The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

by Regina Jeffers

  Despite the pain that ricocheted through his body, an ironic chuckle escaped his lips. “Still repeating…that old adage…are we? It was…a favorite of your father’s.” Bracing his ribs with his forearm, he stumbled to stand straighter. “You will excuse me…if I… offer no bow of respect. I seem to have…accumulated both a soaking…and a injury to my ribs.”

  Georgiana ignored his excuse for his bad manners. The idea of it bothered Wickham more than he would care to admit. It was if she expected him to act without decorum. “You do not appear surprised to find me here?” she said cautiously.

  With a painful effort, Wickham managed a smile. Georgiana was no longer the weak, impressionable girl he had once known. He wondered if his betrayal had anything to do with her current strength. “In truth, my dear…the prospect…of finding you in this,” he gestured with his free hand to the room in which they faced off, “shepherd’s cottage…was not part…of my mental landscape…while I fought the elements…to reach this pleasant dwelling.” His smile widened in a conspiratorial smirk. “Yet, if it appeases your curiosity…I will admit to cursing your brother…with each step I took.”

  Georgiana stiffened. Her grip tightened on the chair, and Wickham noted how her chin rose with that damnable air of superiority that he despised in all the aristocracy. He often wondered if those of elite bloodlines were born with the propensity to look down their aristocratic noses at others. He had often practiced the gesture in the mirror, but it did not come naturally to him. “What has my brother to do with your misfortunes this time, Lieutenant Wickham?” she demanded. “Surely, you cannot lay blame for the weather at Fitzwilliam’s feet. My brother’s influence does not extend to natural phenomena.”

  “Perhaps not,” Wickham said ruefully. “Yet, much of my misfortune…can be traced to my former friend.” He took an awkward step forward. “Our elopement…” he began, but Georgiana finished his thoughts.

  “Was a mistake,” she asserted. “A foolish whim of a too-shy schoolgirl who thought our familiarity would bring her happiness.”

  “And you have no regrets…for your brother’s interruption…of our plans?” Wickham said coldly.

  Georgiana shook off his words. “How could I? If we had known success, then I would never have experienced the joy of knowing my husband’s regard.”

  “And how is the Major General?” he said gravely.

  Instantly, Georgiana paled. Grief and regret shafted her. She swayed and sat back heavily on the cot. “My husband…reports say that Edward was lost at Waterloo.” Tears formed in her eyes, and she turned her head to hide her grief.

  Her obvious anguish touched Wickham. Would anyone regret his passing? Would Lydia truly mourn for him or would Mrs. Wickham flaunt her newfound freedom? He said with a touch of empathy, “And do you…believe these reports?”

  “I should not have considered the possibility,” Georgiana chastised herself with a shake of her head. “Now I question my emotional response. If Edward were lost to me forever, my heart would know. My heart speaks a different language.”

  Wickham straightened stiffly. “Then you imagine yourself in love with the Major General?” he said through tight lips.

  Georgiana sat perfectly still. With her face lifted in defiance, she declared. “There is no imagining involved, Lieutenant Wickham. The Major General knows my deepest affections.”

  With a contemptuous snort, he said, “Personally, I never cared for the man.”

  “I am certain that my husband’s natural intuition told him how base your motives could be. Edward would see through your cleverness.” Her eyes spit fire.

  “Does not your brother possess this same natural intuition? It would appear to me that Darcy considers himself a good judge of character,” he disputed. Wickham found he actually enjoyed this brief encounter. When he had pursued an alliance with Georgiana Darcy, he had done so for very selfish reasons. He had desperately desired her thirty-thousand-pound dowry. He could have finally owned a bit of the luxury he had always coveted; and, of course, having Darcy forced to acknowledge him as family would have been an added inducement. Yet, despite her beauty, he had never thought the shy, retiring Georgiana could have long held his interest. Now he thought otherwise. He found the woman’s loyalty and her innate intelligence very engaging. “Darcy once considered me one of his closest acquaintances.”

  As if suddenly aware of their surroundings and the shocking intimacy of their conversation, the lady’s lips quirked. “Both Fitzwilliam and I have our father’s trusting heart. Yet, we each learned a valuable lesson at your hands, Lieutenant Wickham. A lesson in those who present Janus’s face.”

  Wickham’s gaze shifted from her countenance to the hearth. He said ironically, “We could debate my finer qualities all evening, but for the moment, I require a warm fire, or I will catch my death. Do you mind helping with the wood? I know it is not normally within a lady’s realm, but I find my ribs are unforgiving.” He walked stiff-legged toward the ingle.

  From behind him, Georgiana stirred. He had made his knees bend so he might reach the opening, but her words curtailed his efforts. “I cannot assist you, Lieutenant Wickham. My leg will not bear my weight. If it could, I would have walked out of here days ago.”

  Wickham turned his head with renewed confidence. “I see,” he said impertinently. Standing again, he smiled deceitfully. “I will attend the fire.” He worked his way about the room tossing flimsy furniture and the broken chair into the fireplace. He felt Georgiana’s eyes on him. Intently, she followed his every move. The knowledge that she could not escape this deserted cottage without his assistance pleased him. Darcy would pay well for his sister’s return.

  With difficulty, he managed to kindle a small blaze. “That should serve us well for the moment,” he said softly.

  “Now what?” Georgiana crossed her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from him.

  The movement spurred him on. Wickham wanted her off balance—wanted the lady a bit afraid of him. He began to unbutton his waistcoat. Then he wiggled out of his jacket and removed the vest. He draped the clothing over the remaining furniture.

  “What are you about, Sir?” Her voice rose in apprehension.

  Wickham smiled deviously. “I am removing these wet items before they bring on the ague.” He flipped his shirt from his body and over his head. “And you are welcome, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, to look your fill.”

  Chapter 19

  EDWARD GROWLED, “I REPEAT, Madam. How did my wife’s locket come into your possession?” Despite the heated exchange, Edward shivered. He felt completely alone. Would he never find Georgiana? Was his wife lost to him forever?

  The girl’s energy surged from her. She swayed as he held her by the shoulders. Her eyes seemed to double in size. “I…I cannot explain,” she stammered.

  Edward shook her soundly. “That is not good enough. My wife is missing, and you wear the locket I presented to her as a wedding gift. I want to know how you came by it.”

  “I wish I could say.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

  Behind them, Lord Wotherspoon said pleadingly, “Permit me to explain. The lady has suffered a head injury. She has struggled to recall her coming to Normanna and something of her past.”

  Edward did not release the woman, but he loosened his grip. “What do you remember?” His gaze demanded that she continue to meet it.

  “I see that it is your image in the sketch. All along I thought it was my husband’s countenance staring back at me. I understand now why the image never brought me the comfort I sought. I am sorry, Sir. I truly possess no recollection of Mrs. Fitzwilliam.” The tears began to flow freely.

  Edward dejectedly released her. “Where do I look next?” he murmured to no one in particular.

  The girl loosened the latch and placed the locket in his palm. She closed his fingers about it. “When you find Mrs. Fitzwilliam, please present this to her as a symbol of your continuing regard.”

  Darcy guided Wotherspoon to
a nearby chair, so Edward directed “Lady Esme” to sit beside the man. Deep in his own thoughts, he abdicated the necessary interview to his cousin while he watched over Lady Wotherspoon until Weir’s return.

  Darcy eyed his cousin cautiously. He could never recall Edward being so distraught. If they did not find Georgiana soon, he thought, his cousin’s normally even temperament would explode, and Heaven help the person on the receiving end of Edward’s wrath.

  While keeping the hunched posture of the major general in view, Darcy addressed his questions to Wotherspoon and the woman. “Would you explain to me why you tolerated such degradation under your watch, Sir?”

  The earl looked off as if imagining the scene they had discovered. “It was derelict of me to not attend to all the details of my succession, but I so despised my return to this house that I did not perform my duties as I should have. It was easier to permit others to carry on as they had in my absence.” His countenance grew studiously grim. “It may appear insignificant to one whose family name contains no stains, but I had no desire to inherit the MacBethan legacy.”

  Darcy diplomatically acknowledged, “We are aware of the legend associated with the Bean family.”

  “It is no legend, Mr. Darcy,” Wotherspoon averted his gaze from Darcy’s measuring one. “In England, few made the connection of the name MacBethan to Sawney’s descendants, but in Scotland, one must face it every day. Can anyone blame me for wanting to leave the association behind?” The man did not wait for a response before he continued, “To make no further excuses, I ignored my responsibilities until I stumbled upon the evil lurking in the branches of this family’s tree.”

  “And what did you do when you discovered what was happening below?”

  Wotherspoon buried his face in his hands. “Obviously, not enough. Another man died yesterday.” Only the girl’s whimper could be heard in the room’s silence.

  “Explain your actions,” Darcy said evenly.

  Wotherspoon raised his head slowly. The images would haunt the man forever. Darcy held no doubt of the fact. “I came across the hell on Earth my mother has created one night when I had gone looking for a bottle of wine in the lowest cellars.” He turned to the woman who sat beside him. Despite the tension between them, the lady took Wotherspoon’s hand in both of hers. The Scot intertwined their fingers. “I thought my cousin Munro daft when he insisted that I be the one to retrieve the wine. Little did I know at the time what I would discover under my very nose. It was the first time I ever laid eyes upon you, Lady Esme. Your lovely countenance stung my soul, my Lady.”

  The macabre image of the horrors below brought a grimace to Darcy’s lips. “You were a prisoner?” he directed his question to the woman.

  Before the lady could respond, Wotherspoon said, “Lady Esme was unfortunate in the respect that she was found on the moor by one of my mother’s henchmen. I lied to you earlier when I said I knew nothing of the horse you sought. Lady Esme rode the animal when Blane captured her. I possess no knowledge of the horse’s whereabouts at this time.”

  Darcy noticed his cousin’s stature shift. Edward listened carefully to their exchange. “We are in possession of the horse and its rider,” he disclosed.

  The girl said, “I vaguely recall riding a horse across the moor, but little else of how I came to be there.”

  Edward stalked toward them. “But that means if you rode Georgiana’s mount that you must have met Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Can you recall anything of her?” He opened his pocket watch to display a likeness of his wife. “Did my wife seek your assistance? Could you have been on an errand of mercy?”

  The woman examined the rendering closely. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam is quite lovely, but I fear I am of little use to you, Sir. It is not a countenance that I hold in my memory.”

  In frustration, Edward snapped the watch closed. “Finish it, Darcy. I want to be on the road soon.”

  Darcy nodded his understanding. “We can surmise your shock when you finally discovered the scale of your mother’s perfidy. Explain what you did when the situation became apparent.”

  “I demanded that Lady Wotherspoon cease her operations. The prisoners were to be fed small portions at regular intervals. With the first one I tried to nurse to health, we fed him large portions, thinking that be what the man required after having been nearly starved to death under my mother’s orders. Yet, believe it or not, he ate so much that it killed him. From then on, I have gradually increased their portions.”

  “You claim charity, but there are still men housed below in the darkness. They are chained to the walls!” Edward’s voice boomed throughout the room. He slammed his fist against a small table, sending its contents crashing to the floor.

  Wotherspoon looked away in regret. “I did not know what else to do. You must believe me, Mr. Darcy. I have made moves to alter what has happened with my mother’s orders, but I could not change everything at once. Please understand. Those men have been taught to expect the worst. I am trying to wean them from their dependence on Lady Wotherspoon’s whims. I have already moved two of the victims to other parts of Scotland. I have bestowed a settlement on each to better his life.”

  “You paid them not to testify against Lady Wotherspoon,” Edward accused. A cloud crossed his countenance.

  Wotherspoon looked to where his mother lay bound and gagged. “She is still family,” he said flatly. “I meant to see her sent away.” He shook his head in disgust. “It was all I could think to do. In hindsight, it was not enough.”

  Lady Esme pointedly released his hand. “Was that why you proposed marriage? So I would not testify against your family?” She stood suddenly as if to leave, but Edward’s hand on her shoulder forced the woman to resume her seat beside Wotherspoon.

  The earl caught her hand to his cheek. “Look at me, Esme,” he insisted. “My feelings are sincere, but I thought to clear my family name before I permitted you to become involved.” He kissed her palm. “You must believe me. I swear in the name of Saint Margaret. Just as the Queen Consort ferried pilgrims from Dunfermline Abbey, I would see all my mother’s victims safe.”

  The lady’s eyes grew wide and her skin paled as she once more shot to her feet. “Margaret,” she gasped. “Lady Margaret Sarah Caldwell.” She swayed as her hands unconsciously lifted to massage her temples.

  “I beg your pardon,” Edward said softly as he encouraged the girl to sit once more.

  She turned to Darcy. “Lady Margaret Sarah Caldwell.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Second daughter of Viscount Penworth. Surely you have heard of her. Of me.”

  “Good God!” Darcy exclaimed. “Do you claim to be Lady Margaret? Everyone assumes her to be dead. Lady Margaret disappeared at least two months ago.”

  The lady’s hands trembled, and tears pooled in her eyes. “On June 3…the day…Mr. Vincent and I raced toward the border.” A sob swallowed her words, and Wotherspoon slid his arm about the woman’s shoulders.

  Darcy finished the tale. “When the younger of the Earl of Hamby’s heirs drove his carriage off the road and into a rain-swollen stream—robbing Lord Hamby of his spare and the older of Hamby’s sons of his intended. The incident was in every scandal sheet, as well as in the more legitimate papers.”

  With tears streaming down her cheeks, Lady Margaret took up the story. “My father and Lord Hamby had come to an agreement when the future earl and I were but children; I was three and Stephen Vincent nine, but I had not yet met Samuel Vincent. Men deride women’s belief in love at first sight, but at my sixteenth birthday celebration, I saw Samuel Vincent across a crowded ballroom, and my heart became engaged. For over two years, we denied the attraction. Initially, it was easy because we were rarely in each other’s company, but Lord Hamby had insisted on my Presentation, and so my family made the trek to London.

  “Stephen resented having to play attendant upon his future bride, so he had passed my companionship to his brother. Things progressed quickly.” Her cheeks flushed with color; it would not be politic
to admit the nature of her relationship with Mr. Vincent. And although she never said the words, the three gentlemen understood that she and Samuel Vincent had anticipated their love. “We saw no other way from the engagement,” she said softly.

  Darcy asked, “What happened on the road?”

  Her gaze dropped to her intertwined fingers. “We thought ourselves so clever. We realized my father and the Earl would give pursuit, and that they would assume we would journey to Gretna Green. Samuel said we should travel further into Scotland. We would marry before our families could deny us.”

  Darcy asked incredulously, “Did Hamby truly send a professional tracker after his own son?”

  “Samuel had shamed his brother, and the Earl would have none of it. Thinking ourselves safe, we traveled more leisurely once we crossed into Scotland. At the end, Samuel raced toward the nearest village, but Lord Hamby’s men had given chase. Samuel saved me when the carriage tumbled after us on the slope. He took the brunt of the coach’s weight. It pinned him under the water. I tried to free him, but I could not budge the carriage, and seeking their release, the horses dangerously pawed at the coach. Samuel touched my lips with his fingertips and then shoved me clear of the animals. My dreams destroyed, I permitted the current to carry me downstream. Finally, I caught a limb and pulled myself to freedom.” Her gaze returned to Darcy’s face. “I knew my parents would force me to marry Stephen if I returned, and I could not spend my life with the brother of the man I loved. I ran. For days. For weeks, I roamed the moor. Taking shelter where I could.”

  “Is that how you found my sister’s horse?” Darcy asked the question to which his cousin wanted to have an answer.

  The lady shook her head in the negative. “I still do not hold a memory of how I came to be riding the horse in question, but I shall put my energies to giving you something useful.”

  Darcy sighed deeply. “Then perhaps we should decide how best to handle the chaos below.”