Fatigue added weight to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam's athletic frame as he dragged through his final steps of the day. Spending part of every day and night wandering the streets of London, by the docks, by the brothels, by the warehouses for weeks straight, a deep and dark truth began to grip his heart. He would never find her.
Falling into the chair behind Darcy's desk in his study, the emotion was too much for the war-ravaged man. He choked up recalling the childish teases his young cousin would play on each of his visits. He could almost hear her small voice echoing around him, "Come Richard, listen to my newest song that Brother bought for me."
The study door opened and Darcy's butler carried in a silver tray with Colonel Fitzwilliam's nightly repast. Looking at the wooden desk covered in notes and mail, the colonel hastily collected a pile of letters so that the tray might be placed before him, but his tired hands knocked a few missives to the floor. The butler bent to retrieve them.
"Leave them, man, get some rest. I may be a bumbling oaf, but I'm one that cleans up after himself." The Colonel attempted a wan smile.
"As you wish, sir." The butler bowed and exited the room.
Sighing, the Colonel poured himself a glass of brandy and sipped the golden liquid for rejuvenation. The effects were quick, and the burn down his throat was a tickle as he often imbibed. With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward in the chair to retrieve the letters when his hand paused in midair. The lettering on the missive was familiar, and once he thought of it, he snatched the letter and ripped it open.
He read the words with his eyes racing back and forth. That scoundrel Wickham was demanding a meeting! Quickly, the Colonel flipped the letter over and searched the date. Why, it was three weeks ago! Frantic, Richard began tossing the letters around looking for more. The raucous search brought the butler back, but upon gazing into the room the man decided not to disturb the Master's cousin.
Triumphantly clutching five letters, Richard hurried over to the table with the map of London still displayed. He ripped open each letter and looked at the direction, carefully plotting the inns on the map. They all came from the same area, the place by the docks that he had first recommended to Darcy all those weeks ago and had skipped in his searching. With a smug smile on his face, Richard tossed the letters onto the table and walked with a distinct swagger back to the desk. He remained standing erect as he downed the rest of the brandy and then pulled his sagging breeches up over his small paunch. With a loud belch, he opted to retire for a good night's sleep. In the morning, he had prey to pursue!