The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

by Regina Jeffers

  “Only of the horse.” He sat back in his chair. “Do you know anything of the animal, Mother?” he asked pointedly. He had made it his business to discover every fact he could of Lady Esme’s sudden appearance in the estate’s cells. From the first moment Domhnall had laid eyes on the girl’s sleeping form, he had wanted her; therefore, he became quite aggressive in discovering what had truly brought the girl to his care.

  His mother’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “Why would I know of the English pig’s horse?” she protested. “Ye ’ave asked me to think deeply on my previous means to support this family, and I ’ave done everything ye required. Likely, those who spoke out agin me in the past ’ave repeated their allegations to these so-called gentlemen.”

  “How can it be a coincidence that Lady Esme arrives on our doorstep on foot, and then a short time later these men come calling and asking about a horse with pure blood lines?” He would not tell his mother that he had uncovered her twisted truths regarding Lady Esme’s arrival at Normanna.

  Lady Wotherspoon’s countenance held a strange expression that Domhnall wished he could identify. “If there be a connection between Lady Esme and the missing ’orse, would not the Englishmen ask of the lady’s presence?” she asserted.

  Domhnall rested his forearms on the desk. “You should know that I intend to ask Lady Esme if she has any knowledge of Major General Fitzwilliam or of Mr. Darcy. If the lady proves part of the mystery, I will return her to her family.”

  “And if she be not of the Englishman’s line?”

  “I plan to cut my younger brother from your plans. I will make the lady my wife and replace you as this house’s mistress. I want your legacy erased from Normanna’s history.”

  “Beware, my son. Erasing my name removes your heritage, as well. We share the same blood,” she warned.

  “Your blood runs in streams along stone floors. I will wash it from every brick in this house, and if that means my claim to the title disappears with the cleansing waters, then so be it. I want none of the wealth you brought to Normanna. I refuse to permit your habitual disdain for the MacBethan name to sabotage my life. We will find another way.”

  Dolina stood suddenly. “I caution you, Domhnall. Sometimes our most fervent prayers are answered by the Devil.”

  Wickham rolled to his side just as the horse skittered away; yet, that was not his most pressing concern. He brought his knees up so he lay like a babe cradled in his crib. He could barely breathe. “Christ!” he groaned as he quickly assessed the situation. No horse. Pouring rain. Substantial pain.

  Forcing himself to his hands and knees, Wickham raised his head to survey the area. He had to reach the small cottage. He could not remain on the soggy bog. He had no choice but to fight his way to the only shelter available.

  With water streaming down his cheeks and seeping into his neck cloth, Wickham took a deep breath that he hoped would bring him new resolve, but instead it blurred his vision further as a sharp pain shot through his chest. He forced himself to a standing position by walking his hands up his thighs. He remained hunched over, but he was able to take a tentative step forward. He moaned audibly as his boots sunk into the marshy soil, but he kept the cottage in view. It would be his salvation. He would not fail to reach it.

  Painfully, he struggled, but would not accept defeat. Instead, he chastised himself with reminders of how much Darcy would enjoy seeing him in such a predicament. How much pleasure his old friend would take in knowing not only of the pain Wickham suffered, but also of the desperation that had crept into his heart. He used Darcy’s imagined scorn to shore up his determination. A way to prove that he could overcome anything God placed in his path. “Anything but a stupid snake,” he growled. “Since the time of Adam and Eve, snakes have spelled disaster for mankind.”

  “Gruph!” he exhaled as he stumbled on the rough paving stone leading to the cottage’s entrance. The cottage certainly did not look like much. He just prayed that it would be a dry place where he could reevaluate what to do next. He took another lurching step forward and braced himself by catching the door’s framing. “Not yet, Darcy,” he whispered as he tilted his head backward to bring his eyes to the heavens. “You have not bested me, after all, my friend,” he swore. Then he reached for the door.

  “Ye be askin’ about the gel. About yer Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

  Every nerve ending came alive as Darcy set his own bowl of stew on the small table with a loud thwack. Out of his eye’s corner, he had seen his cousin stiffen. “What do you know of Mrs. Fitzwilliam?” he demanded.

  The change in his tone must have warned the Scot that the man trod on dangerous ground. Their captive swallowed deeply. “I ’ave been ’onest with you. Even spoke ag’inst me own family.”

  Darcy threatened with his tone. “Your point being what, MacBethan?”

  The Scot shot a glance at Edward’s menacing scowl. “I want out. Want me own place, but I’s need a stake to start ag’in.”

  “If what you say proves true,” Darcy said before Edward could respond, “then you will be fairly rewarded. However, if you lead us a merry chase, I will permit my cousin to take out his frustrations on you.” Darcy leaned closer to the man—his face mere inches from the Scot’s. “I assure you, MacBethan, the Major General has learned his lessons well on both the battlefields of the American front, where the Indians scalp their captives, and on the Continent, where the guillotine takes a different cut. Mrs. Fitzwilliam is his wife. He would not take kindly to your playing games with us.”

  Once more, MacBethan’s Adam’s apple worked hard to swallow his fear. “I understand, Sir,” he said on a rasp. “I’ll tell ye the truth.” It was the first time that the Scot had lost some of his swagger, and Darcy judged the man to be speaking honestly.

  “How do you know of Mrs. Fitzwilliam?” Edward’s voice held the cold restraint Darcy had expected.

  MacBethan eyed them both with caution. “I’s met a man recently over a card table in Cumnock. He be English, and he tells a tale of a missin’ cousin.”

  Darcy shot a glance at Edward. “Could you describe the man?”

  “We be callin’ him handsome. Like a woman only with a touch of manliness. His appearance be greatly in ’is favor; he ’ad all the best part of beauty—fine countenance, a good figure...” His voice trailed off as if he recognized their interest.

  Darcy nodded to his cousin, who understood completely that the Scot spoke of Wickham. “Go on,” Darcy encouraged. “This man spoke of Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”

  “Aye, Sir. But I be suspicious when I leaves the card table. I’s ride to Kirkconnel to learn more of the lady. I be on me return when ye stop me on Normanna’s lands.”

  Darcy demanded, “Did you hope to profit from Mrs. Fitzwilliams’s disappearance?” Even though MacBethan answered honestly, he despised how the man told only bits of the truth. Why could the Scot not tell the whole story without their questioning him so thoroughly? What was the man hiding?

  “Not until I’s sees me aunt earlier in the day. I be thinkin’ when I come across Aunt Dolina out on the moor that I need to escape Normanna. If’n I kin find a way, I be foolish not to take advantage of me opportunities.”

  Edward purposely fingered his sword’s blade to make a point. “Your tale makes little sense. You meet an Englishman and then ride out of your way to learn of a woman whom you have never met.”

  MacBethan’s eyes followed Edward’s gesture. “I be leavin’ out why the Englishman’s speech brings me to seek out Mrs. Fitzwilliam.” He turned his head to speak directly to Darcy. “Aunt Dolina had set me a task.”

  Darcy fought the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. Would the man never complete his tale? “And that would be?”

  MacBethan continued cautiously, “To discover Lady Esme’s true identity.”

  “Lady Esme?” Edward’s scrutiny increased.

  The Scot winced. “The gel Dolina ’as chosen fer her youngest son Aulay, although word ’as it that Domhnall ’as
taken a liking to the gel.”

  “Then Lord Wotherspoon purposely hid the woman’s presence from us?” Darcy accused.

  “I doubt me cousin saw it as such,” MacBethan said. “Domhnall jist be discoverin’ of late the extent of his mother’s maneuverings. Did ye ask Wotherspoon about Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”

  “No,” Darcy said softly. Did all Scotsmen despise the English so much that they would purposely lie rather than to help his fellow man? “We thought it best only to ask of the horse.”

  “As Domhnall likely knew nothing of the ’orse, me cousin most naturally dinnae judge the connection. And even if he did consider on it, he likely be cautious in disclosing the lady’s presence to complete strangers.”

  Edward refused to deem what Lord Wotherspoon did or did not know. Darcy’s cousin simply wanted straight answers. He demanded, “What task did Lady Wotherspoon set?”

  The Scot’s confidence faded when he looked upon the major general’s banked anger. “Dolina be savin’ the gel for Aulay. Lady Esme ’olds no memory of her life before comin’ to Normanna. Dolina sent me to discover wot I cud of the gel’s history. Me aunt means to marry off the woman as soon as possible.”

  “If this woman is Mrs. Fitzwilliam, she already has a husband,” Edward hissed.

  “Then Dolina asks fer a reward to keep quiet. Besides the gel claims her husband be dead. She ’as no father fer her child.”

  “A child?” Edward’s voice exploded in the small room. He was on his feet immediately. “Georgiana is with child?” He turned pleadingly to Darcy.

  “Not to my knowledge,” Darcy said quietly. “But my sister has been away from Pemberley for nearly six weeks. Perhaps she wished to tell you before telling the rest of the family. But allow me to caution you, Cousin. We do not know for certain that Lady Esme is our family.”

  Edward paced the open area. He ignored Darcy’s suggestion of prudence. “We must recover Georgiana, Darcy.”

  Darcy stood before his cousin. “We will, but we require more information before we can go using a battering ram on Normanna’s door.”

  Edward nodded curtly. Then he pulled his chair to where MacBethan would see only him. “You will tell us everything you know of this Lady Esme and where she is being held inside Normanna Hall.”

  Domhnall knocked sharply on Lady Esme’s door. He had set himself the task of ridding his home of his mother’s influence and that exorcism would begin with Lady Esme Lockhart. When the door opened to reveal the woman who had quickly captured his heart, Domhnall breathed more easily. “Would you walk with me, my Lady?”

  A quick nod signaled her agreement. She closed the door behind her and accepted his proffered arm. Domhnall turned their steps toward the garden’s entrance. He waited until they were well away from the house before he spoke. “Normanna had visitors today.”

  She kept her eyes diverted from his gaze, which worried him more than Domhnall would have cared to admit. “I observed the gentlemen from my window.”

  “Did you recognize them, my Lady?” he asked with more calmness than his racing heart would betray.

  Her eyes sharpened. “Should I have?”

  “The gentlemen inquired of a missing horse, but I wondered if they knew of your presence at my home,” he confessed. “If they be your family, my Lady, I will return you safely to their bosom.”

  “And if I am not part of the gentlemen’s families?” she asked tentatively.

  He brought her fingertips to his lips. “I have developed an affection for you, Esme. Without destroying everything for which my ancestors stood, it is my wish to clear Normanna of all vestiges of my mother’s reign. I would claim you as my own and pledge to spend my days as your husband and protector. I would raise your child as my own and offer him or her a fine settlement upon his coming of age.”

  “Tell me of the gentlemen, Lord Wotherspoon,” she said simply.

  Domhnall seated her on a wooden bench, but he did not relinquish her hand. “They were a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Major General Edward Fitzwilliam, whose family owns a property in Galloway.” Domhnall reached into his pocket to retrieve two calling cards and handed them to her. He watched closely as Esme examined the cards carefully before she returned them to his open palm. “Do you recognize either name?” he asked anxiously.

  She shook her head in the negative, and Domhnall expelled the breath he did not know he held. “I do not believe the gentlemen are my kinfolk,” she said with some disappointment.

  Domhnall squeezed her hand. “In many ways I am sorry for it, my Lady; yet, my heart speaks a different language. I wish nothing more than to bestow my name upon you.”

  “Yet, I maintain the need to know of my past, my Lord. Before I can make a commitment, I must know the truth of how I came to Normanna.”

  “Could you describe the woman known as Lady Esme?” Darcy asked with more calm than he felt. He had to keep Edward focused while attaining as much information as he could from Munro MacBethan.

  “Ye will see me paid fer me information?” the Scot asked tentatively.

  Darcy’s gaze narrowed. “If what you say proves true, then you will earn my gratitude, but if you waste our time with some perverted scheme, you will find Scotland too small to escape my wrath.”

  The Scot nodded his understanding. “I only see the gel twice. Once when she be in the cells and once when she walked about with Wotherspoon.” Neither Darcy nor his cousin responded, so MacBethan continued his tale. “The lass be fair of hair and lithe of figure.”

  “How tall?” Edward asked.

  “Mayhap to me shoulder,” MacBethan responded.

  Darcy said softly. “Taller than Georgiana.” He meant it as a caution to his cousin not to place all his hopes on MacBethan’s story, but Edward was singular in his thoughts. Darcy understood the major general’s urgency; he felt it also. Every day that Georgiana went unfound decreased their chances of locating his sister alive, but something about MacBethan’s tale spoke of sclerous devices operating at Normanna.

  “What else can you tell us of the woman?” Edward sounded remarkably calm for a man whose face held such sorrow.

  “The gel be English in ’er speech and ’er manners,” MacBethan declared. “That be probably the reason Domhnall ’as taken a liking to Lady Esme. He spent most of ’is life in England. Me cousin could never convince ’is first wife Maighread to reside in England, while Domhnall could not tolerate livin’ in ’is homeland.”

  Darcy took up a position by the window. He attempted nonchalance. He would ask questions not of Georgiana’s disappearance but of Wotherspoon’s obvious nefarious actions. “You spoke previously of this woman, Lady Esme, being held in a cell. What type of cell?”

  “There be cells from the monastery’s ruins. Even religious men have enemies.” A shiver shook MacBethan’s shoulders. “It not be a place for good men, Mr. Darcy.”

  “And what happens to those held in the cells?” Darcy asked cautiously. He thought he knew the answer, but he would have MacBethan spell out the truth.

  The Scot paled. “I be there only once. It was I who found Lady Esme below and told Domhnall about the lass. I be curious, but…” His head dropped as if in sorrow. “A man should not see such evils and not go blind.”

  MacBethan’s words caused Darcy’s shoulders to stiffen. His heart lurched in his chest. “Explain, Mr. MacBethan.”

  “The men held there…they be allowed to die.”

  All the air in the room fled as his dread mounted. “Were those who found themselves placed in Normanna’s lower levels…did they find themselves in the same situation as the appropriated animals of which we spoke earlier?” Darcy’s voice betrayed his emotions.

  “Aye, Sir.” The Scot sobbed.

  Edward was on his feet in an angry explosion. He caught MacBethan up by his lapels. With his face inches from their captive’s, Darcy’s cousin snarled, “Men were held as a source of food? You expect us to believe such preposterous lies?” He gave MacBethan a good shake.


  Darcy pried his cousin’s hands from the Scot’s body. “We need to hear MacBethan’s story, Edward,” he said as he placed himself between their only source of information and the Major General.

  Edward glared at him, but he accepted Darcy’s warning. With a curt nod, he strode away. Darcy turned to MacBethan and patted the man’s shoulder. “Your tale is not an easy one to swallow for several reasons. The Major General worries for his wife.” He would offer no other excuse for his cousin’s actions. The man they had taken prisoner had an active knowledge of the atrocities perpetrated by the MacBethan household on innocent travelers, but he had done nothing to bring a halt to those reprehensible activities. How could he trust such a person to speak the whole truth? Yet, he possessed no other leads to the mystery of his sister’s disappearance. He gestured to MacBethan to return to his seat, and he took the one Edward had abandoned. “How long have the cells been in use?”

  “Donnae know fer certain. I dinnae come to stay at Normanna until Domhnall’s father Coll passed, and even then I be traveling back and forth between Normanna and Islav’s place in Crieff. Coll be ill a long time, and Aunt Dolina ran the keep. I dinnae learn of wot happened below until after Domhnall’s return.”

  “Does Lord Wotherspoon know of this travesty?” Darcy initially thought the man a tormented soul, but now he considered Normanna’s lord as evil as the others.

  “Domhnall and Dolina have had a battle of wills of late. As with the animals, I assume me cousin negligent by ignorance, not by intent. Wot man wud consider his mother capable of such evil? He seemed surprised when I told him of the girl’s presence. He swore he wud get to the bottom of what went on under his roof. I wud guess that Domhnall has possessed only limited knowledge until recently.”

  “And what has Lord Wotherspoon done to correct the wrongs?” Edward demanded coldly.

  MacBethan shook his head in disgust. “Not enough to please the likes of you.” He swallowed hard. “Domhnall tried to avoid the scandal.”