The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (40 page)

Darcy watched carefully as the Scot shifted nervously. Wotherspoon sat ramrod straight. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that no one at Normanna would purposely keep a horse that did not belong to the property.”

Darcy intentionally kept his tone even. “No one is accusing you, Lord Wotherspoon, of devious transactions. We simply assumed that someone found the horse and did not know to whom it truly belonged. It is not our mission to place blame—only to retrieve the animal if it is at Normanna Hall.”

“Of course you have my permission to inspect the animals in my stable. I have nothing to hide. Allow me to send for my head groomsman to expedite the search.”

“That is most kind of you, Wotherspoon,” Edward said with strained politeness.

Wotherspoon's sullen wariness showed. “Might I ask of the horse's rider? If the animal is of pure lines, surely he did not escape his tethers.”

Darcy's slight flick of his wrist kept his cousin silent. “A groom was exercising the animal. Something spooked the horse, and he threw his rider.”

“Really?” Wotherspoon said with a look of skepticism. “It seems unusual for a man schooled to train horses to lose his seat.”

“Yet, it does happen,” Darcy said brusquely.

“True.” Wotherspoon stood. “Permit me to escort you personally to the stables.”

Darcy and Edward rose also. “That is most gracious of you.” Disappointment rode Darcy's shoulders as they followed the man through the halls toward the main entrance. They would have no opportunity to search for Georgiana under Normanna's roof. “I have taken the liberty of bringing several grooms from the estate with us to better identify the animal.”

Wotherspoon nodded his understanding. “That would prove most advantageous on your part, Sir.” They stepped out into the open. “Ah, the storm has passed.” The Scot gestured toward the clearing skies. “Very typical for the uplands. Fierce rain followed by a complete stillness.”

“It is a rough terrain,” Edward observed. Darcy heard his cousin's restraint sharpen. Edward likely imagined Georgiana lost in such territory.

“Difficult to eke out a living,” Wotherspoon shared.

Darcy, too, stared at the rocky landscape. “Farming must be near to impossible.”

Wotherspoon nodded toward the expanse. “We have converted to sheep and Galloways. The land provides little of our staples.”

“Then you deal with the butcher rather than the miller?” Darcy motioned to the Alpin men to follow Edward.

“It is a difficult life,” Wotherspoon noted. “When I returned to assume my duties, the herds had been depleted from lack of proper care and from a localized drought. We welcome these sudden downpours to refresh the land. Without them, we might lose everything.”

Darcy slowed his step as they approached the stables. “But you have found a means to continue?”

Wotherspoon paused as if he chose his words carefully. “My mother did the best she could following my father's passing, and we are thankful for her frugality. She saw the estate through the worst of it.”

Edward and the groom reappeared. “We could find nothing of Bracken among Lord Wotherspoon's stock,” Edward said begrudgingly.

Darcy frowned. “Forgive us, my Lord. It appears we have been misinformed. I pray we have offered no offense.”

“Naturally, not, Mr. Darcy. You did the honorable thing by speaking to me before seeking the local magistrate. I hold no animosity.”

Edward addressed Darcy. “We should return to Alpin. It is a long ride. If the weather does not hold, we should seek an inn.”

Darcy paused to see if Wotherspoon would offer lodging. When the man remained silent, Darcy nodded his agreement, and they remounted. “We bid you adieu, Lord Wotherspoon,” he said as he reached down to shake the Scot's hand. “May we meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”

Wotherspoon said reluctantly, “I would greatly prefer such a scenario.”

He had escaped the questioning from the two Englishmen, but Domhnall understood that they would soon return, and Mr. Darcy and the major general would bring the law's weight with them. He would have Munro take the horse out on the moor and release it. It was the only thing that tied Lady Esme to this house. Domhnall would be hard-pushed to release her to Mr. Darcy. Instead, he would use his best means of persuasion to take the girl away from Normanna. “She belongs to me,” he whispered to the wilderness. “I will fight to keep her with me.”

With interest, she had watched the rain from the privacy of the small room the MacBethans had assigned her. “There must be a way out of this place,” she had declared. Only moments before, she had observed the riders as they had entered the circular drive. She could not see the men well enough to know who the visitors might be, but the fact that outsiders had come to the hall had given her renewed hope. Immediately, she had raced to her room's door and turned the key, but Rankin scowled at her.

“Ye be goin' nowhere,” he growled.

She slammed to a halt. “Lord Wotherspoon has permitted my freedom,” she argued.

“It be 'is Lairdship's orders,” the man said with confidence.

“But…” She began before a modicum of sanity settled her reeling emotions, and she retreated into the room's relative safety. Closing the door with emphasis, she returned to the window to stare out at the rain. “So, Domhnall speaks of freedom in one ear, but offers imprisonment in his orders.” Below her, strangers—
possibly her salvation—kept company with Lord Wotherspoon. Would anyone know she was here? In a limbo halfway between being an honored guest and a captive? Did anyone care about her recovery? “As soon as the strangers depart, I must discover the best way to proceed.” Deceit bubbled from every crack in Normanna's walls. Her every instinct said that this place spelled death for all who remained under its roof. “I cannot trust Lord Wotherspoon any more than I can his mother.”

They did not pause until they were well out of sight of the main house. “What did you think of Wotherspoon?” Darcy asked as they took shelter in a small copse.

“I am not much of a gambler, but I would wager that the man hides something.”

“Yet, we found nothing unusual,” Darcy countered.

Edward's mouth set in a thin line. “You found nothing of suspect, Darcy?”

“On the contrary. The man offers us a series of untruths, but does Wotherspoon hide the theft of another's horse or something more devious?”

“Did you feel Georgiana's presence?” Edward asked as he turned his head to look the way they had come.

Darcy shook his head in the negative. “I felt His Lordship's unease, but I cannot say that I detected my sister's essence at Normanna Hall.” He noted his cousin's knitted brow. “We will find rooms close by and ask a few questions.”

“I want my wife safely in my arms,” Edward growled.

Darcy muttered a silent oath before saying. “Between us, we will not rest until Georgiana is home among her family. You have my word.”

“Mr. Darcy,” one of the Alpin men said with urgency.

“Yes?” Darcy reluctantly looked to the man.

The groom pointed to an approaching rider. “Bracken, Sir.”

“Are you certain?” He rose higher in the saddle for a better look. The rider had not seen them.

“The white foreleg, Sir. I be certain,” the groom said with determination.

Edward said quietly behind him, “Let us greet this unknown rider and see what he can tell us of how the horse that Wotherspoon swore no knowledge of came to be at Normanna Hall.”

For the past half hour, he had openly cursed his decision to travel to Scotland. “To this God-forsaken landscape!” he shouted into the storm. Not a stitch of his clothing remained dry as he crossed yet another swollen burn. The rock surface channeled the water through cracks and crevices, creating ponds where dry land had stood not an hour earlier.

He had taken a different route—one less traveled—toward Kirkconnel. Before the rain arrived, he had convinced himself to return to the Fitzwilliam estate and determine whether he might cheat Darcy's bid for the information Wickham had garnered in Ayr. Now, he thought to abandon his quickly concocted plan for simply heading for the coast. With Napoleon's fall, the European populace would welcome an English soldier. “Maybe Italy,” he grumbled as he pulled his coat tighter across his chest. “Always wanted to see Rome.”

Water streamed off his hat and poured onto his thighs and down the horse's shoulders. “Not a blessed shelter anywhere!” Wickham said incredulously. Then he spotted it: a dilapidated-looking hut huddled on a rocky ledge. Its rear backed into a recessed area of the
rise. Automatically, Wickham turned the horse in the direction of the whitewashed building. “Any port in a storm,” he announced as he kicked the animal's flanks.