by Laura Hile
Even so, it took courage to open the door. Her father’s presence was everywhere in this room; his empty chair tore at her heart. Elizabeth took herself in hand and drew back the draperies. Pale winter sunshine lit the surface of his desk.
“Just here,” she said, speaking quickly so as not to cry, “he keeps money, usually not more than ten pounds.” She brought out the box and, using the key her father kept hidden under the mantel clock, unlocked it.
“Thank you.”
Elizabeth swallowed back tears and presented the key. “This is now yours,” she whispered.
Instead of taking it, he enfolded her in his arms. “This was a bad idea,” he said. “It is too soon.”
“It must be faced, sooner or later,” she said. “Much better to do so with you than alone. Now then,” she said, turning to the box, “the latch is just there. Sometimes it sticks.”
“Borrowed money from it, have you?” he said, smiling a little. But the box, when he got it open, was empty.
“What in the world?” said Elizabeth. “There was money here last week, I know it.” She rummaged in the drawer. “He has a ledger to record what is taken out.” But there was no fresh entry.
“Where can the money be?” she said. “This is terrible.”
“I can think of several explanations. Your sisters might have needed to purchase something for the funeral or the reception. Or your mother might have wished for new gloves or a veil and sent someone to Meryton.”
“Then why did they not record it? William, someone has stolen Father’s money.”
His arm came round her shoulders. “Who knows about this drawer and the box? Do any of the servants?”
“I am sure they do—we all do—but none of them would stoop to stealing. Unless—” An unwelcome suspicion crossed Elizabeth’s mind. Kitty had been speaking about needing money. But Kitty would never steal.
“We won’t make accusations just yet,” said William. “After all, it is only ten pounds.”
“Only ten pounds?” Elizabeth repeated. “William, that is no trifling amount.”
He relocked the box and replaced both it and the ledger in the drawer. “The key hides under the clock, does it? I’ll leave it there.”
“This is terrible,” Elizabeth said again.
“We won’t fret over it. There is likely a reasonable explanation.”
“Father was ill, and the loss would be undiscovered for some time. How could anyone do such a thing?”
“Come,” he said quietly. “We have lingered here too long.” He led her out of the bookroom.
The shadows had lengthened; soon it would be sunset. William consulted his timepiece. “I must go soon,” he said reluctantly, “and it is not likely that I will see you again until morning. After everything is over.”
“The elopement, do you mean? William, I do not like this. Why must you be involved?”
“Because it is my duty.”
“What about Colonel Fitzwilliam? Why can he not do something?”
“He left yesterday for London to fetch a specialist.”
“Is Mr. Darcy ill again?”
William hesitated. “After a manner of speaking,” he said.
“Then what about Colonel Forster? If he knew what Wickham is up to, surely he could keep the elopement from happening.”
“Wickham would likely deny it.”
“What about Lady Catherine? She would see to it that Anne never left her sight.”
“That’s just the trouble,” said William. “With her mother involved, Anne would never back down. The elopement would simply be postponed until another time and place. No, Anne must see George Wickham for what he is.”
“And if she does not care? Perhaps having a handsome husband is enough. Perhaps she will not mind that he is expensive or a rogue or—”
“Elizabeth,” he said softly.
“I know,” she admitted. “You ought to help her. But I do not like it. What can you hope to do alone?”
“Ah, but I shall not be alone. I was hoping to enlist the services of Mr. Fleming. Barring that, I must be content with Mr. Darcy.”
“Mr. Darcy!”
“You—haven’t read my letter, I take it.”
“Letter?” she said.
“I was afraid something like this might happen. I entrusted it to Mrs. Hill, who promised to put it in a place where you would find it. Sooner or later you will.”
Elizabeth discovered that she was not only smiling but blushing. “You wrote me a letter?”
Outside came the sound of carriage wheels. Her time alone with William was almost at an end.
And yet there was something in his expression that raised suspicion. She faced him squarely. “Now William,” she said, “if you are meaning to cry off, I won’t have it. You can list a dozen reasons why you are not worthy to be my husband, and I will not care.”
He looked uncomfortable. “There are some things you ought to know about me before—”
“I do not care,” she said fiercely, as the knocker sounded. “Whatever your reasons are, they do not matter.”
“I rather think they do.”
“Have you another wife?” she demanded.
He blinked. “Why, no.”
“A string of children born out of wedlock?”
“Certainly not!”
“Is there a warrant for your arrest?”
Weary though he was, his eyes begin to twinkle.
“Because for the life of me, William,” she went on, “barring these I see no reason why I should not marry you.”
The drawing room door was open, and Elizabeth saw Sarah come into the vestibule. “Letter or no letter, you have my answer,” she told him. “And if it is, as I suspect, an exacting list of your faults, I might very well tear it up.”
He bent to kiss her swiftly, just before Sarah had the door open.
The caller was Mrs. Niles, and she had brought not only her elderly mother but also all three of her daughters.
“I will see you in the morning,” William said softly, and went out.
g
When Mrs. Niles and her talkative family left, Elizabeth went straight to Kitty’s room. But it was no use, for her sister was fast asleep.
All that evening Elizabeth waited. Jane gave up and went to bed, but Elizabeth sat with her book. The drawing room was quiet, save for the hiss of the fire, and she made the mistake of drawing a lap blanket around her shoulders. Sometime later she awoke with a start. It was dark, for the candles had guttered.
What hour it was Elizabeth did not know, but someone else was in the drawing room—she could see the candle. Elizabeth was about to speak when she heard a whispered “Botheration! Where is that key?”
It was Kitty’s voice.
Elizabeth heard a door open and close. She rose to her feet and followed Kitty, feeling her way in the darkness.
Kitty stood in vestibule, pulling on a pair of black gloves. Beside her rested a valise and a hat box. What was her sister doing with these? She then put on a cloak—not her own, but their father’s dark cloak—and her black bonnet. Was Kitty leaving the house?
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out.
There was a rustle on the stairs. “Are you still here?” Elizabeth heard Lydia whisper from above.
“I cannot find the latch key. You will have to let me in.”
“For heaven’s sake, be quiet! Do you wish to wake everyone?”
Surely her sisters could see her standing there! And then Elizabeth remembered that she too was wearing black.
“Leave the door unlocked then,” said Lydia. “And hurry. You’ll be late.”
“I know,” said Kitty. “Poor Anne!”
Poor Anne?
Lydia disappeared up the stairs, and the main door closed quietly behind Kitty. At once Elizabeth went rummaging for her own cloak and hat. She now knew exactly where Kitty was going—to Netherfield. Just how deeply was her sister involved in Anne’s elopement?
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A gust of wind sent Elizabeth’s cloak billowing. She gathered her skirts and set off, running as fast as she dared. Clouds blew across the sky. There was a change in the weather coming; Elizabeth could feel it.
It was a long while before Elizabeth caught sight of her sister. She was walking now, being encumbered with the valise and hat box. Elizabeth cupped her hands around her mouth. “Kitty!” she called.
Kitty swung round and gave a cry. Immediately she broke into a run.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Elizabeth, and gave chase.
The moon appeared low on the horizon, just beneath the clouds, and Kitty ran on. At length the lane dipped into a hollow, and Elizabeth saw Kitty lose her footing. With a cry, she fell.
With the wind whipping her skirts, Elizabeth stumbled forward. “Kitty,” she called hoarsely. “This has gone on long enough.”
Kitty raised a distraught face. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “I have spoiled everything!” she cried.
Elizabeth knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?”
“My skirt is torn.”
Elizabeth took hold of the corner of Kitty’s cloak. “This is Father’s. Why are you wearing Father’s cloak?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Kitty began to cry again. “My cloak is red, and I couldn’t—” She paused and wiped her eyes. “I know it looks odd, Lizzy, but it’s important.”
“It had better be, since your gown is torn and Father’s cloak is dirty. And,” Elizabeth added, “his money is missing.”
Kitty covered her face with her hands. “You don’t understand,” she wailed. “This is important.”
“Important enough to become a thief?”
Kitty’s hands dropped. “It is a matter of friendship,” she said hotly. “True friendship.”
Elizabeth felt her lips curl. She held out a hand and pulled Kitty to her feet. “Very well,” she said. “I am listening.”
“Anne is escaping—her only chance—from her tyrannical mother. Truly, you have no idea what she suffers.”
Elizabeth chose not to answer. Kitty knew very well what maternal tyranny looked like. “And?” she said. “By what means is Anne de Bourgh escaping?”
“Why, by the Mail, of course.”
“In the middle of the night? Do not be ridiculous. You know as well as I that the Mail leaves every morning at ten. Not in the middle of the night.”
“But this is the only time Anne can escape from the house! While everyone else is sleeping.”
“You mean to tell me that Anne will wait in the cold for hours?”
“It isn’t very cold, Lizzy,” said Kitty. The wind swirled an escaping tendril of her hair.
“After which time she shall walk to Meryton? Or is she planning to walk there now and wait in the market square?”
“I—I do not know.”
Of course Kitty did not know. Who knew what story Anne had fed her? “A more sensible plan,” scoffed Elizabeth, “would be for Anne to hide in your bedchamber until daybreak. But instead you meet her here.”
Kitty reached for the hat box, but Elizabeth would not let go of her arm. “What is in the valise?” she demanded.
“Nothing—important.”
“I thought you said that everything about tonight was important.”
“It’s only clothes. Two of my oldest gowns and some night clothes. Anne’s clothes are too fine for the Mail.” Kitty made another attempt to free herself. “Please, I am terribly, terribly late. I gave Anne my word.”
“Night clothes?” said Elizabeth. “Surely Anne has her own.”
“I—do not know. I put in a number of things just in case. It never hurts to have a spare nightdress.”
The moon emerged from behind the clouds, giving Elizabeth a look at her sister’s strained face.
“Very well,” Elizabeth relented. “I shall carry the hat box.” But she kept a firm hold of Kitty’s arm.
“Can we not walk faster?”
“You are limping.”
“I am—not. Not much.” Kitty’s expression was mulish. Elizabeth increased the pace slightly.
“So tell me,” she said, “since Miss de Bourgh obviously has a plan, where is she going?”
“To her cousin’s, of course. She does have some relations who will help her.”
Elizabeth gave her sister a sidelong glance. “Why has she not applied to Mr. Darcy for help?”
“It’s—it’s to his sister that Anne is fleeing. She lives at a place called Pender-something.”
“Pemberley,” supplied Elizabeth. “It’s curious that you should mention Pemberley in connection with Mr. Darcy’s sister. I thought she lived in London.”
“Does she?”
“According to Mr. Collins she does.”
Kitty gave an impatient huff. “What does Mr. Collins know? Who made him an authority about everything?”
“Anne could have a very different scheme in mind.”
“Really, Lizzy, you are becoming just like Mr. Collins. And furthermore—” Kitty broke off speaking. “What’s that sound?”
Elizabeth came to a halt and so did Kitty. Over the rush of the wind came the clatter of wheels and horses.
“Unless I am mistaken,” said Elizabeth, “that is a traveling coach. Now why would someone come to Netherfield at this hour?”
Kitty gave a nervous laugh. “It isn’t even one o’clock. Perhaps Mr. Bingley and his sister are returning from a ball?”
“He had supper with us. And if there were a ball, don’t you think we would have heard of it?”
Kitty tried to break free. “Let me go, Lizzy. I ought to have been there before this.”
“Been where?” said Elizabeth.
“Oh, anywhere.”
The approaching coach was not yet visible, but it was definitely nearer. “I think your instructions were rather more specific,” said Elizabeth drily. “At the Folly, perhaps? Beneath the arches?”
Kitty gave a gasp. “How did you know that?”
“Perhaps I know more than you think.” Lights appeared in the distance and then dipped out of sight. Within minutes the coach would be upon them. Elizabeth dug her fingers into Kitty’s arm and pulled her from the lane.
“But we’re almost there!”
“Quick,” Elizabeth ordered, pulling Kitty behind a hawthorn bush. “Get out of sight.”
Kitty was struggling with the valise. “For goodness’ sake, leave that!” Elizabeth said. “It’s not important.”
“It is to Anne,” protested Kitty.
“Anne is beyond our help now.”
Elizabeth’s heart was hammering. When she and William had read Anne’s letter it had been a game, a shared amusement. But here in the darkness with the coach bearing down, it was all too real. Wickham was coming, and William was waiting at the Folly. What would happen when they met? William would be armed. Would Wickham fight?
“Ow!” cried Kitty, for there were thorns. “Stop pushing! If that coach is coming for Anne,” she added, “shouldn’t we stop it?”
The coach lights were again visible, and so were the horses.
“The driver could take the valise to Anne,” said Kitty.
Elizabeth gave her sister another push. “George Wickham is in that coach,” she said roughly. “And believe me, he would not be happy to see you.”
“Wickham?” cried Kitty, over the thundering of hooves.
The horses flashed by and so did the coach. Once it was past Elizabeth staggered to her feet. “Four horses,” she said. “Oh, William,” she whispered, “he is planning to travel far.”
“Who is?” said Kitty, extracting herself from the bush. “These wretched thorns! I have scratches everywhere, no thanks to you.”
Elizabeth strained to see down the road. What was happening at the Folly?
Kitty gave a wrench and tore free from Elizabeth’s grasp. She took up the valise and hat box and went running after the coach.
Elizabeth scrambled after, every sense alert
. Soon there would be shouting, for Wickham would not easily surrender the de Bourgh fortune. And gunshots? Would there be gunshots?
Elizabeth already knew the answer. Her William would not give over an innocent woman to a man of Wickham’s ilk, not without a fight.
To her left loomed the dark silhouette of the house, to her right were the gardens. There was no longer light from the moon, for the clouds had closed in again. The promise of rain was in the air.
Before the Folly stood the coach, the light of its lanterns glancing off the horses.
A gust of wind came rushing through the tops of the bare trees. Where was Kitty? Where was William? And where was George Wickham? She must not allow her sister to be seen by Wickham. Or by William, for that matter.
Elizabeth struck out in what she hoped was the right direction. She had not gone far before rain began to fall. A flash of lightning lit the sky.
It was then that she saw the figure huddled on the lawn. Elizabeth threw caution aside. “Kitty!” she called. “Are you hurt?”
Kitty was gasping for breath. “She is not here, Lizzy,” she said. “I kept my promise and oh, she is not here.”
Elizabeth put her arms around her sister. “Come,” she said gently. “We must get out of the rain.” For it was raining steadily now, the drops hissing into the lawn. A roll of thunder shook the ground.
“I brought everything she asked for, even the money.” But the fight had gone out of Kitty. Another flash of lightning revealed the hat box and valise waiting forlornly near the Folly.
Elizabeth helped Kitty to her feet and together they stumbled toward an evergreen hedge. Too late she realized that it was holly. There would be more scratches here, but also shelter from the rain. She took a final backward glance at the coach.
But what was this? The door was now open. Was someone descending?
40 Tutor of Truth
As Darcy and Collins entered Netherfield’s darkened kitchen together, the scent of rising bread came to greet them. Here was the true test of stealth. The cook’s quarters at Pemberley were very near the kitchen, and intruders were roundly trounced. Tonight Darcy had no choice. One way or another he and Collins much reach the service door. Darcy kept a firm hold on Collins’ arm, both to guide him and to keep him from running away.
