The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

by Regina Jeffers

  Edward ran his fingers through his hair. “Why not allow the local authorities to deal with Lady Wotherspoon’s madness?”

  “Me aunt holds great sway in the neighborhood. Normanna be the largest house, and she be its mistress the last quarter century. Plus, her brother be respected in the village. She ’as a smatterin’ of cousins in the area. I suspect Domhnall knows not whom he can trust. Many of me cousin’s servants express their loyalty to Aunt Dolina.”

  Something still did not feel right. “Besides the shame of his mother’s treachery, what else does Lord Wotherspoon have to hide?” he demanded. “What scandal haunts Normanna’s master?”

  “Me family not be always MacBethans. Some five hundred years prior, we be Beans and MacBeans. Our roots be in East Lothian, near Edinburgh.”

  Edward tersely demanded, “What does this have to do with these alleged heinous crimes?”

  The Scot appeared irritated that the major general did not make the connections. He countered, “We became Bethans because the name means ‘life,’ and after our most famous ancestors’ antics it seemed only appropriate.”

  Darcy asked cautiously, “And those ancestors would be?”

  MacBethan returned Darcy’s steady gaze. “Have ye not heard of Sawney Bean, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy pressed his lips together. His forehead crinkled in a puckered brow. “Unfortunately, Mr. MacBethan, I have. Are you saying your aunt mimicked the celebrated escapades of a fourteenth century legend?”

  “Not exactly,” the Scot said evenly. “But the saga of Coll’s predecessors gave me aunt her motivation. Rather than dine on her captives’ pickled flesh herself, she mixed the pickings with that of the other animals and Normanna’s Galloway cattle. It doubled the profits.”

  “I thought Bean’s legend to be the creation of last century’s broadsheets and chapbooks. We often played at mysterious caves and bloody executions as young boys when we stayed at Alpin.”

  “There be more truth to it than the family cares to admit, Mr. Darcy,” MacBethan assured. “Ayrshire wud never forgive the MacBethans for revisiting such scandalous misdeeds. Domhnall tries to save the family name.”

  “By doing nothing?” Edward accused. “By holding an innocent woman in a medieval cell. As if she…as if none of the Normanna prisoners had a right to a life of his own.”

  Darcy directed his words toward his cousin. “We must access Normanna Hall, and I doubt Wotherspoon will invite us through the front door a second time.”

  Edward’s expression remained unfathomable. “Our newest friend,” he nodded toward MacBethan, “will assist us with a means in.”

  “Just a minute,” MacBethan protested. “I agreed to tell ye wot ye required. Dolina will ’ave me killed if’n she discovered wot I did.”

  “Then tell us how to reach the cells without being seen.” Darcy insisted.

  MacBethan ignored Edward’s glare. “There be a karst,” he said at last. “Some parts be too narrow to stand straight, but the passage will bring ye into the monastery’s ruins.”

  Darcy spoke to his cousin. “I shall leave it to you to make the arrangements for what we require. Perhaps, Weir should ride over to the next village for a few extra men.”

  Edward picked up his sword. “I will see to it.” He put the gun in a holster under his jacket. “I assume you have a weapon, Darcy.” He did not wait for a response before he strode to the door. Without turning around he said, “If anyone has laid a finger on Georgiana, he will know my fury.” The sound of the door slamming throughout the small inn brought the world to a stand still.

  Chapter 17

  “YOU HAVE A MESSAGE from Mr. Darcy, Ma’am.” Mr. Jacks presented Elizabeth a note on a silver salver.

  She watched as her son rolled from his stomach to his back. Bennet had learned the skill perhaps a week prior. Unfortunately, Darcy had been absent when their son had reached this milestone, and she had yet to share it with her husband. It would grieve him not to have seen Bennet’s accomplishment. “At least, you have not mastered a complete rollover.” She chuckled as she placed Bennet on his stomach once more. The child seemed never to tire of this half rotation. “I hope your father will discover on his own how strong you are becoming, my son.” She patted Bennet’s small bottom while he pulled up his knees as leverage to roll to his back once more.

  Elizabeth loved the way Bennet babbled, congratulating himself on his new skill. Her son amused himself with a variety of new sounds. She placed a rattle close by to see if he would reach for the colorful gourd filled with dried beans. He cooed and waved his arms about in excitement. She bent to kiss his forehead, and Bennet stilled to accept her sign of affection. “Just like your father,” she said softly. Rising from the floor, she sat in the wing chair she had abandoned earlier. Reaching for the note Darcy had seen fit to send her regarding his investigation, Elizabeth knew before she read her dear husband’s words that he had not located Georgiana. She had known somehow that Darcy and Edward’s quest would be more difficult than either man anticipated.

  She read his summary of his meeting with Lord Wotherspoon and the recovery of the horse Georgiana had ridden that fateful day that her sister had gone missing. “They should all have listened to their hearts,” she murmured. “One cannot love the way I love Darcy and not know of his loved one being in danger.” Elizabeth closed her eyes and easily brought the image of her husband’s countenance to mind. “Always frowning,” she chuckled, but did not open her eyes. “Probably why I find the man’s smile so addictive. He uses it so rarely.”

  She opened her eyes to watch Bennet wave around the colorful scarf that her son had taken a liking to. In fact, the boy would not sleep unless he held the end of the scarf in his tiny fist. “Too fastidious,” Darcy had grumbled when he had seen his son’s choice, but Elizabeth had noted her husband’s fighting an amused grin.

  “Oh, my boy,” she said softly. “You can do no wrong in your father’s eyes.” Her praise brought several loud squeals and a hard shake of the blood-red cloth. Elizabeth chuckled at his antics. “Shall you be willing to share your favorite things with a younger brother or sister? Somehow, I doubt it shall be necessary. Mr. Darcy shall likely buy each of you your own suite full of toys.” She allowed her fingers to stroke the place where a new baby grew within her womb. She had missed her second menses, and a familiar tenderness had returned to her breasts. “When this madness is complete, I shall share the good news with your father.”

  Mrs. Prulock appeared at the door. “Shall I take the young master to the nursery, Ma’am?”

  Elizabeth sighed deeply. “It is probably best. I did not sleep well last evening. I may revisit my bed for a few hours.” She bent to lift Bennet from the floor. “I love you, Little One,” she said as she kissed the hand holding tightly to the silk scarf. She handed the boy to his nurse. “Mr. Darcy and his cousin still seek Mrs. Fitzwilliam. So we shall dine together. Would you mind bringing Bennet to me a bit later?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, and I shall ask Cook to set us a table in yer rooms. No sense in keeping a full dining room for just us two. Never mind the fact,” the woman said with confidence, “that you need to conserve yer energies for the new baby.”

  Elizabeth’s head snapped around in surprise. “What makes you believe I am with child?”

  Mrs. Prulock chuckled lightly. “The fact that ye did not deny me words speaks the truth of what I say. Besides, I be tending babes for years. I know when a woman’s body houses a wee one.” She cradled Bennet close to her. “Mr. Darcy will be beside himself with joy when he discovers yer secret.”

  Elizabeth smiled in earnest. “The man was built to be a father many times over.”

  Lydia stood looking out the window of her let rooms onto the busy street below. “I do not think Mr. Wickham is ever coming home,” she said dejectedly. “I have completed all this work for nothing.” She gestured to the sparkling clean rooms.

  Mrs. Bennet, head bowed over a pair of the lieutenant’s socks, said calmly,
“Lieutenant Wickham is not required to report for duty until Monday next. We should not expect the man before that time. Permit your husband time to howl at the moon. Lieutenant Wickham will not risk being labeled a traitor by deserting his post.”

  “Where might he be?” Lydia’s attention returned to the street. She brushed away her tears and sniffed loudly for the dramatic effect that Lydia preferred in her interactions.

  Mrs. Bennet swallowed her true thoughts of the man her youngest daughter had married. This trip had been a real lesson in what happens to one who does not think before acting. “Mr. Bennet writes that a man resembling Lieutenant Wickham played cards with many of the temporary servers employed by Mr. Darcy for Kitty’s engagement party. Your husband reportedly won the pay owed two of the men.”

  “Then you think that George is trying to earn enough for his fare to Carlisle?” Lydia said hopefully. She attempted to convince herself of her mother’s version of the truth.

  Mrs. Bennet no longer held such delusions regarding Lieutenant Wickham’s good intentions. She knew the man for what he was—a scoundrel, a gambler, a womanizer, and a blackguard. Lydia. Poor, poor Lydia. Her daughter’s impetuous choice would be Lydia’s life sentence. Nothing would change the fact that her darling child would live a life of misery. Over the past few days, Marjory had instructed her daughter in ways to keep a cleaner house, to stretch her husband’s pay to keep them from debt, and to find her own worth in something besides Lieutenant Wickham’s praise. If only the lessons would stick, then Lydia might survive her joining to the infamous Lieutenant Wickham. She had never before wished someone to his grave—not even Mr. Collins, who would jerk her beloved Longbourn from under her feet when Mr. Bennet passed. Yet, she wished Lieutenant Wickham to perdition. Anything to free Lydia from her husband’s hold on the girl. “I imagine Lieutenant Wickham knows his duty and is doing what is necessary to return to his home.”

  He did not know how long he had lain slumped against the door’s frame, but the evening shadows approached, and the rain had stopped. Wickham moved gingerly, but still the pain radiated through his chest. “Damn,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Now what?” He allowed his weight to rest against the sandstone walls of the cottage. “I need rest. Things will seem different in the morning,” he said with a less-than-optimistic snarl.

  Wickham forced himself to his knees. Using the door’s frame to support his weight, for the second time this day, he reached for the door’s handle. However, unexpectedly, the portal gave way, and he found himself pitching forward to smack the floor of hardened earth and paving stones with his chest and face. “Arrgh!”

  Barking orders with each step, Dolina rushed through Normanna Hall. “I want to leave in the mornin’,” she told the maid who trailed in her wake. The girl, out of breath from the whirlwind activity surrounding her mistress, did not answer. She simply made a small notation on a scrap of paper she had taken from Lady Wotherspoon’s room. Years of dealing with the Lady of the Manor had taught the young maid that if all her mistress’s orders were not executed as she instructed, there would be hell to pay. No one crossed Dolina MacBethan without meeting the lady’s wrath.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” she mumbled when she realized her mistress’s stare had settled on her.

  “Remind the staff that I’ll not be toleratin’ anyone aidin’ Lord Wotherspoon. Do ye hear me, gel?” she demanded.

  The maid swallowed hard. “Yes, Ma’am.” However, the girl would not pass those orders on to the rest of Normanna’s workers. Like the majority of those who held employment at the estate, the girl needed the new lord’s goodwill. Few positions paid as well as this one. When Lady Wotherspoon took her leave of the house, the girl would give her loyalty to Dolina MacBethan’s replacement.

  Elizabeth awoke with a start. Her dream’s shadow remained as she bolted upright. “Oh, my,” she gasped as she tossed the coverlet aside. “What could this mean?” Over the years, she had learned to listen to her dreams and premonitions. Only once had they failed her. Her initial reaction to Darcy’s too-quick evaluation of Elizabeth’s family connections had clouded her interactions with the man. Of course, if she had admitted the truth she would have realized that flutter she had felt in the pit of her stomach every time they had met was not disgust, but genuine regard. Instead, she had convinced herself that she felt disdain rather than affection for Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  “It was my defense,” she had told Jane a few days prior to the weddings that would so please their mother. Jane had inquired how Elizabeth now justified her change of heart regarding Mr. Darcy. “I thought to protect myself from the hurt Mr. Darcy’s biting remarks had inflicted upon me. I had never felt more confused and uncertain. There were simply too many contradictions between the man Mr. Bingley admired and the one whom Lieutenant Wickham defamed. I began to comprehend that Mr. Darcy was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit me.”

  Shoving thoughts of those tumultuous days with Darcy aside, Elizabeth concentrated on what she could recall of her most recent dream. She swung her legs over the bed’s edge and slid her feet into her waiting slippers. Like Darcy, she thought better on her feet. Without considering the state of her clothing, she began to pace.

  Images of Darcy’s sister easily rose to her mind’s eye. Georgiana was in a sparsely furnished room, and her sister appeared a bit worse for wear. Yet, the girl was alive. Elizabeth could see a few scratches and bruises upon Georgiana’s arms and face, but it was her awkward movements that worried Elizabeth. With Georgiana in the dream was another presence, one Elizabeth did not recognize, but one she sensed meant no harm to Darcy’s sister. Instead, she realized the other person held a great affection for Georgiana. “Who is she?” she whispered as she came to a sudden halt.

  Wrapping her arms about her waist, Elizabeth closed her eyes to relive the moment, but nothing more came to her memory— just the same scene replaying over and over: the woman hovering over Georgiana’s shoulder. “I wonder if I describe what I have dreamed to Mr. Jacks if either he or the others might know of such a place in the area. It was too real not to be true.”

  Hurrying to the mirror to right her clothes and to repin her hair, Elizabeth could not help but feel optimistic. She did not worry over whether the Alpin staff would think her eccentric to believe in dreams. “It shall be well worth the raised eyebrows if we can reclaim Georgiana,” she announced to her reflection. “What care I for their censure if Darcy’s sister is safe within the Major General’s arms.”

  “Ye shud not be here,” Dolina hissed as she rushed into the room. Her brother’s presence was not something of which she wished Domhnall to become aware. Having socked away a solid fortune of her own, she held plans for another beginning, and Dolina would not rile her eldest son any further than she had previously.

  Oliver McCullough caught her arm and roughly pulled her into his body. “I want tuv know wot transpires at Normanna. Ye be keepin’ secrets, Dolina.”

  She attempted to ease herself from his grasp, but Oliver’s fingers tightened about her arms. “No secrets,” she asserted. “Domhnall be thinkin’ of makin’ the gel Blane brung in his wife.”

  “But she ’as knowledge of what ye did here,” McCullough growled.

  “Wot we did at Normanna,” she corrected.

  McCullough’s smile widened. “Ye always be the sharp one,” he said easily. “And we always be together. Even after Lars McCullough planted ye in Coll MacBethan’s bed.”

  “The old bastard thought Coll too drunk to know what he be doin’; but Coll fooled us all. He took me so fast that I’s barely had time to remove me gown,” she stated matter-of-factly. She slid her arms about McCullough’s waist and rested her head on his chest. Those years of the streets—living hand to mouth—still haunted her. Dolina recalled how the hunger had gnawed at her insides and how the cold never seemed to leave her. It was why she had demanded large fires in all of Normanna’s hearths. McCullough’s plan seemed plausible at the time, but it h
ad gone nothing like they had assumed. Coll MacBethan had been gentle, but persuasive, and despite promising Oliver that she would not succumb to the man, she had secretly wanted to escape to a world she would likely never know. So, she had lain with a man who thought of her as nothing more than a whore. It was only afterwards that she had learned to despise Coll MacBethan. When he reminded her of her low connections. When he threw his many trysts into her face. Only then did she return to the one person who had always loved her.

  “Lars had no way of knowin’ ye had known a man before Coll, and yer husband could not recall that he was not yer first.” He stroked Dolina’s back.

  She snuggled into his chest. “Lars be lockin’ me away until I be missin’ me menses and then he dragged me off to Coll’s doorstep. At least, me husband be honorable.”

  “That be the only honorable thing ’bout the man,” McCullough grumbled. “He be takin’ ye from me.”

  “But not fer long,” she countered. “No one be keepin’ us apart. Not ever.”

  “No, me, gel. Not ever,” he said softly. “MacBethan could order me from his house, but not from yer life.” He kissed her forehead. “Wot do we do now?”

  Dolina raised her chin so she might observe the steadiness in his countenance. Her eyes locked with his. “We leave together.”

  Weir had proven invaluable in locating additional hands in the next village. He had a cousin named Linden living in the area; including the two of them, there were now six willing men to follow Edward’s instructions. Darcy had left Bryn, the oldest of the three Alpin footmen they had brought with them, to guard Munro MacBethan. They would not release the man until they had recovered Georgiana. “We do not know exactly what we will find within the Normanna cellars,” he warned. “If half of what we suspect proves true, you will experience life’s worst horrors on the other end of this cave.” The men nodded their understanding; yet, neither he nor Edward had described what they expected. It was too heinous to put into words, and secretly, Darcy had prayed to be wrong regarding what Lord Wotherspoon had permitted to be practiced in his household.