by Glenna Mason
“Excellent! Bingley, Mrs. Chambers, let’s go straightway to the colonel’s house. Our conundrum may be solved,” Darcy said.
“While we are there, maybe we can ascertain the whereabouts of Lt. Wickham,” Bingley suggested.
“Mr. Darcy, may I go with you?” Elizabeth asked.
“And I?” the other three sisters asked simultaneously.
“Mrs. Chambers, can you visit with Mrs. Hill for tea, while we go to the colonel’s?” Bingley requested. “Six is about all my carriage will hold.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Good. We will pick you up when we return the Misses Bennets.”
*****
The Bennet sisters sat on one side of the carriage, Darcy and Bingley, their legs folded into the center to give the ladies space, the other. The ride to Colonel Forster’s was short in any case. Almost as soon as the gentlemen had assisted the four ladies into the carriage, they were assisting them back out.
“This won’t do,” Elizabeth said, as they stood by the carriage.
Darcy and Bingley looked at her in confusion. “There are too many of us to call on Mrs. Forster. Except for Kitty, none of us truly knows her. Help me back in.”
Darcy saw the wisdom of this decision, so all the ladies, except Kitty, resumed their seats in the carriage. Bingley escorted Kitty to the door, while Darcy went ahead and raised the knocker.
A maid answered and asked the three to wait just inside the entry. Soon a pretty, young woman came down the front hall. “Why, hello, Kitty, gentlemen. Please come in.”
“Mrs. Forster, may I present Mr. Bingley of Netherfield and London, and Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire and London.”
Mrs. Forster curtseyed. The gentlemen bowed.
“Mrs. Forster, thank you for greeting us so nicely, but I am afraid that we are not here on a social call,” Kitty began.
Mrs. Forster nodded, waiting patiently. “We are looking for Lydia. Have you seen her?”
“No, actually not for several days. Have you tried the pastry shop or the milliner’s?”
“Yes, ma’am, we have,” Bingley interceded.
“Is Colonel Forster at home, Mrs. Forster?” Darcy asked.
“No. He is at the militia headquarters or out in the field. I cannot seem to keep his military agenda correctly sorted in my head.”
The gentlemen bowed. “We have taken enough of your time. I think that we will go by the field office now,” Darcy said. “It has been very nice to meet you. Thank you for allowing us to intrude on your day.”
Bingley directed his coachman to drive them to the offices of the militia, while Darcy assisted Kitty into the carriage. Everyone snug again, the coach took off for a ten minute ride across town.
“I guess we weren’t needed, Mr. Bingley.” Elizabeth said. “I’m sorry we’ve crowded you so in your own carriage.”
A thought flitted through Darcy’s mind, unannounced and unexpected, “You’re always needed Miss Elizabeth.” He shook his head slightly, ridding it of the message. A frown creased his brow.
“You’re scowling, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth noted. “What is it? Have you thought of something untoward?”
Darcy smiled. “Nothing to make me frown I assure you, Miss Elizabeth.”
“What then?” she persisted.
“I was considering the pleasure of your lovely company—and—uh—of the other ladies too, of course.”
“That made you frown?”
“Yes, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, I see. How thoughtful.” Elizabeth flashed Darcy a glorious smile. He returned it with a broad grin.
“We’re here,” Bingley announced, when the carriage skidded to an abrupt halt. “What now?”
“I’ll just go in and speak to the colonel. Why don’t the rest of you wander around and see if you can find Denny. Oh, and inquire about Wickham.”
“He’ll know you suspect him,” Elizabeth realized.
“Good. It’s time.”
“We’ll accost Wickham, if we find him,” Bingley said, a slight snarl tinging his voice.
While the others spread out, Jane with her arm on Bingley’s arm in one direction, Elizabeth, Mary and Kitty, parasols open, flirtatious smiles on their lips, in another, Darcy entered the wooden building, which housed the militia offices.
Fifteen minutes later Darcy exited. He had learned that the troops were on a training mission somewhere in Hertfordshire. Colonel Forster was with them on his horse. It was assumed that Lt. Wickham was at the head of one of the units. At least he was supposed to be. To this point, no one had reported him missing. Of course if someone had, it would be to Colonel Forster, and he was out in the field.
“No one’s around,” Bingley reported.
“I know. Let’s take the ladies home. Maybe Miss Lydia has shown up by now.”
At nine that evening, a note was sent from Longbourn to Netherfield. It read:
Lydia has not returned. I’ve called the apothecary for Mrs. B. We are immensely worried.
Thomas Bennet
*****
The next day a letter arrived by the afternoon post, but not at Longbourn. It was addressed to Fitzwilliam Darcy and Charles Bingley in care of Netherfield, Hertfordshire. It read:
Enough charades, Darcy. I know your conniving mind as you know mine. You have guessed by now that I am in dire need of money on a grand scale. In order to facilitate my monetary relief, I have acquired a new bargaining chip: Lydia Bennet. She thinks we are eloping. Silly, silly girl. If you and her family wish her returned unharmed and unsullied, I want the thirty thousand pounds. Cash. No bank drafts. Directions tomorrow. Get the cash, Darcy.
The note was unsigned, but it didn’t require a signature and Wickham knew it.
Darcy strode down the hall to Bingley’s library and knocked.
“Enter.”
“The ransom note has been received, Charles.”
“Oh, I didn’t hear Mr. Bennet on the drive. Is he still here?”
“It came by post addressed to us,” Darcy announced, handing the missive to Bingley.
Bingley turned bright red. “That irresponsible, irredeemable renegade!”
“Call for your carriage. We have to return to London. Or shall we take mine this time?”
“Either. I don’t care.”
“My turn then.”
“My bankers are going to think I’m demented.”
Darcy tried to calm Bingley down by suggesting, “Let’s go to the opera tonight. We might as well have one night of play. We can’t get the funds until the morning.”
“Yes, and then it’s straight back to Hertfordshire. We’re wearing a rut in the highway.”
“We will swing by and advise Mr. Bennet of our note from Wickham.”
Bingley cheered up at that. “Let’s get in our traveling clothes and go. Miss Bennet and Mr. Bennet must be frantic by now.”
“Miss Elizabeth too,” Darcy whispered.
When the Darcy carriage pulled up in front of Longbourn, everyone rushed out, including Mrs. Bennet and the Hills. Even Julia stood in the doorway. Darcy handed Mr. Bennet the note. Elizabeth and Jane read over his shoulder.
“Oh-h,” Jane cried out, collapsing at her father’s feet. Bingley and Darcy rushed over. Mrs. Hill pulled out the smelling salts. “Oh-h,” Jane said again, reviving, tears streaming, as she was supported in Bingley’s arms. Darcy looked up at Elizabeth. She was trying to soothe and quiet her shrieking mother. He stood, shaken, wordless.
“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary,” Darcy finally managed, “we are on our way to London to procure the funds. Miss Lydia will be returned to you soon.”
“Yes. I see that you must.” Elizabeth sighed. “I am so sorry.” Tears fell from her fine hazel eyes. Darcy’s heart broke to see them. He wanted to hold her, caress her, give her solace.
Bingley helped Jane to her feet and half carried her into the house. Mr. and Mrs. Hill took charge of Mrs. Bennet.
“Mr. Bennet, we’ll be ba
ck at Netherfield by about one tomorrow. We’ll advise you, if we receive further instructions. Please do the same, if they are sent to you.”
“Of course, my boy.”
Bingley returned. “Let’s go, Darcy. We want to get to Park Lane before dark.”
“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine,” Darcy said, bowing, “until tomorrow.”
As the carriage pulled away, Darcy glanced back through the window. Elizabeth waved and said, “Thank you.”
*****
On the return trip from London, Darcy had two armed men atop the carriage and two armed outriders jogging alongside the carriage. They made their way safely back to Netherfield with no incidences. Bingley and Darcy went directly to the safe hidden behind a wall of books in the Netherfield library and secured the thirty thousand pounds in it. Now they could relax a little, until the next posted instructions arrived from Wickham.
“I’ll be in the study, Bingley. I’m going to write Richard.” He meant, of course, his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of the Prince Regent’s guards. “As soon as Lydia is returned unharmed, I am going to set the dogs on Wickham.”
“Fabulous idea,” Bingley said with a smile. “Let me add a note at the end. I’d like for the colonel to come down for an extended visit.”
“Perfect! We can drink and ride, while we plan Wickham’s demise.”
”Oh, ho! With Richard Fitzwilliam in on the chase—now there’s a bet I’d truly like to back.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
No word came to Netherfield or Longbourn the next day. Darcy sent a runner to the militia headquarters. The troops and their colonel were still out on bivouac. There was simply no way to determine if Wickham was with them. The location of the military exercise was secret. The expediency of secrecy was one of the primary elements being monitored during this exercise.
“Perfect timing for Wickham,” Bingley sneered.
“Maybe, maybe not. He may be stuck out there unable to contact us.”
“Unfortunate for Miss Lydia.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wickham has apparently enticed Miss Lydia with a proposal of marriage.”
“So?”
“So I’d say the odds are better than even money that she is not locked up at some new hideaway, kicking and screaming, but rather that she is peacefully residing in an inn somewhere close by. If she believes herself a future bride, wouldn’t she’d stay at the hotel quietly incognito?”
“And Wickham is using the militia’s field exercise as his excuse not to run off immediately with her to Gretna Green. He probably took her to the inn, immediately mailed us the letter and then hightailed it on to the last conveyance going into the field.”
“A good probability. I’d say that Wickham has inveigled Miss Lydia into an acquiescence with his plans, by convincing her that if she notifies her family where she is that same family will retrieve her and lock her in her room. Their romance would be at an end,” Darcy said.
“Good strategy on his part. Miss Lydia is so centered on her own whims and desires that she’d be unlikely to even consider what her family is suffering at her disappearance.”
“Do you know any more Spring Station type hideaways in the vicinity of Meryton?”
“Not right off hand, no.”
“Then Wickham doesn’t either. He’s been in the vicinity less time than you have.”
“And he only had one day from the bank draft fiasco to the abduction of Miss Lydia to secure a new locale.”
“So—hmm.”
“So?”
“So we have two avenues of research as I see it. We begin a systematic search of the inns and hotels he could have easily reached with Miss Lydia in front of him on the saddle in the short time frame he had available, and we check the area to see if any landaus have been rented or stolen since two days ago. As I understand it, Miss Lydia doesn’t ride, and so securing her a horse of her own would have been an exercise in futility. She’d have baulked at such a plan.”
“And a baulking Miss Lydia is a situation anyone would avoid,” Bingley said, smiling. “Let’s map out the inns in a reasonable distance and visit them personally.”
“Meanwhile send a footman or two out into the neighborhood to check for rentals or theft.”
“Let’s get started then.”
*****
Darcy and Bingley went directly to the Meryton Inn, with low expectations of success, and were assured that no young lady resided there at this time. However, the visit was not a total failure because, after handing the owner a pound note, they received an extensive list of inns, taverns with rooms to let, and hotels in a fifteen mile radius.
Darcy and Bingley then began a systematic search, beginning north and moving east and then south.
“I doubt expensive hotels are in Wickham’s budget, but we’d better not skip any possibility,” Bingley said. Thus they covered every rental available from small to large. And at every inn or hotel they inquired if there were any others nearby. Their list expanded exponentially. It was almost dark when they rode into the southernmost village on their list.
“We will have to do the western segment tomorrow,” an exhausted Bingley attested. “It’s too late to continue today.”
“Very well. I agree. The Imaginary Inn and Bar is our last stop. We’ll commence just west of here first thing in the morning.”
The two entered the barroom of the Imaginary Inn and Bar. They decided to chat with the bartender. Bartenders were more often than not unquenchable sources of information, especially if one were quenching one’s thirst on their bar stools. So Darcy heartily agreed, when Bingley said vociferously enough that the bartender could not help but hear, “Let’s get an ale, Darcy. All this dust from the road has stuck in my throat.”
Sipping from the foaming tankard, Darcy began their quest by displaying a trump card right up front. He laid twenty guineas on the counter. The bartender, a Mr. Rollins, came to attention.
“I assume you need my advice on some matter of supreme importance,” Mr. Rollins said in perfect Eton style English.
Darcy looked up in surprise. Rollins laughed. “Oxford, ’88.”
“Cambridge, ’05. Bingley here is Oxford, ’07.”
The three shook hands on it.
“Now how can I help you?”
“We are seeking a young lady, who has been abducted from her home, with a promise of a wedding ring and a trip to Gretna Green.”
“I see,” Rollins murmured, eyeing the twenty guineas.
“She is a gentleman’s daughter, only sixteen years of age. Her parents and her four sisters are distressed beyond measure.”
“And you and this gentleman—what is your investment in this proposed elopement?”
“We are family friends, but, most significantly, we are acquaintances of this so-called gentleman, that the young lady is allegedly engaged to.”
“So-called gentleman?”
“Without any credentials, other than his ability to charm.”
“Oh, ho!”
“Do you know the whereabouts of the young lady in question?”
“What would you do with the young lady, if, and notice I do say if, I happen to know her current abode? I do not see a carriage.”
“Does your fine establishment have one for lease?”
“Perhaps.”
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Park Lane, London, and Pemberley Estates, Derbyshire,” Darcy said, removing his identification from his wallet and sliding it across the bar.
“This is Charles Bingley, Mayfair, London and Netherfield, Hertfordshire. Bingley.”
Charles likewise took his identification from his wallet for Mr. Rollins to see.
“We are looking for Miss Lydia Bennet, whose parents are Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Bennet of Longbourn, near Meryton.”
“Have you seen her, sir?” Bingley asked, a little too emphatically, perhaps.
“And if I have?” the bartender re
torted in kind.
Darcy trying to negotiate peacefully answered, “The twenty guineas in front of you is merely a down payment, if you can lead us to the lady we seek.”
“I am not interested in your money.”
“Oh?” Darcy answered, confused.
“I am interested in love.”
“Then for the sake of love, help us,” Bingley responded, his tone now mitigated. “This is no love match. It is a pure case of blackmail.”
With that, Darcy handed Wickham’s note to Rollins. He was clearly flabbergasted. “Thirty thousand pounds for one sixteen year old.”
“We’re afraid so.”
“You say she has sisters.”
“Yes.”
“And these sisters are beautiful one might presume,” Rollins said, smiling coyly.
“Very beautiful.”
“So-o. May I hear about them?”
“The eldest is an angel on earth, lovely and serene. Her name is Jane,” Bingley exuded.
“And the second to the eldest is one of a kind, almost indescribable in her vivacity and her fine eyes,” Darcy said with just a trace of admiration.
“And her name?”
“Elizabeth.” Darcy recognized that Mr. Rollins was playing some game with them, but he instinctively knew that they were making progress toward their goal. This gentleman, and Rollins was a gentleman, an Oxford graduate no less, knew something that they needed to know. He’d play along with the game, for a little while anyway.
“Elizabeth and Jane Bennet, you say.”
“Yes.”
“Lydia Bennet.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Bennet.”
“Yes,” Darcy answered, getting decidedly impatient, but trying to control his fraying temper.
“And are the other two sisters, by any chance, named Mary and Catherine?”
“Yes, man. Please do you know them? Do you know where Miss Lydia is?”
“Obviously I know the Bennets—quite well in fact. Miss Lydia had Lt. Wickham bring her to me because I am her godfather. She begged for me to give her sanctuary, so she could marry the man she loves, a man her father would not favor, a marriage he would refuse to sanction,” Rollins said.
“The lieutenant left Lydia with me temporarily because he had a mandatory field exercise that he could not miss. According to his story, which I now see was a complete fabrication, he intended to ask for leave as soon as the troops returned to their base. At which time Wickham claimed he would return for Lydia and they would elope.”