My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey Into Love Everlasting (37 page)

Thus they now reposed in the lavishly decorated yet somehow homey room and listened to the songs flawlessly played by the talented eighteen-year-old. Her blushing had finally ceased as she concentrated on the task, absorbed and filled with joy. Darcy stood near Lizzy, George was comfortably sprawled in a chair, and Richard acted as official page turner. All of them were entranced by the music. Honesty would require them to admit that the simple sonatas were far from brilliant, but the melodies were pleasant and well constructed. Clearly Georgiana was a novice, but the evidence of a blossoming talent was firmly apparent.

The applause was enthusiastic and genuine, Georgiana's flush reappearing with the effusive praise from her family. Such was the zealous attention that it was several minutes before Darcy noticed a patient Mr. Taylor standing by the door.

"Sir, Mr. Keith is in his office requesting an audience."

"Of course. Excuse me, please. Georgiana, keep playing your beautiful songs."

Darcy found his steward bent over his desk reading a folded parchment. Ollie, one of Mr. Burr's hands, stood by the window, nervously shifting from foot to foot and kneading his hat.

"Mr. Keith. Do we have a problem?"

"The opposite, sir. Ollie here has delivered a note from Mr. Burr. He received a summons earlier today from Mr. Lange, the surgeon in Rowsley. Apparently a man was dropped at his door in the late stages of acute blood poisoning from an abscessed wound on his right buttock. Upon cleaning the wound it became clear it was a bite inflicted by an animal. Lange had heard of the incident with the poacher--thank goodness for gossip swapped in pubs--and sent word to Mr. Burr, who rode to Rowsley to question the man. Apparently it was difficult as the man is near death, raving, and quite jumbled in his words. But he feels certain he learned enough to ascertain that the poachers are hiding in the abandoned limestone quarries at Cregg's Ravine."

"That is a dangerous place to dwell."

"Probably why they chose that as their lair. No one goes there anymore. Those collapsed caves and rocky terrain are treacherous."

"How many poachers are there?"

"He could not be certain. The man named at least three that Mr. Burr could be sure of, but beyond that it was indistinct. He isn't even sure where they are exactly as those mines extend for a good half mile, but the man made a couple of vague references that led him to deduce they are near Struve's Ridge, where the river once flowed before being dammed and diverted underground."

"Odd place. There isn't much cover there and no water."

"The stream is now aboveground," Ollie said. "The old dam broke years ago, and an avalanche off the ridge collapsed the ground so's that the stream now runs partially through the ravine, at least 'til Sawtooth Hill. Then it disappears again."

Darcy nodded. "Thank you, Ollie. I haven't been to that part of Derbyshire for well over a decade. If memory serves, there are a few caves, or at least semi-sheltered cliffs that could be fashioned into a dwelling of some kind?"

"Yep. That is what Mr. Burr suspects," Ollie continued with a nod.

"He is gathering his best men, and Mrs. Burr, and plans to attack under cover of darkness," Mr. Keith said, tapping the paper on his desk. "It is a good night with the moon at half brightness. Ollie here, as well as Lew, will be in front since they know that area best."

"We grew up just a mile away," Ollie explained, "and it was a sort of dare to hike through the quarries. Lew almost died when he was thirteen and he slid on some loose rocks. Mama forbid us to ever go again," he paused, his shrug and grin clearly stating how that order was disregarded. "That's how we know the stream is runnin' and that a few straggling trees and shrubs have grown up near there. It really is a good hidin' place, if you don't count the frequent rock slides."

"And flash floods," Darcy said, shivering slightly in memory of a horrific occurrence in his youth when some thirty miners were killed after a deluging rain high on the Peaks rushed through Cregg's Ravine. Not long after that the quarries were closed.

"That too. But the location is central. They can poach from several estates bordering, keeping the losses scattered. We figure this has been going on for some eight months now, but the takings were wide enough that no one gamekeeper figured it out. They made a huge mistake attacking the dovecote. That tipped us off for sure."

"That and bringing this man within Jen's teeth," Mr. Keith offered with a chuckle.

"So, what does Mr. Burr plan?"

Ollie shrugged. "A simple frontal attack. Should be easy. These are low thieves who probably have no idea how to fight. The man dying at Doc's don't look too healthy or kept up. We'll wait 'til after midnight, just to be sure they're sleeping."

Darcy considered for a moment, reading through the brief statement penned by Mr. Burr. "Very well then. Tell him to proceed as he sees fit. I will be joining in, but he is in command."

Ollie nodded. He wasn't at all surprised at Mr. Darcy joining the expedition. In fact, he would have been shocked if he hadn't. He put his hat back on and headed toward the door. "We are meetin' at the east gate in one hour. It is quickest to head through the narrow strip of forest there and then turn north. Mr. Darcy, Mr. Keith."

Three hours later the group of seven men and Mrs. Burr dismounted. The five mastiffs stood calmly at attention and the two bloodhounds pulled impatiently on their leashes. They were a quarter mile north of the area known as Sturve's Ridge. Or rather the section of rubble, small caverns, and graveled flooring below Sturve's Ridge, a sharp precipice thirty feet high. The ridge and narrow ravine below the crag was a treacherous place very difficult to navigate safely without a detailed map and light. Unfortunately they did not possess the former, aside from the imperfect memory of Ollie and Lew, and had to circumspectly utilize the latter. It was deemed best to enter from the north rather than attempt to scale the escarpment too close to where the poachers were probably hiding.

Each person possessed a tiny covered oil lamp, the screen to be opened only if absolutely necessary. It was doubtful that the thieves would post a lookout, but then again, they might be on a higher stage of alert after depositing their friend on the surgeon's doorstep.

Darcy kept to the rear of the group, a shotgun tightly clutched in the crook of his right arm and two loaded pistols tucked into his belt. He had wisely waited until he was in the stables before loading the firearms, Lizzy already fretting enough at his involvement in the venture. She said little, but the anxiety was discernible on her lovely face. He hated worrying her, but Darcy had never been the type of Master to sit back and let his employees do all the work. Besides, this sort of adventure was simply too much fun to miss, not that he would have said that to his wife!

Colonel Fitzwilliam, naturally, had come along. His expertise was valuable, although like Darcy he hung back and allowed the gamekeeper to command. Or rather the gamekeeper and his wife, since Mrs. Burr was stationed to her husband's immediate left, shotgun at the ready and Mole protectively flanking.

Lew withdrew the bloody, crumbled garments worn by the unfortunate poacher lying in Rowsley, if he was still alive, and held them under the noses of the two hounds. They each sniffed and slobbered over the clothes, taking less than one minute to firmly and irrevocably plant the scent within their nostrils before beginning the search. Noses pressed to the rocks and dirt, their leashes given plenty of slack to scout about, the dogs led as the hunters trailed behind.

It took about fifteen minutes. The dogs searched for the one scent among all the others detected, ranging over a fifty-yard span before finally finding the poacher's scent on a narrow trail winding through a dead copse of trees at the base of a shorter cliff a bit north of the taller pike. The silent black and tan animals gave no vocal indication of their victory, merely launching purposefully forward. Once on the hunt, nothing would divert them and their handlers were forced to trot at a rapid pace in order to keep up with the relentless pursuit.

The bloodhounds did not stumble, nor did the mastiffs. Their eyesight was keen and feet surely placed. The humans struggled more, no one escaping the occasional stumble, but gradually they advanced.

The wide valley closed in as the walls grew steeper and higher. Attempts were made to be as quiet as mice, but the crumbled chunks of limestone littering the ground prevented this. Thus, everyone was wary, each sense straining and vigilant. Eyes swept the environs constantly with peripheral vision locked onto the mastiffs, who would definitely detect trouble long before the humans.

The smell of water and sound of slow trickling over rock was noted before they reached the tiny creek and moderate-sized pond. A rapid assessment determined that the pond was not natural, a crude dam stopping the natural flow down the ravine's floor. It was their second indication--after the hounds' detection of the poachers' scent--that they were on the right track. The next question was how to determine precisely where they were hiding.

"Well. Look at that! They lit the welcoming light for us. How considerate." Richard's dry whisper reached Darcy, both men chuckling faintly at the sight of the flickering fire that answered the question.

The rock ring was located approximately four feet away from a gaping opening in the solid wall, the small fire casting uneven illumination over the clearing before the cave. But it was enough to adequately visualize the raggedly dressed man sitting in a slump before it. The sentry, presumably, although he appeared to be dozing and his rifle was lying negligently across his lap. The light was not bright enough to conclude there were no other caverns in the area, so they advanced with caution. Still, with minimal intelligence, the plan was fairly straightforward: a frontal attack.

At a hushed whistle identical to the call of an owl, Vella launched forward, her sleek body streaking across the space in a blur of motion. She leapt effortlessly over the fire, landing directly onto the chest of the sentry before he could inhale to scream a warning. Her massive weight knocked the man flat, air escaping his throat in a gush and rendering him incapable of speech. Not that he was likely to attempt it with a full set of razor sharp teeth less than an inch from his face. Vella released one short snarl, pitched low and profoundly menacing, her hot breath and saliva brushing over one cheek as she purposefully drew closer still until her wicked incisors rested against the man's jugular.

The Pemberley crew wasted no time. They moved forward, spreading in a wide arc with the dogs in front, sweeping the area visually for signs of movement or additional caves. A rapid scan confirmed two holes cut into the rock face of the cliff. A smaller opening some fifteen feet away showed no obvious tracks or signs of use, not that they would assume too much, while the one by the fire was clearly occupied. The bloodhounds were fighting the restraining leash in the mad desire to pursue their scented quarry into the large opening, and the numerous footprints and scattered debris surrounding the rough ground was further proof.

A faint light could be seen from within, but no motion or sounds were perceived. Darcy's heart beat a steady rhythm in his chest, his emotions controlled but the heat of excitement coursing through his veins. Richard's harsh respirations were an audible sign of his enthusiasm.

Vella maintained her position at the man's neck while Mrs. Burr knelt by the side of the terrified sentry, her attractive face set into a mask of fierce resolve. "How many?" she whispered, needing to repeat the question twice before the paralyzed man was able to squeak out the word "four" followed by a weak moan.

"Armed?" she asked.

"Yes... two... pistols."

She nodded. "Don't move or speak and Vella will let you live. Understand?" His answer was another moan.

Mrs. Burr rose, signals given to convey the message. She stationed herself on one side of the cave opening, Sean on the other. Lew, Ollie, Abel, Mr. Burr, Darcy, and Richard waited several feet away in a line with firearms aimed and the four mastiffs poised. Only then were the frantic hounds released.

They dashed into the cave, finally emitting deep barks as they searched for the owners of the scent embedded in their nasal passageways. Chaos ensued. Shouts and shrieks erupted, crashes and slamming echoed. The pale light was extinguished with the sharp shattering sound of glass. The startled sleepers were completely disoriented from the abrupt awakening into pitch black darkness. Curses rent the air, followed by the unmistakable smell of spilled lamp oil and the sudden snap of flames freely fueled.

Screams pierced the air. The fire lit the walls, showing the way out to the panicked poachers who darted toward safety, only to be tripped up by the dogs who had also decided that the cave was not the best place to be at the moment. They shot out of the exit, adroitly dodging the foremost poacher, who sidestepped in surprise and stumbled into a second frenzied poacher, both of them falling down in a heap at the feet of Mrs. Burr and Sean.

The remaining two avoided the tangle of limbs blocking the exit, running to what they believed to be safety but quickly deducing was anything but at the sight of six shotguns pointed their direction and four growling, slavering dogs waiting to pounce. They skidded to a stop, hands rising in the universal gesture of surrender.

The first two, still unaware of the realities, struggled to their feet. Only one step was taken before they too noted the threat. One man mirrored the actions of the previous captives, his arms lifting as he instantly halted his forward momentum. His partner was the only one who showed the slightest sign of bravery, or stupidity depending on the point of view, by grabbing the grip of the pistol tucked into his belt. His attempt at heroics was short-lived, however, as Mrs. Burr expeditiously reversed her shotgun and smashed the stock forcefully against the man's temple. He crumpled.