Page 56 of Midnight at Pemberley

“Because we all swore to end the curse that our ancestors began,” Elizabeth said coolly.

“Our ancestors?” Wickham repeated sneeringly.

Elizabeth smiled. “Do you really not know that Arawn Benning was my ancestor, just as Ellender D’Arcy was William’s? How ignorant you are! It is Fate that brings my dear husband and me together. You cannot defeat us, Wickham,” she insisted.

“Yet I can still exact my revenge.”

Elizabeth attempted to think of something to frighten Wickham away. She still clutched the crucifix before her. Then she thought of the diagram from the book. “Wickham George!” she called out as she took a step forward.

Wickham did not turn a hair. “My followers call me My lord. You may do so when you join me.”

“Pigs will sprout wings first.” Elizabeth’s mind raced. If Darcy were coming, he would be here. Reverse the letters. Visualize Wickham’s name and reverse the letters. It was a silly thought, but she was desperate. “Mahkicw Egroeg!” she tried.

“Gibberish, Mrs. Darcy?” Wickham inquired mockingly. “You are grasping at straws, my dear.” He lowered his voice and spoke in an intimate tone, “Taking you will double my pleasure. Revenge on both the D’Arcys and the Bennings in one fell swoop.”

Darcy bounded from the coach almost before it could stop. Belton jumped from the rear perch. Both men looked to the bench where the footman had left Georgiana. “Where is she?” Darcy demanded.

“I do n … not know, Mr. Darcy,” the servant stammered, afraid for both his position and for the girl he had left sitting on the bench. “Perhaps Mrs. Darcy took your sister into the bookstore to tend to her wound where no one could view them.”

Darcy did not respond. He simply strode towards the storefront, fully expecting to find both Elizabeth and Georgiana waiting for him, but no one was to be seen, not even the clerk. “Hello in the store!” he called at the top of his lungs.

A stirring from the back of the building could be heard, and within a few seconds, a man appeared. “Yes, Sir. May I be of service?”

“I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. I believe my wife and sister were both in here minutes ago,” Darcy said impatiently.

“Your sister, Mr. Darcy, departed first with your footman there. Your wife followed five minutes later. Mrs. Darcy took her leave at least ten minutes prior, Sir.”

Darcy tapped his cane to his hat in a salute of gratitude, but his mind was not on the conversation. Immediately, he was back on the street, searching the storefronts for the faces he most loved. “Belton, go down the other side as far down as where you found me, and work your way back.”

“Yes, Sir.” The man took off at a trot, searching every nook and cranny.

Darcy took no more than ten steps along the walkway when he heard her voice. Elizabeth stood in the darkened alleyway, talking loudly to someone even farther in the shadows. He assumed Georgiana was also within. Obviously, someone could be holding a gun on both of them. With a silent click of the switch and a twist of the handle, he slid the sword, a narrow blade edged on both sides, from the cane. Then he reached for the small Queen Anne pistol he carried in his inside pocket. Easing his body along the wall and line of boxes, Darcy maneuvered to a place where he could better assess the situation. From his current angle, all he could view was Elizabeth’s skirt tail and the back of her bonnet. He fought to control his breathing and to curb his urge to burst upon the scene. If her assailant had a gun, she would be dead before Darcy could clear the stacked boxes.

“Mahkicw Egroeg!” Elizabeth called out bravely. Darcy wondered at her words.

Then he heard the voice he most dreaded. “Gibberish, Mrs. Darcy? You are grasping at straws, my dear.”

Elizabeth paused, seemingly at a loss. “Georgiana!” she called out, as Darcy edged close enough to view Elizabeth’s profile. She stood with his crucifix dangling from a chain before her. “You can see Wickham has no power to defeat the crucifix. You must believe, Georgiana,” Elizabeth urged her. “You must believe in your brother and in me.”

Darcy wondered where she claimed her courage. Elizabeth faced Wickham’s demonic attack armed with nothing more than a jeweled cross.

Elizabeth took another step forward, and Darcy nearly groaned, knowing the danger she was in. He wished he could observe his sister— view the situation in which Georgiana found herself. “Release my sister at once!” Elizabeth demanded. Darcy winced, knowing how Wickham detested orders and those who dared to issue them.

Intuitively, Elizabeth became aware of Darcy’s presence. He made no sound nor could she observe him, but she knew he was there. It was a heady experience. Emboldened by his nearness, she edged forward. “I tell you, Wickham, your plan is madness.You will be found and punished.”

Desperately seeking an escape, she returned to the image in the book, and immediately she recognized her error. The foul monster’s name was not really George Wickham. He was Seorais Winchcombe. George

Wickham was his Anglicized name. Again, she visualized his name. She thrust the crucifix forward, extending her arm and palming the cross.

“Ebmochcniw Siaroes!” The words shot through the darkness, and with a gust of wind, Wickham flew backwards, slamming against the brick wall behind him.

Instantly, Elizabeth grabbed Georgiana and tumbled with the girl to the ground. Darcy fired the gun, aiming for Wickham’s heart, as the demon slid down the wall. In triumph, Darcy strode forward, adjusting the sword in his grip as he moved. He would decapitate the beast lying at his feet. Poised above the limp body of his enemy, he could not have anticipated the attack.

In the shadows of the alley, a figure waited. Phantom-like, it clung to the side of the building, blending in with the faded wooden slats. So when Darcy stepped from his hiding place and fired on Wickham, Mrs. Younge reacted. Like a wild animal, she charged, taking Darcy by surprise, clawing at his back and ripping his coat to shreds with just a few swipes.

Dropping the sword, Darcy hit the ground and rolled, attempting to escape the claws and the fangs snapping at him with great force and speed. His face sustained a raking from the tips of her nails, but he fought on. Calling forth his own powers, he pushed against her chest. Extending his arms, blue light streamed from him, wrapping the vampire with a force she never expected.

Even so, the lamia valiantly attacked a second time. She pressed Darcy backwards, her fangs dangerously close to his neck and ear. He struggled to right himself, but the she-devil drove a knee into his chest as she mounted him, forcing Darcy’s shoulders to the ground.