Chapter Thirty-Four #2
In one swift motion, he snatched the child, one arm locking tightly around the small torso, the other clapping firmly over his mouth. Tommy kicked and flailed in surprise, but Wickham hoisted him, muscles straining as he twisted into the trees.
Behind him, the governess stood up. “Tommy?” she called again, louder this time. “Tommy!”
“Tommy!” echoed the girl.
Leaves snapped and branches tore as Wickham raced through the brush, ducking and weaving through the undergrowth, the child squirming against his chest. He whispered urgently in the boy’s ear, “Be still or I’ll hurt you.” The boy whimpered but stilled.
Voices rang out behind him. “Tommy!”
“Miss Lane, where is he?”
“Tommy!”
Wickham didn’t stop. He didn’t look back.
He ran until his lungs burned, until the voices were gone, until only the pounding of his heart and the rustling of the woods remained.
When he reached the hut, he shoved open the warped door and stumbled inside.
He dropped the boy onto a pile of blankets and slammed the door shut behind him, bracing it with a fallen branch.
Tommy sat frozen, cheeks wet, trembling.
Wickham bent down, panting hard. “That’s enough crying,” he snapped. “You’re going to be quiet now. If you’re good, nothing bad will happen. But if you scream, if you run, if you disobey—well, we don’t want that, do we?”
He straightened, dusting off his coat and smiling grimly.
Now it begins.
The morning sun had scarcely broken the horizon when Elizabeth stepped out into the brisk December air.
Her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, she needed the space and solitude of the countryside.
It had been some time since the failed meeting with Wickham on Oakham Mount—and since anyone had seen or heard from the man.
The unease in her chest had grown steadily, fanned by Colonel Forster’s reluctant admission that Wickham had taken an unexpected leave of absence.
He had not said where he was going, only that it was “personal.”
Darcy had gone pale when he heard.
Since then, he had taken up near-daily residence at Longbourn. He arrived midmorning and often lingered until dusk, under the guise of keeping Bingley company or discussing horseflesh with Mr Bennet. But Elizabeth knew the truth. He was waiting. Watching. Planning.
Miss Bingley’s sharp glances and stifled sighs were a near-constant accompaniment—she came with her brother to ‘discuss wedding details.’ Elizabeth had begun to pity the woman in some small measure.
Bingley, of course, was blissfully oblivious, entirely wrapped up in Jane, and Jane equally so in him.
Their joy was a balm in the midst of uncertainty—but Elizabeth could not help but feel that it made the rest of them seem like actors on a stage, performing a polite comedy whilst something terrible brewed just offstage.
That morning, Elizabeth had excused herself before breakfast and wandered along the well-worn path towards Oakham Mount. Her boots crunched over frost-covered leaves, and her breath hung in the air before her, a ghostly wisp that disappeared before she could catch it.
The climb was not difficult, but her chest ached as she reached the summit.
How often this place had meant something to her—solace when the guilt of her actions was unbearable, clarity when her thoughts were too tangled.
It had been here that she and Darcy first truly connected.
And it had been here that Wickham shattered her peace with threats of extortion.
She stood quietly, staring in the direction of the bend in the road where the carriage had crashed five years before. Where a life had ended and another had begun. She could see it clearly in her mind.
Tommy...
A chill swept through her, far colder than the morning air. Something was wrong. She felt it in her bones.
She descended the hill quickly, nearly slipping once on a patch of ice, but catching herself before she fell. As she approached the house, the chaos was immediately apparent—maids running back and forth, Lydia sobbing noisily near the front steps, and Mary pacing in the garden, white-faced.
“Elizabeth!” Jane called out, rushing to meet her. “Tommy—he is gone!”
Her heart stopped. “Gone?”
“He was playing in the wilderness near the orchard,” Jane said breathlessly, eyes wide with panic. “They were reading—Miss Lane turned away for a moment. When she looked back, he was not there.”
Elizabeth’s mind went blank. She barely registered her own movements as she ran into the house, calling for the boy. “Tommy? Tommy!” Her voice cracked. She searched the hallways, the nursery, behind curtains, and under beds—anywhere a small child might hide. Nothing.
Servants had already been sent into the fields and woods. Mr Bennet was outside speaking with Mr Hill when Elizabeth returned, her hands shaking.
She joined the search without hesitation. They scoured the little wilderness, calling Tommy’s name over and over until their throats were hoarse. They sent a note to Netherfield, begging for aid. In reply, Bingley sent a note indicating they would search around his estate.
Hours passed. The sun rose higher, but offered no warmth. Everyone fanned out across the grounds. Still, there was no sign of the boy.
Then, as the cold shadows lengthened towards afternoon, Mr Hill galloped up the drive on horseback, his coat flapping in the wind. He slid to a stop and thrust a folded sheet of paper into Mr Bennet’s hand.
Mr Bennet opened it. His face drained of all colour as his eyes scanned the page.
“No,” Elizabeth whispered.
He looked at her, jaw tight. “Saddle my horse,” he called over his shoulder. Then he handed her the note.
With trembling fingers, Elizabeth unfolded the paper. There were only a few words, written in a hand she now loathed.
You were warned. The price has now doubled. I am sure you can find a way to acquire the full amount. Deliver it or you will never see the boy again. Further instructions are forthcoming.
No signature. Just that cruel, taunting threat.
The note fluttered in her hand like a leaf caught in the wind. And in that moment, standing in the courtyard of her childhood home, Elizabeth Bennet felt the full weight of fear settle on her heart.
Tommy was gone. And Wickham was responsible.
Devastated, Elizabeth dropped to her knees, the note still clutched in her trembling hands.
Her breath caught in her throat, and then came the sob—raw, aching, and uncontrollable.
Her body folded in on itself as though by doing so she could make it all go away, as though curling into the earth could reverse time and erase the last few hours.
Tommy. Taken.
The very word taken echoed in her mind like a cruel drumbeat, pulsing in rhythm with her racing heart.
Her vision blurred as tears spilled freely down her cheeks, splashing silently onto her gown.
Her fingers clenched the paper so tightly that it tore in places, the jagged edge biting into her palm.
A soft voice broke through her grief. “Lizzy?”
Jane.
A moment later, arms wrapped around her—gentle, warm, trembling slightly. Jane knelt beside her and pulled her close, rocking her as one would a frightened child.
“Lizzy, dearest—what has happened?” Jane whispered, her voice strained but calm, as always.
Elizabeth could not speak at first. She pressed her face against her sister’s shoulder, sobbing in great gulps of air. Her words, when they finally came, were fractured and desperate.
“He—he took him, Jane. Tommy. Our brother is gone. He left a note…”
Jane held her tighter, rubbing her back in slow circles, murmuring soothing sounds even as her own body stiffened with dread.
Elizabeth dared not say more. The old habit of secrecy wrapped itself around her tongue like a vice, choking back the truth.
She could not tell Jane that Tommy was not truly their brother.
That he had been found in the carriage wreckage.
That she had kept this secret—even from her sister—for five long years.
The guilt pressed against her chest like an iron band.
“He’s just a little boy,” Elizabeth whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking. “Just a boy…”
“I know, my love, I know,” Jane said, and though she remained outwardly calm, Elizabeth could feel her sister’s heartbeat hammering where they were pressed together. “Come, let us get you inside. You need rest, warmth, and tea.”
“I can not—” Elizabeth shook her head violently. “Not whilst he is out there.”
Jane stood, gripping her arm firmly. “You will not help him like this, Lizzy. You will help him best by being strong. Come with me now.”
Somehow, she allowed herself to be led. Her legs felt like water, her hands numb, but Jane’s presence steadied her, pulling her back from the precipice.
They entered through the side door and passed through the hall, where a few maids paused to curtsy, their faces drawn with worry.
No one asked questions. They had all heard the shouting, seen the wild searches, and noticed the air of panic that had taken hold of the estate.
Jane guided Elizabeth into the parlour and eased her into a chair by the fire.
The room, usually so familiar and cosy, now felt foreign and too bright, as though it were pretending a normalcy that no longer existed.
Outside, she could hear the rush of voices—a footman’s sharp tones, Mr Hill calling for riders, Mrs Hill sending for the apothecary, though what good he could do Elizabeth could not imagine.
Jane poured a cup of tea, her fingers shaking as she held the pot. “Drink this. Please. Just a little.”
Elizabeth obeyed only because it seemed to ease Jane’s own distress. She raised the teacup to her lips and took a small sip. The liquid scalded her tongue, and she barely tasted it.
“Where is Papa?” Jane asked gently, brushing a curl from Elizabeth’s forehead.
Elizabeth stared into the cup. “He—he rode off. As soon as he read the note.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I do not know where. He did not say.”
Jane turned towards the window, her expression growing taut with worry. “Did the note say where to go?”
Elizabeth only shook her head. The silence hung heavy in the room.
All around them, the house moved with unnatural urgency—doors opening and closing, boots echoing across the flagstone floors, the hushed murmur of prayers offered beneath breaths.
The Bennets’ world had tilted, and no one could set it right.
Guilt curled like a serpent in Elizabeth’s chest. This is my fault. I should have told Darcy everything sooner. I should have insisted Tommy be kept closer. She sighed internally. I should have done so many things differently.
Jane knelt before her, both hands cradling Elizabeth’s face. “We will find him, Lizzy. We must hold onto hope. Do you hear me?”
Elizabeth gave a faint nod, though her lips quivered. Hope. It was the only thing they had left.