“Miss Grant,” he said with a low bow, “and your friend. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is George Wickham, and I greatly look forward to becoming very well acquainted as we travel north together.”
He smiled at both ladies, indifferent to their shock and uncaring if they did not wish to go with him.
“Your acceptance is a foregone conclusion, madam,” he continued, “yet I will pretend to offer you the choice. I am come to carry you to our wedding. I hope you will be gratified to secure so handsome a husband, my dear.”
When both ladies looked startled at the sound of his name, Wickham supposed it owed more to the shock of their situation than to any knowledge of him. A woman might resist at first, but after a few days—and a wedding—she would learn to think differently.
The other girl he dismissed at once. Companion, cousin, poor relation—it made no difference. Miss Grant was the prize.
Neither woman spoke. Their silence meant nothing to him. He tipped his hat once more, shut the door, and secured it from the outside with a contrivance designed to prevent its being opened from within.
“Let us be on our way,” he declared, before climbing back to the box and gathering the reins in his hands. It was a pity he had no one to drive; he would have preferred the privacy of the carriage to begin to get to know his intended. Still, that inconvenience might be remedied later. Surely there would be someone along the route who might be persuaded.
Money, however, posed a difficulty. He lacked the funds to change horses, which meant they must travel slowly. He had resolved to avoid the Great North Road for a time and keep instead to lesser-used routes. The journey might stretch to a fortnight, but he was certain any pursuit would favour the more well-travelled road.
It was no matter.
What mattered was the fortune he believed awaited him. Twenty thousand pounds would set him very comfortably indeed.
The sum warmed him far more than the winter air ever could as he began to make his way north.
So certain was he of his success, he did not look back.
A few miles away,another carriage was being prepared. Jane and Mary Bennet had called at Millwood Cottage, but only very briefly, for all the ladies were expected at tea that afternoon at Netherfield. Mrs Hurst had invited the residents of Millwood Cottage as well as those of Longbourn; yet Jane and Mary had wished to see Elizabeth for a few moments and had therefore gone first to Millwood before continuing on to Netherfield. Jane had offered to escort Elizabeth and Georgiana, but Elizabeth had declined, saying that she needed to pay a call to Charlotte Lucas afterward before returning home.
When Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield half an hour later with Georgiana, she was surprised to learn that Jane and Mary had not yet come, nor had any message been received to explain their delay. Immediately, a note was dispatched to Longbourn to enquire whether the sisters had returned home instead of proceeding as planned.
To the astonishment of all present, a message arrived from Longbourn at nearly the same moment, asking whether Jane and Mary were at Netherfield for the carriage had not returned as it was intended.
The crossing of these notes alarmed everyone.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy, and Mr Hurst lost no time in ordering their horses. Within minutes they set out, each taking a different direction in the hope that something might be discovered.
The colonel chose the road the carriage ought to have travelled between Millwood Cottage and Netherfield. Riding swiftly, he kept a sharp watch along the verges.
Soon he perceived a dreadful sight: the coachman, bound hand and foot, lay in a ditch beside the lane. There was no wreckage from the carriage; it had not overturned. The very position of the man, left trussed and helpless, spoke of violence far more deliberate.
For one terrible instant, the colonel feared he was too late—that something unspeakable had befallen the Bennet carriage.
He was off his horse in a moment, boots striking the frozen ground as he hurried forward and dropped beside the man. The cords were cruelly tight; he tore at them, scarcely aware of how rough his hands had become.
“Are they alive?” he demanded.
It took only moments to learn the truth of what had happened. Wickham had spoken in full hearing of the coachman, not troubling to keep his intentions a secret. Fitzwilliam did not know whether Wickham did not think the coachman would survive or if he simply believed that no one would seek him out when he took what he wanted.
Rage flared hot in the colonel’s chest.
“I shall send someone back for you,” he said quickly, already rising. “I must find the others so we may begin the search at once. Have you any notion which way he may go?”
The coachman struggled upright, wincing as feeling returned to his limbs.
“No, sir. But if it were me, without the money to change horses, I would keep off the great road and take to the smaller ones instead. There are plenty of them, and they all wind north. You would have a devil of a time finding him there, particularly if heknows where he is going and knows how to hide. I believe he thought he would have more of a head start; I daresay he has been gone less than an hour.”
The colonel swore under his breath. “Thank you,” he said, wheeling his horse about and riding hard the way he had come.
He encountered Darcy first. His cousin rode with one of the newly engaged Millwood footmen—the men having been assigned to remain near Elizabeth and Georgiana for their protection—while the others had been left behind with the ladies.
“Wickham attacked the Bennet coachman and carried off Jane and Mary Bennet,” he called without preamble. “He believes one of them to be ‘Miss Grant’ and must have heard enough to suppose she possesses a fortune worth the risk. He cannot know who stands behind her. Most likely he never imagined a Darcy or a Fitzwilliam would be in the neighbourhood. He must have assumed the coachman would not be found—or that the alarm would not be raised so quickly. I left the man upon the road and sent another back for assistance.”
