Chasing Elizabeth

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Chasing Elizabeth Page 25

by Jennifer Joy


  “Mr. Bingley?” exclaimed Elizabeth as she followed her father’s line of vision.

  Charlotte saw him, too. “What is he doing here?”

  “My theory is more effective than I gave it credit for,” Papa said with a chuckle.

  At first, Mr. Bingley seemed relieved to see them approaching, but his satisfaction quickly turned to nerves. Brushing his hat off his head, he twisted and bent the brim.

  Peeking around from behind Mr. Bingley was Jim. On seeing them, he stepped around his master, grinning from ear to ear. His presence puzzled Elizabeth, but she returned his smile. She enjoyed the stable boy’s chatter.

  Her father greeted Mr. Bingley warmly, inquiring politely after the health of his family before adding, “You are not here to bet on the horses, too, are you?”

  Mr. Bingley blushed. “Me? No. And you, Mr. Bennet? I would not have taken you for a gambling gentleman.”

  “Indeed, I am not. I only refer to your friend, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Darcy?” Mr. Bingley’s eyebrows shot upward. “He rarely gambles. This would be the last place I would expect to see him.”

  Elizabeth exchanged a look with Charlotte. Her father’s theory might have its flaws, but hers was gaining strength. Fitzwilliam did not gamble. He could not be deeply in debt. Then, why had he lied to her? The only explanation that satisfied, that added the weight of honorable intent, was that he was a spy. Once again, he had been trying to protect her.

  Papa, having had so much success in proving his theory up to that moment, did not take well to Mr. Bingley’s proof against it. He forgot to carry on conversation when he had a new twist to ponder.

  Addressing Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth said, “We are pleased to see you. If you are not here for the horses, then how did you come to the Derby?”

  Mr. Bingley’s blush spread from his cheeks to cover his face.

  Jim blurted, “Blimey, Miss, we’ve been chasing you all over the country! First that fancy hotel in London, and then The Golden Crown, and finally here. If me throbbin’ feet is any indication, we’ve been walking for hours, and I still haven’t seen me brother. That’s why we were walking toward the stables. Have you seen him? Have you seen Joe? Is he with the racehorse and the famous trainer? Golly, I hope Sir William’s horse wins today.”

  Hat mangled between his hands, Mr. Bingley jumped into the conversation before Jim could take another breath and continue. “Thank you, Jim, but you really must not interrupt.”

  Jim’s eyes widened. “Did I bungle things up again?” His face twisted. “I am sorry. I’ll try harder, I swear it.”

  Elizabeth wondered how many times Mr. Bingley and Jim had had this same conversation. The kindly rebuke of the master and the repentant remorse of the boy tugged at her heart and pulled her lips into a smile. That, and her complete joy for Jane. Why else would Mr. Bingley chase them all over the country if not for her?

  Papa bobbed up and down on his toes, once again pleased with himself. “That is quite a trip.”

  Mr. Bingley dropped his hands to his side, a nice reprieve for his hat, Elizabeth thought. “There is a matter of vital importance I wish to discuss with you,” he said.

  “Vital?” Papa repeated.

  “To me, yes,” Mr. Bingley said with so much misery, Elizabeth took pity on him. She understood the feeling.

  “Well, then,” Papa replied, “I invite you to call on me at the inn once this race is over. I will admit that despite my nature and better judgment, I am much too excited at present to give you the attention you deserve. But the race will be done in an hour, and we can discuss your vital matter then.”

  “Thank you.” Mr. Bingley bowed, trying to look grateful when he was clearly disappointed.

  Charlotte must have noticed, too. She changed the subject, asking, “How is it that you came to bring Jim?”

  Jim opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it when Mr. Bingley shot him a look. The boy really was trying.

  “His brother is here with your father’s trainer, Miss Lucas. Jim has talked of nothing else since Sir William left, and when it was suggested to me that I bring him along and allow the rest of the household to recover, I relented … er, accepted.”

  Elizabeth bit her tongue to keep from laughing. She imagined the chattering lad following Mr. Bingley around the Netherfield Park grounds whenever he required a mount, irritating everyone in his path with his exuberance. “I imagine so,” she said vaguely, smiling again at Jim.

  It was too much for the lad. He looked as though he would burst with unspoken words. “Golly, it’s a pity the ladies can’t race. You’d give all these gents a run for their money on Tempest, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Mr. Bingley blushed scarlet. “I am so sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I am certain Jim meant it as a compliment.”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “And so I will take it, Mr. Bingley. Please do not trouble yourself.” To Jim, she added, “I will stick to the fields, all the same. Any lady who attempted to ride in the Derby would be ruined if she were found out.”

  He frowned. “‘Tis not fair.”

  Charlotte intervened. “We are close to the stables. Would you like to see Trophonius?” she asked Mr. Bingley as much as she asked Jim.

  “We would be delighted to,” Mr. Bingley replied. Jim’s grin was answer enough.

  Papa leaned toward her. “I might have been mistaken about Mr. Darcy, but my theory stands. Poor Mrs. Bennet’s nerves must be fraught! She will scold me sharply when we return, but I will have the satisfaction of informing her of my part in securing a young man’s proposal for my daughter. Perhaps two by the time the day is over.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Elizabeth, and they fell in behind Mr. Bingley, Charlotte, and Jim.

  So distracted were they, Papa almost trampled over Mr. Bingley, who had stopped and was pointing at a small building behind the stables.

  “That is Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s cousin. I would not have thought to see him here.”

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Elizabeth. Perhaps the colonel would help them find Fitzwilliam.

  They turned toward the building to see four rough-looking men round the brick building from the other side, surrounding Colonel Fitzwilliam. One of them held a knife.

  Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She no longer felt safe any more.

  “Blimey,” exclaimed Jim, charging forward.

  Mr. Bingley grabbed him by the back of his jacket. “You stay here with Mr. Bennet and the ladies.”

  In the split-second Mr. Bingley’s back was turned, the colonel lunged forward, and one of the men screeched in pain as he grabbed his arm. The colonel took a hit to his face, but he retreated inside the long, narrow building before they saw more.

  “We ought to call for help,” Papa said.

  Elizabeth was already walking toward the building with Jim. Fitzwilliam was inside. She knew it.

  “The altercation will be over by then,” Charlotte said behind her.

  Papa continued protesting. “I do not know what help you think we will be.”

  But Elizabeth was already at the side of the building, peeking in and squinting until her eyes adjusted to the darker interior.

  “Blimey,” Jim said in breathless awe.

  Elizabeth could not have expressed herself better. And when her father and Charlotte saw what they did, they gaped and stared, too. The shape of Oakley’s nose made perfect sense now.

  Mr. Bingley did his best to be of assistance, but the ease and agility with which Oakley, Fitzwilliam, and his military cousin received their assailants was thrilling to behold. It was like one of the stories she loved to read of The Red Campion.

  Swing, kick. Down dropped one.

  Jab, punch. Down went another.

  As the third dropped to the floor, her father turned to her. “Who is Mr. Darcy?”

  Lunge, thrust. The last henchman fell.

  Jim ran past the open boxes into the shed. “That was amazing!” He flung his fists in the air in imitation of his new her
oes.

  Fitzwilliam looked panicked, and when he noticed them standing at the side entrance, he looked crestfallen. “You cannot be here.”

  The colonel pressed his hand against his swollen cheek. “It is too late, Darcy.”

  “Excuse me, please,” said a deep voice behind her.

  Elizabeth stepped aside to allow Mr. Croft to pass. His swollen lip signaled that he had also met with trouble.

  Jutting a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “I caught two trying to sneak up behind Miss Elizabeth from behind.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “I saw no one.”

  Fitzwilliam’s nostrils flared. “It is as I feared. They will try to capture her. Anything to keep me from—” He stopped, shoving his hands into his hair and pacing.

  Charlotte grabbed a couple of lead ropes hanging in the box stall and breezed past Elizabeth. “Unless you want these men to cause more trouble, you had better tie them.”

  The colonel jumped to action, taking the rope. “Of course! Thank you, Miss—”

  Fitzwilliam offered hasty introductions.

  “Lucas, you said?” The colonel raised an eyebrow and shot a glare at Fitzwilliam before swooping an elegant bow. “I am honored to meet you, Miss Lucas. And the Bennets. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

  Elizabeth stepped farther down the corridor, stopping when she did not feel her father by her.

  He shook his head. “I think I will stay here at this opening. If any other rough types come near, I will shout a warning.” He looked around the inside wall, his face brightening when he saw a shovel. Grabbing the tool, he held it like a club, his knuckles white. “If anyone tries to kidnap my Lizzy, they will have to get past me first.”

  She could not help but smile … and pray he would not have to use his rustic weapon.

  The colonel cut the leads in half, tossing the lengths to Fitzwilliam, Oakley, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Croft. “Tie them tightly. We have no idea how many more are out there, but at least we may be confident knowing there are fewer now than there were before.”

  Once the ruffians had been dragged to lean against the darkest far wall with their hands tied, the gentlemen found another rope with which to secure their feet. Fitzwilliam moved with the same agility Elizabeth had seen outside the Lucases’ stables. Not one movement was wasted.

  “I was right. I thought you were, but I talked myself out of it, believing that I suffered from fancy.” Elizabeth stood still in the middle of the shed, numb with emotion.

  Charlotte wrapped her arm around her. “That was partly my doing.” Turning to the colonel, she asked, “Why were you investigating my father?”

  “Come no closer!” Papa shouted. “Halt, I say!”

  Clang!

  Elizabeth whirled around to see a jockey with a switch in his hand drop to his knees.

  “No!” shouted the colonel and Fitzwilliam in unison, running past Elizabeth to where her father stood. The colonel caught the jockey before he fell forward on his face.

  Her father mumbled, “He was trying to sneak up on you like those others. He raised his switch.”

  Fitzwilliam rubbed his hands over his face. “He was our jockey.” He helped his cousin drag the man over to the wall and gently lower him down.

  The colonel waved his hand in front of the jockey, but the man was out cold.

  Papa tugged his side whiskers, utterly confused.

  Standing up, Fitzwilliam pressed his palms together in a plea. “Please, I beg of you to leave.”

  Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “I am sorry if our presence is an inconvenience, but it is clear to me that you need our help. Let us help you.”

  Fitzwilliam pleaded. “You do not understand. It is too dangerous. You could get hurt.” The pain in his eyes convinced her of the gravity of their situation, strengthening her resolve to stay.

  “You are right. I do not understand. But I see that you are in trouble, and I care enough to want to help. You never were in debt, were you? You are a terrible liar, but I know you well enough to trust your reason was honorable.”

  Fitzwilliam gritted his teeth, his hand pressing against his chest.

  Elizabeth felt her father’s sleeve brush against her arm as he stood beside her. He still held the shovel, which he handed (quite sheepishly) to Oakley when he motioned for it. Papa said, “If someone has attempted to take my daughter away from me, I do not trust them not to attempt it again. I would rather she stay close to a gentleman more capable of protecting her.”

  The colonel spoke. “They are right, Darcy. There is no hiding it any more. Tell them. Tell them you are The Red Campion.”

  Elizabeth felt her jaw drop.

  Fitzwilliam groaned.

  Jim grinned. “Blimey!”

  Her father’s breath whooshed in an exhale. “Native to Derbyshire. I said that only recently but did not connect him to you, Mr. Darcy.”

  “That was you? All of it?” Elizabeth winced. She may have found her tongue, but eloquence still evaded her.

  “All that, and more,” the colonel said, shrugging when Fitzwilliam glared at him again. “What? What harm can it do to tell them the whole of it now? Your cover is blown. If they can tell us anything to ensure the success of this mission, it will not be for nothing.”

  “All I have tried to do is keep those I most care about safe, and here they are. The only one missing is Georgiana, and the damage would be complete.”

  A man ringing a bell clamored, “Thirty minutes! Jockeys, mount your horses! The race begins in thirty minutes!”

  Oakley knelt in front of the jockey, smacking his cheeks to no avail. “We need a replacement,” he said.

  Fitzwilliam resumed his pacing, mumbling, “Thirty minutes,” while his cousin rubbed his temples. The bell faded into the distance.

  “I suggest you talk fast if you wish for us to be of any use,” Charlotte encouraged. “Tell us what is going on so we might help.”

  The colonel nodded in approval, his eyes smiling at her.

  Stopping with his feet firmly planted and his arms crossed over his chest defensively, Fitzwilliam said, “I was sent to Netherfield Park to investigate Sir William. He has ties to four notorious gentleman who together have formed a traitorous agency called The Four Horsemen.”

  Papa shook his head in disbelief. “Sir William — a spy? I would no sooner suspect the Archbishop of being an atheist.”

  Elizabeth agreed.

  “Names please,” Charlotte demanded.

  “Sir Leonard Sharp, Sir Benedict Voss, Sir Harcourt Grant, and Sir Erasmus Clark.”

  Charlotte nodded. “All names I have heard from my father, although I doubt his association is as intimate as you claim. He drops names in conversation to impress others. It does not always mean he enjoys a close friendship with the individuals of whom he speaks.”

  Fitzwilliam’s posture was so stiff, Elizabeth worried he would snap in two. He continued, “Your father came into a large sum of money I traced back to The Four Horsemen. He purchased a racehorse to secure a spot in today’s Derby, thus allowing him access to the Prince Regent when he congratulates the winner out on the field.”

  Charlotte stilled, her voice cool. “You believe my father means to assassinate the Prince Regent?”

  “I did. Until he brought his family. The worst criminals are as deceptive as they are cruel, but most of them are fiercely protective of their families. Your presence here casts doubt over his direct involvement.”

  “But you think he is indirectly involved?” Charlotte arched an eyebrow.

  “He has to be, as difficult as it must be for you to accept. There are too many coincidences otherwise,” the colonel said.

  Stiffening her back and jutting out her chin, Charlotte said, “Then we must get to the bottom of this. I have a father’s name to clear and a dear friend to protect from those who would snatch her away.”

  Elizabeth heard the bell. It grew louder as the caller drew nearer. “Twenty-five minutes! Jockeys, tak
e your positions at the starting line!”

  Oakley knelt before the jockey again. The man had regained consciousness, but he could not correctly name how many fingers Oakley held up in front of his eyes. “He cannot ride in this condition. It would be suicide.”

  Fitzwilliam resumed pacing. “Where are we going to find an experienced jockey his size to take his place? We had a hard enough time finding him!”

  They fell silent, the only sound being Fitzwilliam’s boots scuffing against the straw on the tiled floor.

  A wild idea occurred to Elizabeth. The jockey was about her height, and he could weigh little more than she did. If she tucked her hair firmly under the cap and tied down her breasts, she could wear the silks. If she was caught, she would be ruined. Dressing like a man was bad enough, but riding astride in public with the Prince Regent and the cream of high society to witness her shame would ensure it. Fitzwilliam would not be able to marry her. Society would ostracize not only him but his family. Her own family would never recover. Her ruin would doom her sisters to the shelf. Her mother would never forgive her. Longbourn would be lost to them.

  It was audacious, but it would afford them more time. Locking eyes with Fitzwilliam, she asked, “If you prevent these evil men from murdering the Prince, can you ensure Sir William’s name is not dragged through the mire if he is innocent?”

  “I would have to catch the man they have bribed to assault the Prince. If Sir William has nothing to do with their plan, then there is no need to sully his name.”

  “Fair enough. What of you? What do you gain if you imprison these men?”

  He rubbed his face. “Freedom.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. Once the words were said, there was no taking them back. “I will do it.”

  Chapter 32

  “Out of the question,” Darcy boomed. He could not agree. This was his mission, and he refused to expose Elizabeth when the risk to her was far greater than it was to him.

  Miss Lucas cleared her throat, clasping her hands in front of herself primly. Surely, she would help her friend see the harsh reality. “We must not allow emotion to cloud good reason when we must think sensibly. As Mr. Croft pointed out, Lizzy is already in danger. She could be kidnapped and used by these heartless criminals against you, Mr. Darcy. Would she not be safer disguised? And if she is to be disguised, why not as a jockey? She is as accomplished on a horse as any of those other equestrians riding in the race today.”

 

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