“I told you to bring me that scoundrel Wickham,” the man, who was likely the one called ‘Sloane,’ barked.
Wickham? Darcy thought. How ironic! I took a beating mean for my long-ago chum.
Darcy attempted to respond to the man’s assertions, but he could not muster a breath to pronounce the words. A sharp pain in his chest accompanied each of his efforts.
“We follow this gent several times from the house ye claimed to be this Wickham fellow’s,” the assailant grunted.
“Then we erred,” the gentleman insisted. “We must be rid of this one. If he identifies us to the authorities, we will all face hard labor or transportation.”
Darcy wondered if they meant to kill him. One of his attackers answered his question. The man wrapped a large kerchief about Darcy’s eyes and tied it off.
“We’s take him to the country and dumps him. If’n he lives be it God’s choice.”
After the slightest hesitation, Sloane agreed, and Darcy was unceremoniously hoisted to his feet. His captors half carried and half dragged him to a waiting wagon. Darcy supposed the culprits meant to use the farmer’s cart to transport George Wickham to what was to be his former friend’s fate.
He could not see the flat cart, but Darcy could feel it when the men quite literally threw him into the back. Two of his attackers crawled in beside him and covered Darcy with a heavy cloth. Again, Darcy curled up in a ball of protection. He survived by not fighting back, and Darcy meant to continue the assumption of helplessness. Some would think him a coward, but Darcy knew otherwise. It took more courage to know when to walk away from a fight: He meant to survive and make his way to Elizabeth.
Later, Darcy would locate the unknown “Mr. Sloane,” and the man would know Darcy’s displeasure. Likely, Wickham dishonored the fellow’s sister or wife or Darcy’s oldest friend owed Sloane a gaming debt. Either way, Darcy would claim his justice upon another day; for now, Elizabeth’s disappointment was of a greater concern.
Surely his betrothed would understand this situation was beyond his control. The license was valid for three months, and as quickly as Darcy could recover he would have her before Mr. Williamson and her family.
Elizabeth is a reasonable woman, he told his Reason. She would recognize the irony of this attack coming at Mr. Wickham’s hands.
Thinking so, Darcy closed his eyes to bring forth his favorite image of his intended. Survive for Elizabeth, he repeated with each click of the wagon’s wheels.
After what felt of hours, the wagon rolled to a halt. Once again his attackers carried Darcy to the destination they chose for him. More than once a branch slapped him in the face, but Darcy did not cry out. He counted the steps as best he could. He could feel the cool shadows as opposed to the warm sunlight upon his skin, and Darcy realized his attackers maneuvered him into some sort of woods. He concentrated upon only one thing: Being released so he could discover assistance to return to London and then onto Hertfordshire. Nothing else mattered.
* * *
“Where is the dastard?” Elizabeth heard her father demand of Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The colonel and Miss Darcy arrived at the church with the news that Mr. Darcy did not arrive at Netherfield last evening as they all expected.
Ironic, but Elizabeth knew he did not come. Even without being told, her heart said she would know disappointment. Nevertheless, Elizabeth permitted her mother and the others to offer a hundred reasons for Mr. Darcy’s absence. How could she tell them she destroyed her happiness with a quarrelsome tongue?
“Perhaps Mr. Darcy took ill.”
“Mayhap there was a carriage accident.”
“More likely, the gentleman changed his mind, just as I predicted,” Mrs. Connor declared in triumph.
Miss Darcy caught Elizabeth’s hand, offering her support.
“You must know how dearly William cares for you,” the girl pleaded.
Elizabeth did not wish to be cruel to Mr. Darcy’s sister, but her pride smacked of the betrayal.
“Mr. Darcy cared more for his railroad than his intended,” she snapped.
Fighting back tears, Elizabeth spoke privately to her father.
“Please, Sir, may we not return to Longbourn? I believe two hours is long enough to wait for Mr. Darcy.”
Thankfully, her father recognized Elizabeth’s fragile composure. As they made their exit to his waiting coach, Mr. Bennet discreetly requested that Mr. Bingley see the remainder of the Bennet family home. Inside the carriage, her father gathered Elizabeth in his arms to rock her to and fro.
“My dearest girl,” Mr. Bennet whispered as Elizabeth permitted her tears free rein. “I will not tolerate this insult, not to my darling Lizzy.”
“No!” Elizabeth sobbed. “Mr. Darcy is not worth our notice. Please say you will do nothing foolish. I could not bear it.”
“I am but a country squire,” her father declared, “but I am not without connections.”
“Please, Papa. I simply wish to forget this slight. Do not exacerbate it.”
Elizabeth buried her face in her father’s cravat.
“It was my fault for aspiring to a match above my sphere. Lady Catherine said as much. Mr. Darcy likely realized the censure he would claim with our joining.”
Mr. Bennet took umbrage with Elizabeth’s remarks.
“I will not have you speak so, Lizzy. Any man would earn a brilliant match by claiming you.”
Elizabeth attempted to control her tears. She wiped hard at her cheeks.
“Permit me my misery this day,” she said through a choking sob. “I promise to know a wiser choice on the morrow.”
“As you wish, Lizzy.”
Her father gathered her closer to caress Elizabeth’s back. It was comforting to know his love.
“I will forbid all from entering your room until you are prepared to face them. Take as long as you like. One day or a whole month of days. When you decide how you wish to proceed, send for me, and we will deal with this together. Even if you do not wish to force the marriage, I believe Mr. Darcy’s name will know the shame of a breech of promise action.”
Elizabeth did not argue with her father regarding the futility of such legal actions against a man of Mr. Darcy’s stature. Instead, when they reached Longbourn, she hurried to her room to bury her tears in her bed pillow. She noted the worried look from Mr. and Mrs. Hill as she scurried past them. The servants and all her neighbors would know Mr. Darcy abandoned her at the altar.
Inside the room, Elizabeth kicked off her slippers, sending them flying across the room to slam against the wall. The action brought her a momentary surcease. She wished there was something else she could throw, or better yet, punch in a most unladylike manner. The thought of slapping Mr. Darcy’s too masculine cheek was quite satisfying.
In frustration, Elizabeth ripped at the lace of her ivory wedding dress. She should summon a maid to assist her, but it did her well to hear seams rip and to have lace sleeves come loose in her hands.
With more anger than she knew possible, Elizabeth tore the gown from her body, strip by silken strip. She would never wear the dratted dress again, and seeing it turned to rags brought her the only delight this day could hold for her. Standing at last in nothing more than her shift, Elizabeth gathered the ribbon and pieces of cloth in an untidy heap and unceremoniously dumped them out her bedroom window. She watched as the material fluttered to the ground below, as flighty as her hopes of becoming Mrs. Darcy.
The realization brought another round of tears to her eyes, and Elizabeth jammed her fist into her mouth to stifle the cry of injustice rushing to her lips.
It was bad enough to know that Mr. Darcy only agreed to their marriage to save her from the damage of Maria Lucas’s gossip, but to be so publicly shamed was beyond Elizabeth’s comprehension.
“Maria’s tale would be preferable to what occurred today,” she sobbed aloud. “I might have convinced the girl to ignore the obvious, but now everyone knows the man’s disdain for the Bennets.�
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“Lizzy?”
A soft knock at the door caught Elizabeth’s attention: It was Jane.
“Are you…? Is there anything…?”
“No, Jane,” Elizabeth called before biting down hard on her lip to keep from lashing out at her sister.
Jane would soon know the happiness of joining with Mr. Bingley. How often had they hid in the copse to speak of the men they would love?
“I am well,” Elizabeth managed.
“Are you certain?” came her sister’s voice of concern.
Anger returned.
“Why should I not be well?” she said with ill temper. “It was the pinnacle of my day to stand before friends and foes and permit them to witness my public humiliation.” She paused, seeking control. “Just leave me be, Jane. I know you mean well, but…”
“As you wish,” Jane said in what sounded of tears.
Silence followed her sister’s departure.
Elizabeth could hear the buzz of voices below. She hoped her father could keep everyone away. She imagined the chaos as Mrs. Bennet hustled servants to remove the wedding breakfast.
“The breakfast,” she murmured through a new round of tears.
Curling in a ball upon the bed, Elizabeth covered her face with the pillow to muffle her misery.
“The breakfast where Mr. Darcy and I were to accept the congratulations of all our dear family and friends.”
* * *
Darcy possessed no idea of how long he remained upon the ground in the glade. His attackers left him upon the grassy floor. Although he could not see the area where they left him, Darcy could smell the mossy surface, hear the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath the feet of his kidnappers, as well as the suddenly silent birdsong, and feel the sharp slap of the branches as they brushed across his body.
“Far enough,” the one who served as the group’s leader grumbled.
Without notice, they released him, and Darcy’s knees buckled, sending him face first into the damp earth. Before he knew what to expect, one of the men on his left kicked him hard in the side. The air rushed from Darcy’s lungs as the pain in his ribs screamed for succor.
“Leave him be,” the leader snapped. “Tie his hands and let’s be from this place ’for someone sees us.”
One of the man’s cohorts bent over Darcy to wrench Darcy’s arms behind him. The movement increased the pain shooting through Darcy’s chest. Too weak to resist the man, Darcy concentrated on how the man laced what felt of a leather strap about Darcy’s wrists before tugging the constraint tighter.
And then they were gone.
Before Darcy could lodge a complaint, he heard their rapid retreat.
“Wait!” he called, but even to his ears his voice sounded weak.
“Wait!” he attempted to call them back. “How am I to find my way from here?”
“Yer not,” a voice announced from a distance.
A round of laugher and then sickening silence followed the man’s pronouncement.
He was alone. Injured. Blindfolded. And restrained. Even if he could manage to stand, Darcy had no idea how he could discover assistance. The nearest farm or village was likely miles removed, and without his sight, Darcy would possess no means to find his way.
With an effort, he rolled upon his side and then paused to rest.
“Slow and deliberate,” he announced to his waning spirits. “Find assistance and return to Elizabeth.”
* * *
Three days passed, and Elizabeth thought it impossible that there were still tears to be shed. Mrs. Hill reported that Mrs. Bennet claimed her bed with a case of the ‘nerves.’ Elizabeth would like to offer her mother sympathy, but she could not. It was Elizabeth’s life that Mr. Darcy ruined, not Mrs. Bennet’s.
Jane slipped a note under Elizabeth’s door to share the information that Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam departed for London from the church with a promise to send word of Mr. Darcy’s excuses, for Jane and the gentleman’s family felt certain something far-reaching occurred to prevent Mr. Darcy’s appearance. Jane wrote…
Mr. Darcy would never act in such a craven manner. I observed him in London, Lizzy, and the man holds you in deep regard. I do not err in this matter. Moreover, Mr. Darcy would never leave himself open to Society’s condemnation, nor would he expose his family name to a public breech of promise suit. Mr. Bingley agrees. For all his faults and awkward mannerisms, Mr. Darcy is a gentleman.
“But no letter begging for my forgiveness arrived,” Elizabeth told her badly bruised heart.
She knew for certain no message came by express or otherwise for Elizabeth’s bedroom overlooked the drive before Longbourn’s main door.
“No letter of forgiveness. No excuses. No pardons. Only open disdain. I thought better of you Fitzwilliam Darcy. Although I feared this very outcome, somehow I clung to the hope that you would act with honor and that your word was law. I am as foolish as Miss Bingley and Miss De Bourgh for you will neither marry for fortune nor family bloodlines nor love.”
In the long hours without sleep, Elizabeth considered her future and came to necessary conclusions.
“A gentleman does not deliberately avoid the church where his fiancée awaits him,” she reasoned. “At least, not if the man respects the woman he intends to marry. If Mr. Darcy wished to withdraw, he held multiple opportunities prior to the wedding to send me his regrets. His absence was meant as the ultimate revenge for my private snub of his attentions. It is painfully obvious the gentleman wished all to know a woman of my ilk could not occupy a place by his side.”
With a heavy sigh of resignation, Elizabeth spoke to her reflection in the window.
“I was nothing more than a nuisance. My pleas for assistance fell upon deaf ears and upon a heart set against me.
“Even if Mr. Darcy crawled upon hands and knees and begged my forgiveness, I would never bend to his will.
“Tomorrow, I shall send for Papa and request his assistance. Mr. Darcy’s actions placed me in a world of isolation. No man will think me worthy of his hand. The assumption will be that I am a woman of loose values for why else would a man call off a marriage he sought? I will grow old as the favorite aunt of my dear sisters’ children. Yet, before that time I mean to see something of the world. To experience a bit of life before my future is so timely ripped from my grasp. I will know something of what makes others smile.
“I shall claim an adventure to last me a lifetime. With no concern for propriety’s dictates, I want to enjoy the society of others. To know something in life of my choosing. Something beyond the walls of Longbourn. I shall tell Papa I wish to visit with Aunt Gardiner until this shame knows an end. I shall explain to Mr. Bennet that I require time to salve my disappointment.”
Elizabeth turned from the window and paced the short distance to the door.
“Instead, I shall go to Brighton or Tunbridge Wells or Bath or any place, which will permit my heart a bit of freedom from the strictures I shall suffer until my dying days. A bit of fun and excitement and something from the ordinary before I return to Longbourn to tend my parents in their old age and before I beg for Mr. Bingley’s benevolence when the Collinses claim Longbourn out from under me.”
Chapter Five
Darcy spent nearly three days in the woods before he found assistance in the form of a hound that first set up a howl upon discovering Darcy and then licked Darcy’s cheeks with an exceedingly wet tongue.
All he accomplished the first day was to stumble into several trees and to trip over more roots than he thought possible. It was in the first night’s middle when he finally loosened the kerchief enough for it to slip down his cheeks to encircle his neck. By rubbing his cheek against a smooth rock Darcy earned his sight. In that particular instance, he did not curse his tumble to the leaf-covered earth, but in all the others, Darcy wished Sloane and his men to the Devil.
Freeing his hands proved more problematic. Darcy realized he could not walk without supporting himself with his hands. Moreo
ver, his injuries kept him from walking upright. So, despite wishing to speed his search for assistance, Darcy meticulously contorted his body to work his legs through his arms.
He sat upon the ground, his wrists tied behind his back. Then with determination, he edged backward to sit upon his fingers. The movement cost him dearly for in theory, his body should move easily through the flattened circle his arms formed, but the oval was not wide enough to accommodate the width of his hips. His long coat brought him to more than one moment of frustration for it caught on the binding holding his hands. Until he worked his way clear, Darcy imagined hunters finding his skeleton and wondering how any man could lie down and die in such a position.
Perhaps the task would not be so difficult if the slightest twist of his torso did not send shooting pains that robbed Darcy of his breath and his strength.
“Just think of Elizabeth,” he repeated aloud. “She must be beyond worried, and your lady requires your protection.”
With a string of curses and more than one cry for Divine intervention, Darcy prevailed. As dawn arrived on the day following his kidnapping, Darcy stood with his tied hands before him, rather than behind his back. He considered the change a victory declaring his survival. He used his fingers to free his private parts to relieve the need to urinate, a fact that baffled him.
“I had nothing to eat or drink since breakfast yesterday,” he grumbled half aloud.
Even with his new mobility, finding his bearings was not an easy task. The woods were thicker than he expected. In his mind’s eye, his kidnappers did not walk far in the countryside, and Darcy expected to reach the road without much difficulty. He counted some five hundred steps, roughly half a mile. He expected to reach the road, but several attempts proved fruitless. After wandering about for some two hours, Darcy realized he turned away from the road instead of toward it.
Looking to the way he came, with a sigh of resignation, Darcy came to the conclusion that he would never be able to recall accurately all the turns he made. Looking to the sun to determine its direction, he managed east and west. That led to a turn of his steps to the south. Darcy assumed his kidnappers drove away from London. He meant to encounter those traveling to the City and beg for their kindness.
Elizabeth Bennet's Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary Page 6