by Riana Everly
“Have you slept at all, Aunt? Tell me what I can do.”
“I am just so relieved you are here. Your uncle must be out, searching, finding anyone who might know where to look, and I must be here in case Sammy comes home, but sitting alone, all I can think of is every possible horror that might have befallen him. Oh, Sammy….”
A fresh handkerchief did little to dry her aunt’s eyes, but it seemed to Elizabeth that the lady walked a little straighter now that she had someone in whom to confide. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone? Had he wished to return to Margate, where he enjoyed his time with Robert? Perhaps he bought passage on the new steam boats that travel the Thames, and he neglected to bring enough coin to return. Or did he set off for adventures elsewhere? He would not have tried to return to Longbourn, or heaven forbid, Pemberley, would he?”
Her aunt spoke with a voice thick with tears. “We have wondered if he decided to visit Derbyshire on his own. He has not stopped asking about the bridges since our return and he wished so much to see them, but we thought him to be satisfied with a promise to visit at some future time.” She sniffed again and dabbed once more at her red eyes.
“Oh, Sammy! He is so curious, but does not always think of how his actions might affect others. Never fear, dear Aunt, we shall find him. He is most likely off having a grand adventure and lost his way when darkness fell. He is too smart a lad to come to trouble.”
“But he is… He is different, Lizzy, and I dread to think what that might mean should he fall afoul of the wrong people.”
“Be strong, dearest Aunt. He will be home soon, I feel it in my bones.”
At this moment, the front door was heard to open and close again, and Mr. Gardiner staggered into the room moments later. He still had on his hat and his boots were dusty and soiled, their bedraggled state mirroring the man’s exhausted face.
“Lizzy, dearest Lizzy,” he breathed, as if too tired to speak aloud. “You came quickly. I sent my man off only this morning, and it is not yet time for tea. Thank you.”
“Have you learned anything, Uncle?” She asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice for her aunt’s sake.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. This might be good news, for he has not been found de…. In poor condition anywhere.” He would not speak the words, certainly not before his distraught wife, who sat still and white now by the window, but Elizabeth knew what he meant. No small bloodied bodies had been discovered lying in alleyways, no bloated corpses had been found floating in the Thames. Other disasters were, of course, terrifyingly possible, but every bit of good news was to be grabbed at whilst it could be.
“And whom have you contacted? Who is helping you?”
“I have sent word to the toll houses around London, should he attempt to travel out of the city, as well as express messages to my business associates around the country, in the chance he is seeking adventure further afield. In town, I have the fortune to have the same men seeking Wickham helping me search for Sammy,” he sighed. “Better fortune would be that I no longer need them. But Colonel Forster’s men have offered their assistance and I have agreed without hesitation. Even last night, they were here for our accustomed meeting about Wickham. That was when we realised Samuel had not returned home. They offered their services at that time, I was in no mind to refuse.” He fell heavily into the closest arm-chair as if his legs could no longer support his weight. Elizabeth rang for tea and bread for the exhausted man, then returned to him, a notion coalescing in her head from what she had just heard her uncle say.
“These men—the colonel’s men—have they been here often?”
“Aye, Lizzy, every night at nine o’clock.”
“And you have discussed the situation with Wickham and Lydia with the colonel’s men? Mentioned his name?” She tried to keep the agitation out of her voice, but the increasingly worried look on her uncle’s face betrayed her failure.
“Aye… what are you getting at, Lizzy?”
“Uncle,” she was half afraid to voice her thoughts, “Could Samuel have heard you? Could he have heard Wickham’s name mentioned in your discussions?”
Her uncle thought for a moment. “No, he could not… he ought to have been above stairs in his bedroom, with the other children. Surely he would not have tried to listen in on discussions that did not involve him. Oh Lizzy, we tried so hard to keep all news of this affair from the children’s ears. But Sam did ask, on several occasions, about the smart officers who came to call, hoping to meet some and maybe ask after their swords and pistols…” He broke off and breathed deeply. “Aye, indeed, he might have overheard.”
“He has overheard conversations and observed people before and sought his adventures based on what he has learned. I fear he may have acted likewise now. Then, Uncle, I fear I may know where he is. But,” she added quickly as her uncle began to rise from his chair, “I do not recall the details. I know who will, however. Can the men, the colonel’s men, be in contact with Colonel Fitzwilliam? He will know. He and Mr. Darcy heard Sammy describe the place once.”
She had never thought to utter Mr. Darcy’s name again, and the pain it brought to her almost sent her into her own chair. The cold look in his eye at their last meeting rushed unbidden to her mind, and she could see, as clearly as if the man were standing before her, the stiff, haughty carriage of his shoulders when he said goodbye. He could not afford, for his own sake and for his sister’s, to associate with the Bennet family ever again. They were all tainted, irredeemably damaged, by Lydia’s foolishness and Wickham’s attendant treachery. She had only just realised how much she loved him when circumstances had contrived to separate her forever from him.
From such a connexion she could not wonder that he should shrink. If only she had accepted him in April! She could not wish him obliged to her and resentful of it, but still, she was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly knew of what. Perhaps, had she accepted him, she might have had more influence upon her father; perhaps Mr. Darcy himself might have had a word or two. But then, she had thought she had the better judgement. Now she knew better. At last, when it was too late, she knew she wished for his esteem. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they should meet. And now, when she at last knew her own heart, he was gone and his very name on her lips broke that heart anew. But Samuel’s safety must take precedence over her heartache, and she would mention Mr. Darcy’s name a thousand times over if it would bring her young cousin back safely.
How great, then, was her surprise when her uncle peered at her with an unreadable expression on his tired face, exchanged a strange look with her aunt, and said, “Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy have been party to these late-night meetings, Lizzy. I need not inquire after the colonel’s whereabouts, for I know them intimately. He stays with his cousin. I shall send a boy over at once!”
She began to speak, but Mr. Gardiner suddenly jumped out of his chair, and began rushing around the room with an energy she did not believe his weary body possessed. “John!” he shouted from the doorway, “John? Prepare to send a message. Madelyn, help me change. I must be off again as soon as they arrive. Paper… I need paper and a pen. Where is my paper?”
The sudden rush of activity was almost as disconcerting to Elizabeth as had been the news of Mr. Darcy’s presence in this very house each evening, and she felt herself incapable of finding any purpose, until she recalled the paper her uncle kept in his office. Needing some employment, she rushed from the salon, saying “I shall find your paper, Uncle. Do sit and take a moment to breathe. You will be of more use to Sammy if you are not falling faint from exhaustion.”
Before many minutes had passed, the paper and pen had been retrieved, the note written and sent, and tea brought into the salon. It might have been the mud cakes her young cousins made by the banks of the pond in the park for all she tasted the food, but Elizabeth ensured that her aunt and uncle took some sustenance, and then encouraged them to retire to
their suite to rest until a reply to the note arrived. “I shall wait here, and I shall summon you as soon as there is any news,” she reassured her relatives and they grudgingly made for the stairs.
At last the salon was empty of all save herself, and silent. Elizabeth full well understood her aunt and uncle’s reluctance to rest, for she too would have rather been doing something to help locate Samuel, but she doubted either had slept the previous night. Even a few minutes of rest would help them preserve whatever energy they might require over the coming hours or days.
She sank into one of the soft chairs and closed her eyes. The unexpected developments of the day—the messenger, the rushed journey into town, the notion about Samuel’s whereabouts and the revelation about Mr. Darcy—all conspired to overwhelm her and she felt suddenly devoid of all energy. She let her head fall back onto the soft upholstery and her eyelids fluttered closed of their own accord.
She did not believe she truly slept, for she was aware of the quiet noises of the house—footsteps that thudded dully down the hallway, creaks from the opening and closing of doors, soft voices whispering information and directions—but the time passed quickly while she remained in her semi-conscious state. Then, a louder sound from the foyer brought her to greater awareness, and the definite click of the latch from the front door, followed by men’s voices and the more definite tread of booted feet across the marble floor awakened her completely. She was, therefore, fully alert and standing when the door the salon opened and Mr. Darcy himself strode into the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Seeking Samuel
If Mr. Darcy were surprised by Elizabeth’s presence, he did not show it. “Elizabeth,” he offered in greeting, his voice low and rough. His eyes flickered to the side, and she could see the effort it took for him to bring his eyes to meet hers. In other aspects of bearing, too, Mr. Darcy had reverted to the stony automaton she had first met, but now she attributed this demeanour to physical exhaustion. Although he was not as ashen as the Gardiners had been, it was obvious that Mr. Darcy had also passed the night with very little sleep. Had he, too, been out all night searching for Sammy?
Resisting the urge to run to him and collapse against his chest—or possibly enfold him upon hers—she merely offered him a deep curtsey. “Mr. Darcy. It is good to see you again. I had not thought…”
This confession was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr. Gardiner into the room. “Darcy!” Mr. Gardiner exclaimed. “Thank God! I had not thought to see you so quickly. Thank you for coming. This is no time for social pleasantries, so if you will permit me to postpone such niceties for another occasion, I shall cut straight to the point. Lizzy here says that Sammy might have overheard us speaking, and might have gone off seeking Wickham himself.”
Darcy turned to look at Elizabeth and blinked slowly, as if willing the world to come better into focus. “Yes. I had discounted that possibility, not realising the boy knew about the situation. Had he remained ignorant of the search, it would have made little sense for him to seek Wickham himself. However, if he had overheard us, it seems in keeping with other behaviours I have observed in him that he might have attempted some reconnaissance of his own. He followed Wickham once and therefore knew where to seek him out. We have had the boarding house where Wickham went under observation since first we arrived back in London and have seen no sign of him or the lad, but…” He paused for a moment, thinking so furiously Elizabeth could almost observe the ideas forming in his head.
“When he described the house which we have been watching,” he continued at last, his eyelids blinking so quickly Elizabeth could hardly see them move, “he also described the entire route Wickham took that day. There was one house he mentioned where he waved to a man in the window. I am attempting to determine the location of that house from what I recall from Samuel’s words.”
Mr. Gardiner started, perplexed at what Darcy might mean, and Elizabeth rapidly explained about Mr. Darcy’s remarkable memory.
When Darcy spoke again, he sounded quite confident. “I believe I have determined the exact situation of that other house. It is not far from the rooming house, and in fact, it likely backs onto it across the mews. The more I think, I can recall the directions he gave us precisely. Richard awaits in the carriage. We shall depart at once.”
Mr. Gardiner began to move towards the door with the men. “Let me get my boots….” He stumbled and almost fell, retaining his balance only due to the arm Darcy had ready to support him, having anticipated his trajectory.
“No, sir. You need to rest. You will be needed later, and I cannot have you unable to move due to your exhaustion. Richard and I shall go, and we will send a messenger immediately upon discovering a need for you. But for now, you must stay and gather your strength. I insist upon it.”
“But Darcy, this is my son! I cannot stay home like a weakling while others do the work. I must be there to help him.”
“No, Gardiner, I must insist. You have been out all night and all day on the streets of London. You cannot have slept a wink in nearly two days. The boy knows me and I him. I care for him as a brother. Let me do this for him, and for you. You must sleep, and your wife needs you to be with her. Please, sir.” The green eyes were soft but insistent, and after another desperate attempt, followed by the noticeable shaking of the desperate father’s knees, he finally agreed to remain home with his wife.
“Then I must join you, sir,” Elizabeth announced.
“Impossible!” both men spoke at once.
“No, imperative. If my uncle is here with my aunt, I am not needed in the house. I am better rested and able to function properly, and Sammy will need me. If he has been out all night, possibly hiding from or captive to Mr. Wickham, he will be most agitated, and his behaviour will be unpredictable. I know how to calm him. I have done so many times in the past, and he will respond to me. I must be there for him.” The firm look that settled on her face brooked no refusal, and even Mr. Darcy seemed easily to discern her unwavering determination.
“I will not see you come to any harm, Elizabeth,” he spoke directly to her. “You must promise to listen to me should we run into danger.”
“I have no intention of being harmed, sir. I merely wish to be of assistance to my cousin. But I shall accompany you. Of that, there shall be no discussion.”
Mr. Gardiner nodded his head. “Very well, Lizzy.” He looked as if his legs would not bear his weight much longer.
Darcy echoed Mr. Gardiner’s assent. “Agreed.” He turned to the footman who was waiting in the hallway and bade him help Mr. Gardiner back upstairs to his suite. “I shall send a message as soon as we have word. You have my promise, sir.” Then, to Elizabeth, “Are you ready to leave now? We might be out some time.”
“I shall be ready as soon as I lace my shoes, sir, and prepare my reticule. And Mr. Darcy, thank you, for everything.”
There was no time for further private conversation. No sooner were the shoes adequately laced and the reticule located and prepared with all her needs than the two were rushing out of the house and into the carriage awaiting on the street. Elizabeth and Richard greeted each other warmly, but such was the general level of anxiety in the carriage that little was had in the way of conversation as they moved through the streets of the city. The only sounds were Darcy explaining the situation to Richard, including their suppositions as to Samuel’s—and possibly Wickham and Lydia’s—whereabouts, and a quick set of orders from Richard to a boy riding with the driver who immediately jumped off the carriage to execute his task.
This was not, Lizzy realised, Mr. Darcy’s usual carriage. This one was older, much less elegant, much more heavily used. The exterior was a scratched and peeling nondescript black with no insignia or emblem, the wheels slightly uneven and noisy. Inside, the leather was cracked and the paint was dull. Considering the area of town they were to visit, this was, she decided, a wise choice. The Darcy carriage in which she had previously travelled was very fine and obviously ex
pensive, and it would be as out of place and remarkable as a ball gown in a rowboat. And what was imperative was that Wickham not know they were there. Elizabeth did not consider him to be a violent man, but desperation begets unforeseen behaviours, and she did not wish to rely on Wickham retaining his easy-going manner should he realise he was being trapped.
As they travelled, the buildings grew smaller and darker and the open spaces fewer and dirtier, until at last the driver, in the plain clothes of an unremarkable servant, stopped the horses at the side of a cobblestone street, near the door to a noisy establishment. The driver slowly unhitched the horses and made a bit of a show of asking directions to the stables and where he might put up for the night, not being needed until the following morning. He disappeared into the building, leaving the carriage looking completely abandoned for the remainder of the day, dull curtains obscuring the interior from anyone who might seek to peer through the dingy windows. With no light inside the carriage, one might look out, but not in, though the half-sheer fabric that hung untidily across the panes.
The building immediately to hand, into which the servant had disappeared, looked from the outside to be a tavern, with flickering light shining from the half-shuttered windows despite the faint sunlight that still stroked the street with its waning rays. The sounds of clanging flagons and drunken revelry also emanated from the establishment; Elizabeth shuddered to think what noises might emerge once full dark fell over the city.
The street itself was not too narrow for the carriage to sit without blocking passage for all others, but there was little space for more than one cart to pass, and what space there did exist was filled with dirty children, tugging at the sleeves of passers-by for extra coins, and women in somewhat unsuitable dress emerging from dark doorways. This was not quite the squalor of Whitechapel, not quite the depths of The Old Nichol, but it was also far from the cleaner and wealthier parts of London that Elizabeth knew.