The sun was slowly rising. A warm breeze blew the clouds along at a lazy pace. The pastureland below the stables at Netherfield would have been serenely silent save for the occasional bleating of sheep had it not been for the thundering of hooves. Richard and Darcy lay nearly flat along the necks of their mounts, urging them on to greater and greater speeds. Darcy was not sure why he was pushing his horse so hard as the chance of ever beating his cousin in a horse race was non-existent. Still he wished to reach the end of the field as closely behind Richard as possible. It was always his goal to have the head of his horse in front of the tail of Richard’s and not behind. Today, he was fortunate. His horse reached the finish within half a body’s length of Richard’s.
“Richard. Darcy.” Lawrence called as he approached at what he considered a reasonable gallop. He saw no need to risk either his or his horse’s neck in racing as his brother and cousin did. Lawrence nodded behind him with his head. “Seems Bingley is having issues. Do your horses have enough left in them to go check on him?”
Richard huffed. “Of course, he does. He is the best horse in all of England.”
Darcy nudged his horse ahead of both of his cousins. “First one to Bingley,” he called over his shoulder before galloping off at a terrific speed. He had only a moment’s advantage before Richard came barreling past. Darcy watched as Richard came to a sudden stop and flung himself off his horse racing towards something at which Bingley was wildly pointing. Fear gripped his heart. Richard never moved quickly unless playing a joke or in an emergency. Then, his military training would take over, and he would move with deftness. Something was wrong.
Darcy drew his horse close to where Richard was bent over a form, untying knots from around the man’s hands and ankles. A blood-soaked gag lay close by. The man’s form looked lifeless, but he uttered a groan. His hair was stuck to the side of his head, glued there by mud and blood which must have come from the angry gash above his left ear. His eyes were swollen and his face was contorted in pain, but Darcy recognized him in spite of his condition.
Darcy crouched next to the young man. “Jeremiah, can you hear me? Make a noise if you can hear me.” Darcy placed a hand on each side of the man’s face and held his head still in a position so that if the man could see through the slits which lay where his eyes should be, he would see Darcy’s face.
“Y..yes…” It was a shallow, breathy reply.
“Who did this?”
“Men…four” Jeremiah struggled to make the words with his bruised and bloody lips. “Cottage.” Jeremiah breathed heavily. “Miss…” He paused to swallow.
“Miss who?” Darcy asked, panic filling his voice. “Did the men do something to one of the ladies at the cottage?”
Jeremiah tried to nod his head. “Darcy.”
Bile rose in Darcy’s throat. A hand clasped his shoulder. “Miss Darcy? Something has happened to Miss Darcy?”
Again Jeremiah attempted to nod. “and…”
“And who else, Jeremiah?” Darcy tried desperately to keep his voice even.
“Elizabeth…gone…”
“Four men have taken Miss Darcy and Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy could not keep the anguish from his voice.
A tear slipped from Jeremiah’s eye. “So sorry.”
“No,” Darcy said gruffly. “You were obviously doing your duty, or you would not be lying here. You have nothing for which to be sorry, do you understand me?”
Jeremiah nodded, but the tears continued to fall.
Darcy sat back on the ground. There was activity around him, but he did not know what was being done or said. Georgiana and Elizabeth, gone? It could not be. The sun became less and less brilliant as the clouds began to spin circles above him.
The hand which had been gripping his shoulder now cradled his head. “Darcy,” the frightened voice of his cousin Lawrence called to him through the gathering shadows. “Darcy, we must go to the cottage. We must find them.”
Darcy willed himself to climb out of the darkness that threatened to engulf him. Lawrence was right. They must find them. He shook his head to clear it and found he was looking up into the rather concerned faces of his three companions.
Richard extended a hand towards him. Darcy grasped it allowing his cousin to draw him to his feet. “Can you ride?” Richard asked softly.
Darcy nodded. “I can ride. It just took me by surprise.” His legs felt shaky but surely he would be able to ride—he clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply through his nose–he had to.
“Understandable,” said Richard turning back to the man who still lay on the ground.
Bingley had come up beside Darcy and had placed a bracing arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You will ride beside me.” Bingley’s normal jovial nature had been replaced by a commanding presence. Darcy nodded his agreement. He knew better than to argue with Bingley when Bingley’s good humour had left him. He had tried to once, and it had not ended well. Darcy rubbed his jaw in remembrance.
By the time Darcy and the others had made it to their horses, Richard had arranged Jeremiah on his horse and was hoisting himself up behind the injured man.
Lawrence watched his brother in amazement. “Should we not wait and transport him more gently?”
“It is not the first casualty I have had to carry off the field, big brother. There are no broken bones, no bullet wounds, it is only his head which is injured. Since there is no one shooting at me in this instance, I will ride slowly to limit the jostling.” Richard explained, knowing full well from experience that exposure to the cool, damp air of the night as Jeremiah had experienced did not bode well for the man’s recovery. “This man has waited long enough. Any further delay in his treatment could be far more grave than a bit of unwelcome motion.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
As the group approached the cottage, Bingley urged his horse ahead of the rest and called out as he rode up the drive alerting the inhabitants to their arrival.
“You are early this morning, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said sweetly. “Not everyone has even risen from their beds.”
“Have you checked to make sure they are in their beds?” Bingley said as he swung down from his horse.
“No, why?” Jane’s voice wavered. She looked swiftly from his grim face to each of the equally grim faces of his companions until her eyes came to rest on the body draped across Colonel Fitzwilliam’s horse. Her eyes grew wide in horror, and Bingley took hold of her arm lest she should faint.
“We have reason to believe Elizabeth and Georgiana are not here.” Darcy had dismounted and was heading toward the cottage. Mary, who stood beside Jane, raced to keep up with him. Entering the cottage, he took the stairs two at a time. Standing at the top, he looked first to his left and then to his right. “Which bedroom is Georgiana’s?” he asked Mary.
“She and Elizabeth shared this one.” She showed him to a room on the right which overlooked the front of the house. She rapped gently before pushing open the door.
The beds within had not been touched. Georgiana’s night clothes still lay on the coverlet waiting for her. Darcy staggered backwards and took a firm hold on the door frame for support; he struggled to keep his mind calm. He shook his head to clear it and pushed down the emotions which threatened to overwhelm him for the second time that morning. He forced himself to focus on what needed to be done.
“Miss Mary, do you require assistance,” he asked taking note of Mary who stood beside him, hand clasped to her mouth, face pale. He watched her eyes flutter as if waking from sleep, then she pulled herself taller and set her jaw. Standing so, with determination etched in her every feature, he was reminded of Elizabeth and his heart clenched once again.
“Thank you, sir, but I am well. Shall we inform the others?”
He nodded and motioned for her to precede him down the stairs. With heavy feet and an equally heavy heart, Darcy made his way to the sitting room.
He looked about the room. Jane was seated near the window; Bingley was standing near ready to give assistance. Lawrence paced the length of the room, twisting and turning in his hands what had once been a fine hat.
All looked to Darcy expectantly as he entered the room. “It is as Jeremiah said. We must notify Mr. Bennet and Lord Matlock.”
Alfred stepped forward with a bow. “If it pleases you, sir, I shall ride to Longbourn and notify the Bennets. There will be someone there who can ride to Netherfield to inform his lordship, and I will fetch the surgeon.”
Darcy nodded. “Thank you, Alfred. I believe the rest of us should sit down until Richard is available to organize the investigation,” Darcy suggested. “Perhaps some tea would be beneficial.” He moved toward the kitchen.
Mary stopped him. “I can do it, sir.”
“No, I must have an occupation, but you may assist me.”
Mary nodded. She understood the need to keep busy in the face of such uncertainty.
Darcy sat on a stool near the long workbench in the kitchen while he waited for the water to boil. How many times had he sat right here while Elizabeth fetched tea or instructed him on the proper method to cut shortbreads? A sad, small smile played at his lips as he remembered her swatting at his hand when he tried to sneak berries from her bowl as she trimmed them.
Mary tapped him on the shoulder. “The water is ready.”
He began gathering the necessary items onto a tray. As he reached for the container of tea leaves, he saw a small bottle bearing an apothecary’s label. “Miss Mary, did you make tea last night?”
“No, Mrs. Younge made the tea.”
“Is this your bottle?”
“No,” said Mary as she studied the bottle. “This is a sleep aid. I do not have trouble sleeping. In fact, I slept quite soundly last night.”
“Hmm. Odd,” commented Darcy slipping the bottle into his pocket, suspicion beginning to play at his mind.
The door from the garden opened and Mrs. Younge entered carrying two cups and saucers. She gasped when she saw Mr. Darcy spooning leaves from the decanter. “Oh, you startled me. I did not expect to see you so early, sir.” She lifted the teacups a bit higher before placing them on the work bench. “It seems my charge did not return her cup to the kitchen before bed last night.”
“What do you mean?” asked Darcy.
“Miss Darcy and Miss Elizabeth took their tea out in the garden when they arrived home. I found these cups discarded on the bench. It is a small matter, I suppose, but nonetheless, I shall have to speak to Miss Darcy about such negligence.”
“That will be impossible,” said Darcy watching carefully for a reaction. Mrs. Younge’s eyes grew large but did not register the surprise he would have expected. “You see my sister is not here, nor is Miss Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Younge gasped and her hand flew to her chest, yet her expression did not ring true to Darcy.
Coolly, he dismissed her. “Please join the others in the sitting room, Mrs. Younge. All will be explained shortly when Colonel Fitzwilliam has finished tending to Jeremiah, and repeated, I would imagine, when Mr. Bennet and Lord Matlock arrive.” Darcy felt strangely satisfied when a genuine expression crossed Mrs. Younge’s face, and that the expression showed fear. “Miss Mary, if you would be so kind as to carry this tray into the sitting room. I shall be there shortly. I need a moment alone.”
He sat on the stool once again and drummed his fingers on the bench. He should have had Mrs. Younge more fully investigated. It had always bothered him that her references had seemed too good, but Richard had brushed it off as being an overly protective brother, and so, Darcy had, against all the nagging of his gut, listened to his cousin and pushed the feeling aside. Now, he wondered if he had been right about the lady all along.
Seeing Hannah passing by the kitchen doorway, he called out to her, and she turned in. “Hannah, have you been to Meryton recently?”
Hannah felt heat rising in her cheeks as she remembered her meeting with Mr. Worthing. “Yes, Mrs. Younge and I were in Meryton last week.”
“Did you happen to stop at the apothecary’s shop? I feel a headache building and would be most appreciative of some headache powder.”
“Yes, we did stop there, but I am afraid we did not get any headache powder. Did I not hear the surgeon has been called? Would not he have the necessary treatment when he arrives?”
“Excellent idea, Hannah. Thank you. Would you please ask Colonel Fitzwilliam to join me in the kitchen?”
Hannah dipped a small curtsey and scurried off to do as she had been bid.
Richard wiped his hands on a towel as he entered the kitchen. “Jeremiah is resting as well as can be expected. I am no surgeon, but I do not believe his injuries will prove to be fatal as long as he avoids infection.”
“Richard, do you remember how I did not feel as if we should hire Mrs. Younge?”
Richard eyed Darcy warily. “Have you discovered something about her?”
“I may have. When Miss Mary and I were making tea, I found this bottle near the tea leaves decanter—it is a sleep aid. Hannah told me that Mrs. Younge purchased something at the apothecary shop last week when she was in Meryton; Miss Mary told me that Mrs. Younge made last night’s tea; and Miss Mary also mentioned sleeping quite soundly last night.”
“So, you have started the investigation without me?”
“You were busy, and time is not our ally in this.”
“I know, Darcy.” He clapped his cousin on the shoulder and drew a stool close to sit next to him. “You believe Mrs. Younge is involved in this in some way?”
“I do. She brought in those cups from the garden, and when I told her that Georgie and Elizabeth were not here, her reaction felt disingenuous.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Jane stepped into the kitchen. “My father is here.”
Darcy closed his eyes and pressed his hands firmly against the work bench. Then, standing, he straightened his jacket and ran his hands down each sleeve. “Richard,” he said quietly, “you will take the lead?” He swallowed the lump which formed in his throat as he thought of Mr. Bennet’s loss.
“Whether you wish me to or not, Darcy. Whether you wish me to or not,” Richard said as he followed Darcy out of the kitchen.