by Wendi Sotis
Mrs. Younge nodded to herself. Yes, this scheme is much better than the one we attempted at Ramsgate.
~%~
Can I defend Georgiana alone? Elizabeth pressed herself against the wall as she watched Wickham place his candle on the bedside table and begin to remove his coat. She took a deep breath. This is no time to be missish! I must!
Elizabeth wiped her trembling hands on her skirts. With only one candle for light, and with the reprobate’s back to her, there was very little chance Wickham already knew of her presence. She slipped her feet from her shoes and soundlessly crept towards Wickham as he untied his cravat.
Just as he began to pull back the bedcovers, Elizabeth reached him. She took hold of his arm and pulled hard.
Her action caused his body to twist to face her. His eyes widened, and he grunted his surprise.
“Do not even attempt it!” Elizabeth’s voice sounded much more confident than she felt. Forcing herself to be aware of his movements, Elizabeth sensed he would grab hold of her. She stepped back.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Georgiana stirring from sleep. Elizabeth straightened her back. “You will not harm her! Leave now!” She pointed towards the sitting room.
Wickham’s laughter echoed throughout the room. Before Elizabeth could react, he moved quickly and took hold of her arms, pulling her towards him. “This night keeps getting better and better!”
Pushing against his chest, Elizabeth quickly turned and ducked out of his grasp. “Go, Georgie!”
The young girl sat up in bed but made no move to leave.
With one smooth movement, Wickham reached down into his boot and straightened—now holding a knife.
Elizabeth gasped and slowly backed towards the door to the hallway, preparing herself for the worst. His expression was that of a madman!
Wickham matched her step for step.
“You cannot escape me, Lizzy.”
With two steps more, her back met the door, and she braced herself against it. I would never leave Georgiana alone.
“I know all about your interference at Ramsgate,” Wickham shook his head and made a clicking noise with his tongue. “But tonight you are just a minor distraction—a slight snag in the fabric of my plan. Nothing will stop me this time.”
Wickham lurched forward, but Elizabeth was ready for this tactic. She pushed off the door and took hold of his arm with both hands, thrusting upward. His arm hit the wall beside them.
Unprepared for her attack, Wickham let the knife slip from his hand, and it slid across the floor, further into the room.
With his other arm, he shoved her away from him. Before she could recover, the hand which had been holding the knife came down across her face.
Elizabeth cried out as she was thrown to the floor.
Georgiana screamed.
Elizabeth spared a glance for her friend. Georgiana was now on her feet but seemed frozen in wide-eyed terror. At this sight, a new sense of courage surged through Elizabeth. “Get out, Georgie!” Elizabeth shouted. “Run!”
“You’re stronger than you look, Lizzy.” Wickham said with a chuckle in his voice. He lunged at her again.
Elizabeth landed a solid kick to his knee, knocking him off his feet.
She threw her weight away from him, sliding across the smooth wood flooring towards the knife. Just as her fingers closed around the handle, Wickham dove towards her.
Elizabeth pointed the blade in his direction. Wickham froze.
Several moments passed without either of them blinking. He shifted his weight, and she swung the blade across the space between them.
The knife caught on his shirtsleeve as he grabbed at her with his other hand. Seizing her wrist, he wrenched it painfully.
She struggled, trying to maintain her hold on the knife, but it fell to the floor behind Wickham.
Elizabeth clutched at his shirt and pulled him towards her, away from the knife.
Wickham released his grip, pushing her away, and Elizabeth fell back against the floor.
He cannot be allowed to get the knife!
Elizabeth threw herself towards the weapon, but she arrived too late. Wickham caught her by the shoulder as she rolled away from him.
He pounced atop of Elizabeth, trapping her.
Pain radiated from the arm twisted beneath her, almost unbearable with his added weight. She cried out. With every ounce of strength left, Elizabeth reached across and gripped his arm, thrusting his knife hand away from her.
I cannot... he is too strong!
Using her motion to his benefit, Wickham pulled his knees up and straddled her waist. Seizing her arm with his other hand, he forced it to the floor.
Wickham froze just long enough for Elizabeth to see his expression. He was insane with rage. Nothing shall stop him from killing me now!
Georgiana screamed, “NOOOO!”
A blinding flash of light reflected off the blade as it descended towards her chest.
Chapter 21
It was with an increasing sense of impending doom that Darcy rushed up the staircase. Trying Georgiana’s door first, he found it locked, and so he moved towards the door to the sitting room that he had shared with his sister since her arrival at Netherfield. The door swung open, and he stepped forward, practically colliding with Mrs. Younge, who seemed to be just leaving the room.
Breathlessly, Darcy asked, “Mrs. Younge, is Georgiana well?”
Startled by his sudden appearance, she soon recovered. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. Why would you think otherwise?”
He found it curious that Mrs. Younge did not remove her hand from the doorknob, essentially blocking his way into the room. Was she barring him entrance?
Mrs. Younge continued in a voice so low, it was almost a whisper. “Miss Darcy did have a headache from all the excitement of her first ball. She was very tired, and I helped her ready for bed straight away. She asked not to be disturbed, sir.”
He looked around at as much of the room as he could see from his vantage point, but did not see any sign of Elizabeth. “Is Miss Elizabeth Bennet with her?”
“Miss Darcy mentioned that Miss Elizabeth was dancing when she left the ballroom.” She stood firmly in place. “Good night, sir.” She took a step towards him, pulling the door closed behind her.
Darcy heard Georgiana scream, “NOOOO!”
He pushed past Mrs. Younge and crossed the room in two steps. As he flung open the door to Georgiana’s bedchamber, he could see only the flash of a blade held aloft and an arm suspended in midair, about to plunge downward.
Lunging forward, Darcy moved to seize the knife, but his efforts were too late!
Time seemed to stand still as Elizabeth’s beautiful face distorted with pain. Georgiana’s scream pierced the air.
Darcy released a throaty growl as he hauled Wickham away from Elizabeth and swung around, hurling Wickham against the wall. The knife clattered to the floor and under the bed—well out of Wickham’s reach.
Wickham shook his head to clear his confusion. He propelled himself forward, using his head as a battering ram against Darcy’s chest and stomach.
Momentarily knocked off his feet, Darcy leaned back onto the bed. He pushed himself from the mattress. Gathering Wickham’s shirt in his fists, Darcy rushed forward, slamming the man against the wall time and again.
Mrs. Younge leapt on Darcy’s back, trying to pull him away from Wickham. Darcy grabbed hold of her arm and half pulled, half shrugged her off as Wickham slid down the wall to the floor.
Mrs. Younge fell to the floor near Wickham as Georgiana scrambled over the bed to Elizabeth’s side.
Darcy turned to glance at Elizabeth and Georgiana, but did not succeed. Wickham kicked Darcy’s foot out from under him.
Surprised, Darcy stumbled but caught the bedpost. Wickham tried to rise to his feet. Darcy pounced on him, slamming a fist into his face. With a second hit to Wickham’s jaw, Wickham’s head bounced backward and smashed into the floor, knocking him unconscious.
The shock of seeing Mrs. Younge crawl towards Wickham and throw herself onto his chest made Darcy hesitate for a moment.
“She cannot breathe!” Georgiana called out.
Darcy rushed to the ladies. “Elizabeth!” he breathed heavily. “Where was she stabbed?”
Georgiana was searching Elizabeth frantically. “I know not—there is no blood!”
“She must have a wound; I saw him stab her!”
Elizabeth shook her head violently. Hands at her throat, she struggled to take in air.
Thinking that must be where she was wounded, Darcy kneeled and moved her hands away. Finding no injury, his eyes travelled over the length of her. Georgiana was correct; the cream silk of her ball gown was soiled and torn, but no bloodstain marred it.
Elizabeth took hold of his arm and tried to pull herself up. Assuming the gash must be on her back, he took hold of her shoulders and assisted, moving behind her to help her to a sitting position.
Elizabeth whimpered at his touch. Darcy’s chest constricted at being the cause of her pain, but he had to find her injury. “Still, there is no blood!” he exclaimed.
Once sitting, Elizabeth began to wheeze and cough, but each breath seemed to come a little easier. Elizabeth attempted to push herself up from the floor. Darcy lifted her by the waist, helping her to rise. He heard something hard fall to the floor, but he was too concerned for Elizabeth’s welfare to search for it.
Now standing, Elizabeth seemed to breathe easier as she leaned back on Darcy’s chest. His arms wrapped around her waist to steady her.
“I am well—” Elizabeth wheezed out between coughs. “No wound.”
“Thank the good Lord!” Georgiana whispered.
Elizabeth leaned more heavily into him as her knees gave way, so Darcy gathered her into his arms and carried her to a chair beside the bed. Elizabeth attempted to sit in the way she usually did but could not manage it. She leaned onto the chair back. Wincing in pain, she shifted to a more comfortable position.
“Wake up, George!” Mrs. Younge sobbed.
Darcy glanced at the pair on the floor. Wickham lay still with Mrs. Younge fussing over him, using her skirt to wipe at the blood oozing from his face. Fearing that Mrs. Younge might try to escape, Darcy crossed to the door to the sitting room, closed and locked it, and then pocketed the key.
Turning back to the ladies, he saw Georgiana place something on the bedside table before pouring Elizabeth a glass of water. Elizabeth took a sip, and when she went to place the glass on the table, she froze.
Several moments passed before Elizabeth lifted a necklace from the table. She took a deep breath and said hoarsely, “The gypsy was right. It is good luck.”
Georgiana looked at Darcy and shrugged her shoulders, seeming to be as baffled as he was. Darcy’s gaze darted from Elizabeth to the necklace and back again.
“The pendant stopped the knife. I lost my breath from the force he used, but I am not wounded.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Georgiana threw her arms around Elizabeth. “He might have killed you!”
“If not for your brother, he would have.” Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze over Georgiana’s shoulder. “Thank you, sir.”
Darcy took a deep breath and then looked away at Wickham splayed out on the floor. Tears ran freely down Younge’s face, now pacing near her lover.
Darcy shuddered as the memory of the scene he had found upon his entering the room flashed before his eyes. She is correct. Wickham would have killed her.
His throat tightened, and he swallowed past it. He had important business here—now was not the time for the emotions that threatened to run away with him. He looked back to Elizabeth and found she had been watching him.
Clearing his throat, Darcy said, “Shall I summon Mr. Jones for you, Miss Elizabeth? I saw him downstairs...”
“No, please...” Elizabeth glanced away and continued, “I am a little sore, and I am sure I will have a few bruises, but I am well enough to do without Mr. Jones, sir. I thank you.”
Mrs. Younge turned to the group and pointed at Elizabeth. “You have ruined all our plans! I demand you tell me how you knew what we were to do!”
Elizabeth straightened her back and anger flared in her eyes as she glared at Mrs. Younge. “I owe you no explanation.”
Darcy stepped in front of Mrs. Younge, effectively blocking her view of the ladies. Mrs. Younge shrunk back at the murderous look in his eyes.
Darcy growled, “You will never again look upon, let alone address, either Miss Darcy or Miss Elizabeth! If you do not remain quiet, I will see you wear a gag—it is your choice.”
Mrs. Younge sank to the floor next to Wickham.
“Georgiana, do you have anything that might be used to tie Wickham’s hands and feet?”
Georgiana spent a minute in her dressing room and returned with a pair of heavy wool stockings. “Would these do?”
Darcy took them from her and pulled hard on both ends to test their strength. “Yes, I believe so.”
Just then, Marie, Georgiana’s lady’s maid, slipped in through the servants’ corridor. She gasped and took in the scene before her with a gaping mouth.
Darcy commanded, “Marie, I am glad you are here. Miss Darcy and I are in desperate need of your help. We have prevented Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge from carrying out a plot to harm Miss Darcy. Will you please assist me?”
Marie seemed spellbound by the sight of Wickham lying unconscious on the floor.
“Marie!” Darcy exclaimed more forcefully in an effort to end her state of shock.
The poor girl jumped, dropping the linens she held. She rushed to hold Wickham’s hands as Darcy tied a good knot.
Darcy took a deep breath and continued in a gentler tone of voice. “I need your help to bind him securely.”
When they were finished, he said, “Summon my man and return with him. I will require Hughes to help remove this rubbish.” He gestured to Wickham, stifling the urge to kick him instead. “I know your discretion can be relied upon in this matter. Please, go quickly.”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy.” Marie curtsied slightly and left the room through the service corridor.
Darcy knew that if he met Elizabeth’s gaze again, he would wrap her in his embrace and never let her go. He turned his back on the ladies, leaned up against the bedpost, and kept his eyes glued to Wickham and Younge. “Ladies, do you wish to move to the sitting room?” Turning to Georgiana, he continued hesitantly, “I am sorry—I understand there are no other bedchambers, but I doubt you would wish to stay here after what has happened in this room.”
Georgiana turned to look at Elizabeth, leaving the decision up to her.
Elizabeth answered, “With the dressing room attached to this room, sir, I believe we would be more comfortable here than in the sitting room.” She blushed. “With my gown in this condition, I dare not go down the hall to... to the retiring room...” Her voice trailed off.
“Good thinking, Lizzy. Oh!” Georgiana took a shawl from the floor near Elizabeth’s chair and laid it over her friend’s shoulders. “This should help you to feel more at ease.”
Several minutes later, the maid returned, bringing with her Darcy’s valet.
Pointing at Mrs. Younge, Darcy said to Marie, “Take that woman to the sitting room and watch her closely. Be careful, Marie—she tried to harm Miss Darcy and Miss Elizabeth. Do not trust her. Once Wickham is in my chambers, I will summon a footman to sit with you.”
The group moved out of the room, and Elizabeth locked the door behind them.
~%~
After the insensible form of Wickham had been unceremoniously dropped onto a couch in Darcy’s bedchamber, Hughes left to find a trusted Darcy footman to stay with Marie. Upon the servant’s return, Darcy took the opportunity afforded by a few minutes alone to absorb the enormity of what had happened.
Several minutes later, he came out of his dressing room and closely examined Wickham’s motionless figure. “I will speak to Mrs. Younge first. Call me if he
awakens, Hughes.” He motioned for Hughes to follow him to the door and then whispered, “Stay on your guard... something about him tells me that he is feigning unconsciousness now.”
“Yes, sir.”
~
Upon entering, Darcy examined the sitting room. Mrs. Younge was slumped over in a chair, her face in her hands. Marie sat across from her. Rising upon his entrance, she met him near the doorway to the hall, where the footman stood.
“Has she spoken?” Darcy asked.
“Aye, she promised to pay me and James, here, to let her escape, sir. Of course, we wouldn’t take it. She also asked after Mr. Wickham, but mostly she sat quiet, thinking. You can see the wheels turning.” Marie tapped her temple.
Darcy nodded. “I would like you both to remain as witnesses—I want no accusations that I have compromised her in any way. Everything you may hear in this room is completely confidential.”
Both Marie and James voiced their understanding.
Darcy walked further into the room and stood before Mrs. Younge. “You will tell me what happened here this night.”
Mrs. Younge straightened her form and folded her hands in her lap. “I know even less than you do, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy could not hide his astonishment. “Do you expect that I am foolish enough to believe that?”
“Walking in on that scene was enough to cloud anyone’s mind. I was out of my head with worry and fright. I know not what led up to it.”
He huffed. “Are you saying that you were so frightened that you admitted to plotting with Wickham against Miss Darcy, and called Wickham by his Christian name in error?”
Mrs. Younge now looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I had no other recourse but to cooperate with Mr. Wickham, sir. My very life was threatened. I—”
“Enough! I want the truth!” Darcy stated firmly.
Her gaze flitted from Marie to James and returned to Darcy’s furious expression.
“You had to know I would try that.” Mrs. Younge’s shoulders sagged under the weight of defeat. “In my younger years, I had been the daughter of a gentleman, and then I married a gentleman of some standing in my circle, but he was a gambler. When my husband died, he left me in debt, and I had no other choice but to go into service. Having no wish to work as a governess, I chose companion as my trade, though I did not realize how lonely an occupation it would be—too far above most servants to be treated well by them and still too low to be treated as part of the family. In most houses, the hours that I am not working as companion to the daughter are spent finding ways to escape the lecherous intentions of her father or brother, who for some reason expect more from me than the position was meant to include.”
