Darcy's Ultimatum

by Jennifer Joy

  “Look at you, Miss Bennet, sitting high and mighty. If I had not needed the money so badly, I might have pursued you more. I believe you enjoyed my company,” Wickham swayed and swaggered. To Elizabeth, he appeared either drunk or crazy. Perhaps both. She wrapped her arm around Georgiana and held fast.

  “I thank the circumstances that prevented me from spending more time in your company. You are a despicable man.”

  Wickham laughed before banging his fist against their table and leaning in until his face was close enough to feel his breath. He was not drunk. Elizabeth could smell no liquor. He was crazy in his desperation for money and she had frustrated his plans. Elizabeth swallowed hard but kept her gaze steady.

  “I could not care less what you think, you poor daughter of a nobody. I was meant for greater things and the Darcys owe me. I only take what is mine.” He looked at Georgiana, who shriveled into herself under his stare.

  Burly Jo came over from the bar, a rope and cloth in his hands. “Enough conversation, Wickham. You need to take the young miss and go. Mr. Grisley is getting impatient.”

  Elizabeth glanced behind Jo to the weasel-man behind the bar who was rubbing his hands together and smiling a snarly smile at her. She wished she had not read so many Gothic novels for all sorts of devious ways he could dispose of her came to mind.

  Her protective arm still around Georgiana, she measured their distance to the door. They would never make it past the guard looking out the window. Jo was too big and strong to shake off. And Wickham was unpredictable. She looked at Georgiana. Georgiana looked at her. They seemed to realize that all they had at that moment was each other to depend on. It would not be enough.

  Elizabeth grew stronger as her fright gave way to anger. She glared at Wickham. “You are not going to touch Georgiana.” She twisted her head around to look directly at Jo. “Do you realize what Mr. Darcy will do to you if he discovers your involvement in the kidnapping of his only daughter? You would beg to be sent to the tower.”

  “You are in no position to negotiate, young lady. Jo, tie her up and gag her. She talks too much,” Mr. Grisley ordered.

  Jo grabbed for Elizabeth’s hands and she screamed as loud as she could, but Jo knew her trick and quickly slapped his giant hand over her open mouth. Elizabeth bit down into his thick fingers and managed another scream, adding to the yelps of Jo, before he stuffed a wad of cloth into her mouth. Elizabeth only hoped someone had heard through the thick walls.

  “Boss, take a look at this.” The guard by the window pointed outside.

  Mr. Grisley looked out the window, then turned on Wickham. “You brought them here. You imbecile.”

  Without a word, Wickham drew his pistol and charged the window. Elizabeth’s ears rang with the shot fired and the smoke stung her eyes, but she was aware of the opportunity. Pulling the wad of cloth out of her mouth, Elizabeth shoved Georgiana under the table and tipped the benches on either side of them. They were harder to reach behind their barricade and if a gunfight were to ensue, she and Georgiana had some protection behind the thick oak planks. It would have to do. Someone had come to their rescue!

  Bingley’s House, 4 o’clock

  Darcy tensed. “Father, what is wrong?”

  “Georgie!” Father paused to catch his breath. “She is gone. Her maid thinks she has been kidnapped.”

  Fear prickled down to the tips of Darcy’s fingers.

  Bingley got up and poured a stiff drink for Mr. Darcy, which the older gentleman gladly accepted. Nobody sat except for Miss Bingley, who appeared to faint on the couch. Even Miss Bennet stood.

  Darcy forced his mind to remain calm. He needed facts. “What exactly do you know? What else did the maid say?”

  “I suspect she knows more than what she says, but the end of the matter is that Wickham— that no-good louse— went off with Georgie. And there was another lady too. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Father looked directly at Darcy as he enunciated Elizabeth’s name.

  Darcy’s heart stopped while his mind raced. They had to find them. There was no time to waste.

  Turning to Miss Bennet, Darcy said, “You must inform your uncle.”

  “I will see you home safely, Jane,” offered Bingley.

  “No, Charles. You need to find them and I would slow you down. Lend me one of your carriages and I will be safe enough, if you will.”

  Bingley barked instructions to his butler and Jane rushed home. Miss Bingley sighed on the couch, coming out of her fainting spell, but Darcy ignored her.

  Travel was quicker by horse and Bingley had some of the finest in his stable. They were ready and waiting in front of the house in short time.

  Darcy mounted a dapple gray. The horse responded to his rider’s anxiety, chomping at the bit and prancing. “Where have you searched, Father?”

  “I came directly from Mr. Haggerston’s office. That is where the maid found me. I gave orders for her to have some of our household staff stay home should Georgie return. Others have begun searching around town. I alerted Richard immediately by messenger to instruct him to squeeze Wickham’s acquaintances for information. Then, I came here hoping to find you. Whether it was divine intervention, luck, or me knowing your habits… I do not know. But, you are here and we must go.”

  “Perhaps I should check the taverns and inns Wickham is known to frequent,” said Bingley.

  The men fell silent. The gravity of Georgiana’s and Elizabeth’s plight hit Darcy full-force.

  Smacking the reins in his hand Darcy said, “If Wickham has hurt them in any way…” No punishment was severe enough; no words harsh enough to express his feelings at that moment.

  “Let us pray we have no need for drastic measures, Son. Rather, let us be on our way. We are wasting too much time. Bingley, do make sure your footmen know where to find us should any news come this way.”

  Directions were called out and each man rode into their section of the city.

  Darcy looked at every face he passed. He looked in open doors and windows; he entered places Wickham was likely to hide in. He asked every stable and inn if a coach had been let and inquired about its occupants. No stone was left unturned, but the clock was ticking and he was no closer to finding his sister and love than he had been the half hour before.

  Turning out of the alley onto the street, Darcy looked behind him and saw a man waving from his horse and riding in his direction. Darcy squinted into the late afternoon sun, but there was no doubt the rider was Mr. Gardiner. Maybe he brings news.

  Mr. Gardiner seemed excited, but Darcy bowed his head to Elizabeth’s uncle. “Mr. Gardiner. I am so sorry your niece got involved in this.”

  Mr. Gardiner cut him off. “Nay, for we have news. We must hurry. I will explain while we ride.”

  Mr. Gardiner led Darcy toward the Thames.

  “One of Mr. Bingley’s men told me where to find you. I must have arrived only moments after you left. Some of his household staff are alerting the others as we speak. I should not be surprised if they beat us to our destination.”

  Turning a corner, they saw Bingley.

  “Excellent timing Bingley. We will need reinforcements, I think,” said Mr. Gardiner as they caught up to him.

  “Where are we going?” asked Darcy.

  “We are going to The Wild Boar down by the water. Wickham was seen to enter the tavern with the girls and none of them have been seen to come out. My men have been placed to watch the entrances. I would not have believed Mr. Collins to be of any redeeming use, but it was he who discovered Wickham’s kidnapping and had the sense to follow the group to the tavern.”

  Darcy was surprised at this turn of events. Even though Mr. Collins was everything disagreeable and an individual with whom he would never cultivate a friendship, Darcy felt grateful to him.

  They neared the tavern. The Wild Boar. A painting of a menacing animal with giant tusks next to the bold, black letters made the rundown building all the more threatening. Its two stories were sandwiched on either side by equally
ominous constructions in such a way that gave it shade during the daytime. Darcy guessed Wickham would be hiding in the upper rooms.

  Mr. Collins peeked out from behind an empty barrel of ale. He approached the horses looking full of importance while assuming a subservient posture. He was accompanied by one of Mr. Gardiner’s footmen.

  Bowing while he walked forward and nearly tripping on one of the stones in the road, Mr. Collins said, “Mr. Darcy it truly is an honor to be of service to such a close relation to my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I have ensured that our parties of interest have not left the building, though the vigilance has been long and difficult…”

  Darcy stopped listening as Mr. Collins continued to speak. It was clear that extracting information would take longer and cost more effort than it was worth. Darcy’s intuition was confirmed when he saw Mr. Gardiner’s footman’s eyes glaze over. Darcy felt for the man. Who would want to pass a minute more than necessary with such a man as Collins? He spoke just as he danced: blundering and full of self-importance. Still, he had brought them to Georgiana and Elizabeth.

  “I thank you, Mr. Collins. You have done a great service not only to my family, but to your own.” Darcy looked around impatiently, wanting to storm the tavern but knowing he should wait for more men.

  Bingley rotated on his horse. “Your father is here, Darcy. I see the Colonel is with him.”

  Darcy relaxed as he loosened his hold on the reins. “Good. If we have more manpower, Wickham will be easier to deal with. We do not know who might be with him inside. I doubt he is acting alone.”

  George Darcy and Richard nodded to the group of men as they reigned in.

  Next thing Darcy knew, a shot sounded and a woman screamed from inside the tavern.

  Chapter 23

  A shot. A woman’s scream.

  Darcy charged toward the tavern on his horse. He heard shouts and horses behind him and prayed they could rescue Georgiana and Elizabeth before it was too late.

  His horse had not even stopped before Darcy hopped off and ran to the door. Not knowing what to expect, he rammed his full bodyweight against it. When he flew into the room headfirst, he was relieved he had had sense enough to draw his pistol.

  Surrounding him and the front door were four armed men— all pointing their weapon of choice at him.

  Where were the girls?

  The flurry of activity as the rest of his party entered the room distracted the men in the tavern enough that Darcy searched the room. Under a table, he saw a pair of brown eyes peeking over an overturned bench on the far side of the tavern. Elizabeth was safe. Briefly their eyes met and Darcy knew he never wanted Elizabeth out of his sight again. His sister’s blue eyes appeared over the bench. Even in the shadowy room, Darcy could see they were swollen and red with tears. But, the girls were safe. He breathed and took in his surroundings, his attention fully focused on the men in front of him.

  One man was big and looked like he could do more damage with a fist than with a weapon. Another man standing next to him held a length of iron which he smacked against his hand in a steady rhythm.

  A wiry, greasy-looking man stood slightly behind the burly man. Most likely not a fighter, he must be the brains of whatever this operation was. Darcy decided not to underestimate him. Darcy could take him in a hand-to-hand fight, but he was no match for the pistol in the man’s hands.

  Wickham was the only other man in the room. His look was bitter and full of vengeance. He would be dangerous. He was desperate and his pistol shook in rage.

  The men stood facing each other— the only noise the sound of their own breathing. The tension mounted and Darcy almost jumped out of his skin when he heard his father speak from behind him.

  With a booming, authoritative voice, Mr. Darcy said, “I demand you hand over the ladies.”

  The wiry man stepped forward, standing next to the burly man. “You must be Mr. Darcy. I would have much preferred our business to be done at a distance. I find this most inconvenient.” He glared at Wickham to his right.

  “What business have I with you?” George Darcy demanded.

  “Your godson, Mr. Wickham, owes me a significant sum of money. He was to marry your daughter and sign her dowry over to me in exchange for his life.” He rubbed his hands together and let the words sink in, like he enjoyed it.

  “You would ruin an innocent girl over money? Even kill a man?” demanded Mr. Darcy.

  The wiry man cackled. “I care not for his life, nor for that of your daughter. Only my payment. It is a rather large amount.”

  Richard stepped forward, a pistol in one hand and a sword at his side. “Gentlemen, my men are on their way here as we speak. You are already outnumbered and will be hopelessly so in a matter of moments. I suggest we resolve this as gentlemen. Release the ladies.”

  Darcy, impressed at his cousin’s ability to sound calm under pressure, gripped his pistol more firmly. While he had strong opinions on the value of life, he would protect the people he loved. He trusted his aim enough to know he could slow a man down without killing him. Keeping his focus on Wickham, who looked crazed enough to do somebody harm, Darcy stood with a wide stance in case the burly man decided to charge.

  Nobody spoke. Darcy dared not move a muscle.

  “Release the girls. Let them out of this place,” repeated Richard in a more insistent tone.

  Darcy looked under the table again. Elizabeth watched attentively while only the top of Georgiana’s head was visible behind the bench.

  A movement in the corner of his eye turned Darcy’s blood cold. Time slowed as he saw Wickham point his pistol in Darcy’s direction. Without hesitation, Darcy took aim and fired back. The room filled with the smoke of discharged guns. It burned Darcy’s eyes as he looked around from a crouch on the floor to see if anyone else was shooting.

  A loud grunt behind him confirmed a hit while Wickham shouted and whined in front of him, grasping his arm. Darcy paid him no mind, but looked to reassure himself that the table where the ladies hid remained undisturbed. It was only a flesh wound. He was sure he had barely nicked Wickham. More is the pity.

  Darcy’s father had stepped back until he was leaning against the countertop of the bar, his face an ashen white. Blood trickled down his coat sleeve and oozed out between the fingers that gripped his injured arm.

  All thoughts of pistols and danger fled as Darcy went to his father. Quickly, he peeled off his coat and pressed it against his father’s arm.

  Delicate hands, tanned from the sun, appeared next to him and Elizabeth’s soothing voice reassured Mr. Darcy and calmed him as they laid him down on top of a nearby table. Darcy looked about the room to see that his family and friends had subdued the kidnappers.

  Georgiana crawled out from under the table and crossed the room to sit on a bench next to Elizabeth and her father. She wept as she mopped the sweat from her father’s face and smoothed his brow.

  “Father, I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” Her apology became a chant which she only stopped when Wickham yelled at her, still clutching his arm.

  “You useless little brat. Because of you, I am ruined. Be glad your mother died bringing you into this world or she would have died of shame.”

  Enough was enough. Darcy sprung up, took three long strides across the room, and felt his fist connect with Wickham’s nose. Darcy heard a satisfying crunch while a stabbing pain spread up his forearm.

  Wickham dropped to the floor and Darcy flexed his hand to regain feeling.

  A laugh from Richard, who had secured the wiry man and the burly man with the help of Bingley and Mr. Gardiner, drew a smile to Darcy’s face. Very rarely did he give in to emotion, but when he did, it was always a momentous occasion.

  “Wickham was too pretty anyway, Darcy. I consider you did him a favor,” Richard said as he continued to laugh.

  “If you had not done it, I certainly would have. Nobody speaks like that to my little girl,” said Mr. Darcy as he reached up with his good arm to hold Georgiana’s h
and.

  As Darcy returned to his father’s side, he saw Georgiana produce a clean, white handkerchief. GW was stitched in neat gold letters in the corner. She pressed it against Father’s arm. Darcy shook his head at himself. How had he not noticed Wickham’s influence on his own sister? All of her romantic talk about loving one’s inferior… Darcy determined to keep a more watchful eye on the people he held dear.

  Several officers entered the tavern then. They took over watch of the criminals while Richard detailed the situation.

  Darcy returned to his father’s side. Elizabeth asked one of the officers if there was a surgeon nearby and could he make haste to retrieve him. At this, Mr. Darcy protested and attempted to sit up.

  “I have not been sick a day of my life. I do not need a surgeon for this little scratch.”

  He tried to sit up again and Elizabeth calmly and firmly held him down.

  “Mr. Darcy, it appears that your wound is not fatal, but it very much concerns me that you have lost a lot of blood. Please, sir, you must stay down and let the surgeon see to your wound.”

  Darcy wanted to chuckle at how well Elizabeth handled his obstinate father. His coat was soaked in blood, but it did seem to be slowing down.

  “So you are the Miss Elizabeth I have heard about. I am pleased to finally meet you, though I do wish the circumstances in our meeting were better.” Mr. Darcy inspected Elizabeth and Darcy looked for something to distract his father before he said something embarrassing.

  Jumping over the counter, Darcy found a bottle of whiskey. Pouring a glass, he held it by his father’s mouth so he could drink.

  “Keep that bottle out, Son.” He smiled weakly, his strength waning.

  Darcy’s gaze moved to the tavern door, wishing the surgeon would make haste. He looked over to Richard who stood in a corner of the room with some of his men, Mr. Gardiner, and the four criminals. Wickham had a swollen eye and a bloody nose and sat propped up against a wall on the filthy tavern floor.