Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Edging his way down the steep slope, his boots loosened pebbles, which cascaded in a rain of dirt to the bottom. He cared not whether someone might hear. The living were safe in their beds, and he was confident that Wickham knew of Darcy’s approach. They held that sort of knowledge of each other.
He slowed his steps as he emerged from the woods.
A dim light reflected off the windows of the central room.
Darcy moved more cautiously, weaving his way to the window for a look inside.
Plastering himself against the grey stone of an exterior wall, the cold shale caused a shiver to run the length of his spine.
The shutters were slanted outward, but the openings between the slats provided a clear enough view of the interior.
Wickham sat at the end of an expansive table, facing the window.
As if on cue, he raised his hand in a salute, the way he always did in farewell, and then Wickham’s lackeys, who materialized from the mist creeping along the ground, surrounded Darcy.
Despite the danger, Darcy smiled. Such was why he had come.
Wielding the sword in his right hand, he kept his back to the wall.
When the first apparition stepped menacingly before him, Darcy simply swung the sword, arcing in a downward movement, hacking at the woman’s neck.
A second whack from the opposite direction took off the head a few inches above the shoulders.Years of removing the heads of Wickham’s victims had provided him enough practice to be somewhat efficient in the motion.
A shrill cry of despair filled the air as the body turned to a skeleton.
A bloody mist, smelling of decaying waste, floated upward before congealing and drifting away like fiery embers in a breeze. “One down,” he said as he smirked.
Boldly reciting the Lord’s Prayer as he stepped now to the left, Darcy swung the crucifix he carried upon a chain, keeping the next set of attackers at a healthy distance.
A parry and a basic thrust through the heart sent another soul to heaven.
The crucifix smacked an abandoned spirit, and a repugnant somnambulist screamed out, as if burned, and then followed the fate of those struck by Darcy’s blade.
Inflamed now with success, Darcy attacked more diligently, striking first with the sword and then with the holy relic, but with each release, two more dusky fiends took its place.
“It is too late, Darcy,” a cold breath whispered in his ear, but still he fought on.
He was desperate to stave off the encroaching army, but a vaporous stench surrounded and smothered him, and a blow to the back of his head, one violently snapping his neck forward, sent him first to his knees and then into complete darkness.
He did not know how long he remained unconscious, but when he opened his eyes, grey ones, only inches from his face, stared back at him.
It took several blinks of his lids before the reality of his situation became evident.
He was not dead, but he was Wickham’s prisoner.
His arms ached from the battle, and Darcy attempted in vain to move them, only to find them secured behind him.
Wickham’s face withdrew, and Darcy struggled to right himself.
“That was a fine display, Darcy.” Wickham applauded in amusement. “You took more than a dozen of my favorites with that exhibition of your swordsmanship.”
Darcy licked his lips, tasting his own blood. “I would have preferred twice that many.” Darcy forced himself to return Wickham’s smirk. “I hoped you would be among them, Wickham.”
“I apologize, but I could not accommodate you.” His enemy sat upon an ornate chair, leaned back in it, and crossed his legs at his ankles.
Darcy looked about him. “Where am I?”
“In the house’s root cellar.” Wickham gestured at the bare walls. “I am afraid I entertain so very little, and my lack of hospitality must be evident.”
Darcy looked over his shoulder to view what bound him. He shook his hands and heard the rattle of chains. “And why am I restricted? Do you fear me, Wickham?”
“Since your alliance with Mrs. Darcy, your power has increased. Your once-latent interest in your abilities blossomed with the appearance of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Wickham appeared to be amused again.
“Unfortunately for you, and I suppose fortunately for me, you chose not to refine those innate skills.” He gestured towards the chains binding Darcy to the wall.
“I took note of your ability to manipulate time. I also noted that to do so, you must extend your arms to the sides; therefore, your current bonds.”
Darcy nodded in a respectful acknowledgment of his opponent’s intelligence. “How long will I be here?”
“I am not assured. I suppose it will be at least until your lovely wife and mayhap your sister make an appearance. Someone is certain to attempt to save you. I will wait until I capture the whole lot. Then you will receive the pleasure of witnessing my repeatedly taking the two of them and claiming your loved ones as my own.” Wickham paused suddenly and looked off wistfully.
“I wonder, Darcy, if you know how much your sister resembles Ellender?” He seemed momentarily sad, but then he returned to his threat.
“You will beg me to permit you to die, seeing Mrs. Darcy and the innocent Georgiana willingly coming to me to feed, and only then will I grant your wish.”
Staring absently at the void between them, Darcy looked off, seeing something Wickham would never recognize: the love of a fine woman.
He returned his gaze to his opponent. “Elizabeth will not come. She abandoned me. You will be satisfied to know your maneuverings were quite successful. When Elizabeth discovered you took Miss Lydia and would continue to torment those she loved because of me, she turned on me. She could not love a man who brought such evil into her life.”
Wickham allowed his eyes to betray his true pleasure. “But it was I who brought the evil.”
“Because you hated Ellender D’Arcy for what she did to you,” Darcy retorted. “My family brought on Elizabeth’s grief.”
“I never said I despised Lady Ellender,” Wickham corrected.
“Moreover, it was as much your wife’s family as it was your own.
Arawn Benning claimed everything I desired, and then, because of his treachery, I was sacrificed.
It was not enough that he had won Ellender.
He took away my hope of finding another, and then he caused the death of my parents. ”
“The village?” Darcy probed.
Wickham’s eyes flashed. “I returned to Stanwick because I wished retribution against the descendants of those who turned on my parents and sent them to a fiery grave.”
“An avenging angel?”
Wickham offered an honest smile. “I like that, Darcy—an apropos signature. I believe I may borrow it from you. You will not mind, will you, as you will be dead by then?” He gestured to the ceiling.
“Those sounds you hear above are my pupils dancing a waltz of sorts about the main hall. They gather there nightly. Many are the descendants of those original villagers. I have my revenge, you see. They took my parents, and, just as with your family, I choose among them. I studiously avoid the families who arrived here after my parents’ death.
It is a conundrum of sorts for I hunger for the more delectable morsels, shall we say, but it is an indiscretion I do not permit myself. ”
“Unfortunately, Wickham, you must be satisfied with my death only. Elizabeth will remain from her family and from me. And, like me, she would gladly die to end the curse.” Now it was Darcy’s turn to laugh.
“Have you considered, Wickham, what happens to you when I die? The curse involves all of us. Even if you were to capture Elizabeth, she would, as I am doing, sacrifice herself. Then there would be no more bonding of the D’Arcy and Benning families.
Have you considered the fact that the curse exists only as long as my family produces firstborn sons.
I am the last of the male line, and I refused to permit my wife to produce another.
There will be no more, and soon no more villagers.
It has taken two hundred years to eradicate you, but the evil will stop. ”
Wickham feigned nonchalance. “I thought of all this, Darcy.” He stood quickly to make his departure, but Darcy was certain his announcement had struck a chord.
“I will do a little reconnoitering this evening, searching for your wife’s presence in the area.
I am sorry to say I must keep you here for now.
Some of my followers might consider you an appealing meal.
You are quite the delicacy. As the majority of them were brought up with Christian beliefs, I will hang your trusty crucifix on the door to dissuade them of any overwhelming desires they might have to feed on mixed blood.
” He hooked the chain on the latch. “Rest now, Darcy. The end will not be much longer.”
With Wickham’s exit, Darcy leaned his chair against the wall to relax the tension on his arms. His shoulders throbbed from the strain upon them.
Considering Wickham’s threats, he was happy Elizabeth had absented herself from him.
She would not witness his death nor would she be in danger.
He would die by Wickham’s hand or he would die by his own devices.
It was not likely Wickham would think to feed him, so he might starve or die of thirst or smother in his own waste, but Darcy would die, and there would be no more firstborn sons to carry on the curse.
The thought satisfied him, and he closed his eyes to find some pleasure in the idea and to do as his enemy suggested: rest.