Darcy’s brow darkened. As little as he liked what his former friend had become, he could not relish the thought that Wickham might come to such an end.
“Approaching him from the front may be wiser,” Darcy acknowledged after a moment. “If he hears riders coming up behind him, he might whip up the horses and wreck the carriage. That would endanger its occupants and might allow him to escape. But what if we waited until he stopped at an inn? I have passed through Luton once before, and I can imagine the sort of place he would prefer.”
Wickham was exasperated.After two hours upon the box, even the horses had begun to flag, their pace dulling in spite of every touch of the reins or the whip.
They were not the only ones flagging.
He had handled a gig often enough in his youth, and with style too, but a heavy post-chaise demanded a different sort of strength. His shoulders throbbed, his palms were raw within hisworn gloves, and the dusty air scraped his throat each time he drew breath through the cloud the horses kicked up. The work was far more fatiguing than he had anticipated, and he was far more uncomfortable than he liked.
How he wished he had the funds to hire a coachman, for it would not do to continue as they were.
Soon he must contrive to rest the horses—and himself. A pint or two at some wayside inn would be very welcome indeed, yet the difficulty lay in achieving it without inviting further trouble. He had scarcely a coin to his name, certainly not enough to command assistance by honest means. Nor could he risk allowing either lady the smallest opportunity to flee, which meant he must remain constantly on guard.
He would need help before long. He had not considered how impossible such an undertaking would prove without another man or two to assist him. At the very least he required someone to drive, for he could not keep to the box for the days and weeks necessary to reach Scotland.
When he next stopped, he would have to see if he could find a fellow willing to be bribed with promises of future payment—or frightened into obedience. Although he was not wearing the militia’s red coat, it lay in his bag, and there were many who might be impressed by it and persuaded to come to his aid, if he proved convincing enough.
As for the women, they had been gratifyingly quiet. He had not heard so much as a whisper from within the carriage, and he looked forward to making better acquaintance with his future wife before long. They had seemed properly cowed earlier; he trusted fear would continue to serve him.
Still, he could not leave them unguarded forever, particularly not at an inn or any busy stopping place. Once they halted, he must secure them more thoroughly than at present. A rope might answer, if he could obtain one, and certainly a threat or two would ensure continued obedience. They were far enough from home now. Rescue would not come.
He shifted on the narrow seat and urged the team onward. Surely they would reach an inn soon. He would choose one at the edge of a town, or just beyond it.
They would not think to look for him in this direction in any case.
His thoughts drifted as he glanced across the fields—and there he noticed two riders galloping parallel to the road.
The sight startled him into a momentary lapse. The horses felt the slack in his grip and surged unevenly, and he swore loudly as he hauled sharply upon the reins, forcing them back into line.
It was far too soon for anyone to be searching for him. The alarm could not yet have spread so quickly, and even if it had, those riders were too distant to distinguish either him or his carriage.
That he could not identify them did not trouble him. From their seat and bearing they appeared young—decidedly so. Mr Grant, by all accounts, was elderly—sixty at least, perhaps older—and the two gentlemen who had lately resided at Millwood had already departed the neighbourhood.
No—these were merely two young men taking exercise. The countryside was full of such idle riders.
Satisfied, Wickham fixed his attention once more upon the road ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
At Netherfield, Elizabeth and Georgiana sat anxiously with Mrs Hurst as they awaited word regarding the missing Bennet sisters. Occasionally Elizabeth rose to pace the room, unable to endure such enforced stillness, and every attempt at conversation rang hollow to her ears. Mrs Annesley remained with them as well, silent and watchful; Elizabeth could not determine whether she meant to offer comfort or, like the rest of them, merely did not know how.
“I hate being left behind to wait,” Elizabeth said, her frustration breaking through her composure as she gave voice to her thoughts. “I wish I could be out there with the men searching for my cousins, but I know William would object strenuously, as would Grandpapa. Still, I cannot help wondering what might have happened to their carriage—or why anyone would have taken them. If there had been some mishap upon the road, surely they would have been found by now.”
She stopped at the window, but there was nothing to see but the pale sweep of the drive.
Unless the carriage had not been lost by accident.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and unwelcome. What if someone had meant to intercept them? She knew that her grandfather and William had been uneasy about Mr Wickham’s presence in the area, and now she wondered whether he might somehow have mistaken one Miss Bennet for another. Could he have heard something that led him to believe he might abduct her—or her cousin—in hopes of securing funds? Might he have confused Miss Jane Bennet with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, not realising that two ladies in the neighbourhood bore that name?
A chill moved through her despite the warmth of the room at the thought of her cousins in that man’s power.
Almost unreasonably, guilt came. If that were the case, had he meant to seize her, but taken her cousins in her stead? Would he demand a ransom—or a dowry for their release? Did he intend to force Jane or Mary into marriage in order to lay claim to what he believed was theirs? What might he do when he discovered the truth?
As these thoughts raced through her mind, the others remained silent, offering no reply to her earlier words—and Elizabeth did not expect one. She resumed her pacing as if motion alone might prevent her fears from settling into something darker.
Before she could dwell upon these matters any longer, they were all startled by the sound of someone entering the room without knocking.
It was one of the footmen recently engaged to attend Elizabeth and Georgiana. There were several of these men now, and at least one accompanied each lady wherever she went. Thus far, no one had openly questioned the arrangement, yet their imposing size had earned more than a few second glances—even from guests at Millwood—for they were large men withunmistakable military bearing, not the sort one typically saw in a household footman.
