Even as they ran toward safety, Darcy’s heart was consumed with one thought: rescuing Elizabeth. Once she was safe, he would make certain that Wickham fully paid for his sins.
36
Darcy’s lungs burned as he and Richard raced through Alexandria’s narrow streets toward the harbor, the smell of smoke clinging to their clothes. The urgency of Elizabeth’s plight drove them forward despite their exhaustion. Every second that passed increased the likelihood that Wickham would harm her or spirit her away to some location where rescue would be impossible.
The din of the harbor reached them before they could see the water. Cutting through these ordinary noises, Darcy heard sounds that gave him hope: a lady’s voice screaming for help in both English and French.
“There!” Richard pointed toward one of the stone quays. Four figures were struggling toward a small boat. Even at a distance, no mistaking, Elizabeth fought with every ounce of strength against her captors.
“Au secours!Help me! I am being kidnapped!” Elizabeth’s cries carried over the water and echoed off the harbor walls. A surge of fierce pride at her courage ranthrough Darcy, which inspired him and Richard to reach her before she could be forced into the boat.
Her screams had not gone unnoticed. The British warship they had seen earlier, the HMSIntrepid,was moored at the main wharf.Darcy saw her crew respond to the obvious distress of a fellow countrywoman. Armed sailors poured from the ship onto the dock.
Wickham was not finished with his cruelty. When he saw the approaching seamen, he again pressed his pistol against Elizabeth’s temple and called across the water, “Stay back, or the lady dies! She is my safe passage out of here.”
The naval officers, recognizing the dangerous desperation in Wickham’s voice, halted their advance. Their captain, who identified himself as James Walker, stepped forward “Release the woman,” he commanded with full naval authority. “There is nowhere to run. Surrender now, and you will be treated according to the law.”
“The law?” Wickham laughed bitterly. “The law has given me nothing but misery and poverty, while men like Darcy inherit everything through the accident of birth. I have learned to take what I want.”
Just then, Darcy cleared the shadows of the waterfront buildings, his wrath boiling. “George Wickham!”
Wickham’s head snapped toward the sound of his name, and his attention briefly wavered. In that instant of distraction, Elizabeth threw her elbow back into his ribs with all her strength and her head into his chin, breaking free from his grip and rushing toward the safety of the British sailors.
Now cornered and facing capture, Wickham raised his pistol toward Darcy with murderous intent. “This isyour fault! All of it. Every moment of suffering. Every humiliation!”
But Richard was already moving. His knife flew through the air with deadly accuracy, striking Wickham’s shoulder and causing the pistol to spin into the harbor.
Before Wickham could recover, Darcy was upon him, years of accumulated fury finding release as his fist connected repeatedly with his enemy’s jaw, nose, and diaphragm, sending the brute crashing unconscious to the stone dock.
He reached for Elizabeth, who approached with dignity despite the red marks coloring her neck and the tears streaming down her face. Without hesitation, he enfolded her in his arms, being careful not to cause any more harm.
“My Elizabeth.” He kissed her hair, her temple, and anywhere else he could reach as she snuggled close to him. “I…I feared I had lost you forever. When I saw him drag you away, when I heard your screams…” He was unable to finish the thought.
Elizabeth’s fingers clutched at his coat, her body trembling against him as the shock of her ordeal began to set in. “I knew you would come,” she whispered through her tears. “Even when I could not see how, I knew you would find me.”
Darcy pulled back enough to examine her, tracing the ugly finger marks that darkened her throat. The sight of them sent fresh rage coursing through him. He forced himself to speak gently. “Are you hurt elsewhere?”
“No,” she assured him quickly, reading his fears. “I am bruised and frightened, but nothing more.”
He gathered her close again, burying his face in herhair as he whispered broken apologies and endearments. “I should have protected you better. I should have anticipated what he was planning.”
“You could not have known,” Elizabeth murmured against his chest. “None of us could have predicted such madness.”
Around them, the British sailors had efficiently secured Wickham’s unconscious form along with the other two men, while the captain of theIntrepidapproached with Richard at his side.
Darcy was aware only of Elizabeth’s warmth against him, of the miracle that she was alive and safe in his arms. “Elizabeth,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “I love you dearly. Completely.”
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, but these were tears of relief and joy. “And I love you,” she whispered. “Through all of this madness and terror, you have been my hope.”
Their kiss was salt-sweet, tender despite the violence that had passed, a promise that they had survived the worst and would face whatever came next together.
When Captain James Walkerarrived at the scene, he tapped Wickham’s leg with the toe of his boot and addressed Darcy. “You know this man?”
Since his cousin was preoccupied with comforting Elizabeth, Richard stepped forward.
“I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam in the service of His Majesty,” he announced formally. “This man and his associates have committed crimes that extend far beyondsimple kidnapping. They are responsible for destroying what may have been the greatest scholarly treasure known to mankind.”
Captain Walker listened with seriousness as Richard provided a comprehensive account of Wickham’s pursuit and the destruction he had wrought in the catacombs.
