A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation (14 page)

“I don’t think they would have left yet,” Kitty said. Her voice sounded far away to Elizabeth. “Lydia wrote that Wickham had some kind of duty that would keep him busy for a while, and it will take time to sell her necklace.” She sighed. “I always liked that necklace. I told Mother she should have given it to me. I’m older, after all.”

Elizabeth surged to her feet. Something must be done. This couldn’t be allowed to happen. Crossing to Kitty, she held out her hand. “Let me see?”

Kitty turned over the letter, her eyes going wide. Elizabeth imagined her face was giving too much of her distress away to her younger sister, but what good would shielding Kitty do? Once Lydia ran off with Wickham, there would be no shielding any of them from the repercussions.

Elizabeth stood there, trying to read the letter, but the words blurred together. She was aware of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy coming to read over her shoulders.

“Would an express to Colonel Forster work?” Elizabeth asked, unable to think of anything else to do.

“Anne, can you arrange that?” Mr. Darcy asked. “I’m going to go there myself. I may beat the express.”

“Yes, I can,” Anne said. “We can also send an express to Mr. Bennet.”

“I’ll write it,” Elizabeth said. She hurried over to the writing table in the corner. “May I use your stationary, Anne?” Her writing things were in her room. Logically, she knew the time it would take to get them wouldn’t change a thing, but she desperately wanted to have the letters written and on their way.

“Of course,” Anne said. “Will you write both letters, please? I’ll send for someone to take them immediately.” She rang for a servant.

Elizabeth started writing, her hand a bit shaky. She was aware of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam leaving the room, but didn’t look. A servant came and went, and another. She didn’t hear what Anne said to them, focused on the two brief letters she must write and address. When she finished them, she turned to find a footman waiting silently behind her.

As he was walking out with the letters, Mr. Darcy entered, dressed for travel. “Miss Kitty, may I take the letter?”

“You may. Elizabeth has it,” Kitty said.

Elizabeth looked down, seeing Lydia’s letter on the desk. She hadn’t even realized she’d carried it over with her. Mr. Darcy strolled toward her and she stood, proffering it.

“What manner of monster is he?” she whispered. “How can he do this thing?”

“He is the worst manner of monster,” Mr. Darcy said. He squeezed the hand she held out before sliding the letter from her cold fingers. “But he will not do this thing. I won’t allow it.”

Elizabeth nodded. She tried to smile, but knew it didn’t work. She wanted to believe him. If anyone could fix the situation Lydia had created, she was sure Mr. Darcy could.

“Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice. “No matter what happens, you have my assurance that you will be well.” With a fierce look in his eyes, he swung away, long strides carrying him from the room.

Chapter Fourteen

Richard told Darcy that he would sleep while Darcy’s coachman Alderson drove so that he could take over after several hours. Darcy envied Richard’s ability to sleep under such circumstances. He was too filled with anger at Wickham to rest. Darcy supposed his cousin had learned the art of sleeping under any sort of pressure while serving in Spain.

They changed horses as often as they could, making good time. Richard took over for Alderson after sleeping for a few hours, saying that a tired driver could be dangerous. After several hours, Darcy felt compelled to take over for Richard, though he hadn’t slept.

In his youth, Darcy had briefly wanted to become a member of the Four Horse Club, but his father had protested based on the inanity of their rules. He’d said it was one thing to aspire to drive four horses well, but another thing to follow a set of meaningless rules about how to dress just to show off that you were accepted by a certain group.

As he drove, Darcy wondered if his father would approve of his quest to save a silly girl from Wickham. He decided his father would. Darcy’s family had allowed Wickham to become what he was. Although Darcy did not have personal responsibility, he had a familial one.

Nevertheless, when Darcy drove into Brighton at dusk he was only thinking about how Wickham’s actions could affect Elizabeth, not about family responsibility. After a brief inquiry, they found Colonel Forster at home. He was going over some paperwork with his aid, a Lieutenant Pratt, who Darcy recognized from his stay with Bingley the previous fall.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy to see you, sir,” the aid who showed them in said. “I wouldn’t have disturbed your work, but they say it’s a matter of some urgency.” The young man saluted and backed from the room.

“Colonel, Mr. Darcy,” Colonel Forster greeted. He and Lieutenant Pratt both stood, bowing, though confusion showed on Forster’s face.

“We’re sorry to barge in on you, Forster,” Richard said. “We’re here on a delicate, yet rather urgent, matter.”

“May I ask the nature of the matter?” Forster asked.

“It pertains to a young woman in your household, a Miss Lydia Bennet,” Richard said.

“Miss Lydia Bennet?” Forster asked, frowning. “I can’t see what business you might have with her.”

“Darcy, the letter,” Richard said.

“You probably saw Miss Lydia spend time with her sister, Miss Kitty Bennet, when you were in Hertfordshire,” Darcy said, pulling the letter from his pocket.

Colonel Forster nodded.

“Miss Kitty is staying with a cousin of mine,” Darcy continued. “Miss Lydia wrote this letter to her sister. I have folded it to show the relevant paragraphs.”

He handed over the letter. Forster’s frown deepened to a scowl as he read. He unfolded the letter, turning it over and then back, obviously assuring himself of the authenticity. Handing it to Pratt, who started reading, he stood and crossed the room. Forster leaned out the door, yelling for his wife. Darcy winced. Forster sat back down, tapping his fingers on his desk.

Pratt handed Darcy the now folded letter. “Excuse me,” he murmured.

Forster nodded and the lieutenant left. Moments later, a surprisingly youthful woman stuck her head into the room.

“You called for me, dear?” she said in contrite tones and Darcy realized she was Mrs. Forster.

“Bring Miss Bennet down here at once,” he told her.

“She went to bed early with a megrim,” Mrs. Forster said.

Darcy hoped that was true, but found that Mrs. Forster’s words ended all optimism he’d harbored of arriving before Wickham put his plot into motion.

“Get her now,” Colonel Forster barked.

Mrs. Forster scurried away.

Darcy glanced after the retreating woman. Colonel Forster’s manners were a bit lacking, yet even with his abrupt nature and being a man used to giving orders, he didn’t seem to be succeeding in taming Miss Lydia Bennet. What hope had a man like Mr. Bennet ever truly had, especially with his wife encouraging Miss Lydia at every turn? “A letter was sent to Mr. Bennet right after we left Kent,” he said.

“Good, but she is my responsibility while she is here.” Forster frowned at them. “I knew they’d danced several times, but I had no idea Wickham would try something like this.”

“The man’s a bounder,” Richard said.

Mrs. Forster came running into the room, holding a letter that she thrust into her husband’s hands. “She’s not in her room and she left me this. She’s running away with Wickham,” she gasped out.

“When did you last see her?” Forster asked, his eyes scanning the letter.

He handed it to Darcy, who took in the brief lines, holding it so Richard could read it as well.

“Less than an hour ago, I think,” Mrs. Forster said. She wrung her hands. “I should have known something was amiss. Lydia never has a megrim.”

No, she just causes them, Darcy thought. He folded the letter and dropped it on the desk. He tucked Miss Kitty’s back inside his coat. He would return it, though the thing ought to be burned.

“Your carriage is ready?” Forster asked, looking between Darcy and Richard.

Darcy shook his head. “The horses aren’t fresh.”

“Where did Pratt go?” Colonel Forster looked around. “Pratt! Where the devil is he?”

“Coming, sir,” a voice called from down the hall. Mrs. Forster stepped aside as Pratt came running in. “I may have done the wrong thing,” he said breathlessly, “but I ordered four horses saddled. They should be here in a few minutes.”

“Perfect. Good man,” Forster said. “Now go ask around. Find out if anyone had seen that devil Wickham or Miss Bennet. Catch up to us as soon as you have something. We’ll be headed north.”

“Yes, sir,” Pratt said. “I’ll start with the staff.” He saluted smartly and hurried from the room.

Forster led the way outside. True to the Lieutenant’s word, four horses were being walked up. Darcy, Richard and Forster took three, heading north out of town. They weren’t on the road long when Pratt caught up with them with a description of the carriage and confirmation they were headed in the right direction.

As they rode, Darcy realized it was likely they would catch Wickham and Miss Lydia before long. Wickham probably wanted to preserve the horses but get reasonably far that night. That would mean going slowly, in spite of the light of the nearly full moon.

They slowed their mounts to a walk to rest them. It was more important to keep them fresh and avoid injury than to catch Wickham a bit sooner. Now that they were behind him on the road, and he in a coach with no idea they were in pursuit, the outcome was almost certain.

Colonel Forster reined his horse in to drop back and come alongside Darcy. “I don’t quite understand. Why would Wickham elope with the girl rather than ask Mr. Bennet for her hand? From what I recall, he’s five daughters to marry off. I’m sure he wouldn’t turn down a redcoat for one of the lot.”

Darcy forced down his anger at Wickham, keeping his voice controlled. “Wickham has always been eager to have young women share his bed, but a dowry like Miss Bennet’s isn’t likely to tempt him to marriage. He probably has debts here and in Meryton, and knows himself well enough to realize he’ll rack up many more. Wickham has always fancied himself a wealthy wife to end his financial troubles.”

Colonel Forster looked shocked. “I hope you are mistaken. I’ve known the man to be a bit lazy, but not a cad.” He looked Darcy up and down. “What is your role in this?”

“I know Wickham and his character well, yet I didn’t warn others. Had I, this may have been prevented. Also, he was my father’s protégé and I feel responsible for any harm he does.”

Darcy hoped Colonel Forster wouldn’t ask him if he had other reasons, although there was truth in what he’d said. He did have an obligation to his father’s protégé, even if he didn’t like or respect him. He was simply leaving out that about which he didn’t wish to speak. He didn’t want to divulge his interest in creating very close ties to the Bennet family. Though he would wed Elizabeth no matter what scandal her sister embroiled herself in, he still hoped to save the woman he loved the pain such familial disgrace would bring.

They increased their pace again, putting an end to talking. While he rode, Darcy thought about what he wanted to do to Wickham. His mind went through fists, swords, and pistols. Each possibility gave him considerable satisfaction. Wickham had never worked hard at anything. Darcy was no longer interested in boxing, but he’d taken it seriously for a couple of years, as he still did fencing and shooting. He was considerably better than Wickham at all three.

By the time they slowed their horses again, Darcy had worked his way through every imaginable retribution and his anger had begun to lose its fierce edge. Much as the thought of hurting or even killing Wickham pleased him, he realized the fact that he could beat Wickham meant he wouldn’t try. To challenge him would be murder, and a more gentlemanly death than Wickham deserved.

Darcy ground his teeth. Why did being a gentleman mean he had to be so sensible? Why couldn’t he let his anger go and attack Wickham, scum that he was?

He knew the answer, of course. Years of reading the best masters hadn’t been squandered. Darcy was civilized, even if Wickham wasn’t. Yes, Wickham lied, racked up debts and had tried to elope with Georgiana. Yes, he was obviously willing to seduce a gently bred, very foolish, young lady. None of that excused Darcy from his responsibility to behave properly. He would not take advantage of his superior strength and skill. That was not the mark of a gentleman. Wickham’s worth did not dictate how Darcy should behave. His own did. He wasn’t willing to compromise his honor for the likes of Wickham.

Really, there was only one way in which Wickham was superior. He was able to get along with people. Was Darcy jealous of him? A little. He was jealous of Wickham’s easy charm. Darcy remembered Elizabeth telling him before he proposed . . . what was it? That he should practice his social skills more. He took solace in knowing, though, that while Wickham made friends easily, his basic dishonesty meant he didn’t keep them. Darcy had never alienated a friend through improper behavior.

“That looks like it,” said Pratt, interrupting Darcy’s rambling thoughts.

Pratt urged his horse to greater speed. Darcy saw what he was planning and came up on the other side of the carriage. Each one of them grabbed the reins of a horse and, as if they’d rehearsed it, they pulled the carriage to a halt. The driver made no attempt to resist, his eyes wide as he took in the four men surrounding the coach, with two being in uniform.

Richard and Forster came up to the carriage doors, one on each side, and yanked them open.

“Miss Bennet, when you were invited to stay with me, I expected you to behave properly,” Forster barked into the carriage.

“But we’re going to be married.”

Darcy recognized the voice as Lydia Bennet.

“Not without your father’s permission, you aren’t,” Colonel Forster said.

“George said we could get his permission afterward. Besides, he has some silly debts or some such, so we had to leave,” Miss Lydia said.

Darcy grimaced at her inanely cheerful tone.

“My father will give permission,” she continued. “I’ve been alone with my Georgie in a closed carriage for more than an hour.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, how good to see you.”

The oily charm in Wickham’s voice grated on Darcy.

“Can’t say the same,” Richard growled. “Sit over there, Wickham. I’m riding with you.”

Richard dismounted and Darcy moved up to take the reins of his horse. He caught a glimpse of Wickham’s back as he started to switch seats, then Richard filled the doorway, climbing in. Darcy urged his horse around to the back of the coach, where he could tie the extra mount.

“I don’t care how long you’ve been in a carriage with him,” Forster was saying to Lydia. “You are coming back to Brighton with us now. Move over, Miss Bennet. I’ll be chaperoning you on the return drive. Mr. Pratt, if you could take my horse?”

Pratt did so and Colonel Forster got in the carriage.

“How did you find us?” Darcy could hear Miss Lydia ask as he secured Richard’s horse. “I would have sworn Harriet wouldn’t enter my room until morning. I told her I had a terrible megrim and would sleep in.”

“You wrote your sister,” Richard said. “She showed the letter to Darcy who decided you needed rescuing.”

"And he sent you?” Wickham’s tone dripped derision. “Darcy uses his father's money to hire people to do things because he cannot do them himself.”

Darcy realized Wickham must not have seen him. Neither Colonel corrected Wickham’s misapprehension. He didn’t mind. Maybe, for once, he would gain honest knowledge of what Wickham said about him instead of a courteously tempered rendition.

“Did Mr. Darcy tell you I can’t be allowed to marry George?” Miss Lydia cried. “He has no right to order us about. He hates my Georgie because his father loved George better.”

“He always misrepresents me to his own advantage,” Wickham added.

Darcy nearly had to admire the man. Wickham’s words would be the exact truth, if Darcy had spoken them about Wickham. The man lied so easily, it bordered on a pathology.