Chapter 5 #3
Mr. Darcy had wished to accompany her should there be any lingering danger, but her pride and the very tale they were weaving caused her to reject that kindness with little of her own.
Yet, as she journeyed home some small part of her wished she had not been nearly so prideful or rational, for the dancing of branches in the wind and the flitting of birds proved an irrational turn of imagination which she had to regularly push down, the sight of Longbourn at long last unusually welcome considering the lies she would spread to most and the unpleasant news she would provide to the rest.
∞∞∞
Father, as she had expected, took the news surprisingly well. Perhaps too well for a father learning about the abduction of his daughter, but still, in light of everything it proved far more welcome than hysterics.
Jane had shed several silent tears, though she had rallied quickly and been prepared to take action. She, like Elizabeth, would not let their sister remain someone’s prisoner indefinitely.
Yet, it had been surprising how unconcerned over Mary’s ‘illness’ those who had been told the lie appeared.
Indeed, aside from a widowed woman Mary had developed friendship with, the Lucases, and to a lesser extent, the Phillipses, few who attended the party in Mary’s honour were genuinely concerned.
Lydia least of all, for she made some snide joke first about her sister and then turned to make another about Miss King.
What astonished Elizabeth most however had occurred long after the guests had gone and the news had been told to her father and Jane.
Their housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, had come on behalf of their staff, field hands, and tenants to seek out news.
For indeed, word had spread of Mary having been taken ill, and they were concerned.
Questioning Mrs. Hill on the matter, tales of Mary’s care of those less fortunate–in such a way as to not lower their dignity–were laid before Elizabeth, each painting a far different picture of the middle Bennet than any of her family had assumed.
Where they had seen a girl fixated on quoting some strange thing or another at the oddest time, the servants and tenants knew her as a woman, capable, kind, and willing to get her hands dirty.
Even as the next day dawned, sleep hard pressed in light of all that had transpired, Elizabeth could make no more sense of her younger sister than she could of the whole kidnapping surrounding her.
Devin had of course returned the night prior with no word of her sister, and, upon hearing news of Mary’s illness, had offered to see her things to Netherfield Park until she was recovered, a time-wasting motion Elizabeth would have to endure that morning, unless Jane agreed to fill the trunk.
Yes. She would ask Jane, and then go into Meryton. Nothing could be asked directly if they hoped to keep up this farce, but there was still much she might learn. For how could Mary have been abducted from Meryton’s streets, even its alleyways, without someone having noticed?
With Jane’s acquiescence, Elizabeth left the filling of Mary’s trunks to Jane as she made her way to Meryton, the action of walking there far more unsettling than she might ever have imagined.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs. Lovelace began as she entered the mercantile. “I hear your sister Mary is ill; my condolences. How about a nice new ribbon to cheer you up?”
Making an effort to appear interested in the nearby display of bright ribbons, Elizabeth brushed a hand over a few.
“They are lovely. I know Lydia bought a rather pretty one yesterday. A pity Mary could not join her...” Leaving her words hanging, Elizabeth allowed the center of town gossip to do its work.
“A grave pity, for a pink ribbon would do her well; nothing heals an ailing young lady than a fresh ribbon. All the greater pity that she did not, for I saw her and Lydia just outside, but I suppose some spat or another kept both from coming in?”
“Perhaps I ought to buy her a ribbon to cheer her up?” Elizabeth suggested, Mrs. Lovelace’s question left unanswered as Elizabeth sought to add proof to her sister’s confinement at Netherfield.
“A pink one as you say would suit her well; the view from the room she is in at Netherfield is certain to grow tiresome, however grand the accommodation.”
Lips pursed as she nodded, Mrs. Lovelace appeared suitably impressed and proceeded to direct Elizabeth to the more costly pink options she had on hand.
Selecting a wide silk ribbon, Elizabeth purchased yardage enough to trim Mary’s yet unopened gift of a fine muslin dress, the eight shillings–though a large portion of her pin money–a sum she gladly parted with.
No one would question their story for some time, and Mary, when she returned, would have some small comfort. All she had to do now was find some clue as to what had transpired the day prior.
An hour passed, Elizabeth chatting with friends, business owners, and shop hands, and while the news of Mary’s illness had caused many to recall seeing her, none had given any mention of foul play, and aside from one person having seen her move toward the alleyway, no one had witnessed her exit it from the other side.
Moving to the alley herself, Elizabeth examined every inch in search of some clue as to what had occurred. Footprints, dirt, and a few empty barrels the shops stored filled the space. The footprints largely incomprehensible, Elizabeth held little hope there, but there had to be something.
Eyes fixed on the muddled mess of dirt and prints, several long, deep prints which quickly vanished caught her attention.
Kneeling beside them, her heart sank. “Mary?” she questioned, almost certain these markings indicated a struggle. “Where are you now?”
A bit of white protruding from behind one of the barrels, she drew near, her hand coming away with a woman’s handkerchief. Laying it flat on one hand a cold chill came over her, the embroidered roses mingled with the initials M.B.
Mary’s.
∞∞∞
The sun high, Elizabeth hastened toward Netherfield, the time she had agreed to meet Mr. Darcy drawing near. Hopefully he will have learnt something from his inquiries, she thought, her breath uneasy as the house came into view.
From the moment she had discovered Mary’s handkerchief, a peculiar dread had fallen upon her which could not be shaken.
Cold. Even with the sun having emerged from the clouds, a chill had come, and not only did it linger in her bones, it enveloped the whole landscape.
Every tree appeared somehow as if it ought to be covered in ice.
Frowning at the absurdity of it, she fought to allow anger purchase, all feelings of dread and fear unbearable.
The men who took Mary would pay. She and Mr. Darcy would see to that!
Making her presence known at the massive doorway, the unhappy face of Mr. Innings met her.
“Mr. Darcy is waiting for you in the library,” his thin voice remarked, the man doing little more than gesturing toward the nearby door before leaving her alone.
“Cheerful sort,” she murmured as she moved toward the library, the ajar door allowing her full view of Mr. Darcy.
Seated at the desk, brow furrowed as he read and reread a letter, for half a moment she allowed herself to consider the handsome mien and strong resolve before shaking her head and knocking on the doorframe; the chill she had known vanished at the sight of him.
Lifting his head, his features lightened as he viewed her. “Miss Elizabeth, do come in.” Standing, he moved to offer her a chair. “A fresh pot of tea was brought in but a few minutes ago, along with some sustenance. I pray you have had more success today than I.”
“As bad as all that?” she questioned as she took the increasingly familiar seat, Mr. Darcy returning to the desk long enough to gather up a few papers before sitting across from her.
“No one I wrote could give any firm account of Mr. Wickham’s activities these past weeks.
He went to London after leaving my sister at Ramsgate,” he said, his tone staid even as his eyes blazed, “and he may well be there still, however, over three weeks ago he disappeared. Many are in search of him by the sound of things, for he did not pay any of his expenses before he left in the middle of the night–six hundred pounds worth of debt across a dozen or more accounts. A shocking sum to manage for a rich man, to those he injured it could ruin them. Even if no one businessman suffers more than fifty pounds, that is as a workingman’s life’s savings! ”
“Beyond the pale,” she breathed. “Yet, perhaps he may yet be made to pay? Is there truly no notion as to his whereabouts?"
Holding several letters out to her, he answered, “Only one of the men I queried could offer any hint, for the day before my cousin vanished Wickham was observed in the neighbourhood of my aunt and uncle–Fitz’ mother and father.
He said Wickham exited a remarkably grand house, which, at the time, was being rented by a Mr. Eustice Nicholas Emy. ”
Eyes wide, she breathed, “E. N. Emy. Enemy?”
“Precisely. Whoever leased the house has a peculiar sense of humour.”
“And a connection to Mr. Wickham. So… is Mr. Wickham the man behind all this?”
“Or is he merely a pawn?” Drawing back, Mr. Darcy tapped his thumb on the chair’s arm.
“I am inclined to believe Wickham formed the notion, but how a man with enough means to let such a house came to join Wickham in this scheme is beyond me. Surely, a man capable of securing such lodgings would not need ransom money to bolster their coffers? Either way, I shall make further inquiries.”
Laying aside the letters which she had quickly perused, no more information appearing at first glance than Mr. Darcy had supplied, Elizabeth drew out her sister’s handkerchief. “The alley which leads from the main road toward my aunt and uncle’s is where my sister was taken; this is Mary’s.”
“Did anyone witness it?” he asked as he stood, the furrow she had noticed earlier returning.
“No. No witnesses,” she sighed, the chill she had known rushing to her core.
“I suppose that is a good thing for maintaining the fiction of her being ill, but it does nothing to help. I only know she was taken from there because it was the last place she was seen and because there were marks in the earth which looked peculiar. Those paired with finding her handkerchief behind some barrels not but a step or two away, and I can draw no other conclusion.”
The room growing silent, Elizabeth’s thoughts began to prey upon her.
Nothing was known of Wickham’s whereabouts.
Nor Darcy’s cousin. Nor her own sister. The handkerchief, while near-proof of Mary’s abduction, did nothing to point toward a culprit or where they might have taken her.
Indeed, with busy streets on either side of the alley, anything else they might have learned had long since been destroyed.
Was all they could do truly just to pay the ransom? If thirty thousand for Mary and another for Colonel Fitzwilliam were even possible. Surely, no matter how much Darcy might wish to help, the full figure for both would be beyond them.
Face falling as she considered it all, Elizabeth felt what hope she had once had die; the eventual safe release of her sister growing less and less real.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy remarked, conviction thick in his voice, “we shall get your sister back. True, finding them is the best and most proper solution, but should it require it, I promise to find the ransom. It may not be easy,” he laughed softly, “but my family’s London home can always be sold.
Please, do not lose hope. My cousin and your sister will be alright…
I promise to do everything in my power to see it so. ”
Face softening, she turned her gaze toward the intense eyes of Mr. Darcy.
He meant what he said in every respect.
He knew of her dislike, knew she had not offered her forgiveness, and yet, this man, whom she had not too long ago loathed, would do everything in his power to help. And that somehow meant more than if any other man of her acquaintance had made such a promise.