“Mr. Bingley has truly chosen the most beautiful grounds in the county,” Elizabeth sighed, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.
She and Mr. Wickham were rounding the path through the gardens, heading away from the brightly lit house. Two couples walked before them, although at a slight distance so they could speak privately. Mr. Bingley had considered that his guests might wish to take in the night air, and torches appeared at even intervals along the path.
“The Charles Bingley I remember would focus upon his grounds,” Mr. Wickham said with a laugh. Elizabeth looked at him in surprise—both because he apparently knew Mr. Bingley, and because of the note of cruelty she detected in his laugh.
“I did not realise you were acquainted with Mr. Bingley as well,” Elizabeth said, straining to remember if they had ever discussed Mr. Darcy’s long-time friend. She certainly did not remember Wickham saying she knew Mr. Bingley, but she also could not recall if he had claimed otherwise.
“Another old friend,” Wickham said off-handedly. “And another man better at presenting himself at present than he did in his past.”
Elizabeth was shocked to hear the accusation. While Mr. Darcy had a temperament that could be perceived to invite differing opinions, Mr. Bingley was the exact opposite. She could not imagine anyone accusing Mr. Bingley of untoward behaviour.
“I am surprised to hear you say such a thing,” Elizabeth said slowly. “For Mr. Bingley is a kind person. I cannot imagine what ill passed between you that still impacts you in so negative a fashion.”
“I should not say anything,” Wickham said, his face in shadows. They were walking in a long gap between the torches. “I know your eldest sister holds him in the highest regard. It would be most unkind of me to shatter her illusion of him.”
Elizabeth felt her suspicion rise. He declined to give details, yet made no effort to soften his opinion of their host. What had Jane said of Wickham when they first met? That he was eager to share his woes? It seemed Mr. Darcy was not Mr. Wickham’s only persecutor…
Wickham stopped suddenly, and Elizabeth walked two more steps before she realised he was no longer beside her. She turned and saw him gesturing toward an unlit section of the garden. One that led still further away from the house.
“Come,” Wickham said, his wide smile visible in the last of the dim torchlight. “The surprise I wanted to show you is this way.”
Elizabeth felt her apprehension grow. Whatever feelings of trust that she had gained by their conversation indoors was quickly evaporating. She glanced around, noticing the other couples were no longer anywhere to be seen. Her heart suddenly jumped to her throat.
“How can it be that way?” She asked lightly, trying to hide her nervousness. “There are no torches. We would not be able to see anything!”
“Now, now,” Wickham said, walking closer to her. “Do you not trust me?”
Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot, uncertain where to move to escape. In a rush of clarity, she suddenly realised that Mr. Wickham was a dangerous man, and certainly not one to be trusted.
“I would like to go back to the ball,” she said loudly, hoping he could not hear the growing fear in her voice.
Mr. Wickham sighed, as if disappointed. “A pity you did not trust me,” he said sadly. “But I’m afraid I cannot let you return to the ball.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in shock. “Whyever not?” She asked, all pretence at hiding her fear fleeing. She backed up away from Wickham, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of panic well up within her. She was all alone out here, with no one to protect her.
“You are going to help me settle an old debt,” Wickham said calmly, still advancing on her.
“No, I am not!” Elizabeth said firmly, a rush of courage filling her. She tried to dodge around Wickham, but before she could set her feet to running, she felt rough hands grab her from behind. She screamed loudly and kicked back against the hulking man who had her in his grip.
Her scream was cut off before it left her throat, rough, dirty hands covering her mouth. Elizabeth felt her eyes go wide with terror, and she screamed again. But the man’s hand was pressed too firmly to allow any sound to escape.
“It’s about time you got here,” Wickham said angrily. Apparently, he knew the man trapping Elizabeth. She continued to struggle, but the huge man held her easily.
“It was dark,” the man said defensively. Upon hearing the unique cadence of his words, Elizabeth stopped struggling. She knew this man! She recognised his voice, but she could not quite place where she remembered him from.
“You’re lucky I’m giving you another chance,” Wickham said harshly. “After you and James bungled the last job so badly.”
“How were we supposed to know that some rich gentleman would ride out of the shadows, waving a pistol like a hero from the stories?” The man holding Elizabeth asked, his frustration evident in his voice.
As he spoke, Elizabeth took in his words—a rich gentleman waving a pistol? That sounded like Mr. Darcy…
Suddenly, the pieces fell together. This was one of the highwaymen that had attacked her and Jane!
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” Wickham sighed. “I have since learned a lot more about her family. Her father may be called a gentleman, but he is nearly as impoverished as I. He’s wholly undeserving of the title.”
Elizabeth felt a rush of anger at hearing her father described in such a way. The big man laughed loudly.
But as he laughed, his grip over her mouth shifted, and Elizabeth took her opportunity. She sunk her teeth into the man’s hand, biting him as hard as she could. The man roared with pain and dropped her. Elizabeth ran, and made it several steps before someone caught her wrist in an iron grip. She swung around and saw Wickham holding onto her, his eyes blazing with anger. He dragged her back, deeper into the shadows.
“Quiet!” He barked at the howling man. “Do you want to bring the whole house down on us?”
“She bit me!” The bandit said, holding out his hand toward Wickham. “I’m bleedin’ worse than I have in a long while!”
Elizabeth felt a surge of satisfaction—good! The evil man deserved it after treating her and Jane in such a shameful manner. But her satisfaction was short-lived as the ache in her wrist, still firmly caught in Wickham’s grasp, worsened.
“Why are you doing this?” She begged Wickham. “Please, why are you doing this? I thought we were friends!” For a moment, despite the shadows, Elizabeth thought she saw a look of regret cross Wickham’s face.
“Friends are a luxury I can no longer afford,” Wickham said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked. The big man seemed to have recovered from his wound, and he began to roughly tie her wrists together with a rough cord. Elizabeth winced—he was binding her far too tightly. Wickham laughed bitterly.
“I have debts, dear woman,” he said, a note of desperation in his voice. “Debts that I could not possibly hope to repay on the meagre salary of a militia officer. And my creditors are becoming impatient, and they are far less kind that my friend here.” Wickham’s voice now had a note of hysteria. “I had no choice!”
“So first you become a highwayman, and now a kidnapper,” Elizabeth spat at him, disgusted that a man could sink so low.
“Do not judge me,” Wickham said harshly. “You have no idea what I am facing!”
“You might as well tell me,” Elizabeth said, her fear rising up within her once more. What would Wickham do with her when her father was unable to meet his demands? “Because, as you said, my family is poor. Whatever money you hope to get from us is hardly enough to settle what you owe.”
“I am not planning on ransoming you to your family, you stupid girl,” Wickham said impatiently. “As soon as I saw you together, I knew that I would get what I want. And a measure of revenge to sweeten everything!”
“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth asked, confused. “Who do you think will be willing to pay for my release? If it is not my family’s money you seek, then whose?”
“You clearly are not as clever as everyone said you were,” Wickham said with a harsh laugh. “I thought for certain you would have worked it out by now.” Elizabeth felt her heart sink. The malice in Wickham’s voice told her everything she needed to know. It was not Mr. Bennet or her Uncle Gardiner that Wickham would approach.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth whispered.
“That’s right.” Wickham laughed again.
“You think a man like Mr. Darcy would pay for a woman whom he hardly considers good enough to be his mistress?” Elizabeth hissed. She felt her stomach roil in rebellion against describing herself in such terms. “You said it yourself, I am nothing in his eyes. Why would he give you a pound?”
“My goodness,” Wickham drawled. “Are you truly so easily convinced? If I had known you were so easily talked into things, perhaps I would have made the effort to make you my mistress.”
Elizabeth felt a surge of wild anger go through her.
“I would never do such a thing for any man, let alone a despicable man like you!” She hissed.
“I suppose not,” Wickham said, eyeing her up and down. “Besides, you would be entirely too much trouble.”
Elizabeth fought the urge to kick the man. She suspected she would miss and end up on the ground. At present, she felt it was quite important to remain on her feet.
“My dear Elizabeth Bennet,” Wickham continued. “I will tell you my secret: I lie. Frequently. About nearly everything. Including everything I have said about my dear childhood friend, Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth felt herself go numb—he had lied about… everything?
“Darcy cannot stand Caroline Bingley,” Wickham said cruelly. “Her teeth stick out and her nose is entirely too long. And he would sooner set sail to the Americas in a rowboat with a hole in the bottom than take a mistress. He is entirely too noble for such things. His father was the same way.” Wickham sighed deeply. “A good thing he never found out how many mistresses I have taken.”
“You are disgusting,” Elizabeth said, feeling as though Wickham’s awfulness was beginning to coat her like a layer of oil. She felt the need to wash. “I suppose your story about the inheritance is not true either!”
“Oh, old Mr. Darcy left me the living of a church,” Wickham drawled. “But can you see me as a vicar? A laughable thought. No, I took the money instead.”
“So Mr. Darcy gave you what you wanted!” Elizabeth said in desperation, hoping to dissuade Wickham from his plan.
“That time,” Wickham said. “But there are still scores to settle. If it weren’t for him, I would be rich and comfortable with his sister as my wife—I’d nearly convinced her to run away to Scotland with me before he ruined everything!”
“His sister?” Elizabeth gasped. Mr. Darcy adored Georgiana—no wonder he hated Mr. Wickham!
“The foolish girl was blind with love for me,” Wickham said. “It was perfect. Then, he showed up… But now, I will have my revenge! And my money.”
“You still have not explained why you think Mr. Darcy will give you anything,” Elizabeth said, panic filling her. “Why would he pay for my return?”
“I am truly disappointed in you, Miss Bennet,” Wickham said, shaking his head. “To not connect the pieces yourself. It is shameful!”
Elizabeth scowled, in no mood to have her intelligence insulted along with everything else she had endured thus far. Wickham seemed to sense her mood.
“Very well, I will tell you,” he said. “Darcy loves you. It is obvious to anyone who takes the time to look for more than two seconds.”
Elizabeth felt her knees go weak again. It was not, however, due to the burst of joy in her chest upon hearing Wickham’s words. No, her joy was almost immediately blotted out by an overwhelming sense of dread and danger.
Until now, she had considered herself to have made a mistake in following Wickham, but not so great a mistake that she could not talk her way out of it. Now, hearing Wickham’s conviction in his declaration that Darcy loved her, as well as the depth of his anger and desire for revenge, Elizabeth knew that any hope of escape was gone. She was now, truly, in very serious trouble.