Mr. Bennet was awakened from his afternoon slumber by the distinct sound of gunshot. For several moments, he merely looked about the tranquil setting and wondered if he had dreamed the noise.
With a start, he realized that Richard and Mr. Harley were nowhere to be seen. He pushed himself up from the bank of the creek and hurried up the hill to the lane. Looking up and down the road, he saw a rider in the distance galloping away from him.
He listened hard for a moment and then turned to hurry back down the hill. “Richard! Richard!” he yelled, worry gnawing at him.
Only the sound of birds overhead answered him and he began to pace before the poles his grandson and Mr. Harley had abandoned.
They would not have gone far but the gunshot worried him. It was not entirely unheard of for some traveler with little means to shoot a bird in the woods beyond the creek.
Remaining calm, Mr. Bennet walked alongside the creek looking for some hint of where the butler and Richard may have gone.
A noise in the bushes across the creek alarmed him, but when Mr. Harley stumbled out holding his side, blood staining his coat and shirt, Mr. Bennet became animated.
“What on earth has happened man? Where is Richard?”
Mr. Harley stopped and bent double to catch his breath. There were brambles in his hair and scratches on his face. Mr. Bennet dashed across the creek heedless of his pants and shoes.
Mr. Harley stood as straight as he could and Mr. Bennet placed the man’s arm on his good side around his shoulders. “Tell me what has happened and let’s get you across this creek to the wagon.”
The butler was astonished at Mr. Bennet’s calm exterior. As they gained the other side of the creek bank together, he began to speak. “Richard is gone. Major Wickham took him. We have no time to waste. Leave me here and go round up Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. They will find him.”
“I’ll do no such thing! We must go together for what if the major returns and finishes you? Come on, Harley, climb up in the cart while I get the horse.”
In just a little more time than it took to hook the horse up to the cart again, Mr. Bennet had them up on the lane and thundering towards Netherfield.
He called back over his shoulder to Mr. Harley. “Hang on! I’m sorry to throw you around back there. Once we get to Netherfield, we’ll send for Mr. Jenkins, the apothecary.”
Mr. Harley waved his hand as if to dismiss Mr. Bennet’s worry. “I am fine, sir, truly. The major’s not so good a shot as all that.”
Mr. Bennet laughed in spite of the worry for his grandson. Major Wickham had gone too far and for what reason? He could think of nothing else than the man was a notorious fortune seeker.
Perhaps he was fixed on getting money for Richard’s safe return from Elizabeth or Mr. Darcy or even the Matlocks. Or perhaps all three. It was the only thing that made sense to him at the present time.
He did not think the man would harm Richard, but he certainly did not want to test that theory. He imagined Elizabeth’s face when they arrived at Netherfield with the news. She would be scared and angry, and might blame him for losing the boy.
Mr. Bennet certainly blamed himself. But that would be dealt with later, when Richard was home safe again.
When the cart came to a stop in front of Netherfield, Mr. Bennet began to call out and went to Mr. Harley in the back of the cart. Footmen dashed from the front door of Netherfield and helped their friend from London inside.
Elizabeth and Jane met the footmen in the entryway. “What has happened Mr. Harley? Where are Father and Richard?”
Mr. Harley bowed his head. He hated to have to tell Mrs. Fitzwilliam that he had lost her son. Mr. Bennet came in and took his daughter by the hand. “Lizzy, call for Mr. Darcy and Bingley. Major Wickham took the boy. Mr. Harley and I are to blame.”
Jane took hold of her sister as she began to cry. “How? How did he get Richard? Why would he take my son?”
Mr. Harley sent a footman in search of Bingley and Darcy. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam, we will find the boy. The major cannot have gone far just yet. He won’t hurt Richard. He likely wants money from you or the Fitzwilliams.”
“Mr. Harley, you are hurt,” Elizabeth said as her tears dried, “we must have Mr. Jenkins come and see to you. Did the major shoot you?”
“”Tis only a flesh wound, thank goodness. For a man who has been to war, he certainly cannot shoot very well.” The butler gave a short, pained laugh.
“All the same, you must lie down. Help him upstairs, Thomas. Have Mr. Jenkins brought and bring around Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley’s horses. I would like a gig for myself. We must all go look for Richard.”
Mr. Bennet thought to object but he knew his obstinate, headstrong daughter well enough to know she would not pace the halls of Netherfield while others looked for her son.
God help Major Wickham if she found him before Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley.