Chapter 21
Darcy continued to the inn, not eager to cross his aunt but risking an encounter for the information he required.
The innkeeper and barmaids were the best sources regarding the comings and goings in and around Meryton — if not through an eyewitness than through the gossip over cups which always made its way there.
The innkeeper, however, while eager to inquire how best to satisfy the demands of his difficult guest, had nothing to share about Wickham.
With a pause and a glance at the stairs leading to his aunt’s rooms, Darcy decided not to engage with her in battle while a foe ran free over the countryside.
He inquired next at the stables, but while the proprietor admitted to seeing Wickham the day of the wedding, he was also certain he saw Wickham leave for London on the back of a farmer’s cart shortly afterward.
Next, Darcy asked at the shops. Wickham was incapable of entering a village without running up debts. Several mentioned seeing him with Mrs. Wickham, and a few added their relief when they had then observed him leaving on the road to London soon after.
Mr. Collins must have imagined seeing Wickham.
“Thank you,” Darcy said, smacking his gloves against his hand and turning to leave.
The haberdasher fiddled with the position of his spectacles on his nose.
“Pardon me for saying so, Mr. Darcy, but there are plenty of places a man can stay to escape notice if he sticks to the countryside and avoids the main roads and hedgerows. Wickham was stationed here for months and could easily go unperceived.”
Of course, the man was right. Wickham had done the same in London when he had “eloped” with Lydia. It had not been easy to find them, and only Darcy’s knowledge of Wickham’s habits and favorite haunts and constant lack of funds had led him to the hovel in which they were hiding.
Perhaps Mr. Collins’ observation was useful after all.
Across the street, Darcy saw Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson leaving the apothecary’s place of business.
He crossed the street. “Good day, Anne. Are you well?” What he really wanted to know was if Aunt Catherine had calmed enough to come to her senses, but he was grateful he inquired into his cousin’s welfare when he noticed how frail she appeared.
Shading her ghostly complexion from the sun, she said, “Mother is well, thank you, Darcy. Mr. Jones gave me a bottle of his fortifying tonic. It is my hope that it tastes much better than that dreadful stuff Mother’s apothecary makes.”
Darcy could not recall the last time he had heard Anne speak more than a fragment of a thought. He encouraged her to continue. “Oh?”
“Mr. Jones told me he adds bilberry juice to make the tonic more palatable. It sounds quite delicious.” She clasped her hands together and looked down at the ground, as though expecting reproof for over speaking.
Even Mrs. Jenkinson looked uncomfortable, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes darting everywhere and landing on no one.
Darcy was at a loss. Fortifying tonics and calming draughts were not his areas of expertise. Would that Mrs. Bennet were here. She was an authority on the subject.
Finally, Anne spoke, her voice so soft, Darcy struggled to hear her. “Mother has charged Mr. Collins to ascertain the state of Miss Elizabeth’s health.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. He ought to have known that Mr. Collins’ concern for his cousin had nothing to do with her welfare and everything to do with his attempts to ingratiate himself to his patroness. “He is spying for her.”
“She swore she would never set foot at Longbourn after her last … exchange … with Miss Elizabeth.”
How could he forget his aunt’s rudeness? On one hand, her conduct was shameful. On the other, her meddling had ultimately given him reason to hope … besides granting him increased patience for the Bennets’ frequent breaches of propriety.
Anne leaned against Mrs. Jenkinson as though she might faint. Her eyes were too large for her small face. She looked frightened.
Darcy reached out to steady her. “Allow me to see you back to the inn.”
She shook her head. “No. There is more you must know. Mother means to send for a doctor from the asylum. At the first proof of instability, she will write to the director about having Miss Elizabeth committed.”
Hot fury shook Darcy. “She has not the authority.”
“She will call her sanity into question, suggesting that she is a danger.”
“Elizabeth is not mad.”
“The mind is fragile, its workings little understood. People fear what they do not understand. If Mother calls into doubt Miss Elizabeth’s sanity, if she gets others to question her welfare, if she convinces an asylum doctor to confirm her own assessment…”
Cold dread raced through Darcy, chilling him to the bone. “Then it would not matter whether Elizabeth is sound or not. The damage would be done. Even if I could sweep her away from Hertfordshire, I could not prevent word from spreading, from ruining her and bringing ostracism upon her family.”
Darcy squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around his chest. If only Elizabeth’s amnesia had not been so publicly revealed, he could have covered over her injury.
But there had been too many witnesses, not all of whom would protect Elizabeth’s interests as he did.
Mr. Collins, for one, would blab the news all over the kingdom.
Miss Bingley would saturate society with her venom.
His pulse throbbed in his head. He pressed his palms against his temples, trying and failing to contain his fear. What had she said in front of Mr. Collins? Had Elizabeth revealed any weakness his aunt could use against her? He looked wildly about. God help Mr. Collins if he appeared.
“I am so sorry, Darcy. Mother will do anything to keep you from marrying your lady. I will keep watch over her to ensure her letter is not sent. It is the least I can do.”
The softness in Anne’s tone, her offer of help, calmed him enough to abate Darcy’s murderous thoughts toward Mr. Collins.
He lowered his hands, clenching them at his sides.
He had always compared his aunt’s shocking behavior to that of Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughters, but this was far beyond the pale. This was cruel. Calculating. Malicious.
“Elizabeth is not insane,” he said, needing Anne to believe him. Needing to strengthen his own belief.
“What matters is what the doctors believe.”
Darcy scoffed. “They believe amnesia is one step from madness.”
Anne nodded.
“Do you think they are right?” Darcy asked, his tone sharper than he had meant it to be.
“I hardly know what I believe. But I am convinced that you are happy with Miss Elizabeth, and I would never agree to marry you knowing that we would forever live afterward with regret.” Her voice trembled.
Darcy had never heard his cousin speak with so much passion. It shamed him to realize he had never before asked her opinion. “What about you, Anne? What do you want?”
“I am resigned to being unhappy. I am ill suited to be anyone’s wife, and I would have been miserable had Mother succeeded in having her way, knowing that you were capable of loving another.
Perhaps, given different circumstances, I might have been allowed more freedom …
the liberty to better myself…” Her sentence trailed off, her gaze far-off, as though she were in another time or place.
Anne would never be happy until she was free of her mother’s influence.
Darcy felt wretched for Anne, and even more so when she proved herself stronger than she gave herself credit for at that moment by smiling.
The clip clop of hooves and a familiar voice explained her change of expression.
“Darcy! Anne! What the devil are you doing standing out in the street?” Richard dismounted, his booming voice contrasting with the dark circles rimming his eyes and his dusty boots.
Lord love Richard. He must have gone to a lot of trouble to arrive so soon.
The tension coiling in Darcy’s shoulders loosened.
There was nobody else he trusted more than the colonel.
Nodding at Darcy, Richard bowed at Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson. “You will never guess whom I saw at the club two nights ago. Do you remember Patrick Gibbs?”
Darcy did not recall the name, but the blush blooming over Anne’s face said that she did.
“The navy has been very good to him,” Richard continued. “He is staying in town seeing to some business matters before he returns to the comfortable little estate he purchased.”
Anne’s blush deepened. “He deserves any good fortune which finds him.” Clearing her throat, she added, “We ought to return to the inn before Mother wakes from her nap. She will be cross if we are gone.”
Darcy nodded. “We will call later.”
“Not today, I beg. Mother went to bed with a headache. Any attempt to reason with her would be futile and make her cross.”
Which would only make Anne suffer. Darcy did not wish to add to her troubles. “Very well. I will call on the morrow.”
After seeing Anne to the inn, Darcy led Richard to the stables where his horse waited, brushed and saddled.
“I came as quickly as I could, Darcy. Have you written to Georgiana?”
“The same day I wrote to you.”
“Good. My mother says she has never seen Georgie more excited. She has been preparing Pemberley to receive its new mistress, her new sister.”
His words jabbed Darcy’s heart. “I wrote, but I did not explain in detail the cause of our delay. I did not want her to worry needlessly.”
Richard met his eyes. “Needlessly? Do you wish to know why I did not arrive earlier?”
Darcy did not, but he was certain to hear it.
“I inquired amongst the doctors and surgeons in my circles, those close enough to inquire quickly, good men with a great deal of experience on and off the field. And all of them are of the same opinion.” His pause added weight to what would come next.
“Without exception, they agree that amnesia is one step away from insanity. I hate to say it, Darcy, but your Elizabeth is in grave danger.”
Every muscle in Darcy’s body tensed. He had already lost Elizabeth once. He refused to allow it to happen again. He urged his horse onward, turning off the road before they reached Longbourn or Netherfield Park.
“Where are we going?” the colonel asked.
“Lucas Lodge.” Darcy tightened his grip around the reins, the leather pressing into his palm and dulling his skin, tension stabbing through his numb body like a painful pulse warning him. Warning him not to loosen his hold lest he shatter into a million pieces.