Chapter Twenty-Eight #3
How long he was out, he did not know, but long enough for the fire to spread, because when he touched the door, the heat told him not to open it.
For the second time, Wickham had left Darcy in a burning house.
Grabbing the back of a broken chair, Darcy struck a window.
It shattered into silvery slivers in the moonlight.
Using the chair’s leg, he battered away at the shards.
Climbing through the opening, his eyes fell on a shadowy figure, silhouetted in the moonlight, mounting the hill to the cemetery.
“Dearest God, not Elizabeth,” he murmured and took off at a run.
“My God, Edward, look!” Elizabeth stood transfixed by the fiery glow in the sky. “It is the house!”
Instinctively, she took off at a run in the direction of the hill—towards Wickham’s house-towards her husband. With each step, her eyes filled with tears. She could not lose Darcy now.
Edward caught her around the waist just as Elizabeth reached the back of the graveyard.
She fought him, kicking and screaming for him to permit her to go to her husband.
“Release me!” she pleaded, but the colonel pulled her away from a house now fully consumed in flames.
Pungent smoke filled the air, and burning embers showered down on them as they clung to each other and stared at the inferno.
“He escaped.” The colonel declared, although she heard doubt in his tone.
Defeated, Elizabeth shivered and collapsed against him. As they watched, the walls began to give way.
Then they heard it, footfalls running to where they stood.
Elizabeth broke away from Edward’s grasp, scattering the salt with her footsteps and cutting through the barriers they had set up to contain those they hunted.
She rushed to the edge of the rise, screaming her husband’s name, but when George Wickham appeared before her, Elizabeth could only stare dumbfoundedly.
When he pointed the sword at her, she did not move.
But when he jabbed her gently with the tip, Elizabeth responded by stepping back gingerly.
The colonel skidded to a halt behind her. Annoyed by the new configuration, Wickham insisted, “Do you care to introduce me, Mrs. Darcy?”
Elizabeth took another step back. “Where is William?” she demanded.
“What? No manners, Elizabeth?” Wickham amusedly nudged her with the blade again. “I expect the gentleman knows my name. After all, he broke into my house twice, and I have no need of his identity.”
Edward caught Elizabeth with his left hand and placed her behind him, offering his chest as Wickham’s target. “Answer the lady, Wickham,” the colonel pressed.
Sinisterly, he complied. “I believe I left Darcy in the grand hall.”
Elizabeth caught her breath. With trembling hands, she clung to the colonel’s jacket. He reached behind him and caught her hand. He guided her backwards with a tighter-than-usual squeeze of her hand.
Wickham studied them closely. “Does Darcy know how you feel about his wife?” She knew Wickham enjoyed being in control, and this situation played to his conceit.
He flicked a finger in the direction of the grave sites, and the colonel edged into the arena, but he carefully kept Elizabeth from Wickham’s way.
She lightly rested her hand on the colonel’s back and stepped in unison with him.
Viewing the graveyard adorned with the perpendicular markings, Wickham actually laughed.
“This was your idea, Mrs. Darcy? How very astute of you! From the beginning, I knew you would cause me grief. Truthfully, taming you would have been much more pleasurable than bringing that insipid sister of yours to heel.” When Elizabeth’s ire began to rise, a slight touch of the colonel’s hand and a shift of his shoulders willed her to hold her tongue. “So there is no one left?”
“No one,” Edward responded.
“Your husband warned me as such, Mrs. Darcy, but I thought he played his cards high.You are more tenacious than I expected.”
Interrupted by the sound of running feet behind him, Wickham spun to meet the new provocation.
Darcy cleared the rise of the hill, only to be at Wickham’s disposal. He caught his breath in a great gulp when he saw his wife and cousin safe, and he forced calm into his body, although he faced the tip of a sword. He brought Wickham’s attention from Elizabeth, and that was all that mattered.
Seizing the opportunity, his cousin caught Elizabeth up and carried her to safety.
She resisted, but a slight shake of Darcy’s head told her to stay, and she permitted Edward to drag her behind a massive memorial.
Darcy heard the colonel’s warning of “Stay put” before Edward circled to the far side of the line of graves.
“Darcy,” Wickham smirked, “we return to where it all began.”
“Where it began for you, Wickham,” Darcy countered, “but not for me. My life began only a few months ago when hope walked in.”
“Ah, your weakness! Did you hear, Mrs. Darcy?” he called out to Elizabeth. “Your husband speaks of your love.” Using the sword, Wickham nudged Darcy in the direction of the cemetery’s center. “You may be right, Darcy. Mayhap this is only my personal hell.”
They stood directly between the two crypts, which anchored the site.
“Permit me to share your history.” Although he appeared seriously impaired on his left side, Wickham raised his hands and with a quick burst of air, the lock of Lady Ellender D’Arcy’s burial chamber exploded, and the iron gate swung open.
“Step beside the gate, Darcy.” Darcy moved slowly, not knowing what to expect.
“Do you remember the part of the legend where Lady Ellender gave me to Leána?” Darcy nodded as he assumed a position beside the opening.
“The legend says I then exacted my revenge on the lady. Watch and see.” Then Wickham unveiled the inner door and called out.
As if a supernatural force carried her forward, Lady Ellender D’Arcy appeared in the door of the open vault. “Come, my dear.” Wickham extended his hand, and the lady placed hers in his.
Darcy swallowed hard. Lady Ellender D’Arcy’s apparition was Georgiana in thirty years.
Some time after years of marriage. Long blonde locks adorning her head.
High cheekbones. Eyes the color of sapphires.
A softening of her square chin. “I brought someone who desires your acquaintance, Ellender.” Wickham treated the apparition as if she were his lady. “This, my dear, is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“The last name is familiar, Sir.” The lady curtsied.
Wickham ordered, “Speak to the lady, Darcy.”
“Lady Ellender.”
“Ellender, Mr. Darcy came from Derbyshire, his family seat.”
“Charmed, Mr. Darcy.” Lady Ellender swayed to the same unknown tune as all of Wickham’s followers.
“Is she not beautiful, Darcy?”
“How could I deny it, Wickham? My sister is the spitting image.” From the corner of his eye, Darcy noticed Edward moving to the right.
Wickham glanced at Lady Ellender. “I thought so too. Georgiana is Ellender as a young girl, when I first fell in love with her.”
How gently Wickham treated Lady Ellender surprised Darcy. The man this creature once was still loved the woman, despite the havoc she had brought to his life. This was a new aspect of Wickham, and Darcy hoped to use it against him.
“The gentleman has his own lady love, my dear.” Wickham brought Ellender’s delicate hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. Then he called out, “Will you not join us, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Stay where you are, Elizabeth!” Darcy ordered.
“If you wish to see me end your husband’s life on the spot, then ignore my bidding.” Wickham purposely nicked Darcy’s neck to permit a blood bubble to appear.
Darcy warned, “It does not matter, Elizabeth. Wickham will kill me with or without your sacrifice.”
Wickham jabbed Darcy again, and a second stream worked its way towards his shirt’s collar. “Enough!” Elizabeth ordered and stepped from behind the granite. She walked slowly to where Darcy stood, taking his hand as she defiantly took her place beside him.
“That is more of the nature of the Elizabeth Darcy I have come to know and despise,” Wickham growled. “Now, play nice, Mrs. Darcy, and acknowledge my Lady Ellender.”
“I gladly acknowledge Lady Ellender,” Elizabeth contended, “but she is not your Lady Ellender, Mr. Wickham. She belongs to my ancestor Lord Arawn Benning.” Elizabeth watched with some satisfaction as her declaration caused Ellender’s spirit to drift away towards Lord Thomas’s crypt.
She continued to sway to her silent music, but she traced Arawn’s name with her fingertips.
“Ellender!” Wickham roared, but the lady heard only her own longing.
“Ellender!” he repeated. Then he turned on Elizabeth.
“You will pay for this!” he roared, stressing each word, loading them with vehemence.
With his injured left arm, Wickham lashed out at her, catching Elizabeth’s neck with his large hand, his bestial claws returning.
Elizabeth’s hands tore at his fingers, and, instantly, Darcy reacted, his own high dudgeon exploding as he struck Wickham in the chest. The impact sent Wickham reeling backwards as Darcy caught the slumping Elizabeth in his arms and knelt lovingly over her.
“My love,” he cajoled as he pushed her hair from her face. “Speak to me.”
But before she could respond, Wickham charged again, and this time he plunged the rapier into Darcy’s back.
Darcy collapsed on top of his wife’s body as blood oozed from the entry and exit wounds in both his back and his side.
They lay perfectly still, arms and legs entangled in an intimate moment of ghostly love.