by Jennifer Joy
He hated the trickle of doubt seeping into his mind, filtering his thoughts and spreading like gangrene.
Chapter 21
Georgiana had tossed and turned all night, struggling with her shame in her father, the blurry details she knew she must remember, and her apprehension in laying it all bare before the man she admired more than any other.
Mr. Nelson's hesitancy to take her seriously, his ability to take offense at her suggestion, the way he crossed his arms, the set of his jaw…. It was enough to aggravate the most patient soul.
However, the flicker of doubt creasing his brow and reflecting in his eyes prevented her from speaking sharply. Georgiana had been in his position before — suspecting but unwilling to believe a person she trusted would betray her. She remembered how it had changed her.
Mr. Nathan Bradford was the ideal suspect. And he was Mr. Nelson's friend — a man he had trusted all his life. She was tempted to ask if Mr. Bradford had any other names … perhaps, George? It would suit.
How would Mr. Nelson bear it if his best friend turned out to be the villain plaguing them?
Georgiana sensed he was heading for hurt … and there was nothing she could say or do to prevent it. Nothing could have prevented it for her had she not witnessed Wickham's duplicity with her own eyes.
She was powerless to undo wrongs that had already been set in motion, but she could soften the blow when it came. She could be a friend. She could be a comfort. "It is true. I do not know Mr. Bradford as you do. I apologize if I have offended you, but I trust you understand my reasons for speaking so plainly."
Mr. Nelson slumped against his chair, a picture of defeat. "It is I who should apologize. You have given me more information than I have been able to gather on my own, and I ought to thank you. To dignify your insight by calling on the other families."
Her heart stirred. "Thank you," she said.
He did take her seriously. He did value her opinion. Georgiana's elation overcame her shame in revealing her father's involvement in a swindle that callously cast the burden of debt on a family without the resources to endure it. But her joy was short-lived.
Georgiana felt Mr. Nelson's distress as strongly as if it were her own. She tried to reassure him. "No money has been exchanged. None of the ladies have been harmed to our knowledge. If Mr. Bradford is involved, it is not too late to stop him before he goes too far. There is hope still."
At that moment, Elizabeth and Arabella returned with Mr. Bennet, Chloe, and their pack of children underfoot. Johnny and Ben were as thick as thieves. They threw a ball of yarn for Chloe to chase. Naturally, Ben included his new toy in the process, holding the ball against the catapult's leather strap and hurling it across the room, then handing it to Johnny so he might have a turn.
Chloe dove under the settee, her tail wagging happily. She did not care to surrender her prize, and Johnny had to pry it away from her.
Unfortunately, Johnny's aim required more time and practice to improve. The slobbery yarn landed with a splat against Mrs. Wiggins' bodice. It rolled down to her skirt and Chloe, never having been taught much in the way of manners, jumped on top of her to retrieve the ball.
Mrs. Wiggins woke with a start (as one could imagine) and a yelp.
Elizabeth and Arabella, occupied with the babies in their arms, were quick to make their way over to the source of the mischief.
Georgiana would have laughed at the whole situation. Ben had a way of getting into trouble without ever meaning to, and Johnny was no different. But Mr. Nelson did not crack a smile, and Georgiana knew why. She prayed his friend had nothing to do with the kidnappings and extortion. Mr. Bradford certainly had a motive to spurn the families responsible for his family's ruin, but it might only be a coincidence.
Might. Maybe. Uncertain terms Georgiana could not convince herself to accept.
Marianne climbed onto the pianoforte stool and plucked a few keys. She had begun learning the notes, and her interest in practicing the instrument foretold she would become an accomplished player in no time.
Georgiana joined her, but before she could sit beside her niece, the butler came in to announce the constable. "Mr. Keene is here, Mrs. Darcy," he said.
Alarm waved through the room.
Mr. Nelson was on his feet instantly, his eyes sharp and his shoulders tense.
Elizabeth looked about the room, and Georgiana saw clearly in Elizabeth's expression that she did not want the constable to join them in the music room and risk scaring the children. They did not know what kind of news he bore.
Arabella said, "I will stay with the children. If Mr. Keene has news of Lydia, you cannot delay in hearing it."
Georgiana held Elizabeth's ice cold hand and prayed for good news all the way to the front parlor. Given Mr. Bennet and Mr. Nelson's solemn silence, she suspected they did the same.
Mr. Keene stood in the front parlor, his hat in his hand and his head bowed. Not a promising posture for the good news they hoped to hear.
When they had filed into the room, Mr. Keene shuffled his hat between his hands. "Mr. Darcy is not in?" he asked.
Mr. Bennet stepped forward. "I am Miss Bennet's father. If you have news of her, I need to hear it."
If anything, Mr. Keene's discomfort increased. Along with his hat, he now shuffled his feet. He said, "My news will be disturbing for the ladies to hear."
Elizabeth grabbed Georgiana's arm, and Georgiana was quick to guide her to a sofa. Nothing would prevent Elizabeth from hearing what she must know, no matter how bad it was.
Her father sat beside her, and they clung to each other in mutual support. Georgiana held onto her hand as if Lydia's life depended on it.
Mr. Nelson crossed his arms and widened his stance, bracing himself.
Finally, Mr. Bennet said, "Disturbing or not, Mr. Keene, we will hear your news together."
Taking a deep breath, the constable said, "Very well. If you are certain."
"We are," Elizabeth said.
Mr. Keene took another deep breath and said, "I have recently come from the morgue. A young lady was pulled out of the Thames this morning."
Georgiana closed her eyes, a lump filling her throat. Please let it not be Lydia.
Mr. Nelson asked, "Who was it?"
"Miss Maria Pringle. Her father identified her moments before I came here."
Georgiana gasped — as much to catch her breath as in relief and shock.
Mr. Nelson uncrossed his arms, stepping closer to the constable. "When does the coroner suspect she died?"
"Last night."
"No other bodies were found?"
"No more ladies of society if that is what you mean, sir."
"Is it possible it was an accident?"
The constable shook his head slowly. "Not with the bruises around her throat, no."
Georgiana's head spun with nightmarish possibilities. Lydia was in graver danger than ever if the kidnapper was willing to make good on his threats.
How easily it could have been Lydia.
They needed to act. Now!
Mr. Nelson continued to ask questions of the constable. He could not leave until William returned … and who knew how long that would take? Banks were not known for their efficiency.
Mr. Bennet was in no condition to ride. Elizabeth needed to stay with him just as Arabella needed to stay with the children.
That left only Georgiana, and she knew exactly what she must do. Quietly excusing herself, she allowed them to think she meant to inform Arabella of what had happened.
A small deceit to gain precious time. For Lydia. For her family.
Slipping into Elizabeth's bedchamber, Georgiana found the boy's clothing that had last been worn to Tanner's pugilist match. It was in the back of the armoire.
The trousers were too short, but that was the least of Georgiana's concerns. Pulling the cap down around her ears as far as it would go, she shoved her loose tendrils inside it and checked her image in the mirror. She did not make a convincing boy, b
ut it would do. So long as nobody looked closely. She did not plan to ride slowly enough for anyone to get a good look.
Opening her window, Georgiana slipped over the edge and climbed down the vine just as she had done so many times years before to meet with Wickham. How different this was! Georgiana's heart pounded in fright, not anticipation.
Tiptoeing as quietly as she could in the clunky boots she wore, Georgiana made her way to Brutus' stall. She would do as Arabella had done and rely on the stallion to protect her in the absence of an escort or companion.
Brutus snickered when he saw her, and Georgiana raised her finger to shush him before she was discovered. The loyal steed was older now. White peppered his beautiful black coat.
When she slipped into his stall and tossed the saddle onto his back, he looked at her as if to ask what on earth she was up too — much like an older, wiser brother. But he let her onto his back and moved forward without hesitation when she tapped his sides with her boot heels.
So far, so good. If Georgiana used her time wisely, she might be able to return before anyone noticed she was gone. Maybe. Hopefully.
She ought to have left a note. But there was no time now.
A light fog rolled in. It would have been foreboding, but it offered her cover.
She rode to the first house, the nearest one. The Somersons.
The doorman looked at Georgiana askance.
Before he could dismiss her, she said, "Is the lady of the house in? I have a message for her about her daughter Miss Alexandra Somerson."
There must have been enough urgency in her unmistakably feminine tone, for the footman soon disappeared, bringing Mr. and Mrs. Somerson along with him. The speed with which they attended her was all the answer Georgiana needed. Miss Somerson had been kidnapped too.
She said, "I apologize for my appearance, but necessity demanded I not be recognized."
Mrs. Somerson covered her mouth, gasping through her fingers. "Miss Darcy? Is that you? I thought you had been kidnapped as well."
"It is me, but please swear you will not reveal to anyone I have been here so I might be of help to your daughter. You must promise."
Tears spilled down Mrs. Somerson's trembling hands.
Mr. Somerson wrapped his arm protectively around her, saying, "How can you help her?"
Georgiana lowered her voice. "Did you receive a ransom note?"
Mr. Somerson sent the butler to his study to fetch it. While he was gone, Georgiana asked, "May I take the note with me to show my brothers and Mr. Nelson? He is helping us investigate. I wish I had time to explain more to you, but I must not delay." Already, she plotted her course to the Hamms.
The butler returned with the note, which Mr. Somerson handed to her.
She took it, saying, "Thank you for your help. We will do our best to return your daughter home safely. I must go."
Mrs. Somerson grabbed Georgiana's hand, crinkling the letter trapped in their grip. "God bless you, Miss Darcy. We would have stepped forward before, but with Miss Morton's scandalous elopement, we did not want to ruin Alexandra's chances this season. It all seems so foolish now."
It was foolish, but Georgiana had enough sympathy for the woman not to say so aloud. Instead, she squeezed her hand in turn, muttered another reassurance, and climbed back on Brutus with the ransom note tucked into her shirt pocket.
Her instinct had been right. There were only two more houses to call at, but Georgiana knew what the answers would be. The elation she felt made her feel like she could fly if she flapped her arms hard enough.
No wonder Mr. Nelson did this along with his barrister work. It was thrilling! She was on the chase and gaining on the kidnapper.
If only she could be wrong about his identity.
Chapter 22
Miss Pringle never returned.
The remaining ladies huddled together against the far wall, as far away from that cursed door as they could get. Lydia did not blame them.
After a night of silence, Miss Somerson asked, "What if one of us is next?"
Lydia knew that if anyone was next, it would likely be her. She raised her hand to her swollen cheek, her fingers cool against her skin.
Nobody answered. Perhaps it was for the best.
Lady Eleanor tore off a piece of her petticoat, soaking it in the dregs of the flimsy tea kettle and pressing it gently against Lydia's eye. "It might help," she said.
"Thank you." Lydia slumped against the wall, feeling sad and more than a little sorry for herself until she remembered herself. She was no wilting lily, and if this was to be her last day on this earth, she refused to act like one.
Pounding her fist against the floor, she said, "No! This will not do. If this is the end, I shall die merry. I will not cower in a corner in fright when we only need to endure one more day. One day! That is all!"
Miss Somerson wiped her cheeks. "What do you suppose we do? There is so little to be happy about, and I am dreadfully frightened."
Lydia said, "We are alive, are we not? And our families love us. They will do what they must to see us home again."
Unlike Miss Pringle. Gone was the memory of a selfish brat intent on berating Lydia. In her place was a sad girl who had known she could not rely on her family to help her.
Straightening her shoulders and sitting taller, Lydia said, "Let us speak of the things that bring us joy. The things we look forward to once we leave this horrible place."
Miss Ramsay spoke. "I have been waiting for Mr. Burne to propose. After this, I shall do my best to secure him. I think a June wedding would be lovely."
Lydia clapped. "I love weddings! I shall buy you a new bonnet to celebrate your success. You will have all the flowers you want in June."
Miss Hamm offered to buy a parasol to match the bonnet, and they soon settled on rose petal pink as the color which would suit Miss Ramsay the best.
As for Miss Hamm, she decided she would finally take singing lessons. She had wanted to for years, but her shy nature had prevented her from asking lest she be required to exhibit her talents. She was not so afraid anymore.
Miss Somerson swore she would be kinder to her younger sister. She would remember all the news worth telling from the balls and soirees she attended, so her sister could share in the fun and be better prepared for her debut the following year.
They spoke of dances and beaus, and for a brief moment, they might have been in any one of their families' parlors gossiping over tea and sweet cakes.
Lady Eleanor, by far the more mature lady of the group, said she wished to donate books and clothing to an orphanage she had often thought of but had never entered. Turning to Lydia, she asked, "What of you? What brings you the most joy?"
Tears prickled Lydia's eyes. "My Chloe. She must be worried sick about me. She is the sweetest cocker spaniel you could ever know and the one being who is always delighted to see me. She and Miss Darcy are my dearest friends, and I would do anything to see them again. Just not here," she hastened to add, shivering at the thought of seeing Georgiana being shoved through that wretched door. She said a silent prayer on behalf of her friend.
Shouts from the other side of the door brought their discussion to an abrupt end. The noise got louder as the voices drew closer.
Scuffling to their feet, Lydia and Lady Eleanor scurried to the door, motioning for the others be quiet.
Lydia pressed her ear against the oak.
"You fool!" said the gentleman. "You were not supposed to kill anyone. We only sought to hit them where it hurts the most — in the pocketbook — and then be done with them."
She steadied herself against the door. Lydia's fear had come to pass. Miss Pringle had been murdered. Ivan had killed her.
Ivan's rough voice made the hair on Lydia's arms stand on end. "She said her family could not pay. All it takes is one man who refuses to pay to convince the others to refuse with him, and then we would have gone to all this trouble for nothing."
The gentleman raised his voice. "I am in charge
. It was not your decision to make."
"You should thank me for doing what you would not."
"What do you mean?"
"Your friend has been sniffing around awfully close. I have been following him, knowing he will cause us trouble."
The gentleman's voice dropped so low, Lydia held her breath and willed her heart to beat quieter. "Leave him alone."
Drat! She had missed his name. If only she knew who was close to finding them, she would know whether to hope or not.
Ivan said, "You should have let me kill him when I had the chance. He is too close I tell you."
"He is not your concern. Leave him to me." The gentleman's voice was stiff, and Lydia imagined him straightening his coat and doing his best to convince Ivan he was still in charge.
Only he was not. Which was no consolation to Lydia. She dreaded to think of the atrocities of which Ivan was capable.
"Mr. Nelson is trouble. What will you do if he gets in our way? What then? Will you have the courage to do what needs to be done? Or are you too soft?"
Lydia pressed her hand over her heart. Mr. Nelson. Georgiana's Mr. Nelson. Oh, dear lord, this was worse than she had supposed.
The gentleman scoffed. "You forget your place. I will do what I must when it is time. Until then, I thank you not to question me when you are at my mercy. Or have you forgotten I could turn you in for the murder of Miss Pringle … among other crimes?"
They continued speaking, but Lydia could not hear them no matter how hard she pressed her ear against the door.
Lady Eleanor whispered, "Ivan has taken over. We cannot trust the gentleman to keep him from doing whatever he pleases."
Lydia glanced over at the three other ladies across the room. She had only just managed to raise their spirits, and now this.
Lady Eleanor continued softly, "Do not tell the others, but there is no guarantee he will not kill each of us once he gets his money."
Lydia snapped at her, abandoning all attempts at keeping her voice low. "Do not tell the others, but you tell me? Tis a good thing I have never been one to swoon." Now that was not entirely true. She amended, "At least, not without a handsome gentleman nearby to catch me."
