CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
After breakfast the next morning, Darcy excused himself from the party and expressed a wish to ride into the village. Bingley declared a desire to walk the park and enjoy the fresh air, to which his sister Caroline advised him with scorn to be careful not to fall into any ponds, as they might be infested with leeches. He smiled wryly back and took his leave. The day was cooler than any preceding it since they had arrived at Pemberley, thanks in part to a fixed cover of clouds, though they did not seem to portend rain. He took the path round the reflection pool and admired the house from various angles, then took a turn in the garden before strolling through the orangeries. From there, he crossed the path through the wood and into the wilderness to the west. Crossing a rushing stream by dancing from surface stone to stone, his thoughts about Jane rambled along. He mused about how he might assure Elizabeth that he was still fond of her sister without being overly candid, particularly in light of the fact that he still lacked any acute assurance of her feelings toward him.
After an hour or so he roamed back toward the house by way of the stables and coach house. He caught himself reflecting on the night he arrived from Grantley, his hands stained with the blood of that terrible man—how feverishly he had scrubbed them. Wilshere had his clothes burned in the pit; he had nearly wished he could have severed his hands and tossed them in as well. What a ghastly undertaking he had been commissioned for. He only hoped it would not cost him Jane. When he arrived back, he saw Darcy’s gig race up to the front step where the man himself quickly dismounted and practically sprinted inside. Bingley approached rapidly and was met just outside the door by Mr. Wilshere.
“I have had word from Maitland,” the steward spoke soberly.
“What is it?”
“Come in, quickly,” he said, holding the door as Bingley passed through. Wilshere led him to the solitude of Darcy’s library.
“Let’s have it,” Bingley demanded.
“It would seem that we have irrefutable proof that George Wickham is, indeed, the charming young man of large fortune who has been luring young maidens from their families as part of the evil cabal.”
“How do we know?”
“Maitland reports that another young lady has disappeared with him,” panted Wilshere. “She has left her friends and written that they shall marry in Gretna Green.”
“Then she is already lost,” Bingley glowered.
“Perhaps not, sir,” answered Wilshere. “They have been marked in London as recently as three days ago.”
“London? Why London? No other victims were found in London.”
“I cannot answer that, but Mr. Bingley, there is another piece of vital information.”
“Tell me.”
“The young lady,” the steward hesitated, “is Miss Lydia Bennet.”
Bingley’s eyes closed as he gripped the sides of the table before him. “Infernal…”
“I have already sent for Mr. Gallagher’s assistance—”
“He has replied to our entreaty?”
“Aye, sir, and he is a most willing participant on our behalf.”
“Good man,” Bingley replied. “His abilities will be very useful. And has Maitland pursued them to London himself?”
“He should arrive there today. As I understand it, the couple absconded quite furtively.”
There was a great commotion in the hall—voices and feet stirring. The master and his steward wrinkled eyebrows at each other quizzically.
“Prepare the coach, you and I shall leave at once.”
“Of course. And your sisters?”
“I shall make my apologies to Darcy and my sisters and inform them that urgent business beckons me back to town.” Wilshere nodded and left the room, more ruckus occurring down the corridor. Bingley paused for a momentary reflection before walking out of the library himself. What he saw astonished him greatly—servants rushing to and from, trunks moving about and, finally, Darcy himself descending the main staircase in nearly reckless haste. “Darcy!” Bingley called.
“I regret to inform you, Charles, that I must quit Pemberley at once for London,” he declared gravely.
“For what purpose?”
“A matter of urgent business—”
“Wickham?” Bingley queried.
Darcy stopped in his tracks. “Have you heard and so suddenly? I have just called on Miss Elizabeth Bennet and learned of it from her directly.”
“I will go—you must stay here as to not arouse alarm.”
“I cannot allow that, Charles.”
“Darcy—”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet may not consent to be my wife, but I shall not see her ruined by a man whose character I should have exposed long ago. You will see, it is a matter of the heart.”
“Then let us go together.”
“Please—I truly value the gesture as a friend, but it is not your duty to embroil yourself in this unfortunate circumstance. You are on holiday, and you have earned the right to rest, and—”
“There is something of Wickham’s nature that I have, myself, concealed, as well.”
Darcy looked at him crossly. “Whatever do you mean?”
“For months I have believed most seriously that Mr. Wickham is involved in the vile conspiracy which I have endeavoured to end. I have, just this morning, had confirmation of my suspicions. It appears that Miss Lydia Bennet has become his most recent prey. I sincerely apologize that I obscured this information from you, but it was not until now beyond contestation, and I most earnestly did not wish it to cause any hardship on your behalf.”
“Then let us fly at once,” pronounced Darcy.
Within ten minutes time, the two friends had given their excuses and taken their leave of sisters and acquaintances alike. Darcy took Georgiana aside and made certain that she had no distress as to the cause of his sudden departure. There was much shock and speculation among the remainder of the party as to what might have caused both Darcy and Bingley to depart from Pemberley so abruptly.
Though two of their coaches took the journey, the gentlemen rode together in Darcy’s, while their stewards and servants—Bingley’s footman Ridley among them—rode behind in Bingley’s. They stopped to change horses at Chesterfield, Pinxton, Nottingham, and Costock before riding straight through to Leicester where they delayed only long enough to eat and take on new horses yet again. After countless changes and but one more meal, the party arrived at the Darcy residence at a quarter to seven the following evening, exhausted and battered, but desperate to begin their quest. A meal of ham and potatoes had already been prepared and the entire group—servants included—dined once they had all changed and refreshed themselves.
They were met at dinner by Maitland who made a report with the latest intelligence. It appeared that Colonel Forster had written Mr. Bennet to inform him that Lydia and Wickham departed Brighton under cover of darkness for Scotland where they were to be married. Only later, however, was it learned that they had not be traced past London. Apparently, a Mr. Denny, one of Wickham’s peers, reported to Colonel Forster that it was never Wickham’s intention to marry Lydia at all. After exhausting all possible inquiries in London, himself, Colonel Forster went to Meryton personally to confer with Mr. Bennet where it was decided that the two of them would return to town the following day to resume their search. Because he was obliged to be in Brighton the following evening, Colonel Forster then departed, leaving Mr. Bennet in town where he would shortly be joined by Mr. Gardiner.
“From the time you recently spent in Meryton, Maitland, did you form any kind of concern on behalf of Miss Lydia Bennet, that she might have been smitten by Wickham?” Bingley inquired.
“Perhaps not in particular,” answered Maitland with some hesitation. “It is my own opinion that she was enthralled with the idea of the regiment, more than any one man in particular.”
“She and her sister both,” Darcy commented glibly.
“Not Kitty ,” replied Maitland. Darcy looked toward him quizzically. “At least, it is not so in my humble estimation.”
“What possibilities have you explored since arriving in town, then?” Bingley asked.
“We have checked as many carriage inns as possible—I can provide a list—although, if the couple do not remain stationary it may be wise to check all of those again. Our network has been informed of their descriptions, that we might learn if they pass through any of the major turnpikes leaving town. In addition, I greased the pockets of some of ours who might be trusted down on the docks, in the event they attempt to leave the country by sea. All told, I have not slept in fifty-six hours.”
“Fine work, Maitland,” declared Bingley. “I thank you.”
“It is also my understanding that Mr. Wickham has left behind a trail of debts in nearly every place he has been—from Lambton to Meryton to Brighton, and even Hull.”
“He is undoubtedly in dire straits.”
“Tell me,” began Darcy, “typically from the time a maiden vanishes as part of this vile business, how long until her body is discovered?”
Maitland sniffled and cleared his throat. “Her death and her body being discovered are two separate occurrences. It is my estimation that most often, a young lady is murdered within seventy-two hours of her abduction—though her remains are often not located until much later.”
“Then time is against us,” Darcy affirmed.
“It is, undoubtedly, our greatest enemy.”
“Mr. Wilshere, when do we expect Mr. Gallagher’s arrival?” Bingley asked.
“By morning, two days from now,” answered his steward.
“Good,” Bingley remarked, turning towards Maitland. “Now, young man, I would like for you to rest this evening whilst we make our first calls—”
“No, sir, I could not possibly—”
“You are in no condition,” stated Bingley. “We need you at your best. Stay here, and sleep.”
Maitland nodded in worried resignation.
Once they gathered themselves, Bingley, Darcy, and Wilshere set out on horseback into the dark London night to accost a monster.