by Glenna Mason
Darcy took Mr. Bennet’s hands in his, just as Bingley returned to the library. “You don’t have those funds, Mr. Bennet, but Bingley and I do. And I have a strong suspicion that is what our kidnapper is counting on.”
“What?”
“I may even know who he is. I cannot guarantee that of course, but if it is the man I suspect, he is after me, not you and your family.”
“Who?”
“I’d prefer not to say just yet. But I want no arguments, when I provide the ransom.”
“I can never in three lifetimes repay you. I can’t even sell Longbourn. It is entailed to a very distant and very unpleasant cousin.”
Darcy decided to change his mind about revealing the perpetrator. “Mr. Bennet, I think I will tell who I think the villain is, after all. I am going to tell you a story, which should assuage your guilt at accepting my payment of the ransom.”
Darcy began, “For many years George Wickham, the son of my late father’s steward, has been trying to find a quick way to wealth. Although his father was a giant among men, George is a dwarf. He knows that I am in Meryton. We met up with each other in the village about nine yesterday morning. We had our usual confrontation, although a mild one. I was surprised actually at the time at Wickham’s easy compliance to my demands. Now of course it makes perfect sense.”
He continued, “Kitty and I were talking in front of Wickham about the ladies coming to Netherfield last evening. But worst of all, I warned Wickham to stay away from all the Bennets. It wouldn’t take a college graduate to put those two together: Netherfield party with Bennet ladies and warning to stay away from the Bennets. And George is a college graduate by the way. Hence twelve hours later the Bennet ladies disappear and the ransom note for a huge sum arrives. Wickham knows that both Bingley and I have substantial inheritances. Ergo: no heiress on the horizon, so kidnap instead. That 30,000 pounds will journey with him to South America or somewhere in Europe where Napoleon doesn’t rule.”
“It makes sense I guess. It is widely known that I have no money, even for dowries.”
“What next?” Bingley asked.
“We wait for instructions.”
“How’d he get past us last time? We had ten men on the highway,” Bingley noted.
“Through the fields that we were getting ready to scout, no doubt,” Mr. Bennet said.
“The directions should come soon. Can you envision trying to contain Miss Elizabeth for long?” Darcy asked, trying to help Mr. Bennet feel better.
“Well, no, now that you mention it. She’ll scratch his eyes out,” her father retorted with a small smile.
“Yes, or grab his pistol and shot him.”
“Darcy, I’ll halve the ransom with you. I guess we’ll have to cancel our other bets. This takes precedence.”
“Yes, Bingley, it does. However, I say you stake Miss Bennet for 10,000. I’ll cover the 20,000 for Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary. My father’s lax oversight of his godson’s misconduct through his youth caused Wickham to feel special privilege was his due.”
“If it is Wickham.”
“Oh, it’s Wickham. I’d bet 10,000 pounds on it. Well, if I had 10,000 left, that is,” Darcy kidded, attempting to lighten the atmosphere in the room.
“Gentlemen, I hate to ask it of you, but I am helpless to contribute.”
“Mr. Bennet, I think it is time that Bingley and I went home to bed. Please no word to anyone about what I confided to you. I may not get my money back, but I am going to make it nearly impossible for Wickham to spend it. I don’t want him forewarned that I suspect him of the theft.”
“I’ll send a message to Netherfield as soon as that rapscallion contacts me.”
“We’ll be sending a rider to our banks at first light. Good night, sir.”
“Good night, sons.”
“We haven’t been called son in far too long, sir. Thank you,” Darcy said with a handshake.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat up in his bed with his back braced up against the bolster pillows. A frown seemed frozen on his forehead, as he studiously chewed on his knuckles. His mind continued to wander. He pictured Elizabeth shackled with a handkerchief tied over her mouth or a blindfold over her eyes. Elizabeth lay where she’d been thrown in the corner of a hay loft, scratched and abused. Darcy shot up. Abused. “I’ll kill him for this!” Darcy declared.
Suddenly Darcy realized a salient fact. He had spent no time wondering about the fate of Jane or Mary. It was Elizabeth alone that he considered. “Elizabeth! What a beautiful name.”
Unexpectedly, Darcy recognized that Elizabeth was special to him. How special he was not yet sure, but, yes, special to some degree. She was pretty of course, but surprisingly her most endearing attributes were her audacity and her perspicacity. Elizabeth was unique among nineteenth century women. Elizabeth was one of a kind.
And Darcy was very worried about Elizabeth’s safety. Jane and Mary would be fine, but Elizabeth might challenge her captors. They might hurt her. Wickham would not purposely harm a woman, but who knew what kind of scoundrels he had working with him. Darcy had to do something, but what?
First he thought of grabbing Wickham and tying him to a post and starving him. But what of his accomplices? Then he charted a plan to shadow the miscreant, but that took too much manpower for one or two men, even if he could enlist Bingley to help. That also discounted the threat of his partners in crime. Wickham must have henchmen, mustn’t he? Darcy knew Wickham well enough to understand that he would want the bulk of the money, yet how could he attack and capture three women alone?
Then a brainstorm whirled through Darcy’s intuitive psyche: smelling salts laced with a strong opiate or, heaven forbid, a morphine soaked handkerchief.
“Yes!” Darcy’s rare preternatural sense comprehended clearly now what the answer to the conundrum might be. Wickham, with his genius for subterfuge, stopped the curricle with some clever ploy, then jumped aboard and subdued the ladies into temporary euphoria with opium. With the ladies insensible, Wickham was free to drive the curricle to a predetermined hideaway. Brilliant!
It was only a guess, but Darcy knew that his guesses more often than not presaged the truth and foreshadowed the future. Fitzwilliam Darcy had a second sense; he had always had the ability to foretell the ominous and the perilous. In fact, he had gotten to Ramsgate in time to save his sister from an egregious elopement with the current villain, George Wickham, due to a faint warning, which arose from the depths of his psyche.
Of course Darcy usually ignored these signs; they stayed hidden away in the depths of his mind. Practically speaking, the life of a country gentleman seldom necessitated such insights. However, tonight he welcomed them. Darcy was confident he had his answer.
Darcy apprehended that there were other possibilities, but he liked this one. Wickham was in the militia. The militia had medical supplies. No doubt opium, laudanum and morphine were staples in that kit. Hence Wickham would not have to share his 30,000 pounds.
Now what should he do about his new found knowledge? Should he warn Wickham that he intended to trace him to the ends of the planet, be it South America, Australia or India? No, that might make him desperate. He might leave the ladies hidden without food or water and just disappear. Could the money be marked or perhaps laced with poison? That latter brought a tiny smile to Darcy’s lips.
Might he and Bingley set a trap, so they could follow the pickup of the cash? That idea had great potential. Darcy doubted that the reprobate would easily divine that he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, had connected his old friend to the kidnappings. Not yet anyway. “Wickham isn’t as clever as he purports himself to be,” Darcy concluded. “Just look at the note, perfect spelling and flawless sentence structure, just like the writings of a Cambridge graduate, not some grammar school student or less.”
Darcy began to conjure up a list of traps he and Bingley might employ to retrieve their money. “Didn’t the ancients have some sort of glowing chalk? I’ll have to see
what I can find out about it in my library.” Then suddenly he remembered. “Too bad that my library is in Derbyshire.”
Trap! Darcy liked that word when it came to Wickham. “Could I trap him like a badger? Place a device inside the money box?” This was becoming fun. Then the thought struck him. “Whichever plan I devise, we must exchange the money and the ladies simultaneously. Otherwise Wickham might just take off. He might not relay word of the whereabouts of the Bennet sisters for days, a week even. Wickham will want to be far from England before he sends any message. As long as that interchange can be negotiated, we might be able to set up a system of signals and possibly follow the money.” Ah—that following the money sounded good. Darcy felt a little better. After all, there could be no solid stratagem until Wickham’s specific instructions arrived on Mr. Bennet’s doorstep. Darcy blew out his candle. “I hope Elizabeth is getting some rest.”
*****
When morning came, Bingley and Darcy were up and dressed not long after the first streaks of dawn painted the sky rose, orange and purple, preparing to send riders up the London Road, with letters to their respective bankers. They had slept a total of two hours.
“It’s three hours up and three hours back; Jerry and Cliff will get to our banks when they open and be back by . . . ”
“ . . . two or three this afternoon. They’ll have to go by my house on Park Land to get fresh horses.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell Jerry.”
“It’s fine. I told Cliff to take Jerry with him to Darcy House. They’ll get lunch and then leave one pair of horses and mount a second. I sent my butler a letter of explanation.”
“How did this happen?” Bingley almost exclaimed in frustration, brushing his hair back and wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.
“I’m not sure, but I’ve a supposition. Want to hear it?” Darcy answered, pouring two cups of tea and handing one to his friend.
“Why not?” Bingley sank down onto a breakfast room chair.
“I imagine Wickham heard at our club in London that you had leased Netherfield. Everyone at White’s knows. He realizes we are best friends and so would figure that I’d visit soon and often. We are two rich men. Wickham wants funds. Hence he travels where the money is. Luckily the militia is stationed just outside Meryton. It is easy to join the militia, so Wickham signs up. He has his excuse for being in the neighborhood. All he has to do is wait and watch.” Darcy paused for a quick breath.
Sighing, he continued, “Meanwhile he meets the Bennet sisters at a party given by their own aunt. He is a master at charming the ladies, so I am sure Wickham has been invited back to other neighborhood soirees. Lydia and Kitty seemed quite familiar with him.
“And?”
“And when Wickham and I ran into each other yesterday morning in the village—can this have really transpired in one meager twenty-four hour period?—it seems a month long travail. Anyway when we met, I warned him to stay away from the Bennets or else. I am confident that Wickham concluded that I am in love with one of the Bennet ladies. Next Kitty and I have a conversation in which she makes it evident that her sisters are dining at Netherfield. Any of those sisters could be my paramour.”
“Wickham staked himself out at Netherfield to reconnoiter the situation,” Bingley inserted.
“Yes, how delighted he must have been to see the three sisters arrive. That might indicate you, Charles Bingley, are enamored with one of the ladies also . . . two lovers, one chaperone.”
“And—voila!—best of all—the Bennet sisters are driving themselves,” Charles added.
“Yes, how serendipitous! So a Wickham who only came to observe turned into a Wickham propelled to act.”
“Certainly! The circumstances were just too tailor-made for success to pass on.”
“So as soon as we escorted the ladies into the house, Wickham undoubtedly scurried back to the army camp and raided the medical cabinet and procured other supplies he needed. There was no reason to return to Netherfield. He stationed himself along the lane to Longbourn,” Darcy said.
“If we accompany the ladies home, Wickham just awaits for a chance another day,” Bingley said.
“Probably turned a cart over in the roadway,” Darcy said, ignoring the irrelevant. Bingley nodded his assent.
“And when the ladies stopped to investigate, he jumped aboard with his own special concoction of drugs,” Darcy continued.
“Drugged the ladies! Of course! We’d better go back and search again in the daylight for clues.”
“We might as well. We’re up.”
*****
Soon the two were walking the road to Longbourn, one on each side of the lane, searching for any signs they might have missed in the dark. Wagon wheels and horse hoofs imprinted the dirt track. It was so early that few had traveled that way this morning, but their own two a.m. research had trampled the road as well as the grassy verges, obscuring avenues of possible discovery. On the return trip, Darcy and Bingley stayed close to the fence and tree line. Wickham would not have taken the captured ladies there; he’d have driven them away in their own curricle. However, he had to lay in wait somewhere. He would not wish to be in plain sight.
Finally Bingley called out, “Darcy, look at this.”
Darcy raced across the road. “What?”
“There seems to be a patch of grass that a bottom has laid to waste. We wouldn’t have seen it in the dark, but it is obvious in the sunlight. Oh, and good! A cigar butt as well.”
“Hallelujah! Finally a substantial piece of evidence.”
“And over there behind the tree line—an old trailer, the kind used to move small cannon. Perfect to block the road.”
“And perfect to roll his supplies, blankets, saddlebags, and other whatever’s to the attack locale.”
“So we’ve proved he waited here,” Bingley said, suddenly dejected. “What now?”
“Actually we already knew he waited on this road somewhere. Now we know exactly where, but I don’t see any other hints, indicating where Wickham may have taken the ladies. The cigar is Wickham’s favorite brand.”
“So?”
“So, let’s go home. I want another cup of tea.”
*****
As the clock struck ten, the two friends sat at the breakfast room table in silence. Darcy, who knew Wickham best, tried to visualize the rapscallion’s spur of the moment plan of action. Being a total opposite in personality and character, it was difficult for Darcy to interpret Wickham’s mental machinations.
Suddenly Darcy sat up straight in his chair. Of course! In view of the spur of the moment nature of the abduction, Wickham would have scant time or opportunity to find a place to hide three ladies. It would have to be in the vicinity because Wickham would wish to be seen in his bunk at morning reveille. He would need a sanctuary, which was not only nearby, but also seldom used, or even abandoned in October.
Would he have tied them in an obscure barn? Without being roped, they could simply walk away. Would he have bothered with food and water? If they were tied up, they could hardly eat or drink anyway. Ah-h! A locked room might be the answer. That way they could not escape, but could eat. A locked room where no one could hear their screams! Most significantly, the locked room had to be one a soldier new to the post would know about. But where? A soldier’s knowledge of estate outbuildings would be limited, unless of course it was one scouted to take a lady friend some warm evening.
Darcy cogitated. He was putting together a scenario piece by piece. Darcy now anticipated a place close by, where no one ventured in October, that was isolated and could be locked, but which a soldier would know about? Oh, and it had to be accessible by curricle. Wickham could not carry three women any distance.
In addition, Wickham had to complete the entire kidnapping agenda in time to return to the fields behind Longbourn to reconnoiter Mr. Bennet’s actions, so he could take the note to the house in a mask, when Mr. Bennet was not at home, and before these same fields, in which he was hiding, were sear
ched. Wickham was a rascal, but he was no fool. He would not wish to confront a country gentleman, likely a superb shot with a pistol and shotgun, in his own home, while carrying a note which told of the kidnapping of said gentleman’s daughters and requiring a ransom for their return.
“Where?” he asked aloud.
“Where?” Bingley repeated.
“Where is an isolated building that can be reached in ten or fifteen minutes by curricle from the kidnapping site we located today . . . a spot unlikely to be thought of . . . a spot above suspicion, that can be easily secured . . . a spot unused at this time of year, but one a fellow new to the area would have heard of?”
“Oh, you mean the Spring Station?”
“The Spring Station?”
“Yes, you know—the Spring Station.”
“Actually, no, I don’t know.”
“Not far from Meryton there is a rather famous natural spring. It is so revered that in the spring and summer months visitors come from far and near to revel in its pristine waters. It is said to relieve all sorts of ailments.”
“Oh?”
“But it is closed now. The waters get too cold by the month of October. I’ll take you there next spring.”
“A spring station in the spring. How droll. Is there a building on the grounds of this spring?”
“Yes, a place to put on bathing attire. Ladies in the morning. Gents in the afternoon.”
“And it has a lock of some sort?”
“I’m sure it does.”
“But it would have windows that one could break?”
“No actually it is rather small—just a dressing room. The ladies would object to windows I am sure.”
“Is it on a road that a curricle could travel?’
“Certainly. Carts, wagons, carriages deliver guests there.”
“And is it so popular that the militia would have heard of it?”
“Certainly. The troops often visit the Spring Station on week-ends.”