The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (51 page)

“What be you planning, Ma'am?” Jacks asked suspiciously.

Elizabeth lifted her skirt and began to climb once more. “To keep my husband's worst enemy away from his sister.”

Jacks caught up to her. “Himself won't like this, Ma'am. I cannot allow ye to do this alone.”

Elizabeth turned on the man. “Mr. Jacks, you are wasting precious time and daylight. I mean to see to Mr. Darcy's sister, and I insist you follow my orders. Lieutenant Wickham is my sister's husband and my former suitor. He is a thief and a womanizer, but he is not a murderer.” Elizabeth shoved from her mind the nagging reminder of the man's attack on Darcy just two days prior. “He will not harm me. Obviously, Lieutenant Wickham either is too injured to ride or he has no knowledge of the horse's presence. The animal is not tethered where Lieutenant Wickham might make a quick escape. I shall have the element of surprise and this.” She palmed the gun. “But I shall need Mr. Darcy's timely assistance. Now, shall I have the Earl sack you and Mrs. Jacks without a pension or will you do as I ask?”

The man shifted his gaze to the gig. “It likely be two or three hours before yer husband be arriving. Will you be well until then?”

“I have no doubt the time will fly by,” Elizabeth said ironically. Again, she began her climb. “Please hurry, Mr. Jacks. Mrs. Fitzwilliam is likely in distress.”

“Then I will take the horse and leave you the gig,” he said urgently from behind her.

Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips—a defiant stance she had learned from her mother. “Do you imagine that even with our
combined strength that you and I could carry either or both of the cottage's occupants down this incline without injuring them or ourselves? I need Mr. Darcy's assistance, and I need it now. Do you understand?”

“What if Mrs. Fitzwilliam not be within?” Jacks protested.

Elizabeth stubbornness laced her tone. “Mr. Darcy's sister is inside that cabin.” She gestured to the small, cozy-looking structure. “I know it here. In my heart.” Elizabeth touched her bosom. “I know it is true. I shall host no doubts, and neither should you.”

Jacks held her gaze for a brief moment before nodding his agreement.

“Then go,” she shooed him on his way. “And tether Lieutenant Wickham's horse to that tree. I want to know where it is if I require it.”

“What are you about, Sir?” Her voice rose in apprehension.

Wickham smiled deviously. “I am removing these wet items before they bring on the ague.” He flipped the shirt from his body and over his head. “And you are welcome, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, to look your fill.”

“How dare you!” Georgiana accused. “You will act as a gentleman or you will leave this moment.”

Wickham sat gingerly upon a small stool and removed his boots. “It may not have occurred to you, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, but I no longer take orders from the Darcys.” The first boot hit the floor with a loud “thwack.” “If my actions offend you, then I suggest that you should be the one to leave.”

“You know I cannot do that,” Georgiana said petulantly.

Wickham feigned real concern. “How will my leaving dissolve this dilemma? My departure would increase the possibility of my
succumbing to a case of the chills. The choice of traipsing about in wet clothing on the damp moors lacks merit,” he reasoned. “Yet, if I stay, I will expose you to the seedy side of life.” He laughed softly. “I suppose you might cover your eyes for the next eight to twelve hours while my clothes dry.”

Georgiana retorted, “Your lack of empathy is noted, Sir.”

Wickham snarled, “Why should I care of your weak sensibilities? When have the Darcys ever given a second thought to what happened to your father's godson?”

“Fitzwilliam has repeatedly provided you with a proper living, but like your mother, you have always wanted more than what even a generous spirit would allow.” Georgiana recalled her brother once telling Elizabeth, “Old Mr. Wickham's conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him, and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed.” They had not realized that she had taken refuge in the window seat to reread Edward's latest letter. She had not expected Lieutenant Wickham to be the discussion topic between her brother and his wife. They certainly went out of their way to not mention the man before her. “My father supported him at school, and afterward at Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education.” Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had moved away, but Georgiana had cherished that bit of information because it had not only confirmed how foolishly she had acted in her affairs with Mr. Wickham, but also how fortunate she had been to have a family who loved her enough to forgive her schoolgirl mistakes.

“What do you know of my mother?” Wickham accused. “You were but a child when she passed.”

Georgiana wanted to correct his lie. Edward had confided in her—treating Georgiana as an adult in the wake of her failed elopement. It was likely the basis of her growing regard for her cousin. “Mrs. Wickham departed when you were still in the nursery. The lady ran off with a baronet. No one knows what became of her. Old Wickham searched everywhere. There was once a report of her living with an Italian diplomat, but nothing came of it.” She recited the gossip, which had surrounded her father's steward, but the look of devastation that flitted across Lieutenant Wickham's face softened her response. “I should not have repeated idle gossip,” she said repentantly. “It was incogitant of me to speak out of turn. You are correct, Sir. I have no personal knowledge of your home life before you lost your mother. Nor much of it afterwards.”

Wickham stood stiffly, but Georgiana took notice of the defeat in his shoulders. It was a moment she never expected to know. “We have returned to the issue of your feminine frailty.” He spoke with renewed contempt. “I am assuming you have looked upon a man's body, and I will not shock you thoroughly.” He reached for the buttons along his placket.

Georgiana squeezed her eyes shut. “Lieutenant Wickham!” she gasped.

“What?” he taunted. “There was a time you wished to know me as your husband.” He openly chuckled. “I will promise to leave on my small clothes.”

“You will leave on more than that, Sir!” Elizabeth's voice filled the cabin with loathing. “Opening that buttonhole shall be the last move you ever make.”

Georgiana's eyes shot open. “Elizabeth! She said you would come for me, but I did not believe it possible!”

Wickham eyed the pistol pointing at his chest. “Mrs. Darcy. Kind of you to join us. Welcome, Sister Dearest, to our humble abode.”

One part of her had wanted to sing out in celebration when she had seen Georgiana sitting primly on the small bed, but the window had also revealed a half-naked George Wickham; Elizabeth's instinct to protect those she loved accelerated. Dread filled her as she had edged the cabin's door open far enough to hear Lieutenant Wickham threaten to disrobe before Darcy's sister.

Without considering the best way to handle such a delicate situation, she had charged into the room and had threatened Lieutenant Wickham with the gun she carried. “Georgiana?” Elizabeth said cautiously. At this moment, she thoroughly despised Lieutenant Wickham's devil-may-care attitude. In Meryton, she had known a congenial young man with a pleasing address. Yet, had she really known him? Who was this man who stood bare to the waist before her? Why had he assumed this persona? Could George Wickham truly have a bit of lechery coursing through his veins or was it some sort of show to keep others at arm's length?

“I am well.” Georgiana's words refocused Elizabeth's thoughts. “Except that I seem to have a broken ankle.”

Despite her need to rush to Georgiana's side, she said, “I assume you will conduct yourself as a gentleman, Lieutenant Wickham,” she warned.

“Of course, Sister Dearest, this is all in the family,” he said mockingly.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation. “If you call me ‘Sister Dearest' again or do not cease this absurd mockery, I shall forget that I am a lady and shoot you just to wipe the smile from your lips.”

Wickham's eyes widened. “As you say, Mrs. Darcy.”

“And cover up,” she gestured to his nakedness.

He started to protest, but Georgiana finished Elizabeth's thoughts. “With this.” Her sister extended a small blanket to the room's other occupant.

Graciously, Wickham offered a nod of gratitude and took the coverlet from Georgiana's hands. “Much appreciated, Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” he mumbled.

Elizabeth motioned him away from Georgiana. “Could you see to the fire, Lieutenant Wickham?” she ordered as she came to stand between the man and Darcy's sister.

“Lieutenant Wickham claims an injury to his ribs,” Georgiana said softly from behind her.

Elizabeth eyed her brother in marriage carefully. It would not surprise her if the man feigned an encumbrance to gain Georgiana's sympathies. “Then please have a seat, Lieutenant Wickham. I shall see to Mrs. Fitzwilliam first; that is, unless you are in extreme pain.”

“The pain is intense,” he said with his usual flippancy, “but never let it be said that I put my needs above a lady's.”

“No one could ever think such dastardly thoughts of you,” Elizabeth said sarcastically. She handed the gun to Georgiana. “If I were you, Sir, I would attempt a tone that rings truer than the one you have assumed.” She crossed to the still-open door. Stepping outside, she returned with three chunks of wood to add to the fire he had already started. As she bent to stir the flames and catch the kindling, she continued, “I am well aware of your attempt on Mr. Darcy's life…”

“Elizabeth!” Georgiana gasped.

She glanced to the girl. “Your brother suffered no harm,” she assured Georgiana. Elizabeth stood and dusted off her hands. “But Mr. Joseph nearly lost his life because of Lieutenant Wickham's selfish
mantra. I am not likely to forgive the pain he has brought to poor Lydia, to my family, to the Darcys, and now to the Josephs.” She leaned down menacingly over the man and whispered close to his ear. “Please give me an excuse to shoot you, Brother Dearest. I have built up an arsenal of resentment where you are concerned.” Standing tall once more, she turned her attention to Darcy's sister. “Now, Georgiana, permit me to see to your care.” Elizabeth knelt before the girl. “I expect you to avert your eyes, Lieutenant Wickham,” she said over her shoulder.

“And if I choose to ignore your request?” The man had lost some of his sauciness. Undoubtedly, he required her assistance, and he would not jeopardize what goodwill she was willing to provide him. Plus, as she was well aware, Lieutenant Wickham was a gambler. He would play the hand dealt him and bluff his way to win the pot.

Without looking at him, Elizabeth said deviously, “When Mr. Darcy presented me the gun Mrs. Fitzwilliam now holds, he obtained a similar one for his sister. I am ashamed to say that my husband's sister exceeds my skills in hitting a target consistently.” Elizabeth squeezed Georgiana's calf through the girl's gown as a warning not to give away her deception. In truth, Georgiana feared guns. Her sister's willingness to accept the one Elizabeth had placed in Georgiana's hand was a true testament to the girl's desperation.
I see your bet and raise the ante, Lieutenant Wickham,
Elizabeth thought.

A long pause said that Wickham considered his next move. “You are quite good at this game, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with respect.

“I learned my lessons well, Lieutenant Wickham. Now, please show Mrs. Fitzwilliam the respect she deserves.”