The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

by Regina Jeffers

  “What be it?” he grumbled when he sat behind her on one of the few pews within the circular room.

  “Ye shud not be afeared of God’s hand,” she said coldly.

  He warned, “Tell me what ye need, Aunt, and leave off worryin’ fer me soul.”

  Dolina glanced around to assure their privacy. “I require information on the girl Blane found in the moor. Who might she be? Ride out and check the inns. See if’n anyone be lookin’ fer her.”

  “Why? What hive ye in mind for the lass?”

  “Jist do as I say,” she instructed. “What I’ve planned be none of yer doings.”

  “Mr. Hurlbert,” Mr. Jacks cornered Wickham in the morning room. “I be pleased that I find ye before ye ride out, Sir.”

  Wickham stiffened. He had loaded a flour sack with several pieces of silver and other valuables and had earlier stashed the items in an arbor in the lower gardens. Immediately, he wondered if someone had discovered his hiding place. As he turned slowly to face the Fitzwilliam caretaker, Wickham consciously placed a smile on his face and began to construct an excuse for the find. “How may I serve you, Mr. Jacks?” he said congenially.

  “I have news, Sir,” Jacks said hopefully. “A rider has brought word of Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s horse.”

  “Really?” Wickham’s curiosity piqued. “Where has the animal been spotted?”

  “In Ayr, Sir. In the next shire. A trader says he observed a horse with Bracken’s markings on the Normanna estate.”

  “Where exactly is this estate? On the coast or inland?” Wickham could not control the spark of interest he experienced.

  Jacks mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. “On the moor. It be dangerous. I kin’t imagine Mrs. Fitzwilliam being so far from the manor house, but we shud see if it be true. We kin send our men.”

  Wickham quickly sized up the situation. “It may be best if I call at Normanna first. Perhaps my cousin is injured, and the Normanna household has offered her sanctuary. Or perhaps they simply found the horse on the moor and possess no knowledge of its owner. We would not wish to offend a neighbor.”

  “Yes, Sir. Shud I see to a mount?”

  “I will ride out after I break my fast.” After dismissing the man, Wickham sat heavily. I wonder, he said to himself. If I could find Georgiana, then Darcy would be honor-bound to forgive me. Mayhap, even reward me. If Mrs. Fitzwilliam is still alive, I could be a hero. Darcy would no longer turn me away from Pemberley. And, if I cannot find the lady, I can always continue on to Edinburgh as planned. It is worth a few hours of actual searching for the long-term familial benefits.

  Finishing off his meal, Wickham strode toward the house’s rear. He would take the mount the groom had provided him and then circle the orchard to reach the lower gardens and his hidden treasure. With that, I will journey into the next shire and see what secrets it holds.

  “Where dost thou ride?” Domhnall had cornered his cousin on the path leading to the stables.

  “Aunt Dolina has an errand for me,” Munro said nonchalantly.

  Domhnall realized that Munro remained uncertain as to whether Domhnall could handle the family matriarch. His cousin was in for a big surprise. He demanded, “What type of errand?”

  Munro smiled purposely, “Nothin’ important. Just requires me to speak to her brother on her behalf. They must have had another spat.”

  Domhnall stepped menacingly closer. “Somehow I do not believe you.” He paused. “I would hate to think that you had taken my mother’s side against me,” he hissed.

  Munro retreated a step, bringing him against the stone retaining wall. “Me loyalty lies with the laird of Normanna,” he said tentatively.

  “Prove it.” He paused. “Tell me in truth what game Lady Wotherspoon plays,” he insisted.

  Munro ran his finger under his tight neck cloth. “Me aunt desires news of the girl Blane brings in. Her name. Something of the woman’s family. Aunt Dolina wants the girl for yer brother.”

  Domhnall’s frown lines met. He had other ideas for the woman. Certainly not as a token wife for his puppet of a brother. “Ye’ll discover what Lady Wotherspoon wants to know, but you’ll report to me first upon yer return. Is that understood?”

  “Certainly, Cousin. I wud never step ’tween you and Aunt Dolina.” Munro swallowed hard.

  “That would be a wise choice on your part.”

  Darcy’s carriage made its way across the graveled circle before Alpin Hall. The white stone of the façade had given the manor house its name, but red sandstone rubble from the local quarry had been used for the main construction. A draped putto decorated an arched outer door. “Interesting,” Elizabeth said wryly.

  “Not my style,” he grumbled as the coach slowed, and Jasper scrambled to set the steps. Darcy was down first, and he turned to steady Elizabeth’s step; yet, his eyes kept glancing at the still-unopened entrance door. “Where is she?” he whispered close to Elizabeth’s ear. “Jasper, see to Bennet and Mrs. Prulock,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Finally, the door opened, and the hunch-shouldered figure of Mr. Jacks appeared on the doorstep. “Good day, Sir,” the man said with a stiff bow. “Welcome to Alpin Hall. How may we serve ye, Sir?” he said properly.

  Darcy braced Elizabeth’s footing on the crumbling entrance steps. Although the lawn appeared well groomed, the house was in need of some repairs. He would speak to the earl upon their return to Derbyshire. He wondered if Matlock had hired an inefficient steward. “Mr. Jacks,” Darcy recognized the man on closer inspection. “I did not realize you remained with the property.”

  “I beg yer pardon, Sir. Do I know ye?” He squinted into the afternoon sun.

  “Fitzwilliam Darcy. I have not seen you since I was twelve.” Darcy looked over the man’s shoulder in hopes of finding his sister. “I am Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s brother.”

  To his chagrin, there was no sign of Georgiana, only a small, elderly housekeeper who appeared beside the man. “Himself,” she said affectionately. “It be Mr. Darcy.” She clutched at Jacks’ arm. “My! Ye have turned into a fine gentleman,” she gushed.

  “Mrs. Jacks?” The Darcys stepped into the front foyer. “I apologize for our unanticipated arrival. This is my wife, Mrs. Darcy, my son, Bennet, and his nurse, Mrs. Prulock.”

  “A wee bairn,” the woman said with glee. “Oh, bless be the days. Please come in.” She directed her husband to take their wraps. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam had a miniature of you on her nightstand. I wud recognize ye anywhere.”

  As he assisted Elizabeth with her cloak, Darcy explained, “One summer, shortly before Georgiana’s birth, Matlock sent Rowland, Edward, and me to Alpin to remove us from underfoot. Rowland’s tutor served as our chaperone, but it was Mr. Jacks who kept us in line. Not an easy task with three rambunctious youths free of parental oversight.”

  Elizabeth nodded her understanding, but her attention remained on the empty staircase. Finally, Darcy could not put off the inevitable any longer. He asked, “Mrs. Jacks, is my sister at Alpin Hall?”

  All activity ceased. No one moved. Not a sound could be heard in the house. Not even a tick of the nearby grandfather clock. The woman bowed her head in reverence. “We be tenderin’ our regrets,” she said softly.

  Darcy felt Elizabeth’s hand slip into his grasp. She said, “Then it was you who sent the missive to Pemberley?”

  “Aye, Ma’am.”

  She knew he had no words for the complete anguish that filled his heart, so his incomparable wife assumed control. “Mr. Darcy and I would speak to you of the letter’s specifics. Might we step into the drawing room?” She glanced about the foyer. “Is there someone to see Mrs. Prulock and our child to the nursery?”

  Darcy heard the activity around him, but he could not respond. His mind raced toward the unthinkable possibility that he had lost his sister forever. He could barely breathe as the dread crept up his spine.

  “We keep a small day staff, Ma’am,” Mr. Jacks explained to Elizabeth. “I�
�ll see to yer accommodations. Mrs. Jacks kin answer yer questions. I’ll tell Mrs. Jordan of yer arrival and ask her to bring ye refreshments.”

  “This way, Mrs. Darcy.” The housekeeper gestured to a nearby room.

  Darcy automatically placed Elizabeth on his arm. She was his strength, the reason he still existed at this moment. Without her, he could not face the news of Georgiana’s possible demise. He marveled at how well his wife handled the highs and lows of their relationship. When he floundered, Elizabeth covered his foibles, and when she stumbled, he stepped forward to assume the lead. His marrying her had been great fortune, almost as if Fate had place Elizabeth Bennet in his path for that purpose. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “You avoided the obvious, Mr. Darcy,” she said softly.

  Darcy swallowed hard. “I did. Yet, my gratitude exists for more than just this moment.” He seated Elizabeth comfortably in a wing chair and then stood stiffly to face the unavoidable. “Mrs. Darcy has shared your letter. What we require is an explanation of what led to your writing it.”

  Mrs. Jacks slumped heavily in her chair. “I shan’t explain how pleased we be to have Mrs. Fitzwilliam among us and how the house anticipated the return of Master Edward. Besides being a beloved member of the Fitzwilliam family, the Major General be a grand war hero. And his wife being yer sister, Mr. Darcy, only made Mrs. Fitzwilliam more welcomed.

  “Your sister be so elegant, very much like yer mother Lady Anne, she is. And Mrs. Fitzwilliam possesses the kindest of hearts,” Mrs. Jacks said fondly. “However, yer sister, Sir, be highly disappointed with her husband’s delay, and then she be receiving the letter from the Countess. If I had known, Mr. Darcy, what the letter say, I be not givin’ it to yer sister. I wud have sent for you or the Viscount.”

  “The Viscountess has delivered the Matlock heir,” Darcy explained. He was surprised that no one had apprised the Jackses of Lady Lindale’s healthy delivery. The news affected their futures also. Again, he wondered about the efficiency of the Alpin steward.

  “We be unaware until Mrs. Fitzwilliam told us. It be happy news among the staff,” Mrs. Jacks explained politely.

  “Would you explain exactly what happened the day Mrs. Fitzwilliam read the Countess’s letter?” Elizabeth redirected the conversation.

  “Mrs. Fitzwilliam had just returned from her morning ride. Expecting news of the Major General, your sister broke the seal and quickly began to read, but then she turned pale, and Weir, he steadied her. I thought Mrs. Fitzwilliam might collapse. But instead she ran. Ran from the room. From the house. From where the groom be returnin’ her horse to the stable. She be taking Bracken’s reins from the groom’s hands. When I picks up the letter and sees its contents, I allowed her to leave. I thought it best, at the time, to permit yer sister to grieve in her own way. I wish now that I had had the sense to send Weir after her.

  “When the lady didnae return, we mustered up several searches. We looked for eight and forty hours straight, Mr. Darcy. Day and night. Unfortunately, it be a wild land, and the moors keep their secrets. It be not unusual for a stranger to find himself lost in one of the bogs.”

  Elizabeth shuddered, but Darcy’s resolve hardened. “Despite it being more than a sennight since, I plan to resume the search. I must assure myself that there is not some error, and that Georgiana has not found sanctuary elsewhere.”

  Mrs. Jacks looked hopeful. “Mr. Jacks has arranged for riders to come to Alpin Hall at dawn. Me husband anticipated Mr. Hurlbert needin’ assistance with the MacBethans. They be an ornery bunch, at least, according to Weir, whose cousin married one of the clan.”

  “Mrs. Jacks, I am afraid I do not understand,” Elizabeth said. “Who are the MacBethans, and what do they have to do with Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s disappearance?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Darcy, I apologize. Ye kin not know. We received word earlier today that Bracken be spotted in the MacBethans’ stables. The horse never returned after yer sister went missing. Mr. Hurlbert thought it likely that he could find out if the MacBethans know anything of Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s whereabouts.”

  “Who is Mr. Hurlbert?” Darcy demanded. “The estate’s steward?”

  “No, Sir. Mr. Hurlbert,” she said the name slowly as if Darcy had gone daft. “The Matlock cousin sent by the Earl to coordinate the search. He be here for two days, Sir.”

  Darcy said incredulously, “I assure you, Mrs. Jacks, there are no Hurlberts listed upon the Matlock family tree.”

  Chapter 12

  AULAY HAD RETURNED to her chamber, but she barely took notice. He played both sides of the chess board, totally engrossed in his strategy and ignoring her completely. She suspected it was a common occurrence with the man. She had no desire to speak to her supposed betrothed, but she made herself ask, “When we marry, must we remain at Normanna? I mean, should we not have a place of our own? Away from your mother and Lord Wotherspoon? Something not close to the manor house?”

  Aulay frowned emphatically. “I kinnae imagine my mother wud be pleased. I’ve never lived any place without Mam.”

  “A house cannot have two mistresses,” she said defiantly.

  “If we stay on Normanna’s land, Mam remains the mistress of the great house while we cud play games and do what we wish. I enjoy games.”

  She shook her head with regret. “Aulay, I am to have a child soon. Any games I play shall be with the baby I carry.”

  “Mam says I kin teach the child to play chess,” he protested.

  She touched his hand tenderly. It was not his fault that he did not understand. “Not right away,” she cautioned. “It would be six or seven years, at least, before the child could grasp even the game’s basics.”

  Aulay’s mouth twisted in disgust. “That long? I thought…”

  A knock at the door brought a close to what he would have said next. Without an invitation, the door opened to display Domhnall MacBethan. He filled the frame with his broad shoulders; and despite her best efforts to control her reaction, she felt her chest constrict.

  “I beg your pardon, Aulay,” the man directed his words to his brother. “If you have no objections, I would show Lady Esme the courtyard.”

  With his brother’s entrance, Aulay had taken a step backward. “If’n…if’n Lady Esme wants…wishes to see…to see the gardens,” he stammered.

  “Aulay, neither Lady Esme nor I have time for you to construct an answer of which ye think our mother would approve. This be my estate. I know it better than you, and I will show the gardens to the lady.” He extended his hand. “Will ye join me, m’lady?”

  She glanced quickly to Aulay. He stood with his eyes averted. If the man could not even muster an objection against his own brother, how would he protect her from the world? And was that not a husband’s duty? To protect his wife? She had a sudden feeling of loss. Of an emptiness that she could not explain. Lord Wotherspoon noted it immediately. “Are you unwell, m’lady?” he said softly. “We kin walk in the gardens at a later time if you feel poorly.”

  She needed to see more of this house than the passages the MacBethans had shared. If she were to escape, she must possess intimate knowledge of what lay beyond the house’s walls. She turned to Aulay. “I shall see you at dinner, Sir.” With that, she placed her fingers in the elder MacBethan’s hand. Surprisingly, when he folded his hand around hers, she felt safe.

  As he closed the room door behind him, Wotherspoon said close to her ear. “I thought you would prefer my company to my younger brother’s for dinner.”

  She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Is that a command, my Lord?”

  “It is a dream, m’Lady.”

  “Your dreams are more pleasant than mine, Lord Wotherspoon. Mine are peppered with nightmares of my previous life. I am uncertain what is real and what is a dream.”

  He spoke without looking at her. “I would venture that my mother has offered to refresh your memory.”

  She glanced up in surprise. “She did.”

  A long silence f
ollowed as he directed her steps through a finely draped door to the outside. Stepping into the hazy summer sun, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back to accept its warmth. She inhaled deeply. “A bit of moisture on the air,” she said automatically.

  He chuckled lightly. “The English are known for their talk of the weather.” An awkward pause followed before he said, “In Scotland, there always be moisture on the air. We are inland, but the coast be not so very far.” He directed her to an arbor bench. “Oftentimes, I think of riding for the coast and taking the first ship I encounter to anywhere but here.”

  “Do you not love your home, Sir?”

  Domhnall reached for a cultivated eyebright. With its yellow-petaled flower base opening to six rose-colored buds—flowers with a flower—it held renewal’s promise. With a small knife, he cut the stem at an angle and handed it to her.

  “It is lovely,” she said as she inhaled the bloom’s fragrance.

  “You are lovely,” he said softly and then looked off to the distance. “On the moors, the heather blossoms. Purple and pink. I love it, but I despise it. Does that make me a madman? It is the most beautiful land on earth, but this land is a dangerous mistress. Hard and unforgiving. A man must fight to survive.”

  She followed his gaze, and although the fields were not visible, she saw what he did. “Your responsibilities must be enormous.”

  He turned slowly to her. “A man makes decisions for the good of his people, but those choices can eat away at his conscience—his soul—until nothing remains. Excrement.” Domhnall caressed her cheek. “Then a brief flash of sunshine flickers, and his foolish heart takes flight.”

  Esme sucked in a quick breath. What would she do if she were placed between Wotherspoon and his mother? Could she survive such a struggle of wills? And did this man speak the truth of his heart or was she a game piece in some bizarre chess match, one to be claimed by the most ruthless player? “I do not know how to proceed, m’ Lord. Your mother has saved me for your younger brother.”