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Elizabeth turned urgently to Darcy. “We have to find Anne! Quickly!”
“She may be with her mother,” said Mrs Jenkinson.
Darcy sent a footman immediately to Lady Catherine’s chambers. But Stephen soon returned with the news that Anne was not with her mother. Nor was she in the music room, the library, or her bedchamber, though a folded note had been found on her pillow. This was handed to Darcy in the drawing room and he laid it out on the table so all could read it. It simply said:
I am so sorry. Please forgive me.
Anne
“No...” whispered Hargreaves. “It can’t be Anne...”
Elizabeth felt a wave of guilt. “I should have realised,” she said. “All along, the clues were there before me...” She thought back to the day that she had found Anne in the library, reading the books of poetry, and the girl’s voice echoed in her mind:
“... Though I do not mind Blake... his words speak to me.”
Elizabeth looked down at the letter, reading the poem again. The force of repressed anger and resentment stood out clearly. Whoever had copied that poem had understood the truth of Blake’s words with the intensity of someone who has lived them. Why had she not seen that?
“There will be time later for recriminations,” said Darcy briskly. “The important thing now is that Anne must be found, for I fear that she may do harm to herself in her present mood.”
Mrs Jenkinson gasped. “You mean...”
“Let us not waste time in speculation,” said Darcy. “Hargreaves—come with me. We shall lead parties to search for her in the grounds. I am told that my aunt sleeps—she has had a headache and taken a draught of laudanum—thus she may not awaken ’till morning. This may be an unexpected blessing. There is no need to alarm Lady Catherine and she would not help in the search.” He looked at Elizabeth and his eyes softened. “Miss Bennet, can I impose on your kindness and ask you to remain here with Mrs Jenkinson? Anne seems to derive great comfort from your company and, should we find her, we may need your assistance in soothing her mind.”
“But of course,” said Elizabeth. She glanced at Mrs Jenkinson, half expecting that woman to protest angrily about her own importance to Anne, but the older lady seemed too shaken to do more than wring her hands and pace around the room, stopping every so often to stare out of the drawing room windows. Twilight was falling outside, throwing darkness over the landscape and bringing a chill to the air. A strong northerly wind seemed to have sprung up, blowing the tops of the trees and rattling the windows. Elizabeth shivered as she thought of Anne outside in this weather. She hoped that Darcy and Hargreaves would be successful in their efforts soon.
They waited in an agony of uncertainty as the minutes ticked away. The hands on the clock moved slowly around... six-thirty... seven o’clock... eight-thirty... As the clock chimed nine and the men had still not returned, Elizabeth felt the grip of fear tighten around her throat. She tossed aside the book she had been attempting to read and rose to pace the room. As she neared the windows, she passed Mrs Jenkinson who had taken up a vigil on the window seat.
“You knew it was Anne when you saw the letter, didn’t you?” said Elizabeth gently. “Why did you not say? You must have recognised her handwriting, having been her governess all these years.”
Mrs Jenkinson sighed. She seemed to have shrunk in the past few hours. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide with fear and worry. “Yes, I realised then that Miss Anne must have had a hand in her mother’s poisoning. But I could not betray her.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “It is not betraying her. Surely you must agree that it is important for the truth to be revealed?”
“Anne is not herself!” said Mrs Jenkinson with great agitation. “She is ill. Her frail state of health may have affected her mental attitude and actions.” She looked imploringly at Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, if you have any influence with Mr Darcy, I beg you to ask him for mercy.”
Elizabeth was surprised to see the sheen of tears in the other woman’s eyes. She had thought Mrs Jenkinson a cold, bitter creature with nothing to recommend her, but now she saw that the older woman’s affection for Anne was strong and genuine. Her heart softened towards her.
“I am sure Mr Darcy will treat Anne with all gentleness and chivalry,” she assured Mrs Jenkinson. “He shares your affection for his cousin and wants nothing but the best for her welfare.”
The sound of footsteps in the hallway alerted them to Darcy’s return. Elizabeth looked up hopefully as he entered the drawing room, but he answered her look with a shake of his head.
“We have not found her.”
Mrs Jenkinson sprang up and ran to him. “Sir, we must find her! The temperature is dropping outside and there is a strong wind tonight. A night spent outside in such chill air could kill Miss Anne in her frail state of health!”
“I am aware of that, Mrs Jenkinson,” said Darcy harshly. “The servants are continuing the search for her. Colonel Fitzwilliam is scouring the village and surrounds, in case Anne might have left the estate. Edwin Hargreaves has led a party out towards the eastern groves. But the grounds at Rosings are vast. It would not be possible to cover the whole estate by morning, especially with the handicap of darkness—”
“Have you checked the folly?” asked Elizabeth.
“The folly?” Darcy frowned.
“Did Hargreaves not suggest it to you?”
Darcy shook his head impatiently.
Anne had only gone to the folly after Hargreaves had left, Elizabeth remembered suddenly. He would not have realised the significance of the place for her.
“There is an old folly at the top of the hill on the south side of the park,” she explained. “Anne told me that she used to retreat there as a child, and cherished the solitude she gained there. It was her dearest wish to return to that place. I believe she may be attempting the journey again.”
“Come with me,” said Darcy, striding from the room. Elizabeth had to run to keep up with his long strides. He did not pause until they reached the stable courtyard, where his large black stallion stood saddled and ready. The big animal snorted and mouthed his bit restlessly, his breath visible in the cold night air.
“I am going to the folly and I should like you to accompany me. Anne may need reassurance when she is found and I have a feeling that you are better placed to provide it than I.” Darcy caught the stallion’s reins. “Do you ride?” he asked as the stable boy hovered behind them, waiting to bring out another horse.
“Aye, but not very well.” Elizabeth looked doubtfully at his powerful mount, then out at the darkness around them. “I have not ridden much in the dark and I am not sure I would be able to keep up with your pace.”
“Then that leaves me no choice but to do this,” said Darcy. He moved close to her and Elizabeth looked up at him, her heart suddenly racing.
“Miss Bennet, I must ask you one more time... to trust me.”
Then he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her up onto his horse. Elizabeth caught her breath as she found herself suddenly high up, off the ground, in the saddle of the great beast. She had barely time to contain her surprise before Darcy had swung up behind her. His arms came around her as he grasped the reins, then he kicked the horse into action.
They trotted out of the courtyard, the big stallion snorting and tossing his mane, wheeling occasionally and skittering sideways with frightening unpredictability, so that it took all of Elizabeth’s concentration to hold on. Then they were out in the open and headed towards the south side of the park.
