Chapter 9
“I HAD THOUGHT GEORGE WOULD be anticipating my return,” Lydia said incredulously. “Could my husband remain out of sorts with me?”
Mrs. Bennet glanced about the shabbily furnished room. It troubled her to witness how far below her other daughters that her favorite child had sunk. Even the small cottage on the Longbourn land, which Mary and Mr. Grange had let, was far superior to the conditions in which Lydia existed. Mrs. Bennet hated to consider how Mary possessed much better sense than did Lydia. “Perhaps Lieutenant Wickham is at his duty post,” Mrs. Bennet offered weakly.
Lydia’s eyes looked hopeful. “That must be it. Lieutenant Wickham was to be excused from his duties until Monday next, but it is so like my husband to see a need and respond.”
“Then we shall see Lieutenant Wickham at supper.” Mrs. Bennet made another quick survey of the room’s disarray. Things were far worse than she had assumed. Even Mr. Bennet’s warnings had not prepared her for the sad state of Lydia’s affairs. “Why do we not surprise the lieutenant by putting things aright? A man prefers a well-ordered home.”
“I am a miserable housekeeper,” Lydia half-whined.
Mrs. Bennet tutted her disapproval. “I did not raise my girls as domestics, but that does not mean that any of them lacks the skills to maintain a proper house. As these are but let rooms, our task shall be a small chore. I shall assist you.” She began to gather the clothes strewn upon the furniture. “I suspect Lieutenant Wickham’s temper shall be less volatile if he witnesses your efforts to change your circumstances.”
“Do you believe it so?” Lydia scanned the room’s poor state.
Mrs. Bennet doubted anything would soften Lieutenant Wickham’s nature. After all, Mr. Bennet had finally told her the truth of the man’s ways, but she would not speak her thoughts aloud. That horrid scene in the curate’s cottage had brought her husband’s previous warnings squarely to her shoulders. She had once gloried in Lydia’s connection to Lieutenant Wickham. Oh, how she rued her former words—those spoken in triumph after news had arrived from her brother Gardiner, announcing Lydia’s upcoming marriage to the lieutenant.
“My dear, dear Lydia!” she had cried. “This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would be. I knew he would manage everything. How I long to see her! And to see dear Wickham too! I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!
“I will go to Meryton,” she had continued in all her ignorance of the situation’s truth, “as soon as I am dressed and tell the good, good news to my sister Philips. And, as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long.”
And where had all that mirth-filled hope led? To second-class lodgings in Cumbria. Her darling daughter needed instruction on how to survive a loveless marriage, and she could provide such knowledge first hand. Although the man had hurt her in ways she would never confide to another soul, at least Mr. Bennet had never raised his hand to her. Instead, her husband’s superiority and sharp tongue often rang with her worthlessness. She had accepted his censure because she had failed him by not producing an heir for Longbourn. Every day, her inadequacy hung heavy about her shoulders. Shoring up her resolve to assist Lydia to a better place, she said, “Let us begin with rearranging the rooms. Remember that a man’s heart is easily tamed by the fine design of a female hand.”
“At least, the private room offers adequate accommodations,” Elizabeth remarked as she surveyed the open area. “Perhaps, we might place a blanket upon the floor so Bennet and William can stretch their small legs. Children need to move to grow.” She handed Bennet to Mrs. Prulock. “I had hoped to reach Thornhill, but Mr. Simpson says the team requires a bit more rest. The terrain is hard on them.”
“So we shall arrive at Alpin Hall in the evening instead of the afternoon,” Mary remarked as she gestured the serving maid to the table. “A longer night’s rest shall do us all well.”
Elizabeth heaved a sigh. How could she explain that she must reach Alpin Hall and correct the military’s announcement of Edward’s death? How might one express the urgency of her assuming the lead in Georgiana’s recovery? She had thought to seek Darcy at the Bingleys’ summerhouse, but it would likely be several more days before her sister Jane arrived in Newton Stewart. Darcy’s and Mr. Joseph’s early departures had thrown everything out of order. Elizabeth reasoned that if she could reach Alpin Hall first, she could stymie the rumors that would plague her husband. There is that blessing , she thought.
Resigned to a long evening of worrying about her family, Elizabeth seated herself before the serving dishes. “We shall make the best of our time together.” However, an anxious knock at the door drew her attention. She motioned Mrs. Prulock to remain seated, and she crossed to the portal. “I shall see to it,” she said over her shoulder. “Please. Enjoy the meal while it is hot.” Opening the door but a crack, she was surprised to see her trusted coachman. “Is there more trouble, Mr. Simpson?” she asked tentatively. She wanted no further delays.
“Excuse me, Mistress,” he whispered hoarsely. “Might I be speaking with you privately?”
Elizabeth nodded and slipped from the room. Closing the door behind her, she asked, “What is it? Difficulty with the team?”
“No, Ma’am.” He ran his hat’s rim through his nervous fingers. “The horses be seen to properly.”
“Then what may I do for you?” she said with more gruffness that she intended.
The man swallowed hard. “It is the Master, Ma’am,” he began.
Every nerve in her body came alive. “What of Mr. Darcy?”
“His horse, Mistress. Palos and the roan Garm are housed in the stables.”
Elizabeth attempted to calm the man’s agitation. “Mr. Darcy sent horses ahead for his trip. He prefers not to let a horse unless necessary.”
“No, Ma’am. You misunderstand. The hostlers report a man of Mr. Darcy’s description rode in early yesterday afternoon with an injured saddle mate. They were attacked by a highwayman.”
Elizabeth swayed as the news swept over her. Mr. Simpson’s strong grip on her elbow was a blessing. “Mr. Darcy?” she rasped. “Is my husband still here?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I be asking before I come to fetch you. The Master has the two rooms at the top of the stairs.”
Elizabeth caught at his arm. “What do the stable hands say of the injured man?” she asked softly as she stepped away from the door.
Mr. Simpson’s expression changed immediately. “They say the man had lost much blood. Mr. Darcy refused to allow the surgeon to bleed him. The Master say Mr. Joseph had suffered enough.”
Elizabeth clutched at her chest. “I must discover the truth before I speak to Mrs. Joseph of the incident. Thank you, Mr. Simpson, for your kindness.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Tell the Master that Jasper and I await his instructions.”
Georgiana awoke to the late evening shadows filling the small cottage. Her leg throbbed, but the pain was more bearable than earlier. Lifting her skirt, she found a makeshift cast. How? she wondered. Then she remembered the woman who had assisted her in those first few crazy hours when she had thought she would die on this wobbly cot. The woman had felt familiar, but she could not place a name or a face. That idea made sense in only the most bizarre terms: the woman possessed no face; yet, she could tell when the lady smiled or frowned or looked upon her with worried eyes, but Georgiana could not actually describe the woman. Had her companion assisted her with her injury? “Has received the best medical treatment this cottage can provide,” the voice had said when Georgiana had complained of her injury.
Pushing herself to a seated position, she surveyed the room. Someone had slammed one of the two chairs against the hearth. Wood splinters covered the bricks where the furniture had met the stones. The chair legs, she thought. That explained the brace she wore. Having been tied on with strips from her petticoat and the
ribbons from her bonnet, the chair’s spindles encased her leg on each side and the back of her calf. Had she done this or had it been the woman? “Are you here?” she called aloud when the room held no more secrets.
“Of course I am with you.” The familiar voice caressed her ear, but Georgiana did not turn her head. She understood that the woman could not be behind her. The bed stood close against the wall. Yet, it did not matter. She had felt the warmth of the words as they caressed her cheek. “You should eat to maintain your strength.”
Georgiana did not argue. Instead, she reached for the simple meal before her. As if by magic, a tin plate holding strips of dried mutton and several hard rolls had appeared on a low table. Tearing off a piece of the bread, she popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly. Adding a bite of the tough meat, she waited for her mouth’s moisture to soften the food. Immediately, her stomach growled. She laughed. “Not as good as Mrs. Olson’s bread pudding,” she pronounced.
“I miss Mrs. Olson’s bread pudding,” the voice said.
Georgiana sighed deeply. “Is there water?”
“Beside the table. You should go easy with it. It may be several more days before they rescue you.”
Georgiana glanced toward the window. “Do you suppose that Fitzwilliam and Edward search for me?”
“They are yet to know you are missing from Alpin Hall, but they are racing to your side, nonetheless. Neither will rest until you are safely with them.”
“And Elizabeth?” Georgiana smiled easily.
The voice chuckled lightly. “Your brother’s wife leads the charge.”
Georgiana laughed also. “In my dreams, you are Elizabeth.”
“Who says you are in error? Would not your sister move heaven and earth to protect you?”
“I hold no doubt that Elizabeth would be an immovable force.”
Darcy read from Mr. Joseph’s Bible. It had been among the man’s possessions, and he had borrowed it to pass the time. He had sat beside Joseph’s bed all night, tending his friend, a man with whom he, in actuality, had but a fortnight’s acquaintance: less than a week before Christmas and a sennight since Joseph had called at Pemberley. Yet, he had felt an affinity with the man from the beginning. He recognized bits of himself in the younger man.
“Then it’s as Mrs. Joseph asserts? Yours is a love match?” Joseph had smugly challenged as they had examined December’s icy road conditions. A blizzard had stranded them at an out-of-the-way inn, and the Darcys had agreed to share their quarters with the Josephs because Mary Joseph’s confinement put her well past the time for traveling.
Darcy had felt the sting of the man’s tongue. “I would have assumed, Sir, that you, too, cared deeply for your wife. Was I mistaken?”
“You have not erred. My wife holds my highest regard.”
“Yet, you refuse to admit to loving your wife,” Darcy had observed.
Joseph had countered, “I do not hear your professions, Sir.”
Darcy recalled how, at the time, he had found Joseph’s prideful display amusing. “I see how it is. If I am man enough to admit to loving Mrs. Darcy, you could claim your own affection. If that is what it takes, Joseph, I confirm that I am hopelessly in love with my wife. You now have my permission to admit your own weakness.”
The man had reddened. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that I do not require nor seek your permission for anything.”
Darcy’s smile widened with the remembrance of those first awkward hours of sharing their inn room with complete strangers. He had admired Joseph’s loyalty to his wife and family. That is how he had judged the man as being someone he could trust. “And that’s how it should be, Joseph. My affection for my wife, my decisions regarding my estate, my sister’s guardianship—are all mine. They are none of your concern unless I choose to share them, as your life belongs to you until you care to speak of it. Do not mimic another man’s actions, Joseph. Do what is best for you. That is a lesson I learned from Mrs. Darcy.”
Only the crunch of their boots on the frosty lane had broken the comfortable silence that nestled between them. For several minutes, neither of them had spoken. Finally, Joseph had said, “I meant no offense, Mr. Darcy.”
“You did not offend, Joseph. I spoke because I observed in you my own tentative nature. We men are not free to express our feelings. Women strike up instant relationships. Look at our wives as proof. It is how Society deems our roles, so we must develop confidence in our choices, and, more importantly, we must guard against accepting outside examples as the norm. The true north is what serves you best—what gives you personal satisfaction in your life.” From that moment, he and Joseph had found an acceptance. Darcy had found theirs a gratifying connection. He treasured having another male friend with whom to share his experiences, and he would be sorely grieved to lose the man because of Lieutenant Wickham’s attack.
A light tapping drove the remembrance from his mind. Marking his place in the Scriptures, he crossed quietly to the door. Expecting the maid with the meal he had ordered earlier, he was shocked to find his wife on the other side of the portal. “Lizzy,” he rasped. A heartbeat later, he had scooped her into his arms. “You are a most blessed sight,” he said as he rained kisses across her cheeks and eyes. “But how?” As if fearful that she was some sort of apparition, Darcy pulled her closer.
“I followed you,” she said simply. “We should speak privately.”
Darcy belatedly realized the inappropriateness of kissing his wife in the open hallway. “Come.” After closing Joseph’s door so his wife could not see the clergyman in repose, he pulled her into the next room. Inside his own rented quarters, he took Elizabeth into his embrace again. “The Lord has answered my prayers.”
“And mine,” she said as she kissed him tenderly. When their lips parted, she gave a wavering smile. With a release of the pent-up breath she had held since learning of her husband’s presence at the inn, she said, “Speak to me of Mr. Joseph’s injury. Mr. Simpson says you were set upon by a highwayman.”
“Simpson?” he asked.
Elizabeth’s tone spoke of urgency. “I shall explain Mr. Simpson’s presence in a bit, but please know that Mrs. Joseph is below, and we cannot keep her husband’s condition secret.”
Darcy released her and began to pace the small open area. “No highwayman. Lieutenant Wickham.” His wife paled, and he assisted her to a chair. “The bullet was meant for me. Because of my association with Lieutenant Wickham, Mr. Joseph could lose his life.”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam.” When he knelt before her, Elizabeth cupped his hand between her two. “You had no way of anticipating Lieutenant Wickham’s duplicity.”
“But the lieutenant warned us that he would seek his revenge,” he countered.
“Yet, not as this,” she insisted. “None of us could predict the man would sink to this level.”
Darcy released her to pace again. “Joseph must survive this, or I will never forgive myself. My foolish pride has cost an innocent much.”
Elizabeth took his hand and kissed his palm. “Lieutenant Wickham constructs one quagmire after another. You are not responsible for his choices.”
Darcy bit back his response. He would know regret forever. “Mrs. Joseph should be told of her husband’s condition. You and I can debate who bears the most fault at a later date.”
“I shall go.” Elizabeth nodded to her husband. “Mary is my friend.”
“Hurry your return,” Darcy pleaded. “I am in great need of your closeness.”
“O God, your Son accepted our sufferings to teach us the virtue of patience in human illness,” Mary led the others in prayer. “Hear the prayers we offer for our loving husband, father, brother, and friend. May all who suffer know that they are joined to Christ, for our Lord suffered for the salvation of the world. Protect Matthew and give him peace during this ordeal. Amen.”
Darcy and Elizabeth had remained in the background as a very shaken Mary Joseph had tended to her injured husband. She had immediately forgiven Dar
cy of any blame in what had happened to Joseph. “I would prefer to think that Matthew saved your life because you are needed elsewhere. Mrs. Darcy shall share her own concerns with you.” Then she had caught Mr. Joseph’s hand and had kissed it tenderly. Ruth Joseph had placed William on the bed with his father before joining her brother’s wife in her vigil.
“Come,” Elizabeth had whispered. “It is in God’s hands now.” She and Darcy slipped from the room. “Mrs. Joseph is correct. We must speak privately.”
Holding the door to his room open for her, he said, “I had hoped Mr. Joseph’s injury was the worst of it, but the constant scowl gracing your countenance tells me otherwise.”
“You know me well enough, Fitzwilliam, to know I would not risk Bennet’s life on Scottish roads if I did not think it necessary.”
He caught her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Although I prefer to think you could not withstand the despair of having me gone from Pemberley, I suppose you should tell me why you have followed me to Scotland.”
Elizabeth relished the steady beat of his most loyal heart, and she dreaded the possibility of hurting him. “Although I fear what I have to share shall give you pain, I must speak honestly.” She paused to add her other hand. With a sigh of defeat, Elizabeth described Lord Lindale’s visit, the erroneous report sent by the military, the gist of his cousin’s letter regarding the major general’s tardy return to England, and the Countess’s attempt to assuage Georgiana’s heartbreak.
During her recitation, she had felt her husband’s pulse quicken under her fingertips, but he calmly said, “My aunt acted foolishly, but Edward’s return will ease any anguish Georgiana may have suffered. I would not wish my sister even one moment of grief, but this is easily rectified. Yet, it does not explain your journey, Elizabeth. As you so aptly stated earlier, you would not risk Bennet’s life on the road simply to bring me belated news. Tell me the rest.”
The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery Page 15