Elizabeth cringed, gritting her teeth. “I suspect there was more he did not relate, but I know enough to understand that my relationship—reluctant though it is—to Mr Wickham would certainly distress Miss Darcy. So, do you see, Colonel, though I would wish to accompany her to Pemberley, I do not think it the wisest prospect.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam had begun to pace, a hand thoughtfully covering his mouth. At once, he paused with an inspired expression. “Your sister was the girl! The one Darcy forced Wickham to marry just before that villain absconded to parts unknown!”
She caught a pained breath and closed her eyes. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper when she dared respond. “She was.”
Two long strides brought him swiftly to her side, and he caught up her hand in an impassioned plea. “You must come to Pemberley, Miss Bennet! Do you not understand? His utter faith in your confidence, the measures to which he went for your family—Darcy’s regard for you must have been stronger even than I could have imagined! He never would have done such for any other. He would have wished for you to be the one to comfort Georgiana!”
She glared, cold and hard, and yanked her hand away. “I do understand, Colonel! It is precisely that which disqualifies me. Miss Darcy would not have been robbed of her brother, had I not been so prejudiced and my sister so impulsive! Had I accorded him the least measure of the goodness that was truly his, he would not have felt compelled to explain himself against my unjust accusations! And had I the courage to prevent my sister from falling prey to Mr Wickham after all I knew, his life would not have fallen into the hands of those who would do him harm! You may feel free to despise me now when I confess the truth to you, for his death was my fault, Colonel.”
White and shaken, Colonel Fitzwilliam stared in stricken awe. “His death…” he mouthed slowly.
He paused carefully for a moment, then his voice returned. “Yes, that is precisely the issue, is it not? Let us be frank with one another, Miss Bennet, for we both understand the implications of Darcy’s actions where you were concerned. Darcy is gone, and had been exerting himself for your benefit. If I must, then I shall impose that obligation upon you and demand your assistance as a matter of justice!
“You may think me ungentlemanly, and rightfully so, but I find myself in an untenable position. Georgiana needs you—I need you, Miss Bennet! I have none other in whose care I may leave her, none in whom I can have faith of good intentions and none who could lend her the confidence she requires to hold her own among her relations. Aye, smile if you wish, but you have met my aunt. I need an avenging angel to drive her back and guard my cousin while she grows into her own potential. Fortune—nay, Darcy’s own wishes! — have led me to you, and I beg of you to accept!”
She was reeling back, shaking her head. “What must she think, sir? No, it is impossible! Any good I might hope to do her would be unraveled when she comes to know me for the miserable creature I am. Far better that I should remain here to attend my own sister, for with Lydia at least I have made my peace, and her need is no less than Miss Darcy’s.”
“Georgiana’s.”
She tilted her head quizzically. “I beg your pardon?”
His courage seeming to grow, he stepped near again. “Her name is Georgiana. She is sixteen years old and her parents both died when she was a child. She has recently lost her only brother, and the last person in the world who does not wish to take advantage of her circumstances is a frazzled old soldier whose experiences leave him ill equipped to counsel a bashful young heiress.”
She was staring at the floor, moisture pooling in her eyes. “It is most unfair of you, sir, to forcibly remind me of the things I already knew.”
He came round her chair, removing the final barrier between them and resting his hand over hers to prevent her escape. “I was trained to win battles, Miss Bennet, not to fight fairly. Your father has already spoken to me of his wish for you to mingle in different society, so I am unfortunately aware that you will not remain here with your own sister in any case. Well do I know your goodness and your delight in rising to challenges. Can you truly believe that you would be content simply to promenade about London with your aunt, all while knowing that Georgiana might have profited by your company?”
Elizabeth drew an unsteady breath. “And what of Georgiana? Would she not be troubled when she learns the full truth?”
His gaze never wavered as he tightened his jaw and attempted to stare her down. “That moment is not yet upon us, Miss Bennet. I think if it ever does arrive, you will find much of your distress was for naught. I believe Georgiana will feel as I do; that you take far more blame upon yourself than any other would dream of ascribing to you. Moreover, I daresay that even your errant sister shall receive Georgiana’s unstinting support when they are introduced at dinner. Georgie… well, Miss Bennet, my cousin is well aware how a young lady might be misled. She will be the last of all to assign blame.”
Elizabeth had met his hard stare without flinching until his last words. At these, she dropped her eyes and meditated on the depth of her own conviction. No, she could not be pardoned so easily! She dashed an unruly tear from her cheek, then glared back at him again. “I think you are wrong, Colonel, but I cannot deny that I owe her this debt. This far I will agree; I will accompany Georgiana to Pemberley and remain as her friend and guest for as long as you are out of the country.”
“No longer than that? I hope you do not assume, Miss Bennet, that I shall be returned in a matter of two or three weeks. My travels may take me far abroad in my search for answers.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and withdrew her hand from under his. “Then let us be honest with one another, sir. What answers, pray, do you seek? For if you are to ask me to alter everything at your pleasure and place my future at the disposal of yourself and Miss Darcy, I believe I deserve to know the entirety of the matter.”
A slow tug curved his mouth, and the twinkle she remembered from Kent returned faintly to his eye. He tilted his head quizzically, and at last gave a soft, knowing chuckle, but he did not answer.
Elizabeth crossed her arms in annoyance. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I have been most forthright with you, but when I ask the same courtesy, I am instead met with derision! I cannot help now but wonder if I have not given my word in haste and shall soon regret—”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet!” he laughingly objected. “I mean you no disrespect, I assure you. I only came to see another side of you for a moment, and it really is little wonder… well, I digress. Naturally you have every right to enquire what is to keep me away from my cousin while she is so vulnerable, and to know what my expectations are. To be quite truthful, I cannot answer. There is a matter of honour and justice that compels me to search out all that I may, even at the expense of leaving my cousin in another’s trust.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed speculatively. She turned away from him and wandered to the window, gazing out to the snow-dusted drive where stood the impressive carriage emblazoned with the Darcy crest. “You speak of matters of honour, sir,” she mused, then turned sharply. “Have you some means of bringing justice down upon those who killed Mr Darcy? Have you traced them, do you know who they are?”
Something flickered across his mouth—a smile? A scowl? “Not yet,” was his terse reply.
The colour flashed in her cheeks and she strode quickly to him. “But you have found something! You have learned some little of what happened, or you would not be going!”
He cocked his head again, lightly stunned at her swift conclusion. “You are correct, Miss Bennet. There was much for which I could not account, and though I still know very little, at least now I have some direction. I sail for the Continent in three days.”
Her eyes widened. “What could be on the Continent?”
“Whom, do you mean? There is a slight connection—a pitiful excuse for true information, but the more I have uncovered, the more mysterious matters have become. I cannot ignore this lead, but I beg
you would reveal my errand to no other, and most particularly not to Georgiana. I could not bear to raise her hopes and then see them dashed once more if I am wrong. There is also the surety that anyone hearing of my intentions without knowing all that I know would think me mad!”
Elizabeth’s breath seized, her chest heaving without managing to fill her lungs as her heart spun wildly. Caught up fully in the mysterious hope of the colonel’s words, it was all she could do not to grasp the golden epaulets on his shoulders and shake him until he confessed all. “Sir, you may be assured of my secrecy, but I beg you would tell me. What is it you know? What hopes do you fear granting Georgiana?”
His chin shifted to the side and he drew a deep breath. “The body in the grave was not Darcy.”
17
Porto, Portugal
“Down there?” Ruy stood back from the stained wall, gazing somewhat askance at the air shaft from which Amália had first heard the voice. “Are you certain it was not just some echo from another part of the house?”
“I know what I heard, Ruy. There is someone imprisoned down there, and Miguel has some part in it!”
“Darling, there is a war on. I think you have no business meddling in state affairs. He could be anyone—a traitor, perhaps.”
“If that were so, why hide him away here? We have regular prisons for that. The things I heard were not the questions for a prisoner of war. No, Ruy, I think Senhor Vasconcelos is involved in something hideous and dangerous.”
He snorted. “’Hideous and dangerous’? Excellent recommendations they are. Please, tell me how I may involve myself at once!”
“Ruy,” she stopped him seriously. “This is my home now, and if it is taking place here, I am already involved. Something is dreadfully wrong with all this! Oh, Ruy, you ought to have heard that poor man. Why, my heart breaks, and I cannot even eat for worry over what must be happening to him!”
He sighed and shook his head. “This is why women do not go to war, you know. You would nurse back to health every enemy we shoot, and if he had a handsome smile, you would marry him as well.”
She crossed her arms and half-smirked. “Can you think of any better punishment for an enemy than to make him finance a society wife?”
A slow grin charmed its way to his reluctant mouth, and he finally bowed his head in defeat. “What do you wish for me to do? March into Miguel’s study and ask him all about it?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Please do be serious, Ruy. We must release him and somehow get him to a ship and safety!”
“That is no mean feat, my dear. Too many eyes are about during the day, and my presence in your house at night would most decidedly be noticed. You shall have to reach him on your own. From what you say you heard, the man may not even be ambulatory. Even if you find an opportunity to reach his cell in secret, how are you to extract him? You cannot very well hoist him upon your own back. If the man does have any strength of his own, how do you know he would not prove dangerous to you?”
She bit her lip. “I had not thought of that. Perhaps I may slip away tonight and speak with him through the door? I could at least gain some information about who he is.”
“And if you are caught? What then, my valiant little sister?”
“I do not think I shall be tonight. It is Miguel’s regular evening at his club, and Senhor Vasconcelos departed for some business in Braga this very morning.”
“Are you certain it is only they who are involved? What of Pereira, your father-in-law’s lapdog?”
She was silent, staring at her toes in the grass. She did not dare mention to him that their own father could also be connected to the business! “I do not know, Ruy,” she confessed at length. “But I must try! If you had only heard—”
“Hush,” Ruy whispered, holding up a hand. He gestured toward the wall and Amália leaned close. Their eyes met. “Is that what you heard before?” he asked softly.
Amália, straining her ears to hear the laments echoing from below, nodded. “He sounds English, does he not?”
Ruy narrowed his eyes as he listened, his expression broken for the miserable soul buried within the ruins of the old halls. “Yes, poor devil. Is he crying out a woman’s name?”
“That is the same as I have heard before,” she agreed. “A wife, perhaps?”
“Or a harlot,” he grumbled. Ruy snaked his fingers through his hair, hissing in frustration. “Oh, dash it all, Amália! I wish to heaven you had not told me of this, but for the sake of men who have fought and bled beside me, I cannot leave one of their countrymen to rot.” He wrinkled his face, then bit out a low growl. “See here, I’ve a number of friends among the English—some of the best soldiers who ever wore a uniform. Find out who he is, if you can. Perhaps I may then learn something more of him through my own means.”
She caught his hands in relief. “Oh, thank you, Ruy!”
He scowled. “You may not thank me when your husband learns of this.”
~
All was stillness.
Complete, utter dead air.
He crouched on the low bunk, his head leaning into his grimy hands and his sharp elbows digging into his atrophied thighs. If he pressed hard enough, perhaps he could deafen himself and blot out the screaming silence—that roaring nothingness! —which kept him from sleep.
There had been another, a companion to his idleness, for but a few days. It had been perhaps a week ago that the fellow had been thrust into his cell, wasting from hunger, disease, or both, and apparently reviled by whatever power held them. His tongue had been cut out long years before by some enemy, and he was already at death’s threshold, but his angelic companionship had come to ease a precious handful of hours.
He never did learn who the old man was. He also was English, and his name started with the letter B, but that was the limit of his knowledge. Before any further letters could be spelled out and guessed, the poor fellow had fallen into a merciful sleep. The man was never again strong enough to attempt communication.
He had never felt more helpless than those two days when he watched his only companion die. He had longed to nourish and care for the old man, but his leg shackle would not permit him to even cross the room. He tried kicking his food own plate near, but the old man was too weak to feed himself. Then, three days ago, the old man simply did not awaken.
It took another full day for anyone to claim the body. He stared at it for hours, sick at heart for his own uselessness and baffled at the purpose of it all. Then, in one flashing, sinking moment, he understood. The man’s identity and history were not important—had never been. The whole purpose of placing them together had been to make him watch another die, when he himself was powerless to stop it. Like every other torment Vasconcelos and Pereira had devised—solitude, restraint, the sack over his head and the near drownings, this too had been carefully fashioned to twist his mind.
All the while, his captors had continued their questions, coming now at all hours of the day and night. Never did they inflict enough harm to take his life, nor even permanently scar his body. Instead, they terrorized him, spun lies about his family and made daily threats against all he held dear and could not save. They seemed intent on weakening him, making him despise his own life yet never granting him the peace of death. To what end? He had no means of securing the information they claimed was his. The futility of all he bore at their hands sank him even deeper into his despondency.
A noise from without drew his attention. Footsteps, soft and alone, stopped outside the door to his chamber. Another visitation from Pereira? He shivered, shrinking his tall frame, but otherwise remained still as he waited.
The door did not open as he expected. He stilled, his breath almost dead in his breast as he waited for what was to come. Instead of the clanking of a key, however, he thought he heard a harsh whisper. His ears sharpened and his eyes focused on the door.
“Someone is there?” came the muted words again. “Please answer, I am a fri
end!”
He stood. The speaker, whispering though she was, clearly was a woman, and a Portuguese speaker. What interest could such a person have in him? Nevertheless, his heart began to beat as it had not done in months.
“I am here,” he responded haltingly.
A loud sigh of relief shuddered from the unknown speaker, followed by; “What is your name? You are English, yes?”
He hesitated. Was he being tested, in yet another twisted effort to confuse his mind and break his heart and will? His mouth opened, but his teeth chattered in fear and he closed it once more.
“Please, Senhor, I wish to help! How is it you came here?”
He stared at the door, only faintly realising that he strained at the shackle round his leg. “I was attacked and taken by force from England,” he answered at last.
“You did know for what purpose?” the voice came again. “You have done some crime?”
“Indeed, I have not!” he shot back with indignation. “It was my fortune—and my sister’s—that my attackers desired.”
The speaker was silent a moment, considering. “Your sister,” came the exotic tones again, “she is safe?”
He closed his eyes, a mournful groan rumbling in his chest. “I do not know.”
“You are not hurt, senhor? You can walk, no?”
“I could, were I not shackled to my bed,” he growled.
There was a muted “Oh!” from behind the door, then a moment of thoughtful silence. He feared that she had decided him a hopeless case, beyond rescue, when the soft words came again. “I will find a way to help you, senhor!” his unseen knightess vowed. “What is your name?”
He narrowed his eyes. Was he truly still himself? The name he had borne since infancy seemed now unknown to him, attached as it was to another man—another life.
“Senhor!” cried the lady once more. “I have little time. Please, your name so that I may know to whom I speak!”
These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 24