Mister Darcy's Dogs

by Barbara Silkstone

  “Try telling a girl in love that her man is a scoundrel. I’m ashamed to say I created the artifice of her heart being weak to make her fearful. But it appears she cares not and will have Wickham for her husband.”

  Of course! How had I not seen the clues? Georgiana was dressed in white. Lydia and Kitty were both dressed in pink fluffy dresses, strange shopping attire. Lydia was aiding and abetting Wickham in a second attempt to marry heiress Georgiana Darcy. Could they be charged as bridal accessories?

  I stole a peek at Darcy. His brows knotted over his eyes, his intense focus on the road told me Wickham was going down. Without looking at me, he spoke. “If this is what Georgiana wants so desperately, then she should have the blighter.”

  The Rover screeched to a stop at the valet stand in a car park just off Kings Road. Darcy leashed Derby and Squire. We crossed the street against the traffic and raced to the Venus Fountain in the Square.

  Silently I prayed that this was only about a marriage and that all the girls were safe.

  Chapter 14

  Derby and Squire galloped along the sidewalks, dog smiles on their droopy faces in what I could only guess to be sensory overload. There were more smells and tastes than they had experienced in their short lives.

  Tourists and Sloane Ranger types, totting trendy designer shopping bags, stopped and attempted to pet the bassets’ heads and tossle their ears. Impolitely we had to ignore them and rush on. Every stop would cost us time in our race to find the happy couple before they became the Wickhams. The bridesmaids would be sent to their rooms for the rest of their lives.

  I spotted Caroline, Jane, and Bingley appearing utterly dejected in front of the Venus Fountain. Jane waved then tapped Bingley’s arm in time for him to turn and see us dashing at them with the pups straining at their leashes.

  The nude figure of Venus behind and above them held a shell and a pitcher. The goddess half-crouching, half-kneeling on a cylindrical base appeared to be pouring water into a bronze basin. The fountain was a light-hearted celebration of the affair of King Charles II and his mistress Nell Gwynne. The irony of meeting at the fountain did not escape me.

  I caught Jane in my arms and patted her back. “It’s okay. We shall find them. Knowing Lydia and her lust for skullduggery, you could not have prevented what happened.”

  “We were all six of us in the Rosings Boutique.” Bingley said. “Georgiana insisted on visiting the lingerie section. As you can imagine, I was put off and stayed in ladies dresses.”

  Jane wedged herself between Darcy and Bingley. “Georgiana went into a fitting room, Lydia and Kitty followed. There was barely room for the three of them. I couldn’t squeeze in. Caroline and I joined Bingley in ladies dresses. We could see the fitting room from where we stood.”

  Caroline wore a smug expression as if to say, I told you so. “We heard giggles and then it grew silent. The girls were in there a long time to be trying on nighties. Your sisters are quite ill-behaved.”

  Tempted to show her some true ill-behavior, I held myself in check.

  “I pulled opened the door and the girls had vanished.” Jane said, her lower lip quivering. “The room had a curtain on the far wall. Behind the curtain was a door.”

  Bingley wore a pleading expression continuing to explain how they had been duped. “The door opened onto an alley. That’s how they evaded us.” He held up Georgiana’s cream-colored hat. “This is the only thing they left behind.”

  Darcy strode halfway around the fountain in silence. I imagined he was trying to gain control of his emotions. He returned to speak to his friend. “Bingley, don’t blame yourself. This was a planned operation. I am sure George Wickham is behind this.”

  “Wickham? Again?” Bingley said.

  Caroline perked up. “You mean the notorious George Wickham? And what pray tell do you mean by again?”

  In sharing the culprit’s name with his friend, Darcy had exposed his sister’s folly to a society columnist not afraid to use gossip to further her career.

  Darcy shot Caroline a look that would freeze a polar bear. “This is all off the record and never to be mentioned. If it becomes public knowledge the source’s career will be over.”

  Caroline’s mouth hung open like a PEZ dispenser and her eyes bugged out of her head. “Well I never!”

  “And you’d better not!” Darcy said with great finality. It was clear that whatever relationship they might have had existed in her fantasies, not his.

  I felt sorry for Caroline, dressed down in front of me, but had no doubt she would obey Darcy’s directive or BBC might stand for ByeByeCaroline.

  The bassets were scrambling, trying to get over the lip of the fountain. The water in the basin was icky and smelled of chlorine. I tugged their leashes and they came to sit at my feet.

  “Where could Wickham have taken the girls? Does he have a friend nearby?” I asked.

  “To the best of my knowledge,” Darcy said, “the man has burned all his bridges and all his friends, too. I can’t think of a soul who would assist him. No. He’s hiding somewhere in the open. He’s a cocky bugger.”

  Jane wrung her hands till they were both red and white. “Mister Darcy, I am so sorry–”

  “Apologies can come later,” I said. “Not a minute to spare on finding those fools. Wait here! I’ll go into that shop. Someone in Rosings Boutique told Wickham about the door in the fitting room. Someone is aiding them.”

  “We’ll all go!” Darcy strode out ahead of our group.

  “No! This has to be accomplished in a surreptitious manner. You would surely be a bull in a dress shop.”

  Darcy nodded and stepped back.

  I clomped into Rosings in my Wellingtons, the perfect attire for a stylish shopper.

  “Can I help you?” A woman in her mid-forties possessed of a bony face and the leathered complexion of chain smoker approached. Her name tag read Mrs. Younge. She made a point of glaring at my boots.

  I’m not fond of fibbing but a good one now and then can save a lot of time. “I’m to meet George and Georgiana here. Are they about?” I scanned the shop pretending to look for the delinquent duo and their bridesmaids.

  “You are not with the wedding party.” It was an accusation, not a question.

  “It’s a long story. Please are they here?”

  Mrs. Younge hesitated. “I don’t know exactly where they’ve gone but the bride did mention Peter Pan.”

  Was the woman trying to be helpful or taunting me? “Peter Pan?” I got the feeling she’d been a conspirator in Wickham’s elopement plans and was having at me.

  “That’s all I know. Now please, you’re upsetting the paying customers.”

  I elbowed past her and jiggled the fitting room doorknob.

  “Occupied!” A melodious voice said. “Wait your turn.”

  Mrs. Younge stood within inches of me. “I asked you politely to leave. Now you’re harassing my customers. I will call the police.”

  A growl slipped from my lips. Too much dog-time. I stomped out of the shop and back to our search party at the Venus fountain.

  Bingley had his arm around Jane who appeared to be fighting off tears, while Caroline glared at my approach. I wished I had news.

  Darcy punched his left fist into his right palm. “Well?”

  “Does Peter Pan mean anything to any of you?” I said.

  Caroline let go with a sarcastic laugh.

  Bingley looked toward Darcy, whose frown would have scared a pit bull. He addressed our group, “Georgiana has been smitten with Peter Pan since she was a child. At times my sister has imagined herself as Wendy and once soared off her bed in an attempt to fly. She sprained her ankle and gave up the idea.

  The Peter Pan clue was too obvious, too fishy, and too difficult to decipher.

  Jane held Georgiana’s hat. I had an idea.

  “Let’s have Derby and Squire track them.” I grabbed for the hat. “We’ll follow the hounds.”

  “I don’t know much about dogs,” Ca
roline said, “except they stink. Are they going to track a scent all over London? Waste of my time since I am sworn to secrecy. There’s no news story here. I’m calling a cab.”

  She waved her manicured hand in the air and miraculously, a large black cab appeared and pulled to the curb.

  Caroline delivered a parting blessing to Darcy while stepping into the car. “I hope you find her, darling.” She sounded as if Georgiana were a set of missing keys. “See you tomorrow at the Barkley Hunt!” And she blew a kiss to him and went off in a puff of attitude.

  Another inscrutable expression passed over Darcy’s face. “Tomorrow!” He gave her the royal wave.

  “Caroline would only slow us down” he said, glancing up and down the street, perhaps to clear his thoughts as the errant wedding party would not exactly be lurking behind the light poles.

  “Is there a Peter Pan show near here?” he said.

  Bingley shrugged. “Not exactly a fan,” he said. “I think we can cross any churches off our list. Wickham is not a church going man. They’ll not have the blessings of clergy.” He scratched his chin. “Why would they want to involve Peter Pan in their marriage?”

  “No matter if they involve James Bond, they will marry over Wickham’s dead body!” Darcy said.

  For the strong silent type Darcy had turned to drama. My patience wore to gauze.

  I ignored them and bent to let Derby and Squire sniff Georgiana’s hat. “Find her.” The dogs were all over the wide-brimmed hat with their big black noses. My training told me they recognized her scent, now to parse it from the jillions of odors on the city streets.

  Scanning the expectant faces of my fellow searchers I cautioned them not to get their hopes up. “This is not going to be easy for the dogs. If only we could narrow the possible areas for their noses to begin.”

  Darcy’s worried expression brought out my maternal side. I wanted to touch his cheek and tell him it would be fine. But would it? What if Georgiana had her passport with her? Wickham could abscond with her for years until she came into her trust. Wickham could then leave her on the turn of a coin. She’d be broke and broken-hearted.

  “Let’s start in the alley behind the shop where they first made their escape. The dogs can begin their tracking there.” Bingley said.

  Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? And I call myself a dog trainer.

  We walked the bassets to the alley. Jane spun her head owl-like in all directions on the lookout for our not-so-pretty-in-pink culprit sisters.

  Squire picked up the scent first. He howled. Derby joined him. I held one leash, Darcy the other. The dogs dragged us along like kites. We made it to the backdoor of Rosings. The hounds were working in reverse. How to make it clear we now needed to head away from the shop?

  I brought Georgiana’s hat to their noses again. This time they bayed in chorus and headed back up the alley. At the street they turned right and brought us to a cab stand. Dead end. The wedding party hired a cab.

  Two passenger-less black cabs idled quietly. I followed Darcy as he approached the first one. “Have you seen a party of three women and one man, dressed to the nines? As if on their way to a wedding?”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  The dogs were going bonkers with the scent on the sidewalk. Wickham and the girls had to have taken a cab. We approached the second car. When Darcy put forth the same question, the driver responded in the positive. “Mac took a fair, earlier. I remember thinking the ladies were over-dressed for daytime in Sloane Square.”

  Darcy leaned closer, hanging on the man’s words.

  “I’ll call Mac and see where he took them.” He leaned into the car, put a phone to his ear, and after two seconds returned with the answer we needed. “They went to Kensington Gardens. Need a lift?”

  There wasn’t time to trek back to Darcy’s Range Rover. Jane, Bingley, Darcy, and I jumped into the cab. I was sandwiched between Bingley and Darcy. The dogs lay at our feet. We were off to Kensington Gardens.

  Another brilliant idea struck me. “There’s a large statue of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens!”

  Jane reached over and squeezed my hand. “Yes! If Georgiana is enamored with the boy who would never grow up, that would be the perfect setting for a small ceremony.”

  The bassets looked up as Darcy growled his response. “Absolutely, bloody perfect. If ever there was a man who wouldn’t grow up, it’s George Wickham. Driver, hurry!”

  My heart thumped, almost bursting my chest, terrified for my sisters and Georgiana. A new sensation vibrated through my body as Darcy’s thigh pressed against mine in the crowded back seat. Quite distressing to feel a pinch of passion in the midst of a sister rescue.

  The cab hummed with tension. Darcy knocked on the window between the front and back. It slid open. “The Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens. Hurry!” he said.

  Traffic on King’s Road crawled. “Doing the best I can, sir,” the driver said. “Closest street the cab is permitted is still a bit of a hike from old Peter Pan.”

  “Do your best, then.” Darcy leaned back in the seat, resigned to the skill of the London cabbie.

  I watched the fancy shops, cafes, bars, pubs and clubs slip by, trying to distract myself. The area resembled a small town in the heart of a big city. It was clearly a place for the upper-crust with its boutiques from Milan, Paris, and New York lined up door to door. No wonder I’d never seen it and probably never would again. No loss. I dropped back in my seat, feeling Darcy’s body next to mine and surprised at the mix of feelings stirring in my tummy.

  Chapter 15

  Dark-windowed limousines and double-decker red buses frustrated our attempts at speed. The cab hung up at the zebra-walks on Knightsbridge. We’d get no closer sitting in the cab and only stress ourselves beyond the comforts of buckets of chamomile tea. Jogging would be much faster. We were stopped on Carriage Drive, a small road that separated Kensington Gardens from Hyde Park.

  I snuck a peek at Darcy’s face, beet-red with fury. Holding Squire’s leash, he stepped from the cab to the grass and bounded into the park.

  “I’ll take care of the fare!” Bingley yelled.

  Clutching Derby’s leash, I ran after Darcy up the graveled paths and into Kensington Gardens. A small directional map indicated the Peter Pan statue sat within the park on the banks of a snake-shaped lake. My breath came in short heaves. I promised myself that once this was over, I would get back in shape. My canine psychology practice would be changing clientele. From now on I would specialize in poor working dogs, if there was a from-now-on.

  Landscaped lawns and lines of trees made the Gardens into an oasis in the center of bustling London. Couples sat or lay on picnic blankets in various romantic poses. There was lots of kissing in the air. For a brief moment, I envied them.

  If my loose sisters were responsible for the disappearance of Darcy’s beloved Georgiana, how would I ever make it up to him? I stumbled over a tree stump and fell on my nose. Darcy barely looked back when I hit the ground with an umph! I forgave him for not coming to my aid. He had bigger rescues on his mind.

  I clambered to my feet. The smell of autumn floated in on a breeze, or perhaps that was Darcy’s natural aroma as he jogged away from me. We’d both worked up quiet a sweat. I, of course, continued to smell of lavender. I might be tripping over my wellies, but I remained a lady.

  Derby lopped ahead, dragging his leash. We caught up to Darcy and Squire, who’d stopped at the crest of a small hill. We joined them in panting. I took hold of the bassets’ leashes.

  Peter Pan stood thirty meters away in all his bronze glory. Not the Peter from contemporary movies but a delicate child, more girl than boy. Bronze squirrels, mice, rabbits, and fairies climbed the figure in a joyous celebration of childhood.

  A touristy family of four stood at the bronze, repeatedly swiping their smartphone on a nearby tag and taking great delight in getting a personal 'call back' from Peter.

  I’d read about this newest techno-gadget. Pas
sers-by can now swipe their smartphones on a nearby tag and talk to Peter Pan. Was all our beloved literature about to morph into a Yank theme park? I filed that grumble away for later. Where were the girls and gak! Wickham?

  “So sorry to intrude on your holiday,” I said before Darcy could speak. “Have you seen a wedding party?” My words came out in a breathless squeak.

  “Yeah!” they chorused.

  I guessed correctly. Americans.

  Mum-Yank spoke, “They were here earlier. The bride, cute as a button, threw some coins at Peter’s feet. Is that a British thing for luck?”

  Darcy ignored her question. “How long ago and which way did they leave?” he said.

  His curtness might be taken for lack of manners. I thought to disguise the rudeness.

  “We’re late for the wedding,” I said.

  The Mum-Yank turned to Papa-Yank. “That about an hour ago?”

  “Yeah. Can we hit that pub now? I’m starving.”

  “Nice meeting ‘ya! Hope you catch up with that wedding!” Mum-Yank said, cutting her eyes to my rubber boots. They gathered their brood and headed up the path.

  Bingley and Jane arrived, glistening with perspiration.

  “Are they here?” Jane peered around the statue as if it could possibly hide those humongous pink dresses our sisters wore.

  “This was a red herring,” Darcy said. “Designed to lead us astray and buy them time. That Rosings shopkeeper is in on it.”

  Jane appeared about to speak.

  I shook my head warning her. No matter what we said, it would be met with anger.

  Darcy stood hands on hips and scanned the park. The dogs shared a stare at him.

  All eyes were on the man of the hour. A Brit about to do battle.

  Darcy smacked his forehead. “I’ve not been thinking clearly. Wickham and Georgiana would have to file a notice of marriage in the Register Office for their wedding to be legal. It must be filed a fortnight before the wedding day and would have to state exactly where they intend to wed.