CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2

Sir Thomas doubled the watch at both estates. Colonel Forster placed men on the London and northern roads. Wedding preparations continued because Wickham had already stolen enough days from the family.

Three days passed without sight of him.

On the fourth afternoon, Jane invited the family to Longbourn to inspect the repaired western roof and settle the final wedding breakfast arrangements.

Darcy was already staying there with Bingley.

Georgiana travelled from Netherfield with Mary, Elizabeth, Lydia, Miss Harwood, and Sir Thomas; Lady Bennet followed in a second carriage after remembering two lists she had left behind.

The house was busy enough to feel secure. Servants crossed the passage with linen and plate. Bingley argued with a florist. Jane and Mary compared music in the drawing room while Georgiana turned pages. Lydia was sent upstairs to fetch a portfolio from the old schoolroom.

She returned by the servants' stair instead of the main passage.

"Papa," she whispered at the library door, "someone moved the ladder beneath the west window. There is mud on the schoolroom floor, and it is not ours."

Sir Thomas did not praise or question her. He told her to find Miss Harwood, remain with the servants, and send a groom to the constables stationed near the south gate.

"Do not come back into this part of the house," he said.

Lydia nodded. She obeyed until she discovered that the groom had taken the second carriage to Netherfield. Then she ran through the kitchen garden herself, keeping below the hedge as Miss Harwood had taught all five girls during childhood games that were no longer games.

In the drawing room, a crash sounded from the passage. Wickham entered with a pistol in one hand and a length of broken chain hanging from the other wrist. His coat was torn, his boots soaked, and the charm that once made confidence appear effortless had narrowed into something feverish.

"No one moves," he said.

Bingley stepped in front of Jane. Darcy moved toward Georgiana and stopped when Wickham cocked the pistol.

"Still giving orders with your shoulders, Darcy? Stand beside the hearth."

Darcy obeyed. Sir Thomas entered behind Wickham and quietly closed the drawing-room door, keeping the servants and Lady Bennet from walking into danger.

Wickham wanted a carriage, ten thousand pounds, and a clear road to the coast. He also wanted Georgiana to swear that the accusations against him had been invented by a jealous brother.

Georgiana's voice shook, but it carried. "No. I will speak at your trial. I will tell them about Ramsgate, the false letters, and every threat that followed."

"They will ruin you with me."

"Then I will survive the truth instead of serving your lie."

Wickham's attention fixed upon her. Darcy's hands closed at his sides, but he remained beside the hearth.

"Elizabeth," Sir Thomas said quietly, "can you reach the bell pull without crossing his line?"

Elizabeth followed the line from Wickham's pistol to the pier glass behind him. In its reflection she saw movement beyond the terrace: Lydia at the hedge, waving her white handkerchief toward two approaching constables.

Miss Harwood had taught the girls that panic narrowed sight. Count the doors. Notice the hands. Find what the frightened person had forgotten to watch.

"Yes, Papa," Elizabeth said. "But not yet."

She shifted one step toward the bell. Wickham swung the pistol toward her.

"You always believed yourself cleverer than other people," he said. "Sir Thomas may leave Netherfield to whichever daughter he chooses. Once you marry Darcy, what is ten thousand pounds to you?"

"Enough that I prefer not to give it to a man who cannot keep hold of a prison carriage."

The insult worked. Wickham took a step toward her, placing the broad writing table between himself and the terrace doors. Darcy met Elizabeth's gaze in the mirror. She let her attention touch the doors and return to him.

He understood and remained still.

Outside, one constable reached the stone steps. Lydia crouched behind the balustrade. Wickham could no longer see the terrace in the mirror because his own body blocked it.

Elizabeth moved her hand toward the bell pull.

Wickham saw the motion and turned. She seized the heavy estate ledger from the table and flung it at his pistol arm. The shot struck the ceiling. Darcy crossed the room before plaster reached the carpet.

He drove Wickham against the table and caught his wrist in both hands. Bingley pulled Jane and Georgiana behind the sofa. Sir Thomas kicked the pistol beneath a cabinet as the constables burst through the terrace doors.

Wickham fought until the guard he had injured during his escape, who had followed the constables inside, locked a second iron around his free wrist.

"You should have run toward the coast," Sir Thomas said, breathing hard.

Wickham looked at Elizabeth. "You think this family will survive her evidence?"

Georgiana stepped from behind the sofa. "We will survive whatever is true."

That answer ended the power he had expected shame to give him.

Lady Bennet entered as soon as the pistol was removed. She embraced every daughter within reach, scolded Sir Thomas for standing near armed men again, and demanded that the constables wipe their boots before taking Wickham through the front hall.

Lydia returned from the terrace with mud to her knees. Sir Thomas looked at the daughter who had disobeyed him and brought the constables in time.

"You left the servants as I expressly forbade."

"There was no groom, Papa."

"You might have been seen."

"I stayed beneath the hedge. Miss Harwood taught us."

Sir Thomas closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, fear and pride occupied the same expression.

"We shall discuss obedience tomorrow. Tonight, you did a brave and useful thing."

Lydia's chin trembled. She threw her arms around him.

Darcy found Elizabeth near the shattered patch of ceiling. He took her hands and checked them for injury.

"I saw the constables in the glass," she said. "I needed him to turn."

"You trusted me to understand."

"You did."

His grip tightened once, then gentled. Around them the family spoke, wept, argued, and refused to hide.

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