Mama cooed and coddled. “I always said that George Wickham was no good, did I not? All that soldiering. It incites men of weak character to violence.”
“He hates me! He abandoned me, and now he is trying to kill me!” Lydia flared.
“He does not hate you. You are imagining things.” Mama turned abruptly to the doctor, plastering her hand against Lydia’s forehead. “Is this a hallucination?”
Lydia swatted her hand away. “I am perfectly sane — only sick from so much cake.”
Papa rose to stand behind her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, “You may stay here as long as you like, Lydia. If Wickham dares show his face, I will run him off myself.”
“Not you, Mr. Bennet!” screeched Mama. “You would be honor-bound to call him out, and you wouldbe certain to die in a duel. Let one of the other, younger men run him through.”
He chuckled. “It is a consolation to know you are not so eager to be rid of me.”
“To the contrary! I intend on many more years in your company.”
“Some men may take that as a threat, my dear.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
As much as Elizabeth enjoyed the flirtatious banter between her mother and father, something Lydia had said troubled her. “Aside from the poisoned tonic, do you have any other reason to think Wickham was trying to kill you? Assuming he went to the trouble of bringing a hive to Longbourn, why did he not put it in your room?”
Lydia hiccupped. “He asked me to wave from my window. By the time we arrived, I thought for certain you had married and would depart for London … and I had planned on occupying your bedchamber.” She shrugged. “It is much larger than mine.”
The curtains billowing outside her open window. Mrs. Hillhadclosed her window. Elizabeth had not imagined it after all.
The bees, the tonic … Elizabeth’s mind reeled. “Have you taken any of the tonic before today?”
Lydia thought for a moment. “My first night, I fell asleep on the couch and was carried to my room. Then, Mr. Darcy brought that lovely machine.” Shaking her head, she said, “I have not needed it until today.”
Elizabeth chewed on her bottom lip, talking aloud. “Belladonna is a common plant here. Wickham must have squeezed some of the juice into your bottle. Was there an occasion when he might have done so without you noticing?”
Lydia’s eyes doubled in size. “When we recently arrived at Meryton. He left me at the inn while he disappeared for just over an hour.” She put her hands over her mouth. “You do not think he is responsible for the carriage, too, do you? He said he only wanted to make certain you were away.”
Wickham could have done more than poison his wife’s tonic in that time. But why? Elizabeth forced herself to concentrate on what she knew, on the facts. The carriage did not fit — not yet — so she focused on the tonic. “I do not know yet. He must have hoped you would take your tonic and die in your sleep. When that did not work … he had to think of something else.”
Papa frowned. “Thatcher said someone has been lurking behind the carriage house.”
Again, another connection to the carriage. Ithadto have been Wickham.But why?The question would not go away.
“It is most likely,” Papa continued, “he observed me tending to my bees and stole Mrs. Bennet’s tablecloth to imitate my protective clothing.” He exhaled deeply. “I must write to his commanding officer immediately.” He locked Lydia’s bottle of nerve tonic inside the cabinet. “There is enough evidence to condemn him.”
Dr. Sculthorpe agreed. “Let us hope the young men have had success with his capture.”
Elizabeth prayed as much, while she also feared for Fitzwilliam’s life. A crazed man capable of murdering his expecting wife would not submit to an easy capture.
CHAPTER 31
Darcy hated to admit defeat, but short of tracking Wickham all the way to London — leaving Elizabeth without his protection, and thus as repulsive a prospect as giving up his pursuit — it was time to turn back to Longbourn.
“We will find him, Darcy,” Bingley said, his unflagging faith and perpetual optimism annoying when nothing had gone right that day and so much had gone wrong in the days prior.
“Thank you, Bingley.” The terseness in his clipped tone, when his friend had meant to encourage, moved Darcy to add, “This can hardly be how you had wished to spend your first week of matrimony.”
Bingley grinned. “My wife treats me like a hero for forgoing our wedding tour to help her sister. I would say the delay is well worth my while.” He blushedfuriously, making Darcy regret he had said anything at all beyond a simple expression of gratitude.
Richard chuckled. “Well played, Bingley. It is my observation that the more firmly a husband establishes himself in his wife’s good graces, the easier it is for her to forgive him when he inevitably bumbles awry.”
Darcy grumbled, tapping his heels at his horse’s side. He was in no mood to speak of matrimonial felicity when he was regrettably … miserably … unmarried.
