The Phantom of Pemberley

by Regina Jeffers

  Darcy took the low-ceilinged tunnel that his cousin had used only minutes earlier, running bent over and preparing for the worst as the daylight became apparent at last. Dropping the lantern he carried into the snow, Darcy shaded his eyes from the sting of the sunlight on the frozen landscape. He did not wait to confirm the tracks ahead of him belonged to his wife and cousin—it only made sense for Wickham to seek an escape on horseback.

  Taking the road leading to the forested area that surrounded his estate, Darcy circled the back of the stables—the fenced area where they trained his cattle and sheared his sheep. Following the fence line, he crept carefully along the blocked slats, seeking cover in case of an attack, but nothing before the barns and stables moved. All he observed was Demon and Pandora, standing side by side, as if waiting for Elizabeth and him to mount.

  Then he saw them—his cousin and Lydia Wickham lying some fifteen feet apart, both covered in blood. Darcy’s breath caught in his chest as he hunched at the end of the fence line and surveyed the area, looking for Wickham and Elizabeth. Seeing neither, he ran to the colonel’s side, keeping the horses between him and the stable door.

  “Edward.” He gently touched his cousin’s shoulder. “Edward, please.” A moan answered Darcy’s prayer. He rolled the colonel to his back and began to check for wounds. “Where?” he asked as he took a second handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the chest wound after opening his cousin’s jacket.

  Edward Fitzwilliam opened his eyes tentatively and stared deep into Darcy’s. “Wickham fired…before…before I could get…get a clean shot.”

  “It is well. I will take care of it. Did you see Elizabeth?” Darcy pulled a handkerchief from Edward’s own pocket and wrapped it tightly around his cousin’s wrist.

  “Mrs. Darcy…behind him…in the stable.” Darcy’s eyes lifted to the building, searching for some sign of Elizabeth. “I shot…I shot Mrs.Wickham…gun went off…did not mean to.”

  The sound of running feet, crunching on the icy snow, brought Darcy’s attention to the connecting roads from the main house. Darcy raised his gun, but quickly lowered it again when he saw Worth and the Pemberley livery. He motioned to them to come closer, but to keep low.

  The solicitor crawled to reach him. “My God, Darcy!”

  “I need your help, Worth. Elizabeth is in the stable with Wickham, and I need to see my cousin to the house.”

  “I will tend the colonel. Go after your wife.” He took over the pressure that Darcy had held on the wound. “What about Mrs. Wickham?” He gestured with his head toward where the lady lay beside the horses.

  Darcy’s eyes followed the man’s gaze. “I do not know. I am not sure how many or what kind of weapons Wickham has, and his wife rests close to the door. I will try, but at the moment, my first concern is with my own wife and child.”

  Again, a sound coming from the direction of the tunnel opening brought all their watchfulness to the back of the building, and then Stafford appeared before them. As he hurried to where they analyzed their next move, Darcy decided on his point of attack.

  “I see from where the noise came.” Stafford noted the colonel and the immobile Lydia Wickham. “What do we do now?”

  “Worth and my men will take Edward to the house. I am going into the back of the stable. Once I have engaged Wickham’s attention, would you go for Mrs. Wickham? I am not sure whether the lady lives or not.”

  Stafford looked carefully to where Lydia lay on her side in the snow. “It appears she breathes. See…Mrs. Wickham’s chest rises and falls.”

  Darcy tried to see what the viscount noted, but his anxiety for Elizabeth blinded him to everything else. “I believe what you say.” He looked again at the forbidding building. “Give me a few minutes to take a position, and then everyone move at once.”

  “We have it,” Stafford assured him. “Concentrate all your energies on saving Mrs. Darcy.”

  Darcy took a determined, stabilizing breath, and then—suddenly unable to any longer control the fierce anger building inside him—he stood. Cocking the gun he carried, he moved toward the back of the building.

  The muffled sound of the guns stilled the two rooms holding Pemberley’s occupants: the small drawing room occupied by the house’s current residents and the ballroom with the Pemberley staff inside.

  “What was that?” Despite her aunt’s and Mrs. Reynolds’s objections, Georgiana Darcy was on her feet pacing the room. She followed Anne to a nearby window to look out.

  Sir Phillip ushered them away.“It is too dangerous. Please move to a safer part of the room.”The fact that he, too, carried a gun did not ease their apprehension.

  “The noise, Sir Phillip?” Anne pleaded. “Was it a gun?”

  He purposely ignored her question. Instead, he slid a casual arm around her waist and guided Anne to a nearby chair. “The noise came from outside the house. It could be a tenant chasing a rabbit or even a poacher, especially after so many days of cold weather. Do not become alarmed over every sound.”

  “But what if it was one of them?” Anne steadfastly insisted.

  “We will know soon enough.”

  A knock at the door interrupted their thoughts. Mr. Baldwin called before he entered, “Mrs. Reynolds, we need you.” The man looked grave.

  “What happened?” Georgiana demanded, on her feet again.

  Mr. Baldwin patiently acknowledged the girl’s anxiety. “It is Redman, Miss. He broke his leg. There was a dry well of some kind, probably from the old ruins. At your brother’s suggestion, I have sent Timmons to Lambton for the surgeon.”

  “Do we know any more about my brother or sister or the colonel?”

  “No, Miss Darcy. Lucas says Lord Stafford helped with Redman and then followed the Master and the colonel into the tunnels. That is all we know at this time.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Baldwin.” Sir Phillip excused the man to his duties as Mrs. Reynolds rushed to the footman’s side.

  Darcy lifted up on the small door used for supplies to ease the hinges and to silently enter the stables. Surrounded by tack and leather, he hunched behind the last stall and listened.

  “Mr. Withey, you cannot hope to escape now.” The sound of Elizabeth’s voice calmed Darcy’s racing pulse. She was alive, and that was what was important.

  “I still have you,” the man threatened.

  Darcy recognized the voice, but something about it lacked a familiarity. It was as if he listened to a man with whom he had once shared intimacies, but also to a man of whom he had no knowledge. Shaking off the uncanny feeling this created in him, Darcy once again studied the area. He needed to know where Elizabeth stood in relation to Wickham—he could not let what had happened with Mrs. Wickham happen to her. As quietly as possible, he edged forward to the stall’s end, where he could see the elongated shadows cast by the two lanterns hanging on either side of the door.Wickham and Elizabeth stood several feet apart. At least, he had that.

  Darcy silently sucked in another stilling breath and moved around the corner of the last stall, hoping to come as close to Wickham as possible before the man saw him. He made it past three stalls before Elizabeth’s eyes grew in recognition and past another two before Wickham turned from the door where he peered out onto the emptiness of the stable yard and brought Darcy up short.Without even looking at her, Wickham cocked his gun and pointed it at Elizabeth’s temple.

  Viscount Stafford waited the required three minutes upon which they had agreed before he made his move.The colonel managed by pure will to rise first to his knees and then to his own feet. Then, with the help of Murray and St. Denis, who had managed to exit through the east wing, the Pemberley footmen partially carried and partially walked the colonel toward the servants’ entrance. Worth remained behind to help with Lydia Wickham.

  “Are you a good shot?” Stafford asked as he sized up the situation.

  Worth followed the viscount’s line of sight. “Fair…better than most.”

  Adam Lawrence took a quick assessment
of Mr.Worth’s physical strength.“Fair or not, you had best cover the door. I will retrieve Mrs. Wickham. Are you ready?”Worth swallowed nervously, but he nodded his affirmation. “We move on two. One…two.”

  “Miss Darcy!” Murray tapped frantically on the drawing room door.

  Sir Phillip jerked the door open, blocking the footman’s entrance to the room. “What is it, Murray?” he demanded.

  The man pulled at his forelock. “Excuse me, sir. I came for Miss Darcy and Mrs. Reynolds. The colonel, sir…the colonel has been shot.”

  A gasp told Sir Phillip that Georgiana stood close behind him. “How bad?” the baronet urged.

  “Cannot tell, sir, but he walked part of the way to the house.We brought the colonel through the kitchen. He is on the trundle bed off the main room. He is asking for Miss Darcy.”

  “I am going.” Georgiana pushed past the baronet.

  “Go with her, Murray,” the magistrate called from the doorway. “I will send Mrs. Reynolds immediately.”

  Georgiana rushed through the main foyer headed toward the servants’ entrance, her thoughts consumed by the possibility of losing her cousin.

  Murray’s long gait caught up with her as she strode along.“The colonel, Miss—he will be fine. Trust me,” he said as he rushed forward to swing open the kitchen door. “In here, Miss Darcy.” He held a second door. “The colonel is in here.” He remained at the opening, watching over the master’s sister.

  “Edward?” Immediately at his side, Georgiana knelt beside the low makeshift bed. “Edward, I am here.”Alarm coursed through her.

  Slowly, the colonel opened his eyes. The weariness present there frightened her, but Georgiana caught his hand in hers and squeezed, and, thankfully, he wrapped the tips of his fingers around hers. “Closer,” he whispered.

  Georgiana took a cloth from a nearby table and wet the corner and touched it to his lips. “I will take care of you.” She wet the cloth again and wiped his face clean.

  Edward gave her a crooked smile and tightened his hold, giving a little tug to pull her to him. A small grimace indicated the pain coursing through him, but determination outweighed everything else. “Georgie…come closer.”

  The girl surveyed his wounds before leaning across his chest. “What do you need? Just tell me, and it is yours. Anything, Edward.”

  “You, Georgie…I need you,” he gasped out. Tears filled her eyes, and she did not even breathe. Her heart burst with happiness. “Tell me…it is…what…what you need, too.”

  “You came back to me,” she whispered.

  His grin grew, turning up the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Sweetest…I came for you.” The colonel closed his eyes, consumed by the pain, but the smile did not fade.

  Unaware of the physical chemistry stirring their hearts, Mrs. Reynolds rushed into the room and took Georgiana’s shoulders and replaced the girl with her own body.“Let me have a look, Colonel,” she said, all business. She gently removed the blood-soaked handkerchief to examine the wound. Finally taking note of the girl, she ordered, “Miss Darcy, you should not be here.”

  “I am staying,” Georgiana declared, moving to the other side of the bed.

  A raised eyebrow spoke volumes. Mrs. Reynolds took a closer look at how the girl she had helped to raise suddenly stared at her cousin with different eyes—the eyes not of a girl, but of a woman. “Then see about cleaning the colonel’s wrist wound. It is likely that he has a fractured bone, so be careful. It will help Doctor Miller if we clean everything for him.”

  Timidly, Georgiana asked, “How long before the surgeon arrives?” She untied the knot her brother had tied earlier and began to gently wash the area.

  “Not long now. Within the hour, I imagine.” Mrs. Reynolds pressed another bandage to the chest wound. “This one is barely bleeding. It does not look too bad—appears the colonel’s military regalia deflected the bullet. I do not think he has more than some fragments in the wound.” She wrapped a cloth across Edward’s shoulder. “I suppose I might count on you to tend your cousin’s wounds?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I would happily tend the colonel,” Georgiana declared, coming to sit by the bed.

  Mrs. Reynolds took a closer look at the girl’s face, especially examining the clarity of her eyes. “Do not overdo it,” the housekeeper warned.“You took quite a blow to your head only a bit ago.”

  “I will rest easier if I know my cousin is not in danger.” Georgiana moved her chair closer, where she might touch him.

  Mrs. Reynolds smiled faintly. “Then I will check on Redman again.” She moved to take her leave. “I am placing Murray here in case either you or Colonel Fitzwilliam needs him. Make sure your patient does not move about.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  CHAPTER 23

  STAFFORD AND WORTH scrambled toward where Lydia Wickham lay on the frozen ground before the stables.They bowed low to avoid detection. Worth squatted beside the enclosure, gun aimed at the stable door, using his left forearm to set his sight line and to steady the weapon. Stafford, on the other hand, scurried to the lady’s side. He turned her over gently to determine her wounds. Seeing only one obvious injury, Stafford waited no more than two heartbeats before he scooped her to him and ran in the opposite direction.

  Seeing the viscount’s retreat, Worth backed carefully away, a bit shaken by the experience.

  Stafford handed Lydia off to Lucas before saying to Worth, “We should stay close in case Darcy needs us.” He cocked his gun and turned again toward the structure.

  “I agree.” Worth followed the viscount, but his nerves still showed.

  “Hopefully, Darcy will sew things up soon.” Stafford knelt along the fence line, where he might observe when the door opened but not be in an immediate line of fire. “Wickham cannot think to escape.”

  Worth knelt behind the viscount. “I do not believe Mr.Wickham capable of making such logical decisions. He will risk everything.”

  “Then Darcy will have to kill the man to free his wife?” Stafford took in Worth’s inscrutable expression.

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  “We have another one for you,” Lucas called as he carried Lydia Wickham into the drawing room. Mrs. Reynolds followed the footman.

  Cathleen scrambled up from the chaise upon which she sat to allow the man to place Mrs.Wickham down in her place. “Do you need help, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “I can always use an extra set of hands.”The woman took a pair of scissors from her box and cut away part of Lydia’s sleeve. “Let us examine the wound first, and then we will use some smelling salts to wake Mrs.Wickham. Why do you not step into the hallway and grab a few cloaks from the clothes tree.We need to warm her arms and legs so she does not suffer from the cold.”

  “Certainly.” Cathleen hurried to do the woman’s bidding.When she returned with three cloaks, she asked, “Do we know what is going on?” Cathleen adjusted the outerwear over Lydia’s legs.

  Mrs. Reynolds whispered softly, “Lucas says Lord Stafford and Mr.Worth rescued Mrs.Wickham from where her husband had left her. Reportedly, Mr. Wickham used his wife as protection against Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  “And my cousin?” Cathleen folded a new bandage for the gunshot wound.

  Mrs. Reynolds glanced quickly around the room to ensure privacy. “Lord Stafford and Mr.Worth stand guard before the stables. Mr. Darcy went in to rescue his wife, whom Mr.Wickham holds prisoner.”

  “Will Mr. Darcy prevail?”

  “Yes, or die trying. The Master will safeguard Mrs. Darcy’s life with his own.”

  “Let her go,Wickham.” Darcy stood and stepped into the open.“It is I on whom you seek revenge.”

  “I do seek revenge on you, Darcy, but I am not that milquetoast George Wickham.”

  Confused by the man’s words, Darcy’s eyes locked on Elizabeth and saw that she spoke to him of the unknown—of a message she tried to relay. “I am afraid, sir, I do not know the rules of the game you play.” Keeping his gun loosely by
his side, Darcy infused his words with calmness as he edged forward—only inches, but forward just the same.

  “’Tis no game,” James Withey declared. “Ask your wife if you doubt my sincerity.”

  This, then, was what she wanted to tell him. Elizabeth’s eyes revealed that her mind raced through a series of facts she needed to share. “Mrs. Darcy?” he spoke softly and edged still closer.

  With the gun only inches from her head, Elizabeth should have been having a fit of the vapors; instead, she gave Darcy a mischievous grin before saying, “It is true, Fitzwilliam,” she asserted. “This is Mr. Withey—James Withey. It is my understanding that you have met Mr.Withey previously.”

  Mystified, Darcy eyed Elizabeth. Why does she agree with the man? Darcy intuited that Elizabeth wanted to prove something to him.“I am at a loss, my Dear,” he said in an intimate tone.“I do not believe I have made Mr.Withey’s acquaintance previously.”

  Elizabeth arched one eyebrow, which said, Listen to what I do not say in my words, and Darcy allowed himself to relax into a serene alertness. “I am sure, my Husband, that you have simply forgotten your interactions with Mr. Withey because of your numerous responsibilities to Pemberley, and, in reality, it has been several years since you have seen each other.”

  “As you are an excellent example of reason and common sense, I suspect you are correct.” Again, he surreptitiously moved another two inches closer to Wickham and to the gun the man held on Elizabeth.