Chapter 23 Red Herring
The drive to Longbourn felt long and arduous.
Elizabeth’s abandonment was churning a hole in his stomach, or was it something else that was gnawing at him?
Like he had forgotten or overlooked something important.
Elizabeth was alive. The ache in his chest should have lessened, not increased, with that knowledge, but the dull pain had only sharpened.
“So, how did you come to marry a lowly squire’s daughter?”
Darcy scowled at his cousin, who had appeared to be asleep just as they left the city behind.
“Elizabeth is a gentleman’s daughter. She is from an ancient though untitled line that came to England with William the Conqueror.”
Richard huffed. “Then why would you divorce her? It is clear to me that you love her.”
Darcy spent the rest of their journey relating all that had transpired since he first met Elizabeth at the Meryton assembly. Richard listened with rapt attention and made few remarks. By the end of the tale, they had arrived at Longbourn.
“It is a handsome house and larger than I imagined,” Colonel Fitzwilliam opined before they entered.
Both Mr and Mrs Bennet were surprised to see them.
Darcy was inclined to believe them sincere.
Instinct told him not to enquire about Elizabeth but rather pretend he had travelled so far because he had business at Netherfield and had stopped to introduce them to the cousin they had yet to meet.
Mrs Bennet called for refreshments, and the table was filled with all sorts of delicious edibles.
The colonel eyed him suspiciously throughout the repast but kept his counsel until they were back in the carriage.
“What was that all about?” Richard questioned as soon as the wheels were turning. “Why did you not ask whether Mrs Darcy was here?”
“I have addressed this matter all wrong. I have allowed the idea of my wife being dead to cloud my judgment. Elizabeth cannot truly believe that I want to divorce her. Even if Judge Darcy has tried to convince her otherwise, she cannot doubt my love. No. This might be an instance of smoke without fire…”
“It is too early in the morning for riddles, Darcy.”
“It is past noon.”
“Which is still early when one is on leave,” Richard grumbled.
Taking no notice of his cousin, Darcy listed mentally what had happened over the last few days: Judge Darcy, Lady Castlereagh’s ball, and Lord Matlock…
“Zounds!”
“What?” Richard blinked out of his light slumber.
“Lydia!” Darcy exclaimed.
“The one who is about to marry Wickham?”
“Yes. Do you mind a brief stop at Gracechurch Street before we return home?”
“No, by all means. I am at your disposal and amply fed.” The colonel rubbed his stomach for good measure.
“Thank you,” Darcy added sincerely. If not for his cousin’s timely arrival, he would have gone stark raving mad by now.
The crux of the matter was Lydia. He did not believe for an instant that Elizabeth had run away from him; neither could she genuinely believe he wished to divorce her.
He loved her with every fibre of his being and she knew it.
Elizabeth Bennet Darcy, who had walked three miles of muddied path to tend her sister through a slight cold, would never allow Lydia to marry a man she despised.
Oh no, she would fight for her loved ones, even against him, whether they deserved her compassion or not.
Of course, discovering that Georgiana’s folly had become known would have made her distrust him.
However painful that realisation was, she was right; he had allowed Lydia to assume the blame that was rightfully Georgiana’s to bear.
Darcy groaned and rested his head in his hands.
He had failed his wife, and himself, taking the cowardly route.
Elizabeth would never have sacrificed Georgiana to protect Lydia, but how could she save her youngest sister without making the girl look even more culpable?
She could not have predicted the quidnuncs would turn their flinty eyes on her.
The morning papers had speculated that Mrs Darcy had run away with the lieutenant.
How the press had been informed so soon about his wife’s absence was baffling.
Yet they had not mentioned his mad dash through Hyde Park…
It was to be hoped that Wickham would continue to strut about town with Mrs Younge on his arm. That might deflect the gossip away from Darcy’s relations.
They arrived at Gracechurch Street late in the evening, well after the proper calling hours.
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were fortunate to be admitted to Mrs Gardiner’s parlour; Mr Gardiner was not at home.
By her rigid bearing and the absence of congeniality, he immediately became suspicious that the lady knew why he had come.
He introduced his cousin before he made his request with as indifferent an air as possible.
“I have come to speak to Miss Lydia. I have a question concerning the wedding. Would she mind the intrusion upon her time?”
“Please be seated,” Mrs Gardiner offered without answering his question.
A maid entered with a tea tray.
“Petra, I have guests and need two more cups.”
The maid curtsied and left them for but a moment.
Darcy grew restless as she prepared their tea and wondered whether she had heard his question or was she deliberately delaying her response?
The usually so amiable Mrs Gardiner was as unfailingly polite as ever, but her reserve was pronounced.
Darcy was left with the impression that she did not like him much. Strange indeed!
When Mrs Gardiner had finished pouring the tea, she sat and looked him, unflinchingly and directly, in the eyes.
“There will be no wedding, Mr Darcy. Two nights ago, Lydia climbed out of her window and disappeared. We have been searching for her ever since.”
“Why was I not informed?” Darcy barked.
“We believed she could not have gone far and hoped to retrieve her before it became known. In addition, there is the urgency of not drawing more attention to the scandal than the damage that has already been done.”
“I do not engage in idle gossip,” Darcy protested.
“Of course not.” Mrs Gardiner’s eyes widened as she hurried to explain. “It is only that Elizabeth believed that there was an informant in your household. Some of the details that have been leaked to the newspapers were personal matters, ones that only a close connection would have known.”
Darcy was struck by that notion. The thought had not entered his mind. Could he shock her into compliance and force an honest answer from her lips?
“Where are Lydia and Mrs Darcy now?”
“I have no idea. I mean, we have not been able to find Lydia. My husband is out searching for her. As to your concern about Mrs Darcy, you must know more than I.”
She did not look him in the eyes but addressed some point above his shoulder. Now he was certain Mrs Gardiner was prevaricating, if not categorically lying. Chances were that Elizabeth and Lydia were somewhere in this house at this very moment, laughing at him.
Darcy considered threatening to destroy Mr Gardiner’s business if she did not divulge his wife’s whereabouts.
But there was a small chance that she did not know, and making an enemy of Elizabeth’s favourite relations would not be a wise decision.
It was better to appoint runners to keep the house under surveillance.
If the sisters were here, they were safe, and he would discover it.
Perhaps flattery would be the prudent route to Mrs Gardiner’s compassion.
“You are correct. It is best to refrain from reading the banns on Sunday if we have not found Miss Lydia by then.”
He was a terrible lickspittle. You are correct was not much of a compliment when it was obvious. Was he equally inept at praising his wife? Had he told Elizabeth that she was beautiful, witty, or clever?
“Could you ask Mr Gardiner to speak to the vicar?”
Mrs Gardiner affirmed that she would do so, but her manner made Darcy suspect he had already done it.
It had been decided that Lydia should marry from Cheapside rather than Longbourn, with as few witnesses as possible.
Mr Bennet had managed to convince his wife to return home with the excuse of overseeing the packing.
She had not been informed that she would not be returning for the wedding, as the matron was not to be trusted.
Her penchant for gossip was regarded as too much of a hazard to dare risk her continued presence in town.
The plan they had so expertly concocted had irrevocably been thwarted by his clever wife. It was impossible to decide whether he should be impressed or affronted by her devious scheming.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Gardiner.”
Darcy rose and departed with his cousin in tow.
“What now?” Richard asked.
“I am convinced that Mrs Gardiner is hiding both sisters. Therefore, I shall put the house under surveillance and question the servants.”
“What if their servants are loyal?”
“I expect them to be, but no one suspects an errand boy or a delivery man. I shall ferret them out.”
“But what will you do when you find your errant wife, and what will you do with the sister? It is clear she does not want to marry Wickham, which speaks well of her discernment…”
“I have yet to decide,” Darcy growled. Nothing mattered but finding his wayward wife.
His blood simmered into a boil, and the more he pondered the situation, the more enraged he became.
Why had Elizabeth not come to him with her concerns?
Which led to the immediate realisation that she had, but he had not conceived there was any other choice to be had but for Lydia to marry.
She, of course, had realised that there were alternatives, rightfully less palatable, but she was not obligated to curry the favour of the ton.
Darcy rubbed his temples; it had been a trying day.
There could be no doubt that Elizabeth had gone to the Gardiners’ to rescue her sister.
She was probably searching for a husband amongst Mr Gardiner’s men of business.
To a tradesman, a thousand pounds and a connection to the Darcy name might very well be enough of an incentive to marry a silly girl.
When the scandal became known, they would have no other choice but to retreat to Pemberley. Georgiana would never marry anyone of consideration in this world; neither would Lydia, though her chances had been slim even before the scandal.
As soon as Darcy arrived home, he called the same skilled runner who had discovered that Judge Darcy was responsible for adding items to Elizabeth’s purchases.
Men were dispatched to Gracechurch Street and, for good measure, Longbourn and Hunsford.
He would leave no stone unturned. To Georgiana and Mary, he said that Elizabeth was with Lydia, without further explanation.
His foul mood prevented any questions the girls may have harboured from being raised.
Two days later, the runners had discovered no intelligence of import.
Darcy arrived at the St Alban’s Tavern to attend the Earl of Spencer’s new book club as if nothing were amiss.
It was to be hoped that an evening of literary discussions would dull the ache in his chest and allow his mind to rest, even for a brief moment, on a topic other than his wayward wife…
Realising that Elizabeth was alive had not lessened the pain—a diversion might.
Besides, were he to decline such an august invitation, tongues would wag, and it was an excellent opportunity to make excuses for his wife’s absence from town.
He could say, with some semblance of truth, that she was visiting relatives.
Lord Spencer had just founded the Roxburghe club in anticipation of the Duke of Roxburghe’s extensive library coming up for auction. It was only dinner and a topic he could abide.
“I say, Darcy, you look positively dour tonight. Are you examining the competition for the printed copy of Boccaccio’s Decameron from 1471?”
“Yes. I am most eager to add it to my library at Pemberley.”
“Good luck! You are going to need it.”
Downshire sauntered away, and Darcy continued to drink in an attempt to fill the resonating emptiness and chase away the sting behind his eyes and the constant lump in his throat.
Rational as he was, he gave it up before he needed to be carried home.
Darcy ordered the carriage before his inebriated state became too embarrassing.
He stumbled into his bedchamber and did not regain his balance before he reached the windowsill at the opposite end of the room.
The waxing moon was a sign of a new lunar cycle.
He rubbed his sternum and honestly believed that with his excellent view of England, the man in the moon should be able to tell him where to find Elizabeth.
The tome he wanted sold the next day for two thousand two hundred and sixty pounds, far beyond what Darcy was willing to spend.
Had he learnt nothing from Elizabeth’s leave-taking?
Was he still currying the favour of the ton?
He cursed the wasted hours he could have spent looking for Elizabeth and decided to decline all social events until his wife rested safely in his arms.