Chapter 28
Darcy was happy to see Dr. Sculthorpe’s cart sitting beside the Bennets’ recently repaired carriage in the shed. The doctor had not yet departed, which meant he could oversee Elizabeth’s electrical stimulation to ensure there was not an element they had overlooked.
Why did he trust the doctor? His credentials were as impressive as the other “experts” Darcy had investigated, but Dr. Sculthorpe’s conclusions stood in stark contrast to the notable doctors and scientists’ understanding — the very men who offered no better treatment than bashing his betrothed on the head.
That must be it. Dr. Sculthorpe was their only other option. If his theory was right, Elizabeth would suffer no permanent damage.
But if he was wrong…
Darcy clenched — his jaw, the reins, his resolve to woo Elizabeth.
“Darcy? Do you mean to sit there atop your horse all day, or are we to call?” Richard stood by Hill, Longbourn’s door open to receive them.
He shook his head and dismounted. “Sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.”
“I had not noticed.”
Darcy wanted to wipe the smirk from his cousin’s face, but he must not give in to his aggravation. He was here to court Elizabeth, not beat his insolent cousin in front of her and her family.
Dr. Sculthorpe greeted them enthusiastically. “Gentlemen! We have been expecting you.”
Elizabeth looked well, though there was a strain around her eyes. Her manners were more reserved than usual. She greeted and smiled sincerely enough, but something was … off.
Richard bowed gallantly. “We are ever at your service. Do you have any progress to report?” he asked jovially, elbowing Darcy so that he bowed, too.
The doctor chuckled. “Only that I am tempted to extend my stay if Mr. Bennet does not object…” He glanced at his university chum.
“Of course, you must stay, Sculthorpe. As long as you wish. The conversation has improved dramatically since your arrival.”
A belly-bouncing cackle and, “I cannot take all the credit when it was Mr. Darcy who brought you that delightful machine.” He rubbed his hands together. “I do hope I will be able to observe its use today.”
Elizabeth said, “Say the word, and you can have the honor of strapping the contraption to my head.” Her voice was merry. Too merry.
“Delightful! Simply wonderful! I say, Bennet, I have not been this entertained in years. One day in your household is more eventful than one of those horrible gothic novels.”
They laughed. Darcy did not. Tension built inside him along with the suspicion that there was something the Bennets were hiding.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “Have you met with any success discovering my errant son-in-law’s whereabouts?”
Richard shook his head. “He has not visited his usual haunts, and everyone of whom Darcy and I have inquired denies seeing him. I am beginning to think the rascal really did depart for London, and Mr. Collins requires spectacles.”
Nobody laughed. Something was definitely wrong. Darcy looked to Elizabeth for answers.
She smiled at him softly, and he felt her reassurance … which meant his instincts were correct. Something had happened. Something awful enough for her to hesitate in its telling. Something requiring guarantees of well-being before it could be told.
Mrs. Bennet sent for more tea, complaining about their absent footman and shuffling her daughters around so that Miss Kitty was forced to relinquish the chair beside Elizabeth.
Her ability to arrange circumstances to her daughters’ favor so quickly was admirable, and when she offered him the chair, Darcy was pleased to accept.
Once the tea was brought in and steaming in their respective teacups, Elizabeth began, “It has been a rather eventful morning for us. First, I will assure you that I am well.”
In Darcy’s haste to set the tea on the table, he sloshed the scalding liquid onto the saucer.
She rested her hand on his forearm. “I am well, and I need you to listen calmly before I will continue.”
He nodded his head, his foresight of what was to come offering little consolation and feeling anything but calm and growing increasingly agitated as Elizabeth told them about a second attempt on her life — for Darcy was now convinced that the carriage accident had been directed at her.
When she described the bee stings, he looked her over from head to foot, only then noticing that she wore wraps on her feet where slippers — or her favorite half boots — ought to have been.
He would kill the fiend who did this.
She squeezed his arm, having not removed her hand during the whole narrative.
“I do not think Lady Catherine could have done this, but who else hates me enough to murder me in my bed? Miss Bingley departed for London, and it seems that Wickham is away as well.” Her brow furrowed.
“And even if he were here, why would he stretch his hand out against me?”
All eyes turned to Lydia, who shrugged. “How should I know?” She rubbed her stomach and asked for another slice of cake, earning the footman another demerit in Mrs. Bennet’s accounts when he was not there to wait on them.
“Where is he off to?” she mumbled.
Darcy knew she referred to the missing footman, but he was more concerned about the missing ne’er-do-well, Wickham.
There were too few suspects to dismiss him so readily.
He caressed Elizabeth’s hand and stood. “The colonel and I will ride over every inch of the countryside. Perhaps your neighbors will assist us.”
Mr. Bennet rose. “I will accompany you.”
“If it is agreeable to you,” Darcy replied, “I would be much easier of mind if you would stay with Elizabeth. We dare not leave the ladies without protection with a murderer about.” He glanced at Mrs. Bennet, but she did not flutter and sway.
Nor did she produce her fan or complain of nerves.
She had not even opposed Mr. Bennet’s offer of assistance.
Mr. Bennet sat. “That suits me better than having my bones rattled and my organs jostled out of their proper place. But do you really think Lizzy is still in danger so long as she stays indoors and away from the windows? The villain could easily assume the worst, negating the need for any further attack.”
“I am not tempted to walk on these swollen feet,” Elizabeth said. “I think I shall stay indoors today.” As though it were a choice.
Darcy loved her spirit, recognizing how shaken she must be to agree to stay in when she always preferred the out of doors and expressing herself in such a way as to dispel his anxiety.
Heavy boots squeaked over the floorboards, and Mrs. Hill appeared, dragging the poor, wincing footman with her by the ear.
“Mrs. Hill, shall we speak in the kitchen?” offered Mrs. Bennet in a shocking display of propriety.
“I dare not release my hold lest he slip away again. Neglecting his duties sneaking around the house, he was, and the state of his livery.” Mrs. Hill’s frown deepened as she glared at his grass-stained stockings, sweat-drenched shirt, and dust-coated shoes.
Twisting himself out of her grip, the footman stepped forward. “I found Mrs. Bennet’s tablecloth, sir.”
Mrs. Bennet sat taller in her chair, all attention. “Where is it then?”
The young man bowed his head. “I am sorry to tell you it is ruined.”
Sinking back into her chair, the matron merely said, “Oh.” No wails or fan-waving. Truly, that machine was a miracle worker.
Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows, a glint of admiration in his eyes as he flicked his gaze away from his wife and back to the footman. “Where did you find it?”
Clutching his hands together, the young man replied, “You told me to keep an eye out after the carriage, so I took to walking about the house before nightfall. To ensure no strangers lurked about.”
Mr. Bennet nodded, encouraging him along. “Is that when you found the tablecloth?”
The footman continued, “One night, I saw footprints and packed dirt behind the carriage house. It got me thinking.”
“A fine occupation I always encourage,” commented Mr. Bennet.
“I thought that maybe the man who cut the axle was the man I mistook for Mr. Hill the morn of the wedding.”
Mrs. Hill gave up all pretense of pinching his ear, and Mr. Bennet kept his quips to himself.
“This morning, such a feeling of dread overtook me, I could not sleep. Not knowing what to do, but needing to do something, I swept the flagstones and filled the buckets. Mrs. Hill likes it when I do that.”
Nodding her head, Mrs. Hill looked up at him proudly. Clearly, the way to her heart was through domestic work. “Please go on, Thatcher. Tell the Bennets where you found the tablecloth.”
“A sound made me peek through the back door. That was when I saw a man running away from the house like the hounds were on his heels.”
“Who was he? Did you see his face?” Darcy asked.
“It was Mr. Wickham.”
Silence swelled in the room.
Lydia’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, but no words spilled out. A truly miraculous machine.
“Are you certain?” Mr. Bennet asked, insisting no more on the tablecloth.
Thatcher clutched his hands together. “I am. He tried to carry on with my sister, see,” he said before realizing that was not something one said in the hearing of the wife of the rake.
Inclining his head apologetically, he added, “Before he married Mrs. Wickham, that is. Days before his regiment departed from Meryton. Whole days. Maybe a week.”
Her flushed face twisted, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her hands balled into fists, her lips pressing into a flat line. It was difficult to tell if she was mortified or enraged.
“Wickham was here,” Darcy repeated to himself. To the footman, he asked, “You followed him? Did you find where he is staying?”
Glancing at Mrs. Hill, the young man continued, “I neglected my duties to follow him. I am sorry.”
She patted his hand. “Do not fret over what is done. Where did you find him?”
“I followed him to an abandoned tenant hovel.”
Richard jumped to his feet. “We must apprehend him immediately.”
“He is not there. That is why I took so long to return.”
“Then, where is he?” Richard demanded.
“I stopped following him once he reached the road. I ran after him but had to return when I grew too tired to continue.”
Had Thatcher possessed the endurance of Pheidippides, Darcy had no doubt he would have run all the way to London in pursuit of Wickham.
Mr. Bennet gasped. “What would you have done had you caught him?”
Thatcher scratched his head. “I did not think that far, sir.”
“Where was my tablecloth?” asked Mrs. Bennet, returning to the topic of her greatest concern. Miraculous the machine may be, but it had its limits.
“Under the hay piled in the barn. The ladder had been tossed on top of it. Mr. Hill never does that. I went to lean it against the wall and that was when I saw the lace. It was so soiled and torn, I almost did not recognize it.”
Mrs. Bennet tightened her lips. “How vexing.”
“I apologize for shirking my duties,” finished the footman, clasping his hands in front of him and bowing his head like a man prepared to get sacked.
“Nonsense. You have been most helpful,” Mr. Bennet said. “Mrs. Hill, I believe this answers some of your previous concerns regarding the lad. Make sure he gets a bath and a hearty repast. He must be exhausted,”
Mrs. Hill puffed like a pigeon. “I will see to the tablecloth and to Thatcher. He has done the family a fine service.”
The young man beamed at her as she added, “You did well. Very well, indeed. Cook has a piece of plum cake for you in the pantry.”
“Not anymore,” a feminine voice whispered. Lydia.
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Mrs. Hill will see that you get heartier fare, but I must ask you to take Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to the abandoned hovel where you saw Wickham first. Perhaps he left a clue behind.”
“Good idea,” the colonel acknowledged.
It was a good idea, and had Darcy not been so reluctant to part from Elizabeth’s side, he would have been more eager to agree with it.
His wooing would have to wait.