Bennet tipped his hat. “Much obliged. As for food, we have some and are willin’ to share. It’s nothin’ fancy, I’m afraid.” He dug through his saddlebags while everyone introduced themselves and emerged with a cast iron pot, cans of beans, salted pork, and half a loaf of brown bread. “Was it an accident?” he asked, nodding to the overturned stage as he helped his sister sit down. He started popping open the cans, looking as comfortable as any Boston gentleman relaxing in his library.
Hurst snorted. “Not hardly. We were targeted by a band of cutthroats run by a man called Wickham.”
Bennet and his sister exchanged a quick, meaningful look.
Yet, I caught it. “You know him.”
After a moment, Bennet said, “Aye, though most know him nowadays as Smilin’ George. He’s been workin’ his way through the country, makin’ a mess and movin’ on like locusts in a cornfield. They say he’s a real educated feller from back East but rough, too.” He looked around our pitiful group. “I’m sorry you and yours crossed his path.”
“We did not simply cross his path. He came after us,” I said. “He came after me.”
Bennet cocked his head and looked at him curiously. “Now why would he do such a thing?”
Everyone looked at me for the answer to the question hovering in their eyes ever since the attack. The Bingleys knew the story—or some semblance of it. It all happened before we had met but was much spoken of amongst society. While I would have preferred to keep the details private, my fellow travelers deserved to know why they were attacked.
“George Wickham was the son of my father’s man of affairs. The elder Mr. Wickham was his most trusted employee, as well as a friend. I looked on him as sort of an uncle. When he died suddenly of pneumonia one winter, my parents took George, who was twelve years old at the time, into our home. We were raised almost as brothers.” I paused, remembering, and the only sounds were the crack of the fire and the chirp of crickets.
“What happened?” Bennet asked softly.
“He was always a little jealous of me because my father lived while his did not—and of the fortune I was to inherit. I thought that it was simply youthful discontent, but it only grew worse as time went by. I did not realize how depraved he was until it was too late. We went to Harvard together and both studied law. My father established a firm with my mother’s father and her sister’s husband. Fitzwilliam, Darcy, and DeBourgh. He hired us both as soon as we passed the bar.” I studied my hands, my fingers twisting together. “I am glad sometimes my father did not live to see what happened after.”
I flinched when Mrs. Reynolds patted me on the shoulder. I did not deserve her sympathy. Her father-in-law was dead because of the enmity between Wickham and me. “Six weeks after my father’s death, I discovered him bribing a witness to lie on the stand. I had him arrested. Investigations revealed he did the same on at least seven previous occasions. He was disbarred and imprisoned; his cases overturned. I thought this would be the end of it, but it was just the beginning.”
“Your firm was scrutinized. Every case you ever took was questioned,” said Louisa. “I remember the newspapers.” There was surprisingly little judgment in her tone, merely weariness.
“Yes. Formerly loyal clients no longer required our services. Our reputation for integrity was shattered. The only people who still wanted to hire us were those who hoped the rumors were true. For years, I attempted to salvage something of my family’s legacy, but in the end, I could only take solace in knowing when people spoke of them, it was to say the firm would never have sunk to such depths under their command. Eventually, Wickham was released from prison and quietly disappeared . . . I thought for good. When Bingley told me of his plan to move to California, I realized it could be a chance to begin anew, without the specter of Wickham’s perfidy hanging over me.” He laughed bitterly. “It seems, however, there is no escape. In taking my sister and bringing harm to my friends, he has exacted the perfect revenge.”
Jane Bennet drew in a sharp breath, which led to a bout of wracking coughs. Elias’s brow furrowed. “Your sister?”
“Georgiana. He holds her for ransom but also to torment me. I fear no matter what ransom I pay, he will keep her. As soon as I reach San Francisco, I will send help back here, but I am going after him. Mr. Hurst, if you could arrange the ransom in case I cannot rescue her, I would be most grateful.” I would leave nothing to chance when it came to Georgiana.
“We may be able to help you with that,” Bennet offered.
I swiveled my gaze to the younger man, meeting a pair of earnest, brown eyes. “How?” At this point, I would take all the help I could get.
“We’re headin’ for an outpost called Velvet, just a few miles from here. On horseback, I can be there in no time, I reckon. They don’t have a doc, but there’s a gal there who’s good with medicines and wagons you could hire to get the rest of the way to Frisco. Plus, I hear Smilin’ George’s gang goes there for supplies sometimes. It’s kind of a wild place, if you know what I mean. If I leave at first light, I can be back with help before noon.”
I stared at him until the youngster looked away, seemingly embarrassed. Hope swelled in my breast. I did not know why I felt I could trust this complete stranger to keep his word, but my instincts told me I could. “I would be forever in your debt, Mr. Bennet.”
Bennet blushed, making me think he couldn’t be more than seventeen. “I have my own reasons to dislike Wickham. If I can help you best him, I will.”
I eyed him curiously, but neither he nor his sister seemed open to sharing information.
“Grub’s ready,” Bennet announced, stirring the pot one last time. “We only have two bowls so everyone’s gonna have to take turns.”
* * *
The next day dawned clear, with birds singing, a gentle breeze ruffling through the manzanitas, and Bingley burning up with fever. I shook Bennet awake when the sun’s rays were no more than a hint of gold in the east. “Bingley’s taken a turn for the worse,” I told the lad.
Bennet nodded, wide awake in an instant. “I’ll rouse Jane.” He sat up and nudged his sister. “Time to get up.”
Jane moaned and coughed wetly before opening bleary eyes.
Bennet and I exchanged a concerned look.
“She’s not used to such rough travel and has been coughing for days, ever since we got caught out in a rainstorm,” Bennet murmured.
I noticed his voice became lighter, his accent lessened when he was worried. A sudden idea occurred to me. “Let her stay here and get some rest. I will ride with you, and she can ride in the wagon we send back for Bingley and the others.”
Bennet bit his lower lip. “There’s no denying she could use the rest, but I don’t like leaving her behind.”
“No one in this group will harm her; I would bet my life upon it.” I had not known Hurst long, but already the idea of him hurting a woman was ridiculous.
After a hushed, heated discussion between the Bennet siblings, it was decided. Jane would remain behind with one of the rifles in her possession; Hurst would have the other. Bennet and I would take only the revolvers with us. Bennet would have left all his weapons with the group so Jane would be more secure, but his sister won that argument.
I started to saddle Jane’s horse, but Bennet snorted and offered his own mount. “You’re far too tall for little Lottie, there. Your feet will drag trenches all down the road. Ride Collie instead.”
“Collie?” I studied the beautiful, barely tamed appaloosa mustang before me. “You named this glorious creature Collie?” I was horrified. As a man with a healthy appreciation for good horseflesh, it seemed a crime that this horse, who stood nearly fifteen hands tall and weighed at least eight hundred— possibly closer to nine hundred pounds—should be called something so plain and homely as “Collie.”
Bennet grinned, his whole face lighting up and pushing his fine-boned features past handsome and into too pretty for his own good. “It seemed to suit him well enough at the time. He
followed me about like a puppy when I found him. He might give you a bit of trouble at first, but if you’re firm with him from the start, he’ll know you won’t fall for his tricks, and calm down.”
He was right. Collie began to dance the moment he felt an unfamiliar rider on his back. I allowed it for a moment, letting him work out the surge of energy, then gently reined him in. I stroked Collie’s glossy brown neck, murmuring praise. Collie fought me a minute longer, then stopped, his ears flared as if he was listening. I looked up to see Bennet watching me with bemusement.
“I think he likes you. He doesn’t calm so quick for most, and if he really disliked you, he would’ve bucked you off.”
I arched a brow. “Thank you for the warning.”
Bennet laughed. “I wasn’t too worried about it. Collie’s usually a real good judge of character.” With that, Bennet waved a farewell to his sister and set off on Lottie, leaving me to follow, wondering if I had just been complimented—and if so, by Bennet or his horse.
We rode hard and silent down the road for nearly an hour before Bennet slowed and turned off onto a rougher, less-traveled path. “From here on, we’ll have to take it easier or risk the horses.”
I nodded, though I was frustrated by the slower pace. “Have you been this way before?”
“To San Francisco? Yes. To Velvet? No. I just got good directions from a man back in San Jose.”
“What is your business there?” I was curious to learn more about my mysterious, young traveling companion.
Bennet cast me a sidelong glance. “You’ll find out quick most don’t like it when folks ask too many questions out here.”
“Simply making conversation.” My curiosity was well and truly roused now. What was Elias Bennet hiding?
Bennet seemed to debate whether to respond. Finally, he said, “My reason is very like yours. Jane and I have been trailing George Wickham all the way from Texas.”
I jolted in surprise, making Collie sidestep beneath me. I settled the stallion and stared at Bennet. “Why did you not say something before?”
He shrugged, but I could tell he was tense by the way his knuckles whitened around the reins. “I am saying it now.” His accent was near nonexistent.
“What do you want with him?”
Bennet sighed. “I was raised on a ranch with my sisters, Jane and Lydia. Jane’s the oldest and Lydia’s the youngest, being only fifteen now. Our mother’s been gone awhile and our father died of apoplexy last year. He was well-to-do, or so we thought. When he died, though, we lost our spread to debt collectors. Seems things hadn’t been going as well as he let on. Jane became a schoolteacher, I worked as a cook, and Lydia took in laundry. We worked to the bone just to scrape by, and Lydia hated every second of it.”
I began to see where this story was headed and empathized with the poor boy who had tried his best to keep his family together.
“We managed, at least until Wickham came into town. He styled himself as an army man, recently mustered out and in possession of a small inheritance. He said he was looking to start a ranch further west. In short order, he charmed the whole town, including, I’m sorry to say, me and my sisters. I didn’t realize he was spending so much time with Lydia until I came back to our rooms one evening and found Jane crying over the note she left. It said she was going west with Wickham to be his wife.”
“So, you went after her.”
“Not right away. We weren’t real happy she left without talking to us or marrying him in town, but it was her choice, and we didn’t know which way she went. But then a couple of weeks later, word spread there was a new wanted poster at the jail with George Wickham’s face on it. The money he threw around town, buying trinkets and drinks on him, was stolen from a bank in Oklahoma. There’s a bounty on his head, his and the others he’s running with.” His voice turned bitter. “I’ll never forgive myself for not seeing through his smooth ways to the snake beneath.”
He looked so forlorn; I could not help but offer comfort. I know what it is like to have a sister to protect and to fail to do so. “You are not the blame. Wickham has an appearance of goodness about him which has fooled many people, including all of Boston for a time. You and Miss Bennet have uprooted your lives for your sister to save her from a mistake of her own making. No one could do more, and most would do far less.”
“I tried to convince Jane to stay behind. She had good work and suitors, but she insisted on coming with me. Even if we succeed in reclaiming Lydia, there will be no returning to Texas, not when she’s known as either an outlaw’s wife or . . . or his woman. We’ll go to San Francisco to find our aunt and uncle. We’ll begin again, the same as you.”
We rode in silence before Bennet suddenly said, “You are not to the blame, either, you know. Not for your sister being taken, nor in making an enemy of Wickham.”
I shook my head. “When I first caught Wickham, he offered to disappear, to travel far away. If I only agreed, my father’s firm would still be one of the most prestigious in Boston, and my sister would be safe and sound in her own home.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat to hide it.
“That may be so, but what of the innocents Wickham sent to prison? Would you be able to live with yourself if you left them there, knowing he interfered in their trials? Or the guilty he allowed free? Would your father wish for you to preserve his legacy at such a cost? It seems to me that you—your honesty and sacrifice—are a far greater legacy to his goodness as a man and as a father than a law firm.” He fell silent, blushing as if embarrassed to have said so much.
I could only stare, speechless, as I turned over Bennet’s words in my mind. “And what of Georgiana’s safety? Was that not worth my silence?”
“If she is anything like you, she would not have stood for the lies, either”—was Bennet’s simple reply. “Besides, you couldn’t have predicted the man would be so loco as to become an outlaw. If he’d come out west and just started over, it’s likely no one would’ve known he was a crook. Look, we’re nearly there.” He pointed ahead to a ramshackle collection of buildings nestled between two hills.
“Did you know your speech becomes much crisper and more educated when you speak passionately, then gets deeper and thicker when you catch yourself?” The question burst from me before I considered the consequences of my forthrightness. “It is the opposite of most people’s tendencies.”
Bennet started and paled. “I don’t know what you mean.” His Texas drawl had never been thicker.
“Just an observation.”
* * *
Only the extravagantly generous would refer to Velvet as a town. It did have a firm grasp of necessities, though. I spied a smithy that appeared to be equipped to handle rudimentary repairs and horseshoeing, a dilapidated saloon with one of its swinging doors hanging half off its hinges, what might be a dry goods store, and a wide, two-story structure which dwarfed the rest of the buildings, at the end of the street. I was about to inquire as to its purpose when the door opened and a burly, bearded man strutted out. Behind him stood a half-dressed woman who blew him a kiss before slipping back inside. “Where is the healer woman?” I asked, wanting to complete our business and get out of this place as quickly as humanly possible.
Bennet arched a brow. “You’re not gonna like it.” He pointed to the brothel dead ahead. “I hear she charges the same by the hour whether it’s for healing or for . . . you know.” The lad might pretend worldliness, but I could see the tips of his ears turning red. Then again, I suspected mine were doing the same.
Bennet was correct, as he was so often. I did not like it. However, beggars could not be choosers. “How did you even come to hear of this woman?”
“Wickham brings his gang here for her to patch up, or so I was told.”
We dismounted, tied our mounts to the waiting hitching post, and with great trepidation, knocked on the door. It swung open readily, revealing a curvaceous woman with buoyant blonde curls and a sensuous, crimson smile. She wore so much paint it was di
fficult to tell her age, but I guessed her to be on the older side of thirty. She looked us up and down, dismissing Bennet to focus on me, much to my dismay. “Madam,” I addressed her with a slight nod.
“Why, a real gentleman!” She dipped into a wobbly curtsey, giving us both an eyeful of her navel down the front of her gown. Bennet choked, sounding like he was swallowing his tongue. The woman straightened, her eyes never moving from me. “A bit dusty from the road, perhaps, but you look good enough to eat.” She licked her lips and hugged herself, plumping her breasts up for my view. “Come inside and I’ll be more than happy to take the first bite.” Opening the door wide, she beckoned us in.
We entered, feeling like we were stepping into a lion’s den. Our senses were immediately assaulted by the sights and smells of a whorehouse. A fog of sweat, cigar smoke, and cheap perfume was thick in the air. There was a man staggering down the stairs, pulling up his trousers as he went, guffawing at some private joke. I suspected he was still drunk from the previous night’s revelries. Women in varying degrees of undress wandered through the room, chattering and yawning as they bid adieu to their customers.
I glanced at Bennet; my lips quirked up at the sight of my friend’s flabbergasted face. His eyes were huge but he was trying desperately not to look at anyone. How old was Elias, anyway? Surely a young man his age would have seen a naked woman before. I remember visiting a few courtesans when I was around Elias’s age, but I quickly tired of it in favor of a more meaningful friendship with a worldly widow with no desire to remarry. We got along quite well, remaining friends even when the physical aspect of our relationship came to an end. It was never love—more of a contented, mutual companionship.
“It was a busy night,” our guide explained with a wave at the chaos. “Most of the girls will be tired, but any one of them will perk up right quick at the sight of you. We’ll even find one for the boy. I have a girl who specializes in breaking in virgins.”
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 40
