The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (23 page)

“Has received the best medical treatment this cottage can provide,” the lady answered. “You shall not be comfortable, but you shall survive the inconvenience.”

Georgiana forced a deep breath into her lungs. She smelled clean mountain air and smoke-hampered fireplaces. “Shall I not starve to death before someone finds me?”

“Would I permit you to die?” the woman said saucily. “Have I not always seen to your safety?”

Georgiana shook her head to clear her thinking. “Have you always been my guardian angel?”

“Some would say so,” the figure said enigmatically. “Yours and your brother's. Yet, I have not always possessed angelic qualities. I hold the reputation of being quite devilish in my stubbornness and my need for adventure.”

Georgiana struggled to bring the woman into focus. No matter how far she turned her head, the lady rested at her vision's edge. “Did you mention food?” she forced the words from her memory.

The figure came closer; yet, she remained misted in Georgiana's vision lines. “There is a water bucket on the hearth with a cup sitting beside it, and there are some dried apples, prepared meats, and a few hard biscuits in the cold room.”

“Not my usual fare,” Georgiana murmured, “but I would appreciate anything you might bring me.” Despite her hunger, sleep pulled heavily at her eyelids.

The woman chuckled lightly. It was a soft rumbling noise that spoke of home and a blazing fireplace and the scent of lavender filling
the room. “As much as I would wish to deliver the most luscious meal to your lips, I fear I could not offer you a disservice by cheating you of the pleasure of designing your own rescue.”

Georgiana's eyes sprung open. “But I cannot,” she protested.

“Georgiana, I have told you repeatedly that you are a magnificent creature. I have whispered those words in your ear. You must have heard them. You wanted your independence when you married Edward. You wanted your own home. To be your own woman. An independent lady would not expect me to act as her servant. She would fight for her own continued existence. What say you, Georgiana? What price shall you pay to know your freedom?”

He had sent a rider to both Matlock and Pemberley. Although he had left specific orders for Lieutenant Conrad to correct the military's mistake, Edward had not trusted those in command to act judiciously. “Too easy for my request to be placed at the bottom of the stack. Too many crowing over military victories to see to the mundane details of a man's life.” He had considered riding to Pemberley just to assuage his need to see to Georgiana's safety within its walls. Yet, his heart knew what his mind thought impossible. She was in Scotland, and some nagging lurch in his chest told him that she was in trouble. “Georgie, Darling,” he whispered to the night skies. “Hold on. Whatever it is, stay with me. I cannot imagine my future without you.”

“Lady Esme,” Aulay MacBethan said as he bowed. “May I join you?”

She certainly did not wish to share her private time with the young man, but in the woman's absence, she had decided that she required more information regarding her surroundings. “What better way than to ask those involved?” her heart had told her mind. In
her dreams, someone, likely the woman called Dolina, had dressed her injuries and had brought her a simple fare. The girl was not certain which part of her dreams were real and which were part of her imagination. She was relatively certain that the woman had fed her hard bread with butter, but the specifics of her recovery remained a blurred memory. It was odd that she could recall some events in minute details and others suffered from her recent injury. Or perhaps, it was from her confinement. One thing was an absolute: Aulay MacBethan was
not
her betrothed. His clumsy, haphazard appearance would never have attracted her. She preferred her men taller and fairer of complexion. MacBethan still possessed those boyish features of a man who had not yet reached his majority. “That would be acceptable as long as the door remains open.” She made herself smile at him.

“I thought we might play cards or chess,” he offered as he took a step closer.

“Chess,” she said softly and motioned to the room's small table.

He turned and said something to the waiting servant before returning his attention to her. “I be grieved that ye be hurt, m'lady.” Aulay reached out a steadying hand, and the girl reluctantly accepted it. Her vision spun as she shook her head to clear it, and her ankle remained tender.

“Perhaps, you might assist me in recovering my memory.” Although her insides screamed for her retreat, the girl maintained a pleasant tone.

Aulay appeared as nervous as she. He shifted his weight several times. “That wudnae do. Mam be not likin' my rattlin' on.”

“Surely, if we are to marry,” she said evenly, “you are permitted to share such intimacies. I would hope that you wish me well, Sir.”

Aulay frowned dramatically. “I be prayin' fer yer recovery, Lady Esme.”

“Could you, at least, tell me why I was found by your men? Was I lost? Please allay my fears: certainly I had not run away?”

“Agin, Lady Esme, me Mam knows these events better than I.” He nervously knocked over the chess pieces the servant placed on the table.

The girl's mouth tightened in exasperation, but she controlled the flash of anger. “There must be something of which we are permitted to speak.” She nonchalantly moved her pawn. “Might you tell me of your family? Do you have only the one brother? After all, as your intended, I should know the family that welcomes me as one of their own.”

Caught in concentrating on the chessboard, Aulay's defenses visibly relaxed. “I be the youngest of four. Only Mam, Domhnall, and I live at Normanna. Mam's brother lives nearby. He be the village butcher. Lilias, me sister, lives in Knovdart. She'll be a mother soon. Islav 'as taken over Mam's family keep near Crieff.”

“Your eldest brother has not taken a wife?” Although she wanted to press for Aulay's cooperation, The girl purposely kept her tone conversational.

“Domhnall's wife passed,” he mumbled. Reflexively, the girl's heart lurched with from an unknown grief.
Too much death and not enough life,
she thought.

As he manipulated the chess pieces, Aulay appeared totally engrossed in the game. She casually, but deliberately made several miscalculations in her moves. Pretending to consider herself foolish, the girl said with a light chuckle, “I am a miserable partner.”

“I be willin' to show ye some of the strategy,” Aulay said without looking up from the board.

She swallowed her first words. Instead, she listened to her inner voice, the one which said that she knew the game as well as any man, and the one which also warned her not to display her strengths
to these people. The MacBethans expected her to be humble and weak, and that was what she would be. “That would be most pleasant. It would also give us time to learn more of one another.”

Aulay nodded absentmindedly. As she watched him, her mind searched for the reason she had come to this sinister place. Lady Wotherspoon had said that she had been previously housed in a sickroom, but the girl could not shake the feeling that the woman had offered her a prevarication. Why would someone sick be shackled to the wall? Why would someone who suffered be kept in complete darkness?
This whole situation does not make sense, and until it does, stay alert
, she warned herself.

“It will be several days before we know for certain,” the surgeon informed Darcy. “The bullet came out clean, and although your friend lost much blood, he is young and strong. As long as infection does not occur, the gentleman should make a full recovery.” The surgeon packed away his instruments.

Darcy had appreciated finding an English surgeon at his disposal. “How do we prevent infection?”

“Keep the wound clean. I will leave you several poultices for the laceration, as well as some laudanum for Mr. Joseph's comfort.” He picked up his bag. “I shall examine your friend's wound again tomorrow.”

“Should I contact Mr. Joseph's wife and sister?” Darcy dreaded informing Mary Joseph of her husband's injury. It was his fault—his and the infernal feud he had maintained with George Wickham. Fault. The word lay heavy in his mind. His fault that an innocent man had come close to losing his life. Could still lose his life.

The surgeon gestured to Joseph, resting under laudanum's influence. “From what you have said it would take Mrs. Joseph two days or more to reach Dumfries, and that does not take into account your sending word to the lady. Would it speed the gentleman's recovery to know his wife was close at hand or would he decide that his wound had challenged her sensibilities? I doubt that Mr. Joseph would want to place his wife in such distress, but if you think it prudent, then we can make that decision after Mr. Joseph has survived four and twenty hours. Those are usually the most perilous with gunshot wounds.”

“Then I will wait. There is no reason to worry the lady if Mr. Joseph is on his way to recovery.” Yet, Darcy thought of Elizabeth and how having her near to him would ease his troubled soul. Surely, Matthew Joseph felt the same about Mary.

“I HAD THOUGHT GEORGE WOULD be anticipating my return,” Lydia said incredulously. “Could my husband remain out of sorts with me?”

Mrs. Bennet glanced about the shabbily furnished room. It troubled her to witness how far below her other daughters that her favorite child had sunk. Even the small cottage on the Longbourn land, which Mary and Mr. Grange had let, was far superior to the conditions in which Lydia existed. Mrs. Bennet hated to consider how Mary possessed much better sense than did Lydia. “Perhaps Lieutenant Wickham is at his duty post,” Mrs. Bennet offered weakly.

Lydia's eyes looked hopeful. “That must be it. Lieutenant Wickham was to be excused from his duties until Monday next, but it is so like my husband to see a need and respond.”

“Then we shall see Lieutenant Wickham at supper.” Mrs. Bennet made another quick survey of the room's disarray. Things were far worse than she had assumed. Even Mr. Bennet's warnings had not prepared her for the sad state of Lydia's affairs. “Why do we not surprise the lieutenant by putting things aright? A man prefers a well-ordered home.”

“I am a miserable housekeeper,” Lydia half-whined.

Mrs. Bennet tutted her disapproval. “I did not raise my girls as domestics, but that does not mean that any of them lacks the skills to maintain a proper house. As these are but let rooms, our task shall be a small chore. I shall assist you.” She began to gather the clothes strewn upon the furniture. “I suspect Lieutenant Wickham's
temper shall be less volatile if he witnesses your efforts to change your circumstances.”