrated his regard for the gel.”

  “She be English,” Munro observed. “Once she remembers her past, Mrs. Fitzwilliam may not wish to remain in Scotland.”

  Aulay turned pointedly away. “Domhnall always be takin’ the best of everything.”

  “We shan’t speak of this again,” Dolina ordered. “Your brother be needin’ a wife and an heir, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam kin provide an influx of economy to stabilize the estate. Domhnall must press the gel to marry him immediately. We be requirin’ the deed done before her family be discoverin’ her presence at Normanna.”

  Munro backed the horse up a few steps. “Ye should hurry along. Yer delivery’s beginning to smell.”

  “Me brother Oliver knows wot to do with the deliveries I bring him,” she said as she rearranged the reins between her fingers. “Ye shud return home. Tell no one of our meetin’,” she instructed. “I be speakin’ to Domhnall upon my return.”

  “As ye wish,” Munro said contritely. Yet, he would speak to his cousin. Then he would pack his meager belongings. Tomorrow, he would leave Normanna Hall forever.

  “How should we play this?” Edward asked as they dismounted before the manor house.

  Darcy glanced toward the red sandstone monstrosity. “We ask about the horse. No one has admitted knowledge of a female taking refuge within. Let us see if the lord of the manor volunteers information on Georgiana’s presence.”

  Edward adjusted his horse’s straps. “I do not like it. Something about this place feels wrong.”

  Darcy removed his gloves as a groom rushed forward to claim their reins. “I agree,” he said softly. “We should listen to what is not said by our host. Our instincts are rarely wrong.”

  Handing off the horses to the groom, they climbed the few steps leading to the main door. “This place makes one appreciate Pemberley’s clean lines,” Edward said under his breath. “It feels as if each generation added on to the main house without regard to the previous generation’s vision.”

  Darcy released the knocker. “A person could literally become lost in the house’s many wings and passages.”

  “That is what frightens me the most. Is Georgiana lost within?”

  Chapter 15

  AFTER SEEING ALL THERE WAS to see at Normanna, Wickham had reached for the saddle’s stirrup with his booted foot. He had mounted the waiting horse and had ridden away from the Scottish property. “What should I do with what I have discovered today?” he had repeated aloud several times. How best to twist the situation at Normanna for his own good nagged at him. Looking off in the distance, he scanned the horizon. “A storm is brewing.” He shaded his eyes from the dust stirred up ahead of a line of dark clouds. “I require shelter.” Leaving his thoughts of profit and revenge behind, he turned his mount toward the south.

  Rain pelted the windows, but she had more problems than the sudden downpour. She needed to discover a means of escape. She had remained in this room too long. It had offered her a brief sense of security, but now the walls had closed in and had robbed her of her very breath. Yet, the hope of freedom flickered within her chest, and she had resolved to alter what had held her immobile for so long. “There must be a way out.” She stared out the small window at the darkening clouds. “As soon as the storm clears, I must make a move to extricate myself from this place. If I remain much longer, I shall surely die behind these walls.”

  “Yes, Sir.” A proper servant swung the door wide just as the heavens had opened again. Darcy and Edward stepped through the opening into the house’s main foyer. The droplets splattered against the dust-covered steps, leaving penny-sized marks in their wake.

  Darcy removed his hat and presented his card. “Mr. Darcy to speak to your master,” he recited the words automatically. They were ingrained on his tongue. Such formality was so familiar that he often wondered if he repeated the phrase in his sleep.

  Edward placed his card beside Darcy’s on the tray. “Major General Fitzwilliam,” he said evenly.

  The manservant accepted their hats and gloves. “If you gentlemen will follow me, I will inform Laird Wotherspoon of yer arrival.”

  “Thank you.” Darcy glanced about the hall as he and Edward followed the servant to a small alcove. It was not the traditional English sitting room. Rather it was a recessed area off a large open room that could serve as a ballroom or a large stateroom. When the servant disappeared into the house’s bowels, Darcy let out the breath he had held.

  “What do you think?” Edward asked under his breath.

  Darcy frowned. “I have never encountered such an unusual house. Parts of it take on the architecture of a medieval church.”

  Edward’s eyes searched for any sign of his wife. “True.” The Major General’s voice took on threatening tones. “Heaven help us if Georgiana is being held within. How will we ever find her?”

  “I hope it will not come to that,” Darcy assured. He nodded toward the walls. “Did you notice the faded paper where once hung several portraits?”

  Edward spoke through clenched teeth. “I noticed.” He pointed to a nearby setting with a nod of his chin. “I would say the furniture has seen much wear.”

  “Perhaps Lord Wotherspoon is in need of financial assistance,” Darcy observed. “Perhaps there are certain advantages which His Lordship is now obliged to forego through the urgency of his debts.”

  The sound of approaching footsteps cut short their analysis. They rose to their feet as a man in his early thirties strode toward them. The gentleman was dressed with an English influence rather than in the typical Scottish garb that Darcy had expected.

  “Mr. Darcy.” The man came to a halt and offered a bow. “Major General.” He showed Edward similar respect. “You gentlemen have surprised me. I had not known we had English visitors in the neighborhood.” He gestured toward the chairs they had recently abandoned. “I am Domhnall MacBethan, Lord Wotherspoon.” He sat across from Darcy.

  Darcy’s curiosity won out. He had instantly sized up the man before him. His late father had preached the importance of first impressions. Of course, Darcy had learned his lesson regarding the misconstruction often associated with assessing someone on first look when he had met Elizabeth Bennet, but he still placed a value on such imprints. “You have studied in England, Lord Wotherspoon?”

  “I have, Mr. Darcy. Since I was a small boy. I have only recently returned to my ancestral land.” Wotherspoon leaned back into the chair’s cushions and relaxed. “It is a pleasure to speak to someone from Derbyshire. Might I offer you gentlemen a drink? Some refreshments? I fear my mother, who serves as my hostess, is away from my home today. She will be sorry to have missed you.” When Darcy and Edward declined, Wotherspoon smiled widely and said, “How might I serve you?”

  Darcy kept control of the conversation. Although he, too, wanted to grab Wotherspoon by the man’s expensive jacket and demand to know immediately if Georgiana was in this house, he recognized his cousin’s increasing fury. “My cousin and I have only recently arrived in Scotland, but it was brought to our attention that one of my uncle’s
thoroughbreds is missing. Unfortunately, that same report says that the horse has been spotted among your stock.”

  The moment that his servant had presented the two embossed cards, Domhnall had expected the worst. The visitors would see his mother and the rest of the household to the gallows unless he could divert their questioning. He had watched their expressions as he attempted an amiable presence, but Domhnall realized that it was only a matter of time before the whole world knew of the evil his mother practiced behind these doors.

  Now, these Englishmen sought information on the horse Lady Esme had ridden the night she was taken prisoner by Blane and placed in the cells by his mother. A part of him wanted this madness to end, but another part still clung to the hope that his ethereal prisoner would choose to stay with him. He had convinced himself that only Lady Esme could bring him happiness. Shifting his weight to appear concerned over the gentleman’s request, Domhnall said, “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that no one at Normanna would purposely keep a horse that did not belong to the property.” He was thankful that his cousin had ridden out on the horse in question when his mother had sent Munro to search out Lady Esme’s true identity.

  Darcy watched carefully as the Scot shifted nervously. Wotherspoon sat ramrod straight. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that no one at Normanna would purposely keep a horse that did not belong to the property.”

  Darcy intentionally kept his tone even. “No one is accusing you, Lord Wotherspoon, of devious transactions. We simply assumed that someone found the horse and did not know to whom it truly belonged. It is not our mission to place blame—only to retrieve the animal if it is at Normanna Hall.”

  “Of course you have my permission to inspect the animals in my stable. I have nothing to hide. Allow me to send for my head groomsman to expedite the search.”

  “That is most kind of you, Wotherspoon,” Edward said with strained politeness.

  Wotherspoon’s sullen wariness showed. “Might I ask of the horse’s rider? If the animal is of pure lines, surely he did not escape his tethers.”

  Darcy’s slight flick of his wrist kept his cousin silent. “A groom was exercising the animal. Something spooked the horse, and he threw his rider.”

  “Really?” Wotherspoon said with a look of skepticism. “It seems unusual for a man schooled to train horses to lose his seat.”

  “Yet, it does happen,” Darcy said brusquely.

  “True.” Wotherspoon stood. “Permit me to escort you personally to the stables.”

  Darcy and Edward rose also. “That is most gracious of you.” Disappointment rode Darcy’s shoulders as they followed the man through the halls toward the main entrance. They would have no opportunity to search for Georgiana under Normanna’s roof. “I have taken the liberty of bringing several grooms from the estate with us to better identify the animal.”

  Wotherspoon nodded his understanding. “That would prove most advantageous on your part, Sir.” They stepped out into the open. “Ah, the storm has passed.” The Scot gestured toward the clearing skies. “Very typical for the uplands. Fierce rain followed by a complete stillness.”

  “It is a rough terrain,” Edward observed. Darcy heard his cousin’s restraint sharpen. Edward likely imagined Georgiana lost in such territory.

  “Difficult to eke out a living,” Wotherspoon shared.

  Darcy, too, stared at the rocky landscape. “Farming must be near to impossible.”

  Wotherspoon nodded toward the expanse. “We have converted to sheep and Galloways. The land provides little of our staples.”

  “Then you deal with the butcher rather than the miller?” Darcy motioned to the Alpin men to follow Edward.

  “It is a difficult life,” Wotherspoon noted. “When I returned to assume my duties, the herds had been depleted from lack of proper care and from a localized drought. We welcome these sudden downpours to refresh the land. Without them, we might lose everything.”

  Darcy slowed his step as they approached the stables. “But you have found a means to continue?”

  Wotherspoon paused as if he chose his words carefully. “My mother did the best she could following my father’s passing, and we are thankful for her frugality. She saw the estate through the worst of it.”

  Edward and the groom reappeared. “We could find nothing of Bracken among Lord Wotherspoon’s stock,” Edward said begrudgingly.

  Darcy frowned. “Forgive us, my Lord. It appears we have been misinformed. I pray we have offered no offense.”

  “Naturally, not, Mr. Darcy. You did the honorable thing by speaking to me before seeking the local magistrate. I hold no animosity.”

  Edward addressed Darcy. “We should return to Alpin. It is a long ride. If the weather does not hold, we should seek an inn.”

  Darcy paused to see if Wotherspoon would offer lodging. When the man remained silent, Darcy nodded his agreement, and they remounted. “We bid you adieu, Lord Wotherspoon,” he said as he reached down to shake the Scot’s hand. “May we meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”

  Wotherspoon said reluctantly, “I would greatly prefer such a scenario.”

  He had escaped the questioning from the two Englishmen, but Domhnall understood that they would soon return, and Mr. Darcy and the major general would bring the law’s weight with them. He would have Munro take the horse out on the moor and release it. It was the only thing that tied Lady Esme to this house. Domhnall would be hard-pushed to release her to Mr. Darcy. Instead, he would use his best means of persuasion to take the girl away from Normanna. “She belongs to me,” he whispered to the wilderness. “I will fight to keep her with me.”

  With interest, she had watched the rain from the privacy of the small room the MacBethans had assigned her. “There must be a way out of this place,” she had declared. Only moments before, she had observed the riders as they had entered the circular drive. She could not see the men well enough to know who the visitors might be, but the fact that outsiders had come to the hall had given her renewed hope. Immediately, she had raced to her room’s door and turned the key, but Rankin scowled at her.

  “Ye be goin’ nowhere,” he growled.

  She slammed to a halt. “Lord Wotherspoon has permitted my freedom,” she argued.

  “It be ’is Lairdship’s orders,” the man said with confidence.

  “But…” She began before a modicum of sanity settled her reeling emotions, and she retreated into the room’s relative safety. Closing the door with emphasis, she returned to the window to stare out at the rain. “So, Domhnall speaks of freedom in one ear, but offers imprisonment in his orders.” Below her, strangers— possibly her salvation—kept company with Lord Wotherspoon. Would anyone know she was here? In a limbo halfway between being an honored guest and a captive? Did anyone care about her recovery? “As soon as the strangers depart, I must discover the best way to proceed.” Deceit bubbled from every crack in Normanna’s walls. Her every instinct said that this place spelled death for all who remained under its roof. “I cannot trust Lord Wotherspoon any more than I can his mother.”

  They did not pause until they were well out of sight of the main house. “What did you think of Wotherspoon?” Darcy asked as they took shelter in a small copse.

  “I am not much of a gambler, but I would wager that the man hides something.”

  “Yet, we found nothing unusual,” Darcy countered.

  Edward’s mouth set in a thin line. “You found nothing of suspect, Darcy?”

  “On the contrary. The man offers us a series of untruths, but does Wotherspoon hide the theft of another’s horse or something more devious?”

  “Did you feel Georgiana’s presence?” Edward asked as he turned his head to look the way they had come.

  Darcy shook his head in the negative. “I felt His Lordship’s unease, but I cannot say that I detected my sister’s essence at Normanna Hall.” He noted his cousin’s knitted brow. “We will find rooms close by and ask a few questions.”

  “I want my wife safely
in my arms,” Edward growled.

  Darcy muttered a silent oath before saying. “Between us, we will not rest until Georgiana is home among her family. You have my word.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” one of the Alpin men said with urgency.

  “Yes?” Darcy reluctantly looked to the man.

  The groom pointed to an approaching rider. “Bracken, Sir.”

  “Are you certain?” He rose higher in the saddle for a better look. The rider had not seen them.

  “The white foreleg, Sir. I be certain,” the groom said with determination.

  Edward said quietly behind him, “Let us greet this unknown rider and see what he can tell us of how the horse that Wotherspoon swore no knowledge of came to be at Normanna Hall.”

  For the past half hour, he had openly cursed his decision to travel to Scotland. “To this God-forsaken landscape!” he shouted into the storm. Not a stitch of his clothing remained dry as he crossed yet another swollen burn. The rock surface channeled the water through cracks and crevices, creating ponds where dry land had stood not an hour earlier.

  He had taken a different route—one less traveled—toward Kirkconnel. Before the rain arrived, he had convinced himself to return to the Fitzwilliam estate and determine whether he might cheat Darcy’s bid for the information Wickham had garnered in Ayr. Now, he thought to abandon his quickly concocted plan for simply heading for the coast. With Napoleon’s fall, the European populace would welcome an English soldier. “Maybe Italy,” he grumbled as he pulled his coat tighter across his chest. “Always wanted to see Rome.”

  Water streamed off his hat and poured onto his thighs and down the horse’s shoulders. “Not a blessed shelter anywhere!” Wickham said incredulously. Then he spotted it: a dilapidated-looking hut huddled on a rocky ledge. Its rear backed into a recessed area of the rise. Automatically, Wickham turned the horse in the direction of the whitewashed building. “Any port in a storm,” he announced as he kicked the animal’s flanks.