The Phantom of Pemberley

by Regina Jeffers

  Darcy was immediately beside him—on his knees checking for other injuries besides the gaping gash behind her ear. He handed Edward his handkerchief to stop the blood. “Stafford, send a man for Mrs. Reynolds,” he snapped. He ran his hands quickly up and down his sister’s arms and legs, searching for other wounds. Other than a few obvious bruises he saw nothing else.

  “Here.” Stafford thrust a glass of water into Edward’s hands.

  The colonel took it, placing only a few drops on Georgiana’s swollen lip.“She is coming around.” Edward carefully pushed Georgiana’s tresses from her face. “I have you,” he whispered huskily. “Do not try to move.”

  “Georgie.” Darcy caught her hand. “Can you hear us?”

  Georgiana stirred again—her eyes fluttering open and then closing slowly as she fought her way to consciousness. “Fitzwilliam?” she whispered.

  “I am here.” He squeezed his sister’s hand. “As is Edward.”

  Georgiana’s eyes opened—searching her cousin’s face for familiarity. Her hand lifted for his mouth. “Edward,” she murmured.

  “We are all here, Love,” he whispered as he caressed her jaw.

  “Georgie,” Darcy’s anxious voice pleaded,“where is Elizabeth?”

  His sister fought for lucidity. “Elizabeth?” She took a steadying breath.

  “Yes, Sweetheart,” Darcy coaxed. “Where is Elizabeth?”

  Turning her head too quickly, Georgiana cringed with pain. “She left with Mr.Wickham.”

  “What do you mean?” Pure panic set Darcy ablaze.“Left where?”

  “Through the wall.” Georgiana tried desperately to explain. “He was…he was in my room. I tried…tried to get away…caught me…Mrs.Wickham came…then Elizabeth…his wife agreed to go with him…said he came for her…wanted to take me, but Elizabeth…she said she would go instead…said you would not forgive her for the deaths.You will, Fitzwilliam…you will forgive her, will you not? You must bring Elizabeth back to us.”

  “Tell me where!” he demanded. “I must stop him!”

  “Through the wall.” Her left hand gestured toward the wall sconce. “They walked through the wall.” Georgiana pushed her way to a seated position. “Somehow through there.The wall shifts open…it is dark and cold.”

  Darcy was on his feet immediately, pushing against plaster and wood, trying to move the immovable.

  “There must be a secret handle or latch.” Stafford’s fingers ran along the baseboard trim and other fixtures.

  Without thinking, Darcy followed the viscount’s example, searching frantically with his fingers in every crack and crevice. Deep in thought—thoughts of his brave wife and of what revenge he would exact on George Wickham—Darcy nearly missed the metal tip of the latch. “Found it!” He fumbled with the U-shaped hook, sliding his finger under it to lift it perpendicular to the wall. Then he took a step back as the brick and mortar shifted, spinning in on itself.

  “Lord!” he gasped as he gaped into the blackness. “We need lanterns and men.”

  “Right.” Stafford rushed out of the room as Mrs. Reynolds rushed in.

  Edward lifted Georgiana from the floor. “Bring her this way, Colonel.” Mrs. Reynolds cleared a path to the adjoining room.

  “Wait!” Georgiana called as her cousin caught her to him.“Fitzwilliam.” She reached for her brother.

  Darcy came to her side. “What is it, Georgie?”

  “He has been watching us,” Georgiana whispered. “Watched you and Elizabeth . . . alone.” Her ears pinked in discomfiture….

  Darcy recognized the meaning of her embarrassed words. “I understand.”

  “No, you do not. He wants her…wants Elizabeth…to take revenge on you. She went with him to ensure my safety.”

  “I will get her back, Georgiana. Never fear. Today will be the last day George Wickham haunts our lives.”

  She dropped the first of the swatches from her pocket when the movable door closed on Georgiana, hoping to help Darcy find them. Now, Elizabeth clung to her youngest sister. They followed the pale light as it made its way along the damp corridor. “Where are we going?” she demanded of their captor.

  “You will see, Mrs. Darcy,” he mocked over his shoulder, refusing to slow down, often leaving them stumbling through the shadows. Yet, finally, he paused and waited on the women. “This way.” He gestured to the left.

  Elizabeth planted her feet and caught Lydia’s arm. “We go nowhere until you tell us where we are.”

  “You forget, Mrs. Darcy; I am not enthralled with you. I am not that wisp of a husband you took to your bed,” he asserted.

  “Then tell your wife of our destination,” Elizabeth ordered. She shoved Lydia forward.

  “My wife?” he incredulously stormed.“You think this tart is my wife?” He knocked Lydia out of his way as he closed the distance between himself and Elizabeth. “I have known Mrs. Wickham in the Biblical sense of the word, but I am most certainly not this woman’s husband.” He caught Lydia’s wrist and bent it backward. “I would suggest that you clarify the difference for your sister, Mrs. Wickham.”

  Lydia winced from the pain he inflicted. “James is not my husband.”

  Elizabeth physically pried his fingers from her sister’s arm. “Leave her alone, you brute!” she warned.

  “Or what, Mrs. Darcy? What will you threaten? Will you banish me from Pemberley as your husband once did, or will you have me whipped before the stable hands as my dear father once saw fit to do?”

  Elizabeth stood straight and defiant. “I agreed to come with you only on the premise that you would not hurt an innocent, Mr. Wickham.”

  “As I just told you, I am not that wheyface George Wickham.” He hovered over her, using his size to try to intimidate her.

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation.“Then tell me, kind sir, who are you?” she said sarcastically.

  “I am an associate of Mr. Wickham. James Withey. At your service, madam.” He mockingly offered Elizabeth a low bow. However, as he rose, he pointed a gun at her forehead, and he cocked it. “I would strongly suggest, Mrs. Darcy, you ask no more questions and simply move along the passage. I have killed one man already; they can hang me only once for the offense.”

  Lydia caught Elizabeth’s arm. “Come, Lizzy.” She lowered her eyes to James’s glare. “I know what is best with Mr.Withey.”

  “Lydia, you cannot be serious?” Elizabeth looked from one to the other. “He is Mr.Wickham.”

  “No…no, he is not.” Lydia tugged on her sister’s hand.

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth allowed her younger sister to pull her along the gloomy channel. A second swatch of delicate lace drifted to the shadowy floor.

  Edward gently placed Georgiana on Anne’s bed. “Here, Sweetling.” He caressed her cheek. “Mrs. Reynolds will tend to you, Love.”

  Her eyes grew wide, and she grabbed his hand. “You will go with Fitzwilliam? You will safeguard him?”

  “Do not worry, Darling. I will let nothing happen to that brother of yours.” He squeezed her hand and started to take his leave.

  “I want nothing to happen to you either.” She caught his hand in her two smaller ones. Edward noticed the elegant, long fingers as they wrapped around his. Georgiana interlaced their hands.“Come back to me.”

  A realization struck him—recognition of what he had said when he had seen her earlier that day. His cousin’s gangly girlish-ness no longer existed: He supposed he had seen her with a guardian’s eye before.Yet, even at Elizabeth and Darcy’s wedding, though she had been little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and graceful, and although he inherently knew those facts, until that moment, Edward had not truly seen Georgiana—not looked at her as a man does a woman.

  “I will be back.” He squeezed her hand.“Listen to Mrs. Reynolds. I want you up and ready for a game of lottery tickets when I return.” He brought the back of Georgiana’s hand to his lips. Something magical shot through him. Edward forced himself
away from the image of Georgiana lying in bed and looking a bit disheveled.

  Georgiana’s eyes followed his form as he disappeared through the dressing room connection. She scanned his back with pleasure. “My cousin is a handsome man,” she remarked as Mrs. Reynolds took a clean cloth and water to the blood matted in her hair.

  The housekeeper glanced over her shoulder, but she did not see what the girl saw. “The colonel is of the finest cut; you are fortunate, Miss, to have him as one of your guardians.”

  Georgiana closed her eyes to keep an image of him in her memory. “I suppose…suppose you are correct, as usual, Mrs. Reynolds.” My cousin is not for me.

  “Murray!” Darcy called from his sister’s bedroom door. “Bring Mr. Steventon here at once.”

  “Right away, Mr. Darcy.”The footman took off at a run.

  Darcy returned to stare into the gaping hole.“My God, Edward. How did I not know about this?” He gestured toward the blackness.

  Edward Fitzwilliam tried to keep his focus, but his cousin’s words echoed through his mind: Come back to me. When had Georgiana turned into a woman? And why had he not seen it before? He purposely gave his head a good shake to clear his thinking.“We need to send some men to search for the other openings. Where might they be?”

  Darcy looked anxiously toward the emptiness, wanting to take action—fearing the worst for Elizabeth—but knowing he needed weapons and lights before he and the others plunged into the darkness. He prayed for Elizabeth’s safety and that of their child. His impetuous wife had placed herself in danger to save his sister. “I cannot lose her,” he whispered as he stared into the murky darkness. Elizabeth had taken matters into her own hands, as she often did.

  “You will not,” Edward’s hand grasped his shoulder. “Help me find Mrs. Darcy. Tell me where you have seen or have suspected your intruder to be.”

  Darcy shot a quick glance toward the open bedroom door, expecting the others to appear any second. “I cannot think straight, Edward,” he muttered. “What if he has hurt her?”

  “Listen to me, Darcy. Wickham needs Mrs. Darcy if he expects to get away from here. He will intimidate her, but he will not hurt her. What we need now is a plan. I suggest we send Stafford and Worth with some men to find the other openings and to enter the tunnels at those points.You and I will take weapons and follow this trail.The man will not get away with this. Murder is quite different from womanizing and gambling.”

  “Can she be well? I mean, in there with him?” Darcy chastised himself for allowing Elizabeth to be in danger. “I should have realized…”

  “Mrs. Darcy is a resourceful woman.A scoundrel such as George Wickham will not defeat her.”

  “Come along,” the man Elizabeth knew as George Wickham squeaked like an adolescent schoolboy. “James wants the two of you by the forest opening.”

  “It is cold in here,” Lydia whimpered, “and my slippers are getting wet.”

  Peter whipped around to face her. “Are you complaining again? Nothing is ever good enough for you.” He raised his hand to strike her, but Elizabeth’s reprimand brought him up short. “Stop!”

  Peter turned on her. “Who do you think you are to give me orders, madam?” His voice popped and cracked as if he was a boy of fourteen or fifteen. “My father taught me how to treat those below me, and Mrs. Wickham needs a lesson or two on gratitude and condescension.”

  Elizabeth looked at the young man, confusion lacing her voice. “Mr.Withey?”

  The boy snarled his nose in disgust. “Withey will return. He always returns at the least opportune time. He asked me to escort you to the forest.”

  Elizabeth spoke softly, edging closer to Lydia. “May I ask your name, sir?” Elizabeth noted the open area—an antechamber of sorts, containing the missing bedding and candelabra.

  The young man pompously strode across the room. “I am surprised you do not recognize me.”

  Elizabeth gestured to the unlit candleholder. “It must be the poor lighting.” Her eyes followed him as he paced the area. “Your name, please, so I might address you properly.”

  “Peter Whittington, son of Lord and Lady Whitlock.”

  Elizabeth tried to purposely catch him off guard—a minor victory, but one nevertheless. “Then it is Sir Peter or Sir Whitlock? I am afraid I remain unaware of your family seat. I hail from Hertfordshire originally, you see.” Unlike James Whitey, the young man did not heed the warning voice in his head, a fact Elizabeth would use to her advantage.

  “My older brother is to inherit,” he said, his hauteur even more evident than before.“I am simply a ‘Mister,’” he informed her as he tossed a blanket across the overflowing chamber pot in an attempt to quell the smell.

  Spotting another blanket crumpled on the mattress, Elizabeth controlled the tone of her voice. “Mr. Whittington, would you mind if I have use of the other blanket?” She gestured to the dark brown cloth. “I have no cloak, and I am quite chilled.”

  He examined her closely, his dark brows narrowing; she had surprised him again. “I see no reason to deny you.” He flicked his wrist magnanimously in the direction of the mattress.“Gregor will have no need of it now.”

  Elizabeth bent tentatively to reach the bound wool cloth.“This is most kind of you, Mr. Whittington.” She kept her voice neutral as she folded the wool and wrapped it around her shoulders, seeking the warmth.“Would it be too much to know, Mr.Whittington, who Gregor might be?”

  “Believe me, Mrs. Darcy,” the modulating voice continued, “you do not wish to meet Gregor MacIves. He is the worst of us. He is the one who took the lieutenant’s life, and James sent him away for awhile.”

  Behind him, Elizabeth saw Lydia shrug her shoulders to indicate her own lack of knowledge of the man. “Well, then, I shall be happy for your company, Mr. Whittington.” She realized she must be aware of the different stories Mr. Wickham now told in order to deal with the man. “Are there others, Mr. Whittington? Others traveling with Mr.Wickham?”

  Peter offered her a measuring stare, but then he smiled noncommittally. “Mr. Wickham is rarely with us these days,” he declared mockingly. “Actually, as I come from the only titled family among us, I suppose the others travel with me.”

  Elizabeth remembered once thinking Mr.Wickham’s smile one of the most compelling she had ever seen; now, she saw it for the evil behind it. Reluctantly, she nodded her head in understanding. “Then there are just the four of you?” She tried to wordlessly encourage her sister to help her, but Lydia remained compliant and silent.

  Peter Whittington, or whatever he called himself, made no response to her question, but a soft, malevolent chuckle sent a shiver down her spine and her heart pounding in her throat. “I suggest ye be takin’ yourself along,” he growled threateningly in a Scottish brogue. “I not be a bleeding book of answers.”

  Wickham’s bleary gaze made Elizabeth think he was suddenly very drunk. “I am prepared to go with you, Mr. Wickham.” She kept her voice low, hoping he would find no offense. His behavior baffled her, and Elizabeth did not know how best to react to this singular game he practiced.

  “Ye be thinkin’ I be that bloody braggart? Nay, I didnae think ye would offer me a dagger to the heart, lass—ye would not curse me as such.” He threw items into a cloth bag. “Didnae ye think to bring us some food? Or something we ken be selling?”

  “I am afraid, sir, that we had no time to pack properly.” Elizabeth nervously gestured to the blanket she wore about her shoulders. “Mr. Whittington kindly loaned me this wool cloth for warmth. However, if you wish, my sister and I could return and find you the gold and silver in Mr. Darcy’s house.” She did not know why Mr.Wickham chose to act out these scenes, but his portrayals made her more determined to find a way out on her own or to stall until Darcy came for her.

  “A mon cannae send a lass to do his work,” he asserted, standing before tossing the bag over his shoulder.“I be havin’ me revenge on the mister soon enough.”

  “Do you understand wh
at I want you to do?” Edward Fitzwilliam quickly organized the search.“Sir Phillip and Mr. Baldwin will stay with the ladies. Mr. Baldwin, I want no one below stairs. It is too dangerous. Collect Mrs. Harwood and place her with the rest of the women in the blue room. No one comes in or out except those of us in this room.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “Worth, you will take men through the cold cellar entrance.” Each man simply nodded his agreement. “Stafford, you will go through Harwood’s room. Murray, you and St. Denis will come through the east wing. The latch in each room must be the same. Take lanterns and weapons, and do not hesitate to use your gun if you can get a clean shot at Mr. Wickham.” No one answered him, but the intensity on each man’s face told the tale. “Are you ready, Darcy?” Edward placed a gun in his waistband, another in a holster under his arm, and sheathed his rapier.

  Similarly outfitted, Darcy rolled the map he had been inspecting with Mr. Steventon. “There is an exit to the wooded area behind the stables, one closer to White Peak, and one leading to the waterfall toward the turnpike road.”

  “I am betting on the stables. Wickham needs a fast exit, and horses are the only solution in this weather.”

  “Hurry, Edward. Elizabeth cannot leave this estate with that madman.”

  CHAPTER 22

  ELIZABETH SUPPORTED Lydia’s sagging body as they followed Wickham through the shadowy twists and turns. She would run for safety if she could simply make Lydia respond, but Elizabeth would not leave her younger sister behind. For some unexplained reason, Lydia was cowed by Wickham’s playacting. Elizabeth sometimes wondered how she and Lydia could be children of the same parents.