I did not think it possible for anyone to turn any redder than Bennet was before, but somehow, he managed it. Looking around, I was discomfited to see that many of the prostitutes, upon noticing my presence, began primping their hair and batting their eyes. “We are here looking for a particular woman.” I glanced at Bennet, realizing I did not know her name.
“Mrs. Sabrina Young,” Bennet supplied quickly. “We hear she has some healing skills. His friend has been shot, and my sister is ill.”
“You’ve found her,” the woman said, then sighed. “And I was so looking forward to my breakfast.” She gave me a pointed look. “Ah, well, if it is Sabrina the nurse, you need, I had best get my bag. Have you payment on you? I don’t go nowhere unless I get paid up front.”
I opened his mouth to explain the robbery when Bennet pulled a gold pocket watch from his coat and held it up. “Will this do?”
Mrs. Young snatched it and held it to the light of a kerosene lamp. “This is decent quality . . . worth a few hours, I suppose. Who is G.T.B.?”
“My father,” Bennet answered, his face no longer red.
I swore under my breath. I could tell just from looking at it, the watch was far more valuable than a few hours . . . from the gold alone. The fact it was an heirloom . . . “Bennet—”
“It is not worth a man’s life. My father would be the first to agree.” He turned and stomped out the door, his over-large duster swishing around his heels.
I watched him go and made a promise to myself to get that watch back, even though it would only be a drop in the bucket towards a debt I could never repay to the lad.
The watch’s gold chain secured the services of two wagons, horses, and drivers for the trip to our camp and back. Bennet’s last few coins were barely enough to arrange for a night’s lodgings. Velvet’s boarding house did not have rooms, merely beds with straw ticks laid out like army barracks, but it was better than the hard ground.
I rode alongside the wagon so I could speak to Mrs. Young. I explained Bingley’s injury and fever, as well as Miss Bennet’s cough, in as much detail as I could.
She listened patiently, then when I was through she said, “Now you’ve got necessities out of the way, why don’t you say whatever you’ve really been wanting to. I can see a question in your eyes every time you look at me.”
“I hear you know Smilin’ George Wickham.”
She blinked. “That wasn’t a question.”
“Where can I find him?”
She looked me over warily, with none of the carnal appreciation she displayed before. I was grateful. “What do you intend to do when you find him?”
“What I do depends on what he has done to my sister.”
She laughed, “Oh, he does have a way with the ladies, that one does. Convince her to run off with him?”
Bennet flinched. “No, that’s my sister. He kidnapped Mr. Darcy’s sister.”
“Two of them? He’s got both of your sisters?” She could scarcely contain her mirth. “Well, I haven’t known him for long, but I’ve never seen him to do anything to a woman she didn’t ask for—and enjoy! He thinks of himself as a charmer, you see. Hurting a girl would ruin his picture of himself.”
“I have never known him to harm a woman, either, but then again, I had not known him to attack a stage, kill three men, wound another, and kidnap a young girl until yesterday. Georgiana is not a woman to be charmed by him; she is the tool of his revenge against me.”
Mrs. Young let out a decidedly unladylike whistle. “My, he has been busy! I’m surprised no one came to my door last night with wounds needing licking.” She cackled at her own joke.
“Where is he?” I gritted my teeth to keep from shouting at the woman.
She cast me a sidelong glance, a sly look in her eyes. “What’s in it for me? He’s been a good customer, and I have a feeling I won’t be seeing him around any longer if I tell you where he hangs his hat.”
“One thousand dollars, in cash or gold, delivered to you or a bank of your choice.”
Her mouth gaped open. “With that much coin I could buy my own brothel! Or something more respectable,” she added as an afterthought. Her gaze turned suspicious. “How am I to know you’ll keep up your end of the bargain?”
I was utterly sick of having my integrity questioned by thieves, murderers, and whores. “Has anyone a piece of paper?”
Bennet, bless his marvelous soul, produced a leather-bound journal and a stubby pencil from one of his saddlebags and handed them over,
“Do you mind if I remove a page?” I asked.
“No.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” I added ‘purchase a new journal’ to my mental list of things I owed Elias Bennet as I tore out a page and scribbled down a simple contract. My handwriting was terrible on account of being on a moving horse with only a journal to use as a writing desk, but it was legible. Barely. I passed it to Bennet. “Would you please sign this as a witness to my bargain with Mrs. Young?” Bennet did so, signing simply as “E. Bennet” before passing it back. I handed it in turn to Mrs. Young. “I am an attorney, and this contract is legally binding if you choose to sign it. I have included a note to the effect you will receive an additional fifty dollars in return for Mr. Bennet’s watch upon receiving payment.”
Bennet’s eyes widened. “You did not need to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
Mrs. Young gave the document a quick go-over, though from the way her eyes wandered I suspected she could not actually read. This was confirmed when she signed it with a laborious “X” rather than her name. “Done!” she cried as she stuffed the contract down her bodice. “Smilin’ George has himself a place up the hill over there”—she pointed at a distant, densely wooded mound back the way they came. “It’s an abandoned mining town. The vein up there played out and everyone packed up and left about four or five years ago. I don’t think it ever even had a name. The whole hill is riddled with mines, and all their houses are still up there. Just go through Velvet and you’ll find the old trail where they used to haul wagons full of ore. Tracks that deep last for years, can’t miss ’em. Last I saw him, he’d taken over the biggest house as his own.”
Bennet and I exchanged a look of perfect understanding. As soon as our friends were safely in the wagon, we were going after Wickham. I vowed Georgiana would not spend one more night in the bastard’s hands.
Upon reaching the camp, I dismounted and crouched down by Bingley’s side. “How is he?” I asked Mrs. Reynolds and Louisa.
“I am lying right here,” Bingley mumbled hoarsely. “I do not know why you are all so worried about a trifling hole in my leg. It is not as though it is in my head. Though it would not make much of a difference there, according to some . . .” He smiled at Jane Bennet when he said this.
She shook her head. “He keeps making jokes as though any part of this situation is humorous when he’s hot as boiled crawdad and has a bullet in him.” She coughed, then glared. “He is not comical.” Listening to her speak, I realized she sounded much like her brother did when he forgot he was supposed to be an uneducated cowboy. There was something niggling at the corner of my mind, but I could not quite put my finger on it.
Mrs. Young laughed uproariously. “These’re my patients? We’re going to have a hell of a time!”
Jane and Bingley looked at her, then looked at Bennet and me. Jane’s “look” was more of a death glare while Bingley’s was frankly curious. “This is the healer?”
“Not just any healer. Wickham’s healer of choice,” I answered, and understanding dawned on their faces.
It took some time to get everyone and what little remained of our belongings into the wagon. Jane would not leave Bingley alone with Mrs. Young for even a moment, guarding him like a mother bear. Or a jealous wife, depending on how you looked at it. It was nearly noon when our bedraggled caravan set off for Velvet and past two thirty when we arrived. Our responsibilities met, Bennet and I prepared to go after Wickham.
; “Where are you going?” Jane asked her brother when she saw us readying to leave once more.
“After Lydia and Georgiana,” he replied. “We know where Wickham is.”
Jane paled. “You cannot go! Not just the two of you! You should contact the law, gather a posse. You will both be killed! It is too dangerous.”
“Jane,” Bennet said. “This is why we came here; you know this. We have done too much—traveled too far—to turn back now.”
“But that was before Wickham murdered three men! He had not killed anyone until now. A thief is dangerous enough—but a killer?” Jane was adamant.
I had not realized Wickham had never killed before. Did revenge push him over the edge, or was he working up to it anyway? A new wave of guilt threatened to drown me.
The others were gathered close, listening shamelessly. Mrs. Young’s head moved back and forth between the Bennet siblings, clearly enjoying the drama.
“All the more reason for us to go!” Bennet replied, heatedly. “Who knows if he will turn on Lydia or Mr. Darcy’s sister? There is no one else for miles around who can or will go after him. You have seen this place. Do you think a single one of the men here would lift a finger to help us with no money? Hell, half of them are probably outlaws too!”
“Then take Mr. Hurst with you at least! Surely three guns are better than two.”
“I cannot and will not leave you here unprotected. Mr. Hurst stays.”
I agreed completely with this statement, though Hurst looked disgruntled to have his role chosen for him.
“I will not allow this,” Jane said, her expression set. “I will not sacrifice one sister in a suicidal attempt to save another.”
A gasp went through the room, followed by a shocked hush.
Bennet’s eyes closed and she whispered, “Jane.”
Jane was unapologetic. “He needs to know. You think you are as strong and able as any man, but I will not let you kill yourself trying to prove it.”
“Is that what you think I am doing? Is that why you think I am here?” The hurt in Bennet’s voice was unmistakable.
All of the strange, mismatched puzzle pieces making up Elias Bennet fell into place with a bang. This is why he—she!—wore oversized clothes. This is why her voice lightened and her accent diminished, though did not disappear entirely, when she was upset. This is why, despite the dirt smudges on her face, which I now suspected were strategically placed to disguise a total lack of facial hair, she was uncommonly beautiful for a boy.
I looked up to see Bennet staring at me with dread in his, no her, eyes. It would take time for me to become accustomed to thinking of her as such. “What is your name? Your real name?”
“Elizabeth, though most call me Lizzy.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “I can shoot and ride as well as any man, so you have no call to leave me behind.”
“The two of you are going up against a gang of murderers by yourselves! And, no offense, Mr. Darcy is from the city, born and raised. How will he be of help when he knows nothing of how to survive out here? You are both wonderfully brave, but you are not thinking practically.” Jane was becoming increasingly desperate, terrified to lose what remained of her family.
I blinked at her argument, not expecting her to see me as less capable than Lizzy, but I was forced to admit I would have readily agreed to the charge before knowing she was a she. I was still stuck on that point, trying to wrap my head around Elias being a woman. “Why?” I asked, my eyes fixed on Elizabeth.
She did not pretend to misunderstand me. “My father and I were close. He treated me more as a son than a daughter, something Mama hated. I wonder sometimes if it is what made her spoil Lydia so. After they died, the banks would not give us a loan, believing three women alone could not possibly make a ranch profitable, so we lost our home. We discovered then precisely how difficult it is for women to find work, how differently we are treated due to our frailty. No one would hire me as a ranch hand or horse trainer.” She paused and took a deep breath.
I found myself hating the thought of her laboring as a ranch hand, surrounded by rough men. Even if they were honorable and offered no insult to the unconventional woman in their midst, it was backbreaking work.
“We moved into town and found work there, the jobs I mentioned before. When Lydia ran away, we knew it would be too dangerous for two women traveling alone to seek her out, but a woman and her brother . . . I was always skinny and only became more so in recent months, so binding my form and wearing my father’s old clothes, my collar buttoned to my chin to hide a lack of an Adam’s apple, was all it took to disguise me. That, and Jane cutting my hair.”
My eyes were drawn to her short, curly mop of mahogany hair, and I wondered what she looked like with it long and loose down her back.
“The rest you know.” Elizabeth shrugged, clearly uncomfortable but trying to hide it.
Hurt and anger surged through me. It was unreasonable, perhaps, but I could not help it. I trusted Elias—Elizabeth—with my secrets, with the lives of my sister and friends. I felt a kinship I had never felt with anyone before, not even Bingley, who was like a brother. Realizing she did not feel the same, did not trust me with even the basic fact of her sex, pained me.
I knew it was not logical. After all, we only met yesterday. Did she see me as the same as those men from her home—as a threat—or as someone who would think less of her because she was female? Would she have ever come to trust me enough to tell me on her own? I would likely never know the answer to the latter question.
Good God, Elias Bennet was a woman! My mind just kept circling back to the confounding thought. The girl led me into a brothel, for goodness sake! But she was red as a cherry the entire time we were there, I remembered. My first instinct was to make her stay, to ensure she did not get into more trouble than she already had, but . . . I was forced to admit I would not have made it this far without her. I would still be walking to San Francisco, and Bingley would still be lying out in the elements instead of tucked away in bed with a healer preparing to remove the bullet from his leg. I would have no idea where to start looking for Georgiana.
Georgiana. I could not save her alone.
Elizabeth seemed to read my mind. “It is not your decision whether I stay or go. You are not my brother, my father, or my husband. I am not yours to protect.”
But it felt like she was. I felt protective even when I thought she was a man. Despite her claim of it not being my decision, everyone was looking to me as though it was . . . Jane, begging with her eyes; Hurst, bemused but ready to back me up; Louisa, horrified and confused; and Mrs. Young . . . well, Mrs. Young’s opinion did not matter.
A large part of me wanted to leave her behind; however . . . I did not feel this need when I thought she was a man. It was not as if she changed, merely my perception of her. She was completely unlike any other woman I knew. In Boston, if a woman behaved as she did, she would be ruined, but I could not bring myself to condemn her. Her loyalty to her family was humbling; her courage, staggering.
“Does your knowing I am a woman make me somehow less capable than I was before?” She clearly took my hesitation to mean I was searching for the right words to turn her away. “Say something, goddamn you!”
“Lizzy!” Jane gasped.
“Daylight is wasting. We need to go now or we will not make it before dark.”
The room exploded in uproar, but I paid no attention . . . my eyes fixed on Elizabeth, and hers on mine. I watched them brighten with relief, then darken in confusion. She was not expecting my answer. Well, that made two of us.
“You have not said a word since we left Velvet.”
I briefly closed my eyes. “What is there to say?”
“You are angry with me.”
“No.” It was true, I was no longer angry. I simply preferred to think things over in silence. Usually, I am a methodical person, never prone to rash decisions, choosing careful planning over spontaneous action. The West wreaked havoc on all my plans, though
, demanding quick reactions and changes to my life and view of the world I was not sure I was ready to make. With every step we took up the hill, I wondered if I should have made her stay behind.
“I do not believe you.”
Reining in Collie, I stopped in front of her, forcing her to halt and look me in the eye. “I am not angry at you. Surprised by you? Yes. Confused? Certainly. Awed by your bravery? Absolutely. Disappointed you did not trust me? Most assuredly. Angry? No. Today has been entirely out of the realm of my experience, so forgive me if I need a little time to adjust.”
Relief and regret warred in her fine, brown eyes. “I am sorry I did not tell you.”
“Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.” It always had been, from when I was a young boy. Lies make my skin prickle with discomfort, and on the rare occasions when I told an untruth, I was compelled to admit it almost immediately. My abhorrence only grew when I studied law and became an attorney. Every day I waded through lie after lie from witnesses, clients, even the police at times. I took great satisfaction in picking them apart and revealing the truth. Elizabeth’s lie was huge, yet I was completely blind to it. Oh, I knew she was hiding something, but I never suspected the truth because I trusted Bennet from nearly the first moment we met.
Her face fell.
“I abhor lies, but yours did not harm anyone and was never intended to. It was your shield, and I am glad you used it because otherwise you might not have made it here, and we would never have met.” I leaned forward, holding out my hand. “Will Darcy, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She stared at my hand, and a slow smile spread across her face like a sunrise lighting up the dark. She reached out and took it, her small hand rough and calloused and right in mine. “Lizzy Bennet, at your service.”
* * *
We left the horses tied up in the woods a short distance from the ghost town. We would walk the rest of the way on foot. Lizzy looked around until she found two short, stout sticks.
“What are those for?” I asked.
“He will have set a watch. We will need to knock him out quietly.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you would prefer to use my knife, but that seems more bloodthirsty than necessary.”
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 41