On horseback, Darcy retraced the carriage’s path down the road. It was raining now, large pounding drops that beat carriage tracks into the hard-packed dirt, erasing them.
Darcy wore a wide-brimmed hat and poncho he had borrowed from one the village men. The constable was organizing a search party, and Darcy had leased a carriage and horses to follow him along the road, though his impatience was such he left before they had prepared it. It would move too slowly anyway in this rain. Better to travel on horseback.
Darcy squinted beneath the hat’s brim, the rain catching in his lashes. He wiped his palm over his eyes. The storm mostly washed away the carriage’s tracks, but evidence of its passage remained at the turns. Darcy would not despair. If Elizabeth had been thrown, he would find her. If she had run off, he would find her. Whatever it took, he would find her.
Darcy slowed as he approached another turn. Shining in the rain, broken glass littered the road. A large scrape ran along the trunk of a nearby tree, and in a scrub bush on the ground beneath it, a muddy, lavender cloak.
Heart pounding, Darcy climbed down from his horse to investigate. He took the garment and held it up. It was Elizabeth’s. He saw no other signs of her fallen body. She had chosen not to stay by the road but to run further into the woods.
Highwaymen?
Darcy squeezed water from the shawl. He laid it over the horse’s saddle. After tying the horse beneath a tree, Darcy continued on foot.
While the sun had not yet set, heavy clouds and tree canopy made it difficult to see. Darcy looked for disturbed ground and broken branches that would show a person's passing. His cousin Richard had taught him the basics of tracking, and Darcy used those skills in helping to flush out pheasant at the autumn hunts. But he was no expert. Every fallen log in a pile of leaves drew Darcy's attention; he checked each, hopeful, and at the same time terrified, that one might be his wife.
Alive. She had to be alive. Darcy could not consider the alternative. Losing Elizabeth would be as debilitating and painful as losing his right arm or eye. The storm worsened as Darcy walked, forcing him to wait beneath a large tree until the rain eased and he could walk again.
Someone groaned.
Darcy ran towards the sound. "Elizabeth!"
It was not Elizabeth. Mr. Carlisle, the new driver, lay on the ground, blood flowing from a wound to his temple.
Darcy ran to his side and knelt. "Mr. Carlisle. What happened?"
Blood matted Mr. Carlisle’s hair and ran in diluted rivulets over his cheek and lips. The driver’s eyes were half shut. With visible effort, he opened them, and shrank back. "Mr. Darcy." Mr. Carlisle's shoulders shook. “It was not meant— My wife is ill. You must understand.” The man was delirious, and his next words turned Darcy’s guts to ice. “We were never to hurt Mrs. Darcy."
Darcy saw red. The sympathy he had felt vanished. "What did you do to her?"
"Ransom."
"You meant to ransom her?"
“For my wife. She is ill. So ill. Town is killing her. I could move her, with the hundred pounds.” Mr. Carlisle sobbed. Tears mingled with the bloodstained rain on his cheeks.
A hundred pounds? Darcy’s hands clenched. He wanted to beat this man until he bled. “I would have paid it.”
“You would. Plain to see you love her. God help me, I knew it was a sin. But Amelia… And Mrs. Darcy was not to be hurt.”
Was.
Was?
Was!
As though Elizabeth’s life, her existence, now lived in the past. Darcy’s asked, “Where is she now?”
Mr. Carlisle pressed his lips together, his face pale. "I do not know."
"You will tell me everything."
"My wife. You owe me nothing, but let her have my final wages." He rolled onto his side. "I will tell you everything I know."
Darcy promised, and Carlisle said, "We were to meet at the cabin." He waved to the west and stuttered out a set of directions. "Take my hat. I know you have no reason to believe me, but it was not my plan. Mr. Grimes assured me no one would be hurt."
Though Darcy was loath to leave Mr. Carlisle, the man did not look as though he was going anywhere, and Darcy did not have time to waste dragging him along. Besides, Mr. Carlisle had begged for his final wages for his wife. That was not the plea of a man intent to run off. Darcy said, “I will return for you."
"I understand," Mr. Carlisle said and his eyes shut again.
Darcy continued on into the dark.