Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Darcy and his cousins met a pair of officers at an inn on the market street. It was from these men that they learned why Wickham did not just take Georgiana, her pin money, and abscond. Wickham owed numerous gaming debts to several officers, including his colonel.
“If the colonel of the regiment was a decent sort, we would have included him in our plans and could have counted upon his assistance,” Richard said.
“Such as it is, if a man is low enough to gamble with those in his command, he is low enough to be untrustworthy, in my opinion. We must handle Wickham without the authority of the militia.”
“I could easily use my authority with the magistrate, but it would cause talk, and his colonel would have to be involved, even if the name of Matlock won in the end. We will not subject my uncle to more humiliation,” Ashley Fitzwilliam replied.
“We can achieve the same ends with money, subterfuge, and intimidation if necessary. In fact, I prefer it. There will be no one to talk when the bastard is gone from our shores.”
By speaking with Lieutenant Adams and Lieutenant Pulham, they learned that Wickham had realised that every member of his regiment was watching his every move, expecting him to abscond to avoid paying his gaming debts.
The boat fare for Newcastle would exceed whatever pin money Georgiana had, and the only way Wickham would successfully escape Ramsgate was by obtaining fare money from his godfather, and at least enough to pay the lower-ranking men and purchase their fare.
So he had gone to beg his godfather for help.
Help paying his debts and for his journey so that he might more easily elope with the poor man’s own daughter.
When his patron refused, Wickham obviously panicked, for if he must travel by road, he and Georgiana would surely be caught. And if he did not pay his comrades, at least most of them, they would never stop following him. And yet, Wickham had still somehow eluded them all.
“Where is he?” Darcy demanded of the officers across from him.
Darcy had paid some of the men what Wickham owed in order to have better access to the villain without encountering trouble from the other men in the regiment.
Yet when Darcy and his cousins went to take Wickham from his post on Saturday night, when he was meant to be on duty in a rather secluded location, he was gone, and no other officer was in his place.
“Don’t know, sir. Disappeared while on duty. We thought you took him, as planned. Left all his personal effects. Don’t think anyone would have done him harm. Everyone would have rather been paid,” Lieutenant Adams explained.
“He could be halfway to London by now, Darcy,” Richard grumbled.
“Doubt it, sir.” Lieutenant Pulham shook his head. “Some of the men roughed him up and took what little he had. I do not believe he has two shillings to rub together. No, sir, he’s around here somewhere, unless he’s walking to London.”
“He’s a deserter, then. It would be suicide to remain in Ramsgate when it is crawling with officers.
” Ashley was thoughtful. “If he has no money, he is likely somewhere further in the country, perhaps near the orchards. If he can find an outbuilding, he can sneak out at night and steal fruit and crops from the farms.”
“That is a good idea,” Darcy replied. “We will have someone look around the outskirts of Ramsgate. If I know Wickham, he is close by. He will not leave the vicinity when my father and sister are his easiest targets. He will wait until he can approach them somehow.”
The Bennets did not see the Darcys at church. They returned to their cottage, as usual, and hoped that they would hear from their friends again soon.
“It is difficult to believe that Mr Darcy could fall victim to his own godson,” Mr Bennet said as they dined after services. “I cannot imagine how he must be feeling, knowing the man was plotting to take away his daughter.”
“I hope the two of you have learned something about trusting handsome faces and men in uniform,” Charlotte addressed Kitty and Lydia sternly. “Do you see now why your father and I are so protective?”
“I cannot imagine Mr Wickham doing something so vile. I believe I shall be quite afraid of handsome officers in the future,” said Kitty anxiously.
“A handsome face is no more indication of goodness than expensive gold lettering on leather binding is an indication of an interesting book,” Mary added to the conversation.
“If at least one of you marries by then, we will allow Kitty to be out properly when she turns eighteen,” Charlotte promised.
“And Lydia may follow a year later. But I hope we have helped you to feel protected, rather than punished or confined. Both of you were entirely enchanted by Mr Wickham, while your older sisters were far more moderate in his company. Age and experience give you the benefit of discernment. If you cannot tell when a handsome face has no substance behind it, you are better off waiting another year to be properly courted.”
“It is difficult enough to be courted when one does have some discernment, as we learned when I was thrown from Mr Lovett’s phaeton.” Jane sighed as she took a roll of bread from a platter. “You must be sure before you allow a gentleman too close.”
“I was certain that at least you would have been engaged by now, Jane.” Mary sounded depressed. “I have had a few followers, but no one whom I would encourage to propose. It will be embarrassing if we all go home without at least one proposal.”
“It is no fault of ours if we have met no one we thought worth encouraging,” Jane assured her.
“And when we return home, our neighbours will learn of our dowries. We left before the neighbourhood found out. I am sure there will be proposals then, though there is no one at home that I have been pining for.”
Mary coloured.
“Mary Bennet, I do believe there is someone at home that you have been pining for!” Lydia cried.
“Mary likes Mr Eaton!” Kitty teased, referring to the local curate.
“You will not tease your sister,” Charlotte admonished.
“Mr Eaton has never been able to marry, though I have seen his eye upon you as well, Mary. If you do not meet anyone you like here, perhaps your dowry might entice him to propose, for your income would provide for you both until he finds a living of his own.”
Mary mumbled something incoherent, her face burning, as Elizabeth patted her shoulder sympathetically.
“Papa, may I go out to the garden when we are finished?” Kitty asked. “A new rose has opened, and I would like to sketch it before its bloom fades.”
“You may, but not alone, Kitty,” Her father allowed.
“I will join you, Kitty,” said Lydia. “Perhaps I will find a flower worth trying to sketch, and if not, I will think of new fashions to draw.”
After the Sunday meal, Charlotte retired upstairs with the baby to rest. Mr Bennet settled into the drawing room with a book. Mary was writing–as she often did each Sunday after church–probably her thoughts about the sermon. Jane and Elizabeth were somewhere upstairs.
Thus, Kitty and Lydia found themselves alone in the small garden behind the cottage with their sketch books. The day was warm and bright. A perfect Sunday afternoon for idleness or restful activity.
Kitty immediately headed for the rosebush. The flower had opened only the day before. It was a large cream-coloured bloom, faintly edged in pink, so symmetrical and absurdly pretty that she had been thinking of sketching it since breakfast.
“Oh, finally,” she murmured, settling herself on a little bench. “I hope I can capture its loveliness.”
Lydia peered at it. “It is only a flower.”
“A very superior flower,” Kitty corrected.
Lydia rolled her eyes. “You may immortalise it as much as you chuse. I shall seek something more interesting to draw.”
Kitty was already arranging pencils. “Hmmm.”
For more than an hour, all was peaceful.
Kitty sketched in absorbed silence, her brow furrowed in determination.
She was making encouraging progress. Every so often, she heard Lydia moving about the gravel paths.
A rustle of leaves and skirts here. Footsteps there.
The occasional impatient sigh, or humming of an incomplete tune.
Then–finally–silence. Taking this to mean that Lydia had found something worth drawing, Kitty smiled slightly and continued shading petals.
Lydia, meanwhile, was bored nearly to death.
There were only so many flowers one could inspect before all verdure seemed personally insulting.
She wandered farther down the path toward the small gate and thicker shrubbery beyond.
Nothing stimulated or motivated her. This hydrangea was too fat.
That lavender was too boring. The climbing jasmine smelled pleasant but looked inconsequential.
Lydia kicked lightly at a pebble, then sighed when she saw that she had scuffed the toe of her slipper. Perhaps she might sketch a bonnet instead. She turned back and found herself no longer alone. She was spun about viciously, and a hand clamped suddenly over her mouth. Lydia resisted violently.
A rough, cruel voice whispered into her ear. “Be quiet.”
Her entire body froze. It was Mr Wickham.
She tried to scream, but the sound was smothered entirely. She could hardly breathe, she was held so tightly.
His grip tightened upon her even more. “Not a sound, do you hear me?”
Panic exploded through her. She kicked and struggled wildly, but he held her fast, dragging her into the dense overgrowth beyond the garden wall. Her slippers dragged against the soil beneath them. They vanished as quickly as Mr Wickham had appeared. That area of the garden fell silent again.
Three-quarters of an hour later, Kitty completed the final shading on the rose with significant gratification.
There. The drawing was excellent, if she said so herself. She sat back, pleased with her work. “Lydia, come and see.”
The only answer was silence.
Kitty frowned and looked over her shoulder. “Lydia?”
She stood and peered around the garden. Perhaps Lydia had gone inside, which was irritating, but entirely possible. Kitty gathered her sketchbook and walked toward the gravel path. She made a turn about the garden and looked properly. Still no Lydia. Her stomach did a small flip of uncertainty.
She spun around and looked one last time and saw one of Lydia’s hair ribbons lying near the shrubbery. Kitty stared at it, recalling Lydia putting it on this morning before their mirror.
A strange coldness swept through her. Lydia would never simply abandon a ribbon. Not even a strange ribbon found on the street. Kitty dropped her sketch book and ran.
She burst through the back door and into the kitchen so abruptly that the cook nearly dropped a pot of stew. The servants, seated around the table, all lowered their spoons and turned.
“I am sorry to interrupt your meal,” Kitty apologised. “Where is Lydia? Is she in the house?”
“We have not seen her, miss. We thought she went out with you,” a maid answered.
“She went out with me, but I cannot find her now.”
Peter, Lady Barry’s footman, rose from his chair. “I should have gone out with you. I should not only have been concerned with Miss Elizabeth. I should have been watching you all.”
“You can’t watch them all, there’s five of them, Peter.” The housekeeper stood as well. “Go out and search for her. Miss Kitty and I will search the house. Perhaps she came in the front door.”
“If she is in the house, I will be so grateful I shall not even chide her,” Kitty said in anxiety as two male servants left the house with Peter.
Mr Bennet went white from the sight of their expressions the moment Kitty entered the room with the housekeeper. “Something is wrong.”
“I cannot find Lydia,” Kitty said fearfully.
Mary stood, abandoning her writing. “Whatever can you mean?”
“We were outside, like we planned, and…I was drawing…and she was walking about…and when I looked for her…she was missing.”
“Where could she possibly have gone?” Mary exclaimed
“I do not know!” Kitty was shaking and began to sob. “I called, and she never answered. I hoped perhaps she was inside.”
Elizabeth and Jane entered the room, followed by the maid who had checked upstairs.
“Charlotte is settling Lucas in the nursery. Lydia is not upstairs. When did you last see her, Kitty?” demanded Elizabeth.
Kitty was sobbing in earnest now. “I do not know! An hour? A little more? I was drawing. I found her ribbon on the ground near the back gate.”
Charlotte entered the room with an annoyed expression on her face. “I assume we have found her? Where was she?”
Peter entered the room, eyes wild. “Mr Bennet, this ribbon was by the back gate. Looks like someone was dragged away. You’d better come and see.”
“What?” Charlotte said in disbelief.
Jane pressed her hand to her mouth and began to cry.
Mr Bennet pointed at the maid. “Tell the groom to saddle every horse, including mine. The men will go out and search. I will ride to Darcy Cottage. Young Darcy will help us. Peter, show me.”
He turned back to his women. “Not one of you is to step outside this house. Do you all understand?”
The ladies promised as the men left them with all speed.
They began to pace and babble amongst themselves, each attempting to think of what innocent diversion might have led Lydia harmlessly from the garden.
Considering everything that had happened in the last few days…
a terrifying possibility took shape in every lady’s mind.
Wickham had intended to elope with Georgiana for a dowry and had been desperate enough to strike his own godfather.
Even worse, a rather frightening man had recently entered Ramsgate, concerned for his inheritance, and had determined that Elizabeth was a threat to his fortunes.
Suddenly, Lydia was missing. These certainties would not likely occur in the same week by coincidence.
Someone must have taken her. The Bennet women stayed in the drawing room together and prayed for a miracle.