Chapter 6
Main Street
Meryton
Elizabeth was immediately confronted by a choice of the unknown.
Which way should she go on the main street?
To her right it ran longer, so she turned in that direction and stepped out into the thoroughfare.
Here Elizabeth paused, looking up and down the street, trying to judge if any of the neat little shop fronts resembled the facade of a tea shop.
None that she could see really fit the bill, but close at hand a milliner's displayed some very fine hats in a handsome bay window.
Elizabeth wandered over to look at a bonnet festooned with artificial roses and then shifted her gaze to admire the ribbons and bows and flowers and tulle sprays ranged in a glorious parade across the windows.
The glass panes were slightly reflective, and whenever movement in them caught her eye, Elizabeth looked back at the alley she had just quit.
On the third such glance, she was rewarded. Mr. Wickham strode into sight, handsome and debonair, an easy grin on his lips that was calculated to steal the breath of any unwary lady. After the barest disinterested glance around, he pivoted to the left and started up the street.
Elizabeth turned away from the milliner's shop and drifted in his wake like a cork being tugged on a string through water.
Mr. Wickham was walking rapidly, with purpose in his stride, pausing only to tip his hat or bow to the ladies wandering along.
Elizabeth had no acquaintances in this town to slow her progress, and did not wish to draw the attention of the dubious Mr. Wickham by drawing too close.
Her perambulation down the street was necessarily slow and apparently aimless, and she wandered from store to store, looking with only partially feigned curiosity into the windows that she passed.
Iced cakes, and hocks of ham, and paper and pencils, and bolts of muslin lawn all drew her interest, even as she kept one eye on her quarry.
More than once, Elizabeth wondered if she ought not to stop someone and share the conversation she had overheard.
Every time, she dismissed the idea. In Meryton she would have been believed without question, but in Meryton she was well known.
Here, she knew no one except her aunt and uncle.
They would help, she knew, but so far she had seen no sign of them. They must still be visiting friends.
Mr. Wickham suddenly turned left, and Elizabeth glanced at the sign overhanging the charming little door, which declared the shop to be the Pelican Tea Emporium. This, then, must be where Mr. Wickham planned to meet Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth looked around for a plausible excuse to loiter and found one that would do very well.
A bookstore inhabited the space beside the tea emporium, with rows of books displayed in its windows.
Elizabeth could easily spend an hour here, admiring the gilt titles and hand-tooled leather.
She had in no way exhausted the interest of the window when, some ten minutes later, the clopping of horse hooves drew her attention to the street.
A chaise and four were coming up towards her, and drawing near to the tea shop, being driven by the rough-looking man in blue and green livery whom Elizabeth had last seen in the alley with Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth took a deep bracing breath, bolstering her courage. Soon Mr. Wickham would emerge from the tea shop. If he had a young woman with him, even if she was escorted by another lady, Elizabeth would have to act. She could not leave an innocent girl to be abducted.
***
Pelican Tea Emporium
The tables in the Pelican Tea Emporium were designed with groups of either two or six in mind.
The one with three people sitting around it was a trifle crowded, but they made for an attractive picture.
Georgiana Darcy was wearing the light blue muslin dress she liked so much.
It matched her eyes and charmingly set off the creamy shawl covering her shoulders and arms. Beside her, Mrs. Younge was the very picture of a sober governess in her demure navy blue dress.
Like her charge, she was wearing a shawl, and her only adornment was a single cameo brooch.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat chignon that was, if not strictly fashionable, nonetheless flattering to her features.
The third member of their group was perhaps the most striking, though not with the loud, flashy colors of the Tulips of the ton.
Georgiana hardly noticed his dark breeches, except to admire how well they set off his legs.
Her eyes were drawn by the impeccable cut of his leaf green, which augmented his truly handsome features.
Right now, Mr. Wickham’s face was wreathed in smiles as he leaned forward to converse with her.
“I remember playing Fox and Geese very well!” Georgiana said, smiling happily at her old friend. “I have not thought of that game in many years. I wonder where the pieces are!”
“Perhaps in the schoolroom?” Mr. Wickham suggested.
She knit her brow and then nodded. “I do believe you are correct! Perhaps you could call at Pemberley soon, and we could play again, for old time’s sake?”
Wickham smiled broadly. “I would be honored, Miss Darcy.”
Mrs. Younge, who had been largely silent, said, “As much as I would like for you and Miss Darcy to have more time to talk, we are shortly expected at the milliner, and I see the carriage is waiting for us out front.”
Georgiana was a very well brought up girl and knew that it behooved her to be on time for her appointments. She rose at once and said shyly, “It was wonderful seeing you again today, Mr. Wickham, and I hope that you will visit us at Pemberley soon.”
He bowed deeply and said, “I have every intention of doing so; I assure you. Pray allow me to escort you out.”
He held out his arm, and she took it with a blush. She had not seen George Wickham in several years and had not remembered how very handsome he was. Not as handsome as her own brother, but Fitzwilliam was, in her opinion, the most handsome gentleman in all of England.
“Good day, Miss, Madame, Sir,” a servant girl said, bobbing her capped head.
Georgiana nodded at the girl and waited as Wickham opened the door and guided her outside, with Mrs. Younge behind them.
Wickham approached the carriage and pulled open the door. Georgiana took one step forward, and then an unknown young lady, dressed neatly in a light green muslin gown, walked deliberately in front of her.
“Oh,” Georgiana said, “My apologies, I…”
“Miss Darcy,” the unknown lady said, “you must not enter that carriage. Mr. Wickham and your companion intend to abduct you.”
Georgiana jerked in surprise and looked at Wickham, whose eyes flared wide as his mouth dropped open.
“What?” she stammered.
“I overheard him some minutes ago,” the girl said frantically. “I am staying at the Inn, and I heard him talking to the carriage driver…”
“Miss Darcy, this is nonsense!” Mrs. Younge exclaimed, stepping forward and wrapping a firm hand around her right arm. “This woman is deranged. Come, enter the carriage immediately, and we will…”
“No!” the girl cried out, loudly enough that passersby stopped in place. “No, pray listen to me, please! It is not safe…”
“Get her in there!” Wickham snarled, shoving the girl harshly to the side and grabbing Georgiana’s left arm. “Get her…”
Panic, sharp and thick, rose in Georgiana’s throat, clogging her breathing and clouding her mind.
All she could think was that her arms hurt and that she had to get away at all costs.
She stopped short and leaned back against the grips on her arms with a sob of terror, pulling and yanking first at Mrs. Younge’s hand and then Mr. Wickham’s even as their fingers tightened painfully on her arms.
“Leave her alone!” the Unknown shrieked, flinging herself into the melee, clambering rather like a squirrel up onto Mr. Wickham’s back.
She clawed at his eyes with the fingers of one hand, cinching her other slender arm across his throat as tightly as she could.
Wickham spat a word unfamiliar to Georgiana and released her arm, twisting around snake-like to free himself of the other girl.
Turned now to face her, he struck her a cruel blow with the back of his hand, right across the face.
She cried out, staggered sideways, and fell with a cry of pain.
The fracas was attracting scrutiny now. Two men were hurrying towards them, a gentleman in polished boots and a husky farmer in heavier footwear that gripped the dust of the street.
Georgiana had little attention to spare for anyone else around, still trying to free herself of the vise-like grip of her governess.
Mrs. Younge’s usually serene face was distorted with anger, her cheeks flushed and a sparkle of perspiration in her hair as she screamed.
“Get in the carriage, Georgiana! Stupid girl! Get in! Get in there!”
“Let me go!” Georgiana’s voice was high and shrill with alarm, and she twisted her arm hard against the bruising fingers wrapped around it.
The farmer stepped forward at this moment and punched Mrs. Younge in the arm, which caused the older woman to release her captive with a yelp of anguish.
Georgiana pulled free and stumbled back a few steps towards the tea shop, her hands out behind her as she sought to find the door while keeping an eye on her attackers.
As though this were some cue, the coachman up on the box cracked the reins across the horses’ backs and the carriage jerked forward with a rumble, the door swinging wildly.
It just barely missed Mr. Wickham, who turned with a shout of horror away from the unknown brunette girl, now sprawled in the dust of the street.
Apparently forgetting all about her in the shock of being abandoned, Wickham took two steps after the carriage.
“Stop, Zimmer! Stop!” he screamed.
The carriage picked up speed, and Wickham turned wild eyes on Mrs. Younge. “Run, Dorothea, run!”
Georgiana caught sight of her governess’s face, which was pale with horror.
“What are you … Wickham! Wickham!” the older woman screamed.
The man said nothing more as he dashed into a nearby alley. Mrs. Younge took a few steps in pursuit of her accomplice, only to be captured by the burly farmer.
“Not so fast, Madame,” he snapped. “Not so fast!”
***
On the Road to Lambton
More than an Hour Later
Darcy’s favorite riding horse was his stallion Phoenix, who was three years old and ran like the wind.
Usually Darcy did not allow the horse to gallop far, as he did not wish to harm the beast. Today, though, he urged the horse to run as fast as possible for a full six minutes before reluctantly pulling him into a trot so that the horse could catch its breath.
He was tempted to check the message again, the one he had received but twenty minutes previously.
It had been written in Georgiana’s hand, but far more sloppily than usual for the only daughter of Pemberley.
His sister had said he was needed immediately, that something terrible had happened, though she was not hurt, and that he would find her at the Tea Emporium.
His heart thundered in his chest with fear.
Georgiana was not a dramatic young lady, so something truly horrific must have taken place.
To his surprise, Phoenix suddenly shifted back into a gallop, apparently in response to his master’s anguish.
Darcy considered pulling him to a trot again, but then decided against it.
They would be at the outskirts of Lambton in a few minutes, and then he would pull the horse back to a slower pace.
“Dear God, please keep Georgiana safe until I can reach her,” he prayed.