A Sister's Curse

by Jayne Bamber

  He slipped the packet into his briefcase and prepared to leave for Upper Brook Street at once. As he left his study, he caught sight of his mother and Mary in the drawing room. “William,” his mother cried. “Where are you going? Jane was so very upset.”

  “I am sorry, Mother – it could not be helped. I have some business, and then I shall return and explain it all, and makes amends with Jane. I swear it. You had all better stay at home until I come back.”

  “Jane went to see Richard, at Matlock House,” Mary said. “She was angry with you, but she would not tell us why – only that she could not bear to be anywhere near you.”

  “William,” his mother said firmly. “You had better tell us what all this is about. First Lizzy, now Jane?”

  They were interrupted. A footman cleared his throat, and offered Darcy a note, which he tore open at once. “Good God!”

  “What is it, William?”

  Darcy looked up at his mother and sister as his face twisted in despair. “I ought to have been there already,” he breathed.

  “Brother,” Mary whimpered, “whatever is the matter?”

  “George Wickham is alive,” he said bluntly, “and he has attempted to abduct Elizabeth.”

  ***

  Richard checked his pocket watch as he and his trusted former subordinates departed Matlock House and set off across the square. It was a quarter till ten; he was already late.

  “What is all this about,” Major Pruett asked.

  “I do not know yet,” Richard admitted, “but I daresay it is nothing good. In fact, I suspect it may be rather serious. We better make haste.”

  It was quiet on the square. It occurred to Richard that nearly all of their neighbors in Grosvenor Square had actually been at the ball last night, and likely they were all still abed, for the festivities had gone late. There was hardly anybody about; pedestrians and carriages were rather thin on the street that morning, save for one equipage, which Richard did not recognize, parked in front of Sir Edward’s house. He quickened his step.

  “Drew, Buchanan, go left. Watch the coachman. Pruett, you and I will go right.” Richard would have preferred more cover on the street – it was impossible to make his way there with any degree of stealth, and he was forced to make up for it with speed. As he rounded the square toward Upper Brook Street, he saw a man descend the front steps of the Gardiner residence and shove Elizabeth into the carriage. Richard broke into a sprint, and the man looked over at the sound of his footfalls. It was George Wickham.

  Wickham laughed when he saw Richard come around the back of the carriage; he pushed Elizabeth into the equipage and swiftly drew a gun out of his breast pocket. He trained it on Richard, who likewise had drawn his own weapon. At his side, Major Pruett had done the same. The two men stopped not five yards distant from Wickham, their pistols trained on him, and Richard slowly began to inch to the side, that he might get a visual on Elizabeth.

  Wickham likewise moved toward the carriage, sneering at him. “Well, well, Richard – it has been a while, has it not? I hear you think to claim my fiancée as your bride. What a pity another of her paramours might turn up dead.”

  Slowly, a little white hand emerged from the open door of the carriage and Elizabeth peered out – she grabbed Wickham by the scruff of the neck and jerked his head back, while her other hand brought a comically small purse gun to his exposed throat. “I think not,” she snarled. She pressed the gun against his skin. “My cousin Collins gave me this,” she said with a vicious laugh. “It turns out, you were as right about him as he was about you.”

  The coachman had stood and leaned around, his own gun pointed down at Elizabeth. She drew back into the carriage, kicking at the back of Wickham’s leg, causing him to stumble.

  At that moment, Lieutenant Buchanan moved from behind the front of the carriage. He seized the coachman by the ankle and pulled him from the top. A shot rang out as the coachman toppled down from the carriage; his bullet ricocheted off the metal fence in front of the house, and struck him in the neck. Lieutenant Buchanan quickly took the man’s weapon and restrained him.

  Wickham regained his footing and hesitated, pointing his gun between Richard and Elizabeth. Richard fired a warning shot at the ground. “Drop your weapon, Wickham.”

  Wickham ignored him and seized Elizabeth from the carriage, putting her body in front of his, and raising his gun to her head before she could turn hers on him. “Tell your men to stand down, Richard!”

  Richard kept his eyes locked on Wickham, betraying nothing as he turned his pistol to the side and gestured for Major Pruett beside him to lower his weapon as well. Behind Wickham, Sergeant Drew slowly crept forward, getting close enough to strike Wickham on the top of the head with the butt of his gun.

  Elizabeth shrieked and moved away from Wickham as he collapsed beside her, still trying to keep her little purse gun pointed on the villain. Richard rose from his semi-recumbent posture and rushed to Elizabeth’s side. “Take him,” he commanded his men. “Bring him inside and tie him up in the cellar.”

  Richard wrapped his arms around Elizabeth, who was not crying, but shaking violently in his arms. “You are safe, Lizzy,” he said, kissing her on the top of her head. Elizabeth drew away from him, a queer look on her face. “There is a length of rope in the carriage,” she whispered, her voice numb. He nodded, and took the little gun from her hands with an appreciative smile. “Collins, eh?”

  She smiled weakly at him. “I daresay he would rather not hear how close I came to using it. I am so glad I had it in my reticule. He had my arms pinned behind my back as he brought me out; had you not come, I was waiting for him to put me in the carriage, thinking it would be my chance to pull the gun from my reticle.”

  “Lizzy, I am so proud of you,” Richard said, hugging her close. “My old friend, I cannot think what would have happened if….”

  She shook her head and turned away, leaning in to the carriage; she took the length of rope that had been on the seat. Her eyes were wide and her face pale as she handed it to him, and he had no need to ask what she was thinking at such a moment.

  “Come,” he said, wrapping his arm protectively around her, “let us get you inside.”

  Pruett and Drew had hoisted Wickham’s inert body off the ground, as Buchanan did likewise with the coachman. “Take them in through the back,” Richard said. “Tie them up in the cellar, nice and tight. Pruett, Buchanan, stay with them, and Drew, report back to me.”

  Elizabeth looked up at the window, and Richard followed her gaze – Rose’s horror struck face appeared in the window like a ghost. A moment later, a maid belatedly burst out the door with another pistol just like Elizabeth’s; the poor girl looked rather stunned to see that it was all over. Richard laughed and looked down at his cousin. “I see Rose got one too, eh?”

  ***

  Richard led Elizabeth into the house, and guided her to a sofa near the fire in the drawing room. No sooner had he wrapped a blanket around her than Rose flew into the room, and was at Elizabeth’s side in an instant. “Oh Lizzy, I was so scared,” she wailed.

  “I should wager Lizzy was rather scared, too, Rose.”

  “Oh, Lizzy!”

  Elizabeth gave a wry smile. “As a matter of fact, I was not. I was angry, but I was not frightened.” She could sense that Richard was disconcerted by her unlikely calm, but in truth she was so stunned she could scarcely feel anything at all, other than relieved that it was over. “Where is William?”

  Richard checked his watch. “That is a very good question – he ought to be here any minute. Perhaps I should send word to Darcy House, if he has been detained – my father is already on the warpath this morning, and I was late myself because of it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing to worry yourself over. You should sit and calm your nerves. You there, maid, give Miss Rose her gun back, and go see about some tea. But wait – a coffee for me, and two hot chocolates, I think, for your ladies.” Richard turned back to E
lizabeth, and she could tell his mind was racing. “Where is your uncle?”

  “He received word that there was a burglary at one of his warehouses, and left not twenty minutes ago,” Elizabeth said slowly. “I suppose that was a ruse, so that I might be taken.” She looked down at her shaking hands, and Rose covered them with her own, leaning against Elizabeth on the sofa.

  Richard let out a string of oaths, and strode over to Elizabeth’s little writing desk in the corner. He wrote out several notes, and bellowed for one of the footmen. “You there, boy. Get another of the servants to help you in the delivery of these. This to Darcy House, this to Sir Edward, this to the magistrate, and this to Matlock House – in that order.”

  Elizabeth was still sitting numbly with Rose when their refreshments were brought in. The maid gave her a reassuring smile as she pushed a plate of Elizabeth’s favorite strawberry tarts at her, and Richard pulled a flask out of his pocket, pouring a generous dose into Elizabeth’s hot chocolate. “Drink this, my dear,” he said.

  Elizabeth did as she was bid. A moment later, one of Richard’s companions returned to the room. “The prisoners are secure, sir.”

  “Very good, Drew. You are to report to Number 4, Bow Street, and return at once with one of the runners. Ask for John Renard. And, Drew – he need not know that Wickham is still in the house. He got away.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When Sergeant Drew had left, Elizabeth looked at Richard. “Please, sit down; you are making me nervous.”

  “I am sorry, Elizabeth.” Richard sat down in a chair nearby. “I am only anxious for Darcy to arrive, and before I question Wickham, I should very much like to ask my cousin just why that villain is even alive.”

  “So Mr. Smythe… he is George Wickham?” Elizabeth was still reeling. “Was he not lost at sea three years ago?”

  “Would that he was! Darcy better have a damned good explanation.”

  A carriage pulled up in front of the house, and Rose ran to the window. “It is Mr. Collins!”

  Elizabeth sat in awkward silence for a moment with Richard; she could feel the anger radiating out of him, and she began to grow rather distressed herself. Was this what William had meant to tell her when he promised to call this morning? Did Jane know? How would this affect Jane’s engagement to Richard? The questions swirled around in her head, without connecting to any sensible answers.

  Mr. Collins hesitated as he stepped into the drawing room, instantly sensing the tension. His eyes flew to the little purse gun that was still in Rose’s hand, folded in her lap.

  “Sally,” Rose gasped, “Please, take this back to my dressing table.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Mr. Collins’s gaze flicked between the three of them for a moment before his eyes settled on Elizabeth. “Cousin, what has happened? I had an ill feeling this morning, and I could not get that villain Smythe off my mind.”

  “Yes, he was here,” Elizabeth said.

  “His name is George Wickham,” Richard spat. “He is the son of the former Mr. Darcy’s steward, and was engaged to Jane Darcy until, we were told, nearly three years ago, that he had died at sea.”

  “And he has come here, masquerading to Elizabeth as someone else all this time?”

  “That is correct,” came a deep voice. William strode into the room, Uncle Edward trailing behind him.

  Her uncle looked out of breath, and placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “I was making my way home when I received your message, Richard. He lured me out to my warehouses, and I fell into his trap like a useless old fool,” her uncle groaned. “I am so sorry, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth nodded, feeling tears finally begin to prick her eyes, and she threw herself into her uncle’s arms. William moved closer, stroking Elizabeth’s hair even as her uncle embraced her. She broke away from Uncle Edward at last and looked up at William with so many questions on her tongue, she could not speak at all.

  He looked dejectedly at her for a moment. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I ought to have been here in time to stop him. Can you forgive me?”

  Before Elizabeth could speak, Richard began to rail at William. “What the devil is all this about, William? If I find out that you knew the bastard was alive, I am going to kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Richard, stop,” Elizabeth cried.

  “No, Lizzy, I shall have my answer. Now, William.”

  “Everybody calm down,” Mr. Collins shouted. The room fell silent, though the tension hung about them still.

  “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” William said. “I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for your warning to me last night. You have, quite possibly, saved Elizabeth’s life, and I cannot express to you what it means to me.”

  Mr. Collins gave a very cordial bow. “I am honored to be of assistance.”

  William extended Mr. Collins his hand. “If there is ever anything I can do, anything at all –”

  Mr. Collins shook William’s hand and nodded. “I see I have come at a difficult time. Sir Edward, I wonder if Miss Rose might like to play for me in the music room?”

  Sir Edward nodded. “Yes – thank you, Will. Door open, Rose.”

  Elizabeth stared at her uncle, her emotions a jumble at the sight of him looking so stricken. “Rose saw... you will want to talk to her later,” she whispered.

  Uncle Edward looked back at her with tired eyes. “And what exactly did she see?”

  William had drawn closer to Elizabeth, and wrapped his hand around hers, clearly both eager and afraid to hear her answer.

  “Mr. Smythe – Mr. Wickham came into the house, and I told him that he should not be here. He told me Mrs. Younge had wished to visit me, had fallen on the stairs outside, and that she required my assistance. I cannot think why, but I picked up my reticule as I went outside, and Mrs. Younge was not there. There was a carriage waiting, the door open. He seized my arms and pinned them behind my back, and dragged me down the steps. As he was putting me into the carriage, I saw Richard running across the square. I... I scarcely remember the rest, it all happened so fast.” She looked over to Richard, who filled William and her uncle in on the rest.

  No sooner was this done than the magistrate, Mr. Moore, arrived and Elizabeth was obliged to repeat her story over again, as the magistrate took notes. When Mr. Moore had finished, he asked, “And where is Mr. Wickham now, and the wounded driver?”

  Elizabeth glanced up at Richard, remembering what he had told Sergeant Drew. “They got away,” she said evenly.

  Richard gave her an almost imperceptible nod, then told the magistrate, “My men and I gave chase, but we lost them after a few blocks.”

  “And you say your cousin saw this from the window, Miss Bennet?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said. Richard quietly slipped out of the drawing room and walked into the music room. He leaned down and whispered something to Rose, and led her back into the room; she gave her statement, which corroborated Elizabeth’s entirely.

  “You did very well, girls,” Uncle Edward said after the magistrate left. “Mr. Collins, I wonder if my daughter might need some fresh air.” Rose smiled widely, and Mr. Collins seemed eager to please both of them. As Rose and Mr. Collins left the room, Uncle Edward looked between Elizabeth and Richard. “Just to be clear, you have told the magistrate these villains got away, but before that, you told me they are within the house even still.”

  “I am not ready to turn him over until I have had a few words with him,” Richard growled.

  “I believe I shall as well,” Uncle Edward said gruffly. “And you, William? What is your part in all this?”

  Elizabeth peered up at William, wishing to know as much herself. “Did you know?”

  “I knew he was not dead, yes.”

  Richard exploded, and lunged at his cousin. “Damn you, Darcy! You did not think to tell anyone?”

  William dodged Richard’s attack and pushed him backward, his temper rising. “I put him on a ship for America after he came back from his service, gambled
away his earnings in London for six months, and then asked me to triple Jane’s dowry, effectively depriving Mary and Elizabeth of their portions.”

  Richard glowered at William. “And you let your sister think for three long years that he was dead? What is the matter with you, Darcy?”

  “You know damn well he was never good enough for Jane, Richard!”

  Elizabeth gasped. “William, how could you? Jane was devastated!”

  “Should I have let her marry that villain? I knew what he was, even then. He has always been a wastrel and a liar, and I could not let Jane throw herself away on such a man. I tried to warn father, but he would hear nothing against Wickham. I hoped he would die at sea, and when he came back, demanding more money, I knew it would never stop. Better for Jane to think him dead, than to learn the hard way what he is really like.”

  “That is insane,” Richard bellowed. “Did you not see how miserable she was? How could you have allowed such a thing?”

  William looked to Elizabeth, his eyes wide with panic. She wished to say something to put him at ease – in truth, she wished to throw herself into his arms, but she could not reconcile what she was hearing with everything she had come to feel for William. “I thought I knew you,” she breathed, and William looked as though she had struck him.

  “I wanted to tell you,” he sighed.

  “Like hell you did,” Richard snarled.

  “Gentlemen!” Sir Edward thundered. He gestured to the window. To Elizabeth’s relief, she saw her mother walking up to the house. Elizabeth met her in the foyer, and burst into tears in her mother’s arms.