The Ladies of Longbourn (26 page)

"They were both very big, ma'am, and I would not have known them at all, except that Miss Marigold and her sister called out to their father, "Papa, Papa," and ran to him. They seemed happy to see him, ma'am."
There was more weeping from Mrs Sutton and Harriet had to go to her again, as Rosie told how the children's father had picked them up in his arms and, when his companion in crime had tried to bully Rosie, he had shouted at him to "leave her alone and come along."
"Oh, ma'am, I am sorry I couldn't do nothing to stop them; I was so frightened. Mr Sutton, he took the children out and when I went to the door, he slammed it in my face. Then he came back in with a bag and ordered me to go upstairs and pack some of their clothes and things. I was so afraid, ma'am, I did not know what to do. I had never been upstairs before. It took time to find their things and he was shouting for me to bring 'em down quick, or he'd come up and teach me a lesson...oh, ma'am," and then she began to weep all over again.
Mrs Sutton, who had succeeded in sitting up, asked tearfully, "Did the children say anything at all?"
Rosie shook her head, "No, ma'am, I think they were struck dumb, like I was. Then as they were leaving I asked, where were they going and would they be back, and Mr Sutton just laughed. Oh, ma'am, I am so sorry . . ."
Rosie wept. She was feeling ashamed that she had not been able to stop them taking the girls away.
Anne-Marie put her arms around her. "Hush, Rosie, how could you have stopped them? It was not your fault."
"It was my fault," wailed Mrs Sutton from across the room. "I know I should never have left them alone to come here tonight. None of this would have happened if I had been home with them."
At this everyone fell silent and the only sound was that of Rosie's sobs. It was useless to contest the logic of her lament; Lucy Sutton was too deep in her grief to notice.
Amidst all this it was Anne-Marie who felt worst of all, knowing it was she who had invited Lucy Sutton to dinner and arranged to send Rosie to keep the children company.
"It's my fault; I am to blame," she whispered again to Colin Elliott, but when she had explained, he denied it firmly.
"You cannot take the blame, my dear Mrs Bradshaw, you could not have known what was about to happen. I believe they had it all planned and would have struck no matter who was at home with the children. Indeed, had Mrs Sutton been with them, what could she have done against two strong men? Had she tried to protect her children, it is more than likely, she would have been attacked and been injured herself. So please do not blame yourself, it will do no good," he said, standing up and preparing as if to leave.
Before he did, he spoke more generally, "This is a very serious matter; Mr Sutton has no right to abduct his daughters from their mother's custody. I shall have to inform the police and then I shall pay a visit to my friend Tillyard at the offices of the
Herald
."
"The police?" cried Mrs Sutton in some alarm. "That will make Mr Sutton very angry." There was abject fear in her voice.
Colin Elliott argued that her children may never be restored to her unless their abduction was reported to the police.
As he put on his coat and scarf, he said, "I shall have to hurry if I am to catch Tillyard." Promising to return as soon as he had some news for them, he urged them not to lose hope.
"Remember Sutton is their father; he will not harm the children. We shall do everything we can to find them," he said, and as Anne-Marie accompanied him into the hall, he kissed her hand, touched her cheek with great tenderness, and begged her once more not to blame herself for the calamity.
Then, he went out into the darkness and his waiting carriage.
Standing alone in the hall, Anne-Marie was moved by the calmness with which Elliott had taken the responsibility for dealing with the crisis. Not only had he comforted her and assured her of his willingness to help, he had also shown concern for Mrs Sutton and poor Rosie, who had both been desolated by what had occurred. It had been his idea to call on his friend Tillyard, whose investigative resources were much greater than any private citizen might command. She hoped with all her heart that they would be able to trace Mr Sutton and restore Lucy Sutton's children to her, else she knew she would never escape the censure of their mother's eyes.
"Oh, if only I had not persuaded her...if I had had the confidence to accept whatever that evening would bring, we would not now be facing possible disaster," she thought, knowing that nothing anyone could say would change that perception of her own guilt.

None of the women at Longbourn could sleep that night, as they waited for Mr Elliott to return. Only he could bring them any news, good or bad. There was nothing they could do to improve the situation. Mrs Collins had been so upset by the news, she had begun to feel quite ill and when Harriet suggested that she may wish to retire to her room, she accepted gratefully and went upstairs.

Harriet returned later to keep Anne-Marie company and Rosie sat with them, still weeping intermittently, then drying her eyes and blowing her nose to relate some other detail she had recalled.

The women grasped at every bit of information and Harriet, methodical as usual, wrote it all down in a notebook. Rosie had been shivering from the cold when she arrived at Longbourn, having walked a mile or more across meadows in the dark. Yet at first, so afraid was she of being blamed for the children's disappearance, she had forgotten why she had been so cold.

Mercifully, no one, not even Mrs Sutton, who was most aggrieved, had had the heart to blame Rosie.
Suddenly, she remembered and spoke up, "I remember now," she said, "that's why I was so cold--he took my shawl to wrap around the little one. I was standing in the doorway calling out to them, asking where they were going, and I said, "Mind you don't go letting them catch cold. And the man, not Mr Sutton, the other one, he came back and ripped my shawl off me and put it around her. I didn't mind; poor little thing, I could see she was cold."
Harriet immediately asked for details of the shawl and wrote it all down. "The police will need to know about the shawl; it may help identify the children, if they had stopped at an inn for the night," she said.
Anne-Marie was very grateful for Harriet's calm, sensible presence. Poor Mrs Sutton began to weep again and Anne-Marie felt her head starting to throb; if only her father and Anna were home, she thought. Yet she knew they were not expected back until the end of the week, and even if she could send a message to Pemberley, they were two days' journey from Netherfield.

It was in the small hours of the morning they heard a vehicle returning, the horses racing along the road before turning into the drive leading to the house. Anne-Marie and Harriet were at the door as the carriage drew up and Mr Elliott alighted and was admitted to the hall.

As Anne-Marie went to him, Mrs Sutton ran towards them, pleading for news of her children. Colin Elliott did not present a picture of great optimism, but he did have some good news for them. He had been to the police and they had revealed that they had been warned of the presence in Meryton of a notorious villain.

"He comes from London and had been seen in the area for a week or more, with another man, whose identity was a mystery to the police. Obviously it was Mr Sutton; so they now have names and descriptions for both kidnappers and they are going to be looking for them," he said.
"Where will they look?" asked Anne-Marie.
"All possible places between Meryton and London," he replied. "What about Mr Tillyard? Was he able to help?" she asked. Colin Elliott

looked very pleased.
"Indeed he was, though I must confess I was unsure at first, but, as usual,
Tillyard has come up trumps. He was very eager to help track down the men,
because his reporters had received information about one of them. It would
seem he is quite a blackguard, responsible for extortion and assaults all over the
country. There is a reward out for his capture and two of Tillyard's men have
been on his track, hoping to get some of the money themselves. When I
explained what had happened with Mrs Sutton's children, Tillyard sent for
them at once and ordered them to find the men. What they need is some information about Mr Sutton, his full name, last known address, a likeness if you
have one, and anything else that may help identify him and the children." Turning to Mrs Sutton, he spoke gently, conscious of her grief. "Mrs
Sutton, may I make a suggestion? If you would take my carriage and go over to
your house, perhaps with one of the ladies, and get some of this information
together, I could take it to Tillyard in the morning."
Bravely, Lucy Sutton agreed to go, with Harriet Greene, who had volunteered to accompany her. "Thank you. Mr Elliott, I do hope you can find my
little girls," she said, as they made ready to leave.
"I shall be trying my best, Mrs Sutton, and you may rest assured the police
and Tillyard's men will all be working very hard," he said.

While they were away, Anne-Marie stayed with Mr Elliott in the parlour, and in spite of the lateness of the hour, they set to work to compose a letter to her father, which Colin Elliott promised to take with him and despatch by express on the morrow. Sitting beside her as she wrote, he advised that she should tell Mr Bingley only sufficient detail to convince him of the seriousness of the situation and urge him to return.

"We do not wish to alarm or upset them, seeing they have a long journey before them," he said. "Besides, there is very little they can do until they get here." Then hesitating a moment, he added, "But wait, maybe there is a better way. Ask your father to go direct to his house in London; I will travel to town tomorrow myself and meet him there. Clearly Sutton and his partner plan to return to London with the children; they are unlikely to linger around these parts. It will be far better to concentrate our efforts in town," he said and she agreed.

She was sure he was right. She was immensely grateful for his help; his presence was a comfort to her in many ways. She had not the time to contemplate how it had happened but, in the midst of catastrophe, Anne-Marie had discovered love. Without her knowing it, it seemed to have crept up on her and settled quietly in her heart. Later she would recall that whenever she thought of it, she was filled with delight, even in the midst of fearful anxiety and dread. She had, as yet, told no one of her feelings and longed to tell the man who had inspired them, but decided that this was not the time to do so.

Mrs Sutton and Harriet Greene returned with various items that might help identify the children and their father, including a very clear likeness of Sutton in a sketch of the family by an itinerant artist at Brighton. That put Anne-Marie in mind of a drawing Anna had made of the two girls, which stood on the mantelpiece in her grandmother's room. It was a more recent likeness of the children and Mr Elliott assured them that it would all be very useful together with Harriet's notes. His hopeful demeanour went some way to allay their fears.

When he was ready to leave, Anne-Marie went to the door with him. She was, by now, quite exhausted and seeing her standing in the hall, apprehensive and vulnerable, he embraced her with a warmth that quite literally took her breath away. "I give you my word, Anne-Marie, they will be found. You must believe that," he said, and holding her close reminded her that he loved her dearly.

She was too overcome with confusion to say very much, except to thank him and beg him to take great care on his journey to London. Promising to send her word of any new developments, he went, leaving her struggling to understand an entirely new and quite bewildering array of feelings, such as she had never experienced before.

Harriet Greene came down to find Anne-Marie sitting alone at the foot of the stairs, "Mrs Bradshaw, you'll catch your death of cold," she said and urged her to get some sleep. Anne-Marie smiled and agreed that it was time for bed, but as for being cold, why, she thought, she had never felt warmer in her life. There was, however, no reason at all to tell Harriet, she decided as she went upstairs, clasping her happiness to her heart.

When Colin Elliott set off for London very early on the morrow, he had already arranged to send a man on ahead with an urgent letter from Tillyard to his two reporters, containing more information about their quarry.

He intended also to despatch the express letter to Jonathan Bingley at Pemberley and another to a friend at the Home Office, calling in a favour. Since the names of the two men involved in the abduction were known to him, he hoped to discover, by covert means if necessary, whether either of them had been before the police magistrates recently.

When he broke journey at an inn in the village of Barnet for refreshment, he thought seriously of writing to Anne-Marie, to tell her again that she must not worry, but realised it was more important to get to London as soon as possible. But, he could not bring himself to depart, without sending word to her; she had filled his thoughts as he travelled. He could still see her standing in the hall, pale and worried, though never weakening for a moment. In the end he sent her a private note, which was for her eyes alone, despatched his letters and went on his way.

At Pemberley, meanwhile, the weather had deteriorated and an expedition to the Peaks had been cancelled. It seemed they would have to entertain themselves indoors, which in a house full of beautiful treasures and a well-stocked library presented no problem to most members of the party. Anna whose love of Art overwhelmed her every other interest, had decided to spend the morning in the long gallery, making sketches of some of Mr Darcy's fine works of art, while her husband and his host were engrossed in a game of chess. They were being observed by Bingley, who found it all too difficult and kept looking out at the leaden skies, hoping the sun would come out again, so he could ride out to the horse stud at Rushmore Farm. He had noticed a fine young colt during a visit last Summer and was keen to renew the acquaintance. Perhaps, he told Darcy and Jonathan, he might indulge in some speculation and buy it as a racing prospect.