Recognising her fears and unwilling to break the fragile thread of understanding that linked them, Colin Elliott held out his hands to her and when she, without hesitation, put her hands in his, he clasped them together. Silent, unwilling, almost unable to speak, lest spoken words shatter the finely spun web of mutual affection, they waited several minutes, until at last unable to hold them back any longer, she let the tears that had been stinging her eyes, course down her cheeks.
For Elliott, this was an unbearable moment; he could no longer let her suffer alone and throwing his customary caution to the winds, took her in his arms and comforted her, assuring her of his understanding and love. Then, encouraged by her compliance and driven by longing, he kissed her.
Thereafter, it took him very little time to tell her of his meetings with her father and Anna, to inform her that they had both given him their blessing while Anna had told him of her unhappy marriage and urged him to be sensitive to her concerns. He wanted, he said, above all to pledge his love and through it render void her fears.
“If we are both certain it is right,” he said, gently, “how can it be wrong? I have no doubts at all, my dearest, because we, neither of us, are seeking to marry for any reason other than love. I am asking you to marry me not because I claim to be a clever man or a rich one or even a particularly good man, for I am no better than many other decent men, but because I love you with all my heart and believe my life will be enriched if you agree to share it. For my part, I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure your happiness.”
She listened intently and when she finally spoke, said only that she asked for nothing more and, indeed, she hoped he would take her on the same terms.
“For I do not believe I have anything more valuable to offer you than my heartfelt love. Mr Elliott, Colin, I am truly sorry if in expressing my reservations I have hurt you. That was never my intention; I wished only to avoid, for us both, the misery of an unhappy marriage, because I care too much for you to take such a risk,” she said, with a degree of warmth that left him in no doubt at all of her feelings. With many protestations of affection, new promises made and others renewed, they pledged their love to one another and prepared to return to the house, where she would write to her father and her Aunt Emma.
“I shall have to write another letter to my Aunt; there is no longer a reason to send this one,” she said with a smile, as he helped collect her writing materials.
After a last affectionate embrace in the shelter of the trees, for they were both careful not to outrage Mrs Collins by exciting gossip among the servants, they were walking together towards the house, when the sound of a horse being ridden at great speed reached them and, as they watched, a young man on horseback turned into the drive. It was the same young man that Elliott had seen earlier in the day. “I wonder what he is doing here,” said Colin Elliott. “I believe he is the man I saw riding furiously towards Netherfield, when I was on my way here to see you.” Anne-Marie knew her father often sent express letters delivered overnight by hand, rather than trust the post; it was possible this could be one of them.
“It might be a message from Papa,” she said and then, as if a thought had struck her, she turned to him, saying, “it may be news of Lucy’s children,” before she hastened towards the house, where the rider, having alighted from his horse, stood waiting for them. As they approached, he reached into his satchel and took out a small packet of papers, which he handed to Anne-Marie.
Back at Pemberley, Mr Darcy had not been idle. Angered and troubled by the news that Jonathan had received from Hertfordshire, he had felt the need to do something to help. After dinner on the day that Jonathan had left for London, while Anna and the children had set out to return to Netherfield, the conversation had been all about the kidnapping of Mrs Sutton’s girls. Neither the Darcys nor Mr and Mrs Bingley knew Mrs Sutton, but they had heard of her unhappy situation from Jonathan and Anna.
Everyone was concerned for the two young girls, taken so rudely from their mother’s home, and Jane wondered whether there was not something someone could do to restore them to their mother. “I cannot imagine how she must feel, Lizzie. It must be the very worst thing.” Elizabeth agreed and pointed out that at least the children were with their father, who was unlikely to harm them in any way, although this was no consolation at all for their poor mother!
Mr Darcy had said very little at the time, but after the Bingleys had retired to bed, he raised the subject with his wife. Darcy had many contacts in London, in the fields of law and business, and he wondered whether a journey to London might not be useful.
Elizabeth did not favour the idea and asked, “Dearest, why need you go to London? Jonathan is already there and so is Mr Elliott; need you go as well? Might it not be better to wait and see what information they are able to glean from their own contacts, first?”
She was becoming more protective of her husband and preferred that he remain at Pemberley with her, for while he was still fit and strong, she had noticed that he tired more easily and was occasionally irritable after a long day away from home.
Furthermore, Elizabeth was well aware that following up any information on the activities of the kidnappers of the Sutton children might require Darcy to wander the back streets of East London—home to the indigent and criminal elements of the city. He would be far from the salubrious environs of Portman Square or Grosvenor Street and with the increasing incidence of crime in the cities she would be very concerned for his safety. Darcy was a little surprised by her response.
“Lizzie, my dear, it is not like you to dissuade me from going to the aid of someone in trouble, especially where a family and children are at risk,” he said and she felt a little ashamed of her selfish desire to put his safety and her own peace of mind first. But with her Uncle Gardiner’s recent illness, she had begun to worry more about her husband’s health.
“Would you let me come with you to London?” she asked, adding, “At least that way, I would not worry as much. It is just that with my Uncle Gardiner so ill, I cannot help feeling anxious when you are away for long periods and I have no knowledge of your whereabouts.”
When her husband shook his head, indicating he did not think this was a good idea, she continued, “I know you wish to help, and I love you for it, but will you not send one of the men first? Then, if there is a need, you could follow and maybe take Richard with you,” she suggested. Darcy threw his head back and laughed out loud.
“And do you suppose Cassy would have no objection to that?” He was very touched by her concern and put his arms around her as he spoke.
“No doubt, the two of you will probably find any number of arguments to stop us going after these villains. My dear, do you fear that I am no longer capable of looking after myself and the footpads will get me?” he asked, teasing her gently.
Taking her cue from him, Elizabeth lightened her tone, “Indeed no, why I am quite sure you are well able to fend for yourself, but I do hear a great deal about the criminals and villains who roam the city streets and will not hesitate to strike you down, should you get in their way.”
Darcy smiled, “Dear me,” he said, in mock outrage, “villains and criminals! It does seem as if the world out there is a truly fearful place. Perhaps I should just send Richard? Or will our daughter be as anxious about her husband, as you are about me?” he teased, but then seeing she was quite genuinely concerned, he was keen to assuage her fears and said gently, “If it upsets you, my love, of course I shall not go, but I will send a couple of my men to meet Mr Bartholomew, who can make some enquiries for me. It will not be easy for this Sutton fellow to hide two young girls for very long. It’s bound to come out.”
Ever since the news had reached them, Elizabeth had been thinking that London was an unlikely place to take two little girls, if you wanted to conceal their presence.
“I find it difficult to believe that Sutton would have taken the girls to London,” she said. “Why would he? Why not keep them hidd
en away in the country? Place them in a home with a large family and they would hardly be noticed. Wait until the hue and cry dies down before moving them away.”
Darcy, who had been standing in front of the window looking out at the park, turned around in a trice. “Lizzie, my dear, you are a genius! Why have I not thought of this before? It is far more likely. Indeed, it is quite probable that they are even now in the neighbourhood with someone he can trust or pay to keep quiet. I shall send Hobbs to Hertfordshire, let him stay at a public house in the area and make some discreet inquiries.” He was full of enthusiasm for the idea.
“Thank you, my dear, that was an excellent idea,” he said. Elizabeth glowed, not just from his praise, which she enjoyed, but from knowing that he was no longer likely to insist upon travelling down to London. The very next morning, a man was despatched posthaste to Hertfordshire, with instructions to frequent the public houses in the Meryton area and make discreet inquiries. He was also to watch out for any sign of the two Sutton children in the neighbourhood.
Meanwhile, Colin Elliott and his helpers had been in London and, having drawn a blank there, had reached a similar conclusion. They had no idea, however, where to look next. Returning to Hertfordshire, hoping to find more information but finding very little, they felt thwarted and annoyed. The two Sutton children, it seemed, had disappeared without trace. Until an express received at Pemberley brought astonishing news.
Mr Darcy’s man, Hobbs, had taken a room at a small local inn outside Meryton and in the bar, on the second night of his stay, he had found himself in the company of two young men probably in their thirties, he thought. They were both drinking quite heavily and talking volubly. He had guessed they were ex-militia, from their manner, as well as their language, which was colourful and loud.
Introducing himself as a visitor to the area, Hobbs had discovered that their name was Wickham, Philip and George, two brothers. And, he’d gathered they were not happy. Their main complaint appeared to be that their mother, recently widowed, had apparently taken to letting rooms in their house to itinerant travellers. Her sons had returned from Eastbourn to find their rooms let to a man from London, an ex-soldier named Sutton. This man, they grumbled, had two little children, girls who were constantly weeping and whining, so no one could get any sleep.
“We had to doss down on the sofas in the living room,” grumbled the younger of the two, Philip, while his brother pointed out that his mother was kept awake as well, since her room was just next door to theirs.
“When we told her to send them packing, she claimed she needed the money. Sutton was paying her well.” Hobbs, suspecting he had a good source of information, had bought them more drinks and loosened their tongues to the point at which they were telling him everything. Mrs Wickham, he learned, had been paid in advance for two weeks—she had insisted upon it, especially since Sutton was going back to London, ostensibly to arrange accommodation for his children.
He had claimed his wife was very ill and could not care for them, but Mrs W. had not been taken in, they said. “Mama winked and grinned when she told us about it, and it was plain she did not believe a word of it. But as long as he pays well, she is not complaining,” said Philip.
“But we are!” his brother had claimed, adding that he’d like to discover what Sutton was up to in the area. “He could be a smuggler and we may get a reward for handing him over to the police,” he’d suggested.
Hobbs, who was fairly certain the two girls referred to were the abducted Sutton children, had dissuaded them from going to the police, but was asking Mr Darcy for instructions.
Darcy thought long and hard before despatching careful instructions to Hobbs and an express to Jonathan with the details of what Hobbs had discovered, urging him to go to the police at once.
“This is not the sort of matter that you and Mr Elliott can deal with on your own; I strongly advise you to take this information to the police,” he wrote, careful to ensure that his nephew knew of the grave risks involved.
When Darcy told his wife of the information he had received from Hobbs, Elizabeth could not believe it; nor could Jane. Their wayward sister Lydia Wickham, recently widowed when her husband’s body had finally succumbed to the forces of nature, after a lifetime of self-indulgence and dissipation, was once again involved in a stupid scheme that was bound to end in disaster or disgrace or both!
“She was probably trying to make some extra money, without giving any thought to the consequences,” said Elizabeth, who knew well that Lydia’s extravagant habits could not be sustained on the meagre annuity she received after Wickham’s death. She was always applying to her sisters for money to pay a variety of bills. When Darcy had revealed to her the contents of Hobbs’s message, she had been shocked and ashamed.
“Oh no, not Lydia again! Darcy, I am so weary of carrying the shame of her impropriety. Is there never to be an end to this?” she had cried and he had comforted her, as he had always done on these occasions, reassuring her that he was quite indifferent to the antics of the Wickhams, especially now that Mr Wickham had departed the stage. Indeed, he declared, it was probably an advantage that the woman concerned was Lydia, because she was at least predictable in her attitude to money and was probably open to negotiation.
“She has probably agreed to keep the children there, for a fee, and it is quite possible that, if Mrs Sutton or someone on her behalf offers her more, she will let them return to their mother. All I need do now is send a message to Jonathan, so he can alert the police. They will then wait for Sutton to return and nab him,” he said with a degree of satisfaction.
Elizabeth and Jane had long since ceased to be surprised by their sister’s behaviour. Quite incorrigible, mainly as a result of special treatment in her youth by an indulgent mother and an indifferent father, Lydia was a law unto herself. But neither of her sisters would fail to be ashamed at the vulgarity and coarseness of her conduct.
Since the death of her unlamented husband, Lydia’s bizarre activities appeared to have increased. Both Jane and Lizzie were grateful to be living at sufficient distance from her, as to prevent her visiting them on one pretext or the other, as she did constantly with the unfortunate Mrs Collins.
Time and again, on family occasions, chiefly weddings and funerals, Lydia would appear dressed in her best, which was usually more striking than tasteful, and proceed to embarrass her family, who had to observe her absurd behaviour.
“She does not have to do anything, Lizzie,” Jane had once said. “Just her being there makes me all nervous, as though something calamitous could happen at any moment!” Elizabeth knew exactly how she felt, but on this occasion, if Darcy was to be believed, it seemed Lydia might be, albeit unwittingly, instrumental in assisting the recovery of Mrs Sutton’s children. Indeed, she may actually do some good, without intending to, of course. Elizabeth prayed that her husband was right.
Mr Darcy’s letter to Jonathan was despatched early and in it he advised him to take immediate steps to alert the police and request their help.
I must stress, Jonathan, that you should not attempt to confront this man under any circumstances without assistance from the police. My information is that he is both unpredictable and likely to resort to violence in a crisis. Sutton is an unknown quantity; he appears respectable but is known to be truculent and easily roused. Please advise your friend Mr Elliott that he, too, must avoid dealing with him on his own. The man may be desperate, and in that state, he is not to be trusted…
The rest of the letter detailed the information received from Hobbs and wished them luck in their efforts to recover the children and apprehend the miscreants.
It was this letter that Jonathan had enclosed within a note to his wife at Netherfield, urging her to acquaint Colin Elliott with Mr Darcy’s advice without delay.
Cassandra and her husband Richard Gardiner called on her parents and aunt at Pemberley with the news that they were travelling to Cambridge, having received an urgent request from her brother Jul
ian.
“He is concerned that Josie is unwell and will not see a doctor in Cambridge. He has begged Richard to come and take a look at her,” Cassy had said, and Elizabeth was most concerned. For a few years their lives had returned to normal, when Julian and Josie had returned to live at Pemberley with their young son, Anthony. But, sadly, Julian was restless; nothing could keep him from his beloved laboratory at Cambridge, where scientific studies were engaging some of the best brains in the nation. Josie went with him and so did their son, to the chagrin of his grandparents, who loved the child dearly. Elizabeth was worried and so was Jane, who’d had no idea that Josie was unwell. Cassy, wise and practical, was keen to let her mother know the truth.
“You see, Mama, it is not easy for Richard to go at this time. Mr Gardiner grows weaker every day and Mrs Gardiner needs Richard when things get difficult. But you know how Richard is; he will not refuse a call for help, whether it is from a patient or a member of the family, and he truly believes this one is quite genuine.”
“What did Julian say?” asked her mother.
“Not very much, except that Josie has not been herself lately; he believes she is ill but will not see a doctor. They both trust Richard and wish he would come to Cambridge and take a look at her. That was all, but reading between the lines, you could tell there was more to it. Julian is not the type to cry wolf, is he?” she said.
“He certainly is not,” said Elizabeth, “which is why I am most concerned. Cassy, my darling, will you promise to send me word and tell me how things are and if there is anything your father or I could do to help?”
Cassandra promised. “Of course, I will, Mama,” she said, but begged her mother not to worry unduly. “Richard believes it may be a condition of the mind. He knows how very disappointed Josie has been at having her manuscript rejected. She would give anything to have her little volume published and, indeed, I believe if it were not for the spate of women writers appearing recently, producing popular novels, she may well have been more successful. But no one wants to publish a learned documentary on the conditions of the rural poor, when they can produce cheap novelettes. Poor Josie has been unlucky and it is understandable that she is depressed,” she explained.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 28
