Chapter 12
Make haste to Newgate Prison.
Ask to see Nicholas Blackburne. Do not take no for an answer.
Be very cautious.
Rouncewell
Richard followed the guard along Newgate’s corridors. Around one turn, a section stretched several feet in front of them, lit only by one sconce on the wall. At the end of the hall was a bolted metal barrier with hinges as thick as clubs. A guard sat in front of the door, a pistol in his lap.
“Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam to visit the prisoner,” the other guard informed him.
“This prisoner’s not allowed any visitors,” the gruff man replied.
Assuming his stiffest posture, Richard stepped forward, addressing the man as though he were giving orders.
“Then I shall return with my father, Lord Matlock, so that he may insist you allow us passage.” He did not like using his father’s position as a peer, but it did come in handy in moments like these.
The man squinted his eyes and moved aside. Unlocking the door, he asked, “You have any weapons on you?”
Richard had a knife in his boot, but he was not about to give that up. Rouncewell had said to be cautious. Instead, Richard handed over the knife he carried in his coat. And when the guard motioned at his fob chain, he handed that over as well.
Both of the guards moved in front of him, pistols ready should their prisoner rush them at the door. He must be as dangerous as Rouncewell had implied.
They motioned him forward, and Richard heard the doors close behind him as soon as he set foot inside the room. His skin crawled at the sound. He was as much of a prisoner as the man Blackburne—at the mercy of the guards to allow him out. Not a pleasant realization.
The prisoner stood in the corner, as still as a statue. His features were obscured in the dim light of dusk, away from the only window in his cell.
“Nicholas Blackburne?” Richard asked, stepping forward when the man still did not move.
No reply.
Cautiously, Richard took another step forward, now standing in the middle of the small space. “Are you Nicholas Blackburne?” he repeated. He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the dark.
Still no answer. Was the man still alive? His hair fell over his face, long, dark, and curly. There was no puff of breath where his mouth would be. But he was upright. Richard looked for a cord above the man’s head. He had heard too many stories of men hanging themselves before their trial.
He took another step forward, reaching his hand out to feel for a pulse, eyes searching, pulse racing, sensing a trap and choosing to spring it and be done with it rather than wait.
With a shout, the man lunged at him, whipping around Richard and wrapping his arm around his neck.
Immediately, Richard dropped his chin to his chest, preventing the man from choking him.
And then, he felt the cold edge of a knife pressing into his neck. From the corner of his eye, he saw the silver tip on the handle. His knife. “How?” Richard grunted, not expecting an answer. He had not even felt Blackburne slip the shiv from his boot.
The next seconds would mean the difference between life and death.
The man behind him was taller than he was—Darcy’s height.
He was strong. Perhaps stronger than Richard.
It was safer to assume his opponent was stronger and more skilled than he was.
To underestimate him again would be a fatal mistake.
Irritated at himself for losing possession of his weapon to the prisoner when he knew better, Richard jerked his right shoulder upward while his hands pulled the prisoner’s knife-wielding hand down.
Slipping his head through the narrow gap, keeping the sharp end of the knife away from his face, he twisted Blackburne’s arm behind his back. Richard could have stabbed him in the side, but Rouncewell had sent him here for a reason, and he would find out why.
Blackburne grunted, but he held fast to the knife. Lord, he was strong.
Richard thrust his arm upward, the prisoner’s shoulder snapping. Only then did he drop the knife.
Holding up his free hand, Blackburne said, “Are ye going to finish me off, or what?”
His voice sounded so much like Darcy, Richard released his hold.
Slowly, Blackburne stood, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. “Ye’re a bold fighter. I could’ve sliced yer jugular.”
“And allow a prisoner to escape using my own knife? I think not.”
Turning to face him, Blackburne brushed his hair away from his face, and Richard felt his jaw go slack.
The man standing in front of him was the spitting image of his missing cousin. It could not be, but the words crossed his lips anyway. “Darcy? Is that you?”
“There’s that name again. Second time I’ve heard it today.” He frowned, inspecting Richard as thoroughly as Richard looked at him. From the top of his head to his hairy toes, he was Darcy’s identical twin.
Richard asked, “What is your name?”
“Nicholas Blackburne.”
“Where are you from?”
“Devonshire.”
“Who were your parents?”
Blackburne shrugged.
“Who raised you?” Richard asked.
“An old fisherman and his wife saw I was fed, let me use their surname, helped me find work on me first ship.”
“You have been at sea most of your life?”
“Aye.”
“How did you become a pirate?”
“The Lafittes took me ship.” He spat on the floor.
“And they let you live?”
“I was just a lad, light on me feet and good at climbing. When they saw me crawl up the ropes like a monkey, they decided they’d keep me. T’weren’t much of a choice.”
He did not think much of his mentors, then. Encouraged to hear evidence of a conscience, Richard pressed on. “Does the name Darcy mean anything to you? Anything at all?”
“Should it?”
“Have you no family?”
“Who’d claim the likes o’ me?”
“What do you know of your history? Were your parents from Devonshire?”
Another shrug. “I suppose.”
“Did the fisherman tell you anything about them?” Lack of information was frustrating. Richard could not imagine how awful it would be to grow up completely alone, with no place, nobody.
“He said a fish vomited me onto the shore. Found me wailing on the beach. I always thought he made it up to keep me from asking ‘til I heard the vicar talk about Jonah.” He looked down, adding softly, “The vicar’s wife taught me to read with that story.”
Blackburne was literate, then, and intelligent. He had learned to adapt, skilled at survival under what Richard imagined as the most adverse circumstances.
“Where can I find the fisherman?” he asked.
“I don’t suppose ye can. He was old when I left, and that was fifteen years ago.”
Fifteen years away, at sea. “How old are you?”
“Eight and twenty, as far as I know. I know the year, but not the day.”
Richard needed more than that. “What of his wife? Might she still be alive?”
“Doubtful.”
Tugging his hand through his hair, Richard pressed, “Did they have children? Or friends they trusted?”
Blackburne folded his arms over his chest and scowled, looking so much like Darcy in appearance and manner, Richard was struck anew with awe.
“Why all these blasted questions? I’ve no family here.
No friends on land.” He scoffed. “Right now, ye’re me closest acquaintance, and I don’t even know yer name, only that ye’re skilled at fighting and therefore deserving of me respect. ”
Richard took a deep breath. “I apologize. Your resemblance to my cousin is so striking, I forgot my manners.”
“Darcy? Is that why I keep hearing that name?”
With a nod, Richard bowed. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service.”
Blackburne looked at him askance. “Why’re ye here, Colonel?”
Richard shook his head, trying to find a starting place when nothing made any sense.
“I do not know how it happened, how a secret of this magnitude could be kept this long, but there is no other logical explanation. You are the mirror image of my cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.” He watched Blackburne for a reaction, not expecting his laughter.
“Ye can see that through this filth and all this hair?”
“You have the same height, same build. You even sound like him.”
Pulling his shirt down to expose his shoulder and chest, Blackburne asked, “Does he have this scar, too?” His tone was mocking.
“No, but he has a similar one lower on his ribs. If you are a Darcy, you have family—a powerful family who shall offer you their protection.” Pirate or not, Richard could not let Blackburne hang until he knew why he had been taken away from Pemberley.
How he wished his aunt Lady Anne were still alive.
Or Uncle George. But neither of them could have known there had been two Darcys born that day.
They would have hired every enquiry agent and investigator in the country, searched every house, and talked to every family until they found their missing son.
With their influence and wealth, their search would have met with success.
But they had not known. Nobody had known.
Blackburne glowered at him. “What’re ye about, Colonel? I’ve yet to meet a man who’d not rather betray me for a profit.” Under his breath, he mumbled, “Blast that infernal female.”
Richard ignored his comment. “Clearly, you have not met your brother.”
“I have no brother. And if I did, where’s he been all these years?”
“He is as ignorant of your existence as you were of his. Darcy will want to meet you.”
Blackburne looked like a dog backed into a corner. He did not trust easily.
Richard reassured him. “Darcy is the most honorable man I know. He will want to know what happened. He shall track down the person or persons responsible for your exile, and he shall ensure matters are dealt with justly.” Richard could do no less either.
Was it a coincidence Darcy should disappear days before his identical likeness showed up at Newgate? The two events did not seem related, but the timing was too close.
He needed to talk to his father. The family needed to know. Father could use his influence to convince the magistrate to let Blackburne free under his charge.
Richard eyed the man. As easily as he had snatched the knife from his boot, Blackburne would find a way to escape unless Richard made haste.
He knocked on the door to let the guards know he was ready to leave. “I shall be back,” he told Blackburne.
“I’ll be here … probably.”
“See that you are.” Richard stared at him, conveying his severity to the charge.
“It’s me nature to escape. It’s how I stay alive.”
“Fair enough, but you shall always be escaping, always on the run and never free. I can offer you my family’s—your family’s—protection.”
“Sorry, Colonel, but I’ve a hard time believing that. Nobody does anything unless there’s something in it for them. What do ye want from me?”
Something more immediate, then. Pirates sought pleasure, luxury. Richard knew just the thing. “I can promise you a bath and a shave.”
Blackburne stilled. “A change of clean rags?”
Richard’s gaze flickered down to Blackburne’s bare feet. “And a pair of boots.” He had the advantage, and he pressed it. “If you agree not to disappear until after I find Darcy.”
“Ye mean ye lost him?”
“He was kidnapped … I think.” Richard gritted his teeth.
How could he find Darcy and discover why his brother had been separated from him at the same time?
He sensed many long days and nights ahead of him.
“Do I have your word?” he asked instead, eager to get somewhere he could discover some answers.
“Ye’d believe the word of a wanted pirate?”
“I shall believe your word until you prove yourself untrustworthy.”
“Innocent ‘til proven guilty? That’s not the way yer laws work.”
“It is the way I work.” Blackburne was as skeptical as Darcy—another trait they had in common.
After some seconds’ consideration, Blackburne nodded. “I’ll meet yer Darcy, if ye find him. But the second ye cross me, I’ll leave, and ye’ll not be able to find me.” He held out his hand.
They shook, and Richard raced away from the river to Mayfair.
A carriage waited outside his father’s residence. It was too dark to see who it belonged to. Richard dismounted in front of the house, tossing his horse’s reins to the first man to run down the steps to him.
Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet stepped out from the conveyance, calling out, “Colonel! We must speak with you without delay!”
As hurried as he was, there was something in their manner that brought Richard to a halt.
“It is Elizabeth,” Mr. Gardiner said.
Mr. Bennet’s hands shook as he raised them in supplication. “Please help her, Colonel. One minute she was with me. And the next, she was gone. Vanished.”