A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  Darcy waited until the boy had left and then inched back the way he had come. “Tommy said that Wickham is inside the cottage and that though he brought two men with him, they left a while ago,” he reported in a low voice to the group.

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Then we should definitely be able to capture him without too much trouble.”

  “We wait ten minutes and then close in, correct?” Darcy looked over the group to see all nodding.

  With whispered expressions of good luck, the men grimly took their leave. Darcy and Penn escorted Miss Bennet and Elizabeth to a place near the dead tree and then Penn left to take up his position.

  Darcy stole closer to the cottage. He was on the edge of the clearing when a shot rang out followed by sounds of a scuffle. Wickham burst out of the cottage looking around wildly.

  The scuffle ceased, and a heavy-browed ox of a man dragged Bingley around the side of the cottage. The man’s hair hung in strings, and his clothes were a nondescript brown. “This one was hidin’ in the back.”

  Darcy cursed silently as fear and rage flooded his body in equal measure. A bruise was already blooming on Bingley’s cheek, but he did not see evidence of bullet wounds. Wickham was not alone, and they had lost the element of surprise.

  “I wasn’t hiding!” Bingley protested. “I was inspecting the back roof; it is in need of repairs.”

  Wickham turned white, then raced into the cottage and re-emerged, holding a struggling Miss Lydia in front of him. A gag prevented her from doing more than grunting, her hands were tied behind her back, and she appeared to be limping. Her eyes widened when she saw Bingley, and she paused in her frantic attempts to kick Wickham.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Darcy,” Wickham said in a sing-song voice. “I know you are here.” He pulled a knife from his belt and pressed it to Miss Lydia’s neck. “You do not wish your darling Elizabeth’s sister to get injured, do you?”

  Darcy hesitated until Miss Lydia gave a muffled shriek and a trickle of blood ran from her neck. With that, he stepped into the clearing, unwilling to allow Elizabeth’s sister to suffer any further.

  “I would not have taken you for a kidnapper, Wickham.”

  Wickham tsked. “And I would not have thought you would dishonour your father’s memory the way you have—life is full of disappointments, is it not? Now,” his eyes roved the underbrush, “where is Fitzwilliam? He would not be far behind, would he?”

  Wickham jerked his head to one side, signalling someone Darcy could not see. Footsteps sounded from behind, and he risked a glance in their direction. A slight man stood near him, his beady eyes full of greed. Darcy comforted himself with the thought that had the man seen the Bennet sisters, he probably would have reported their presence immediately to Wickham.

  “He’ll have come up with some clever plan to sneak up on us. He always was Darcy’s brains.” Wickham studied Darcy as though expecting Fitzwilliam’s location to be painted on his features. “Look by the stream.” He turned to the giant holding Bingley. “Tie him up, and then go help Havener.”

  Darcy kept his face impassive, his thoughts racing. Despite his promise to his cousin, he could not shoot Wickham—not with Miss Lydia held in front of him. He needed to keep the men occupied until Fitzwilliam could relocate. He would never have pegged Wickham for such violence—the man must be more desperate than he’d expected. “Why are you doing this, Wickham? I never expected you to stoop to kidnapping young girls.”

  “I wouldn’t have had to if someone,“ Wickham shook Miss Lydia viciously, “hadn’t decided to run away. I was all set to spend several weeks playing house with her before I found another source of income, but she had to rumble my plan and tried to return home.” He glowered at Miss Lydia. “That wasn’t in the program, was it?”

  Miss Lydia’s eyes went even wider.

  “Now we’ll just have to take your horses and go. You’ll understand if I have you tied up and left in the cottage; I’m certain someone will look up here—eventually.”

  “This won’t help anything, Wickham,” Darcy said, trying to remain calm. “You’re only making things worse for yourself.”

  Wickham sneered at him. “You are one to talk! You stole my birthright, and now I am reduced to making love to vapid chits who bore the living daylights out of me!”

  “You made your own decisions,” Darcy retorted. “I am sorry for contributing to your belief that your actions do not have consequences, but you are the one who carried out those actions. Take control of your life now! Let Miss Lydia and Bingley go.” Darcy flicked a glance towards Bingley who was now trussed up like a Christmas goose. The giant left him on the ground and, after signalling to Wickham, turned to follow the first man. Darcy only hoped that the others would be able to help Fitzwilliam.

  Wickham smirked at him. “Now that I have power over you, you apologise?” He took a few steps towards Darcy, still holding Miss Lydia as a shield in front of him. “I would rather a more tangible apology. After all, talk is cheap.”

  Darcy’s stomach roiled. “Pardon?”

  Wickham inched the knife closer to Miss Lydia once more. “I’m certain you could come up with the funds to persuade me to change my ways.”

  Darcy studied him. What had he done to change events so completely? Not only had Wickham and Miss Lydia run off much sooner than Before, but Wickham seemed more desperate than Darcy had ever seen him, the desperation removing every trace of the thin veneer of civility Wickham customarily maintained.

  “Then again, I’m not certain you have that much available on your person, and I will not wait. No, I’d rather take my payment and go.” He shifted to stare in the direction he’d sent the other men.

  “Payment?” Darcy asked, trying to keep him talking.

  Wickham grinned. “There are some who appreciate my worth.”

  “Miss Bingley perhaps?” Darcy suggested, hoping that Wickham would betray his backer. Given Tommy’s information, it seemed likely that it was her.

  Wickham only looked bored. He grinned down at Miss Lydia. “You would have enjoyed playing house with me. It is too bad we were interrupted. How fortunate that Darcy trusts no one—if it were anyone else, I would expect a band of armed men surrounding us, but, as it is Darcy and these things must be hushed up, I shall wait only until we find Fitzwilliam and the horses.”

  Miss Lydia whimpered again.

  “Why are you doing this?” Darcy asked, desperately trying to regain Wickham’s attention.

  Wickham glared at him. “You should know—you yourself precipitated my departure, after all.”

  “I did?”

  “Did you not set about that I am not to be trusted with money or women? When Denny recruited me, he told me tales of how pleasant Meryton was, how welcoming. At first, I was offered credit without question, but, after certain gossip filtered through the community, my credit dried up. Almost all the women in the area avoided me like the plague.” He looked down at Miss Lydia. “It is a good thing you are too wise to accept such rumours about me.”

  “I do not see how that would be an incentive to kidnap Miss Lydia. You could have left before this.”

  Wickham shook his head as though marvelling at Darcy’s naivety. “I needed funds, and few of the soldiers are willing to take my vowels anymore. I cannot begin a new life without the funds to travel. Miss Lydia is a valuable commodity. A week with her would have set me up handsomely.”

  “How so?”

  Wickham only smirked.

  Movement flickered in Darcy’s vision, and he suppressed the sigh of relief that threatened to break free; his cousin was unharmed, for now. Fitzwilliam was sneaking around the west side of the house, angling between the house and Wickham. If he reached Wickham without being caught, he would still have a difficult time due to Miss Lydia’s presence: A bullet could go astray and hit the young woman. Tackling the man would only bring the knife closer . . . . And what of Wickham’s two compatriots? Would they give up once
Wickham was neutralised?

  Regardless of Fitzwilliam’s plan, Darcy still needed to distract Wickham.

  “I have never known you to restrain your boasting, Wickham,” Darcy goaded. “Convincing Miss Bingley to pay you handsomely must have taken some negotiation skills.”

  “Not at all.” A dark look passed through his eyes. “Everyone wants you, Darcy. You have always been so valued.”

  “No, my money and position are valued. I am not valued.”

  Wickham waved the objection away. “Semantics.”

  “Truth,” Darcy countered. “Being valued for money and position is worthless as both are fleeting.”

  Wickham sneered. “And you have always been so naïve. Wealth and position have taken away all your hardships, leaving you unable to comprehend what it is like to live without them.”

  “I know that wealth and position have not brought me happiness, that they have made it even harder to make friends, to find love. Wealth will not bring you happiness. You still have a choice, Wickham. You have drifted from one place to another leaving destruction in your wake. Do not continue this course,” he said earnestly.

  Wickham glared at him. “Fat lot you know about such things; I have always been able to land on my feet.”

  Darcy risked a flicker of a glance towards Fitzwilliam. He had continued his slow creep and was even now behind Bingley.

  “Wickham, you have never ‘landed on your feet’—you have always had to flee the consequences of your actions or have another deal with them.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Wickham burst out. “If you had given me the living—”

  “Then you could have ruined even more people’s lives?” Darcy countered sardonically. “We both know you are not fitted for sermon-making or advising anyone about spiritual matters.”

  Wickham sneered again. “And Mr. Collins is? Few members of the clergy do more than I was willing to do.”

  Fitzwilliam was now directly behind Wickham and held up a hand, beginning a countdown on his fingers. Five.

  “And what is that?” Darcy asked.

  Waiting only until Wickham was engaged in listing all the things he was fully capable of doing, Darcy caught Fitzwilliam’s eyes, trying to signal his readiness.

  Four.

  “—listening to parishioners whine about their so-called miserable lives, listening to confession—”

  Three.

  “—telling them to follow the golden rule and all that rot—”

  Two.

  “—speaking the banns, and—”

  One.

  Darcy lunged forward as Fitzwilliam grabbed Wickham’s arm, the knife held in a death grip as they wrestled over it, Wickham’s left hand coming up to pry Fitzwilliam’s fingers loose from his right arm. Darcy flung Miss Lydia behind him and seized Wickham. As Darcy grabbed Wickham’s right wrist in a stranglehold, Fitzwilliam released him and chopped down on Wickham’s forearm viciously. Wickham hissed in pain as the knife fell, then punched Darcy’s head, leaving him reeling. With a growl, Fitzwilliam tackled Wickham to the ground, repeatedly banging the man’s head on the hard earth until Wickham finally lost consciousness.

  His head ringing, Darcy stumbled to where Miss Lydia sat in a heap on the ground. “Miss Lydia?”

  The girl looked up at him, sobs racking her body.

  Darcy gently sawed through her bindings and gag, but she did little more than bring her arms up to hug herself. He hesitated only a moment and then he could no longer keep a proper distance. Darcy crouched down onto the ground by her and began rubbing a hand across Miss Lydia’s back, much as he would have done if he had been comforting Georgiana. “You are safe,” he murmured. “Wickham is no longer a danger to you.”

  Fitzwilliam untied Bingley, and Darcy spared a glance towards his friend. Bingley looked stiff, but mostly uninjured. His cousin and friend had a whispered consultation before they walked over to Darcy and Miss Lydia.

  “I’ll go get Miss Bennet,” Bingley said after staring awkwardly at them for a moment.

  Darcy nodded to Bingley.

  “Penn, Baker, and Roberts were leading Wickham’s lackey away from here when last I saw them. I don’t doubt that they have already dealt with him,” Fitzwilliam said quietly. “What should I do with that piece of filth?” he asked, indicating the unconscious Wickham.

  “Tie him up and put him in the cottage for now,” Darcy said.

  Miss Lydia continued to sob, and Darcy just sat with her, continuing to rub her back but unsure what else to say to help her. “Are you injured anywhere other than your neck?” Darcy finally asked.

  Miss Lydia nodded. “My ankle,” she said wetly.

  “Once your sisters are here, we can examine it,” Darcy replied. He continued to comfort her, his heart still pounding: he hoped Penn and the others were all right.

  Chapter 40

  Before long, Miss Bennet and Elizabeth hurried into the clearing with Bingley and rushed over to Miss Lydia.

  Darcy stood at once, allowing the women to take his place. Miss Bennet enfolded Miss Lydia in her arms, and Elizabeth sat where Darcy had been and began rubbing soothingly on her youngest sister’s back.

  Miss Lydia’s sobs grew, tearing the air in their anguish. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wailed.

  Miss Bennet only rocked her in response, tears falling down her own face. “I was so worried,” she choked out.

  “Is she all right?” Elizabeth asked, looking up at Darcy.

  He grimaced. “She said that she injured her ankle, and he cut her neck.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes went wide and then darted to the back of Lydia’s neck.

  “I do not know if there were any other—more personal injuries,” he murmured.

  Elizabeth paled, and Darcy wished he could carry her pain and distress.

  “I—I suppose we will simply deal with things as they come,” she said.

  “There is little else that can be done.”

  Elizabeth nodded determinedly. “There are bandages in the carriage. Could you have someone fetch them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, then moved to embrace her two weeping sisters.

  Darcy excused himself to where Bingley and Fitzwilliam stood at the cottage door talking in low tones.

  “—him as well,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “Who?” Darcy asked.

  Fitzwilliam grimaced. “Wickham’s accomplice. I did not have time to tie him up thoroughly, but I did render him unconscious. I was just telling Bingley that we ought to check on the others, then collect him and put him somewhere as well.”

  Darcy sucked in a breath as worry for Penn and the other two men returned with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer. “What is your preference, Bingley? Would you prefer to accompany Fitzwilliam or stay here?”

  Bingley remained staring at the Bennet sisters, apparently unhearing.

  “Bingley?” Darcy prodded.

  Bingley turned lost eyes on Darcy.

  “Are you all right?”

  “This is my fault,” Bingley said in a broken whisper.

  “What?”

  “I—I did not take you seriously about Caroline. You heard Wickham: she paid him to kidnap Miss Lydia with no thought as to what would happen to her afterwards.”

  “I did not think Miss Bingley capable of such a thing either,” Darcy said gently. “It is not your fault.”

  Bingley shook his head. “You have always censured my inability to stand up to her, and now,” he took a ragged breath, “she has hurt the person I love most.”

  Darcy grasped his shoulder. “You could not have predicted—”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Fitzwilliam said regretfully, “but this conversation will have to wait. Someone needs to come with me to collect Wickham’s associate and find the others; the other should remain here to keep an eye on the Misses Bennet and Wickham.”

  “I will stay,” Bingley said fiercely.

  Darcy studied him for a mo
ment. He had only ever seen Bingley this upset Before when his friend had returned to London with news of Miss Bennet’s marriage. Would Bingley attempt to enact a more physical revenge upon Wickham? He cared little for Wickham, but he did not wish any harm to come to Bingley.

  Fitzwilliam nodded. “It shouldn’t take long.” He pulled Darcy along.

  Darcy stumbled but followed his cousin. Hopefully, the Bennet sisters’ presence would restrain any dark ideas forming in Bingley’s mind, at least for the moment.

  “Better this way, anyway,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “Pardon?”

  “We need to decide about Wickham. We can’t keep him locked up here forever! Unless you’ve changed your mind?” Fitzwilliam growled. “I would have killed him if I could have gotten off a shot that wouldn’t have injured Miss Lydia.”

  Darcy nodded. “I know.” He drew in a deep breath. “Thank you for rescuing us.”

  “What happened?”

  Darcy recounted how they had underestimated Wickham, how the man had actually posted guards, how Bingley had been caught, and how Wickham had seemed almost deranged.

  “Of course he did! Men get deranged when they’re desperate.”

  Before Darcy could reply, they came upon Mr. Havener. The wiry man was slumped under a tree.

  “He’ll have the devil of a headache, but he’s still alive,” Fitzwilliam announced as he checked the man.

  Darcy sighed as they secured the man with strips torn from his own shirt and then began to carry him back to the cottage.

  “You can’t bring them to trial,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “No,” Darcy agreed. If the truth about Miss Lydia came out, all their frantic searching would be for naught.

  “Killing them might be kindest for everyone.”

  Darcy grimaced.

  “Wickham will have the death penalty if he’s absent without leave, anyway.”

  Darcy stopped in his tracks, causing Fitzwilliam to stumble. “Wickham will be given the death penalty for desertion,” he repeated wonderingly.

  “Serves the snake right! Please tell me you will not intercede for him!”

  Darcy began walking again.