Chapter 28 #2
And to Richard’s great amusement, Darcy turned his back on the furious and sputtering woman and sauntered out the door, whistling as he climbed the stairs.
It was most difficult for Richard to commit himself to his work the next day.
The recruits could do nothing right, and one young lad tripped over his own boots in trying to learn to march, taking half the company with him when he fell sideways.
The men stood like gaping fools, covered with mud and moaning of bruises as Richard tried to yell at them while fighting the great inclination to fall to the ground laughing.
Likewise, his piles of forms and bureaucratic documents held all the appeal of a pile of rat droppings.
He wished not to be here, but to be a fly on Darcy’s shoulder in Hertfordshire as he courted and wooed Elizabeth Bennet.
If that young woman had set Aunt Catherine off with such a flea in her ear, she could not be indifferent to Darcy. It was a matter of time before his cousin informed him of an impending wedding. Richard hoped the day would be soon; he could use some good news.
The thundering of horse hooves roused Richard from his morning coffee the next day.
It was early—just past seven o’clock—and the sun was not yet risen.
He had already been outside, watching the recruits at their early morning drill, and now was back in his office, taking a break before his next tasks.
This new arrival was surely going to interrupt those plans.
From a quick glance, it was an express messenger. He had been travelling by the light of the half-moon, not an easy task at great speed. Could Darcy be that eager to inform his cousin of his engagement? He must have prevailed upon Miss Elizabeth within moments of arriving in Meryton.
Richard rose and looked out the window. That was not Darcy.
Of course—the man had sent a messenger. Darcy himself would still be with his beloved in Hertfordshire.
And sure enough, the man knocked at his door a few moments later.
He was covered in perspiration and dust from the ride, and Richard was about to offer him a coffee and plate of toast when he glanced at the man’s face.
This was not the bearer of good tidings.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“This is he. Speak. Then I shall see you to some refreshments.”
“I have an urgent message from Mrs Barrow of London.”
Richard’s heart dropped. Colonel Barrow… Oh, heavens, no…
The messenger fished into a pocket and withdrew a scrap of paper, the words scratched and smeared. There had been no time to allow the ink to dry properly. What had happened? Richard swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and a leaden ball of dread forming in his gut.
He grabbed at the paper and read the note and then read it again.
His heart stopped in his breast as the ground swayed beneath his feet.
This could not be! He gaped once more at the sheet he had crumpled in his hand, until all at once, a thousand thoughts crashed into his poor brain, not one of them good.
“My horse! Ready the fastest horse we have!” His voice filled the hallways. “I am for London this instant! There is not a moment to lose.”
He ran from the room, forgetting everything and everyone in his desperate need to get to town. Even breathing seemed an unnecessary waste of time.
Emily was missing!
“Thank you for coming. I did not expect you before noon, or later.” Mrs Barrow’s face was white and drawn, and tear marks streaked her pale cheeks.
Richard had burst through the door only moments before, the horse he had ridden tethered loosely to a railing fronting the street, still panting from the frantic ride.
“I only wish I could have been faster,” Richard exhaled, his breath coming hard from exertion and worry. “Tell me: what happened? Does the colonel know?”
Heavens, but he must look a fright, he realised, with rank sweat staining his red coat and dust from the road clinging to his grimy face. But now was not the time to take an hour to fix his appearance at Darcy’s house. Emily was in danger.
The older lady gulped and shook her head.
“No.” She wrung her hands in anguish. “It would distress him. I could not abide losing both of them.” She choked back a sob and dabbed at her eyes with a linen handkerchief.
“As to what happened, I cannot rightly say. Emily went out last night to put in an order for some breakfast rolls and did not return. I thought, at first, that she had met a friend and stopped to talk, or got delayed at the baker, but when midnight approached and she was still not home, I started to worry. When she was still not here when I awoke this morning, I panicked… and found an express rider to send you the message.”
“I am pleased you did so. I would have come at three o’clock in the morning if you had summoned me then. I would do anything for you… and for Emily. Especially for Emily.” His mind was racing. “Have you learned anything else?”
Mrs Barrow shook her head in despair. “I asked everyone I could find, all the neighbours, the boys who run errands, the girl selling flowers… I asked if anybody had seen or heard anything. Only Mrs Chudleigh at the end of the street had anything to say. She thought—but she was not certain—she thought she saw a man approach and force Emily into a carriage, right where the lane meets the main street.”
“Did she notice anything that might identify the man? Please—I must speak to her.”
A few minutes later Richard stood in Mrs Chudleigh’s hallway.
The lady was of middle years, and she dithered and hemmed and hawed, testing Richard’s patience to its limit.
Now was not the time for second-guessing and prevarications.
He needed information, and he needed to act!
But expressing this frustration would only increase the woman’s circumlocutions.
And so, he forced himself to stand still with as calm an expression as he could manage as he waited for her to speak.
“Well, I cannot be certain, you know? I thought I might have seen it, but I was busy chasing Johnny—that’s my son; he’s seven years old now, and a sweet boy but very busy—to get him ready for bed, and I might be mistaken.
But I thought, well, I thought it was Miss Barrow.
It looked enough like her, but I was otherwise busy.
She stopped to speak to somebody, or at least, I think she did.
And then he grabbed her and pulled her into a small carriage.
Or she might have climbed in on her own.
But I thought it was not entirely to her liking. ”
Richard’s hands began clenching and unclenching at his sides, and he stayed the motion with effort. “Did you hear anything? Anything at all?”
“Well, you know, the cat was screeching, and Johnny was running and making noise, but she did shout. Or, at least, I think she did. Something about next week… or next weeks. I didn’t understand that, but I was too busy to pay attention.”
“Weekes?” This was alarming, but not unexpected.
“It may have been ‘next month,’ but I cannot say. I was busy…”
“Yes, yes, of course! Thank you, Mrs Chudleigh. You have been of the utmost help. Excuse me!” He tipped his head quickly by way of a bow and dashed from the door.
Within moments he was back at the Barrows’ home, a half-formed plan in his head. But he needed help.
“Mrs Barrow! Please, send two notes. One to Mr Lyons—here is the direction—and one to Colonel Hastings at the War Office. That one, if you please, take yourself to ensure he gets it soonest! Do whatever you must to see him immediately. Tell them both what has happened and that I am going to Blackfriars. They will know what I mean. I must be off!”
He scarcely had time to grab his hat before running once more out the door.
His poor horse was too tired for another ride, so he found a hack at the square and bade the man rush with all haste to the corner at Blackfriars by the tavern where Weekes had his gaming table.
The driver hurried as much as London’s congested streets and alleyways would allow, but the ride seemed to take forever.
Perhaps he ought to have stolen a horse…
At last, too late, he dreaded, they arrived.
Richard threw a pile of coins at the driver and rushed down the laneway.
There it was, that vile building where Weekes was said to have his rooms. It loomed, ugly and dark, stinking even from the outside of urine and worse.
With all the blunt the cur must be taking in, why would he put up with this crumbling pile?
Were there calls on his purse that Richard knew nothing about?
Still, this was no time to contemplate Weekes’ questionable choices. He had to find Emily, and that meant braving the interior.
The staircase up to the man’s apartment creaked with every step; there would be no surprise attack this day, but that was not Richard’s goal. He wished—no, needed—merely to get Emily free! He would do whatever it took to secure that end.
A loud knock went unanswered, as did a second and a third. Neither shouting nor a heavy shoulder against the door received any response, other than people from the other rooms coming to inquire what was happening and either complain or cheer him on, depending on their dispositions.
“Stand back! I’m taking this down!” Richard stepped back to ram his side against the door to break it from its hinges, but a short oily man rushed up the stairs with a ring of keys.
“No! It’s not a beautiful building, but it’s mine and I’d prefer it to remain whole. Use these!” He handed one of the keys to Richard.