The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

by Regina Jeffers

  However, the shelter remained deceptively out of reach. He wove his way through yet another overflowing berm before he entered the narrow valley below the rocky ledge. A marshy moor flanked by thick heather awaited him, and Wickham urged his horse cautiously forward. “Easy,” he said calmly, although he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be free of the constant downpour. He wanted dry clothes. He wanted to escape Scotland, his past, and Darcy’s revenge.

  The horse stepped gingerly. A sucking noise following each release of its hoofs. “Not much farther,” he said as he stroked the animal’s mane, while encouraging it forward with his knees. “There is bound to be a lean-to.”

  One step. Then two. Step by step closer to a few minutes of dry shelter and the opportunity to weigh his options. Where to go next? What to do about Lydia? How to avoid Darcy’s retribution? All his choices remained out of his reach—nearly as elusive as the cottage’s shelter. With regret, he had watched Darcy and the clergyman from a distance. Briefly, he had envied the camaraderie between his former friend and the man with whom Darcy had shared a mid-afternoon meal. It had reminded Wickham of the hastily made sandwiches he and Darcy would pilfer from the Pemberley kitchen before they would head off to the nearest stream or lake to fish or to sail the cork-bottomed miniature boats Wickham’s father had carved for them. The allure had drawn him closer, but Darcy’s and the clergyman’s conversation had proven that he had lost that opportunity for normalcy. For a devoted wife and children and an honest income.

  He could have turned away at that point. Could have ridden toward the Scottish coast or back to Carlisle and Lydia. Could have started over and made a new future. Yet, something in the way Darcy had moved had brought back the memory of his once-upon-a-time friend’s dismissals: first at Cambridge, then with Georgiana, again with his buyout of the Kymptom living, and later with Darcy’s insistence that Wickham marry Lydia Bennet. It was nothing more than the characteristic lift of Darcy’s chin. A look of disdain toward the waiting road. As if the man had expected the dusty Scottish roadway to bend to his wishes. Something in Wickham snapped, and he had found himself reaching for the gun he had strapped to his saddle. Sighting his target along the line of his shoulder, he fired.

  It had been one of his most ill-conceived moments. A disaster in the making, but he could not alter the course he had chosen.

  Deep in thought, he had not seen the snake until the last second—unfortunately, several seconds after the Fitzwilliam-owned stallion did. The horse reared up on its hind legs…iron shoes clawed the air in fright, and Wickham felt himself sliding backwards over the strapped-on supplies. He tightened his grip, but again he was several heartbeats too slow in his reaction time. In the next instant, Wickham’s backside slammed into the marshy bog. The wetland had been surprisingly hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

  With a “whoosh” of air and a “quish” of water, he found himself lying spread eagle. The rain pelted his face and clothing on the front, while the standing water of the bog seeped into his coat and breeches. A curse passed through his lips as the stallion skittered away. Rolling to his side, he groaned, “Christ!” as the pain shot through his chest.

  Munro replayed in his head the encounter with Dolina. “What be her design?” he asked himself as he leisurely rode along Normanna’s pike road. “Dolina not be deliverin’ no hindquarters and flanks to the butcher. McCullough’s be the other direction.” Reasoning it out, Munro turned his head to glance back the way he had come. Then the answer hit him. “Damnation!” he cursed. “She cannae be doin’ what I think she does!”

  With the slightest hand gesture, Edward motioned the Alpin men into position, and when the Scotsman turned his head to look behind him, he and Darcy led his recently recruited “warriors” forward. They burst from their wooded cover and surrounded their prey. Edward leveled his gun on the man. “We do not mean you harm, but we require information, and you will provide it if you know what is best.”

  The Scotsman paled, but he did not appear surprised by their presence on the Normanna land. He automatically raised his hands in surrender. Edward eyed him cautiously. “Take the man’s reins, Darcy,” he said without lowering his gun. “Weir, you three follow us,” he instructed the Alpin men. “Keep your weapons on him.” To his new prisoner, he said, “We will take the gentleman to the nearest inn. We will eat and drink and speak honestly. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, Sir. I be requirin’ a spot of ale.” Their captive lowered his hands slowly and repositioned his grip on the saddle horn and the horse’s mane.

  “Move out,” Edward ordered.

  Munro, had, at first, thought to fight when the men had charged at him, but in the next instant, he had welcomed their approach. If he left with the strangers, he would not have to face Dolina’s close scrutiny upon her return. The realization of the evil his aunt had practiced clung heavily upon his heart. He had lost his desire to be anywhere near Dolina MacBethan.

  His captors, at least, the military man and the one called “Darcy,” were English. Likely, they had traveled from Galloway. If his memory served him well, the three who followed behind wore the colors of the Alpin livery. The Englishmen had come for Lady Esme. Munro held no doubt of that fact, and with that knowledge, he saw an opportunity to bargain for his freedom.

  If he engaged the Englishmen with honesty, he could probably earn a reward—maybe one large enough for the Crieff property. He sat easily in the saddle. Although the military man brandished a gun, Munro experienced less fear than he had earlier with Dolina. Coll MacBethan’s widow’s pure contempt for all that was holy made her a dangerous opponent. Despite the Scotsman’s natural dislike for anything English, Munro would gladly take his chances with his southern foes.

  “I will see to the rooms,” Darcy said as he dismounted. His cousin remained in the saddle; Edward masked the gun he carried in his coat’s fold.

  “You sit upon a horse reportedly stolen from my family’s estate,” Edward had hoarsely whispered to the man. “I may be English, but I am an earl’s son. My word will go far even in a Scottish court. You do understand the implications?”

  “Aye, Sir.” The man had glanced anxiously toward Darcy. He had nodded his encouragement while keeping his countenance stern. In all honesty, something about Edward’s intensity bothered Darcy. His cousin was normally the sensible one. When Darcy had wanted to tar Wickham for his perfidy against Georgiana, it had been Edward who had stopped Darcy from doing the man bodily harm. When Darcy had lost all form of reason after Elizabeth Bennet had refused his honest proposal, Edward had counseled Darcy through weeks of desperation and despair.

  Now, his cousin possessed a singular thought: recover Georgiana. Of course, he, too, wanted to secure his sister’s safety. Yet, Edward’s time on the battlefield had hardened the major general. His cousin required time to leave the horrors behind. Instead, Edward had remained in the midst of the carnage while seeing to his aide’s healing. “In order to protect our dear Anne and to prove myself worthy of Captain Southland’s devotion,” Edward had stated his reasons for remaining so long on the Continent. And now, his cousin fought the nightmare of Georgiana’s disappearance. Darcy worried for the man’s mental state.

  Within a few minutes, he returned with room keys. “Everything is settled,” he said softly. He motioned a waiting hostler to take the major general’s and the Scotsman’s horses.

  “You lead the way, Darcy,” Edward said ominously. “I have Weir and Jasper standing by in the common room in case we need them.”

  Darcy responded with a mere tilt of his head. They had learned long ago to converse without words. As they entered the darkened room, Darcy paused briefly for his eyes to adjust to the smoky lighting, and then he turned toward the narrow staircase.

  “Munro!” One of those lounging in the open room called, and their captive stumbled to a halt. “Come share a pint and some cards.”

  The Scotsman flushed with color, but Darcy was certain that no one enjoying the comfor
t of the open room would notice. They waited in shadows. The man known now to them as “Munro” turned easily to his friend. “Got me some business with these gentlemen,” he said evenly. “I be down a bit later to take yer money, Cairn.”

  The man lifted his mug in a polite salute. “Ye be tryin’.”

  Munro nodded agreeably and followed Darcy toward the waiting room.

  “Nicely done,” Darcy heard Edward whisper as they ascended the stairs.

  “I may be a Scotsman,” Munro declared in hushed tones, “but that donnae make me an ignorant bumbler. I know the danger of wot we do.”

  Darcy opened the door and motioned Munro through. Edward followed closely on the Scotsman’s heels. “I have ordered a meal sent up and refreshments for the Alpin men. I thought this might take some time.”

  Edward’s mien appeared bleak. “If I have my way, there will be no delay in our guest’s telling us what we require.”

  Edward placed his sword on the small table where he might easily reach it. He had gestured the man they had taken prisoner to a straight-backed chair and had assumed the one directly before him. From the moment the groom had recognized the Alpin horse, Edward could think of nothing but the fact that this man knew something of Georgiana’s disappearance. His wife was close. He knew it in his heart, but he could not pinpoint how the MacBethans had involved themselves in Georgiana’s survival.

  “Tell us your full name,” he said coldly. The Scot leaned back casually in his seat. Although the man had given up quite easily when they had surrounded him, Edward did not fool himself into thinking this man had not a mean streak of his own. He had learned to recognize cunning and bravery. This Scotsman possessed both.

  “Munro. Munro MacBethan,” the man said evenly.

  “Do you reside at Normanna Hall?” Darcy asked as he moved a chair from the corner to join his cousin in the questioning.

  The man did not appear nervous, which bothered Edward extensively. Would this Scot purposely lead them astray?

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “And how are you related to Domhnall MacBethan?” Darcy continued.

  Surprisingly, the man seemed to speak without craftiness. “Domhnall be me cousin. Me father, Ashe, and Domhnall’s father, Coll, be half brothers. I come to live among the MacBethans when Islav, the second brother, needed to return to his property in Crieff. Islav ast me to assist Lady Wotherspoon’s overseein’ the estate. Domhnall jist returned a few weeks ago following ’is father’s passin’. His mother, Dolina, be runnin’ the estate fer nearly a year as Coll lay ill for many months.”

  Edward relaxed his hand on the gun he still held on the man. Possibly, they would not need to use force on their captive. He had witnessed enough brutal examinations to last a lifetime. “How did you come by the horse you rode today?”

  “Blane brings him in maybe a sennight prior. I required a sturdy animal for me travels,” the man admitted.

  Edward asked warily, “And your travels took you to…”

  “Tuv over yer way, Major General.” The Scot smiled smugly.

  Darcy leaned forward to emphasize his point. “Did you have a particular destination in Galloway?”

  “Me Aunt Dolina tasked me with an errand on her behalf.”

  “Did you succeed in completing your charge?” Edward’s hackles stood at attention.

  The Scot casually stretched his arms behind him to release his shoulder tension. “Other than the miles, it not be a difficult task. Play me some cards. Drink me share. Listen to wot others ’ave to say.”

  Darcy cleared his throat. “So you found the stallion in your cousin’s stables. Lord Wotherspoon claimed no knowledge of Bracken. Why would His Lordship offer a prevarication?”

  “I doubt Domhnall knew of the horse’s presence. It not be likely that me cousin saddles ’is own mount. And if’n ’e thought the animal ’ad at one time been at Normanna, Wotherspoon wud believe the animal no longer there.”

  Edward leveled a deadly stare on the man. “Explain,” he demanded.

  “Me uncle leave Domhnall many debts. Before my cousin returned, Aunt Dolina discovered ways to keep the tax man from the door.”

  Cocking his head, Darcy gazed hard upon their prisoner. “I do not understand.”

  The Scot offered up an innocent smile, as if he shared an obvious secret that neither Edward nor Darcy comprehended. The expression sent a shiver of dread down Edward’s spine. Only on the eve of a battle had he felt such trepidation. He knew the Scot’s revelation would change everything. “Normanna depends on the success of its herds. Last year, we experienced first months with no rain and then months with more rain than we cud ’andle. The herd suffered greatly, but Aunt Dolina found a means to supplement the estate’s bounty. A few nags. A neighbor’s lost sheep or Galloway.”

  “Are you telling me,” Darcy clarified, “that your aunt passed off the meat of stolen animals, including horses, as the estate’s Galloway cattle?”

  “Easy enough to do when Dolina’s brother McCullough be the village butcher,” the Scot declared.

  A knock at the door indicated their meals had arrived. Darcy rose to answer the summons. A girl entered with a heavily laden tray. Darcy indicated a nearby table. “We will serve ourselves,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir.” She curtsied. Twice, in fact. Once with his dismissal and a second time after he handed her a coin for her trouble.

  With the door’s closing, Edward remarked, “Are these the extent of your cousin’s sins?”

  The captive craned his neck toward where Darcy dished out bowls of stew. “Ye should know the inn do not buy from Oliver McCullough.”

  It took a second for both Darcy and Edward to comprehend the Scot’s reference. “Quite humorous, Mr. MacBethan,” Darcy said with a frown.

  “I jist thought ye should know before ye took yer first bite. Mr. Shadlow care not for McCullough’s ways. They’s had quite a row’bout three years prior.” He took the bowl Darcy handed him. “Thank ye kindly. I’ve not et since I left Ruthwell.”

  “Do you know anything of Bracken’s rider?” Edward ignored the food Darcy placed before him. He needed to stay sharp, and hunger had always kept him on alert. It was how he had survived so many battles. He refused to eat or sleep before an attack. Others thought him foolish, but he believed the self-imposed fast made him “hungry” to survive.

  The Scot shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth before he answered. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he said, “Ye be askin’ abut the gel. About yer Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

  Chapter 16

  DOLINA STRODE INTO DOMHNALL’S study without knocking. He refused to look up or to acknowledge her lack of respect for his position as the lord of the manor. It remained a truth that he had been slow to claim his title after his father’s passing. He had hated to relinquish the life he had carefully crafted in London’s Society. Even the birth of his child had not brought him home. Maighread had written. Had begged him not to desert her and their child. But he always assumed that his mother had coerced his wife into demanding his return to his ancestral home. Therefore, he had purposely stayed away. Had ignored his family obligations. Had refused the shackles placed on him by an estate and a title he had never wanted and had always assumed that he could not manage. Not surprisingly, his prediction had proved itself correct.

  He had not wanted to abandon Maighread to the Scottish Uplands, but she had refused to follow him to England. He had offered to find a small manor house in the English countryside. He had no desire to live solely in London, but Maighread had reasoned that her thick accent and lack of genteel education would produce disdain from their English neighbors and, therefore, him. Her adamant refusal had left him no option, for he could not live in a house dominated by his mother, and he could not banish the woman he had once admired from the land she cherished.

  However, if he had held any inkling of his mother’s pure evil, he would have confronted her in order to protect Maighread and his child. He had not loved
his wife, but Domhnall had respected the woman who bore his name. He had held a deep affection for Maighread. Sometimes, he wondered if he had not been so weak, if Maighread would have survived. He had spent the last eight months trying to forgive his foolish lack of foresight.

  Now, Dolina had turned her sights on Lady Esme, and this time he would not fail. He would protect the woman against his mother’s manipulations. “What might it be, Mother?” he asked with more contempt than he intended.

  She seated herself without his permission. “I understand ye had visitors,” Dolina said coyly.

  Domhnall made a vow to dismiss all of the servants and rehire new ones once he had freed Normanna from his mother’s grip. He would not have those in his employ who had remained loyal to Lady Wotherspoon upon his return. Once he had driven his mother from his home, he would wipe the slate clean of her influence.

  “Two gentlemen sought a missing horse. Someone had reported the animal as having been seen at Normanna. Unfortunately for them, the report was in error.” He had purposely continued his correspondence. Without even raising his head in an acknowledgement of her presence, Domhnall sanded the page and blew on the foolscap to dry the ink faster. He had positioned the paper so that she would have to peer over a stack of books to read what he had written. He realized his mother would not openly appear curious about his communication. Yet, he held no doubt that she would return to the study late in the night to search his desk. Of course, by that time, it would be too late. As soon as he finished with her, he planned to send the message to the inn for the next mail coach.

  “That be the extent of it?” she grudgingly asked at last. “No inquiry about the gel?”