Page 92 of Midnight at Pemberley

“We will tend to your sister, Elizabeth,” he assured her.

“Go on,” she insisted.

Then the colonel related what he had seen of Darcy’s bondage. Elizabeth continued to fight back the tears, but she listened closely to what he said. “We must discover a means to release Darcy before we do anything else. He appeared weak and in some pain.”

Elizabeth half smiled. “Your tale says Wickham fears my husband more than William realized. Over the past few months, Mr. Darcy has cultivated his once-latent powers. Wickham has my husband’s hands chained behind him because if William extends his arms to the sides, he can control light and time—freezing the latter in place. Wickham has the power of the wind.”

“That explains the sound I heard while in hiding.”

Elizabeth glanced to the mantel clock. “Hopefully, we are agreed. We rescue Darcy in the morning after Wickham’s followers return to their graves.”

“Is there some means to lure Wickham away from the house?” The colonel considered all the options.

“My dealings with Wickham are limited,” Elizabeth thought aloud, “but what I know of him is that he is a performer. He pretends to be a common man, one owning a well-run household. Even so, he puts on a display for your eyes. He used Lydia as a warning. I suspect Wickham knew you were in the house.”

“Then you think he will come looking for us—for me?” She was pleased to find the colonel of a like mind.

Elizabeth sat back in satisfaction. “While you were enjoying the taproom, I questioned the maids and the hostler. The master of Wickford Manor watched this inn from early morning until well after dark. Wickham suspected someone would come for William. We arrived so late he had no time to prepare. I believe we should set a diversion for tomorrow.”

“Excellent! I excel at diversions.” The colonel rubbed his hands in anticipation. “The way I see it, Wickham knows I am here, but he probably does not realize who I am. We have held no direct encounters before now. Why do we not send him on a futile chase? If he prefers public displays, let us send a pretender riding towards Berwick. I suspect Wickham will follow—at least, initially. That should provide us time to release Darcy.”

“Whom should we trust with the task?”

“Peters.” The colonel appeared certain. “He is most eager to be of service. I will put him in one of my uniforms; he can take Trident. We simply require Wickham distracted for a bit.”

Elizabeth noted the exhaustion marking the colonel’s features. “We require rest.” She stood and offered her hand.

The colonel followed her to his feet. “Will you be well alone?”

“I will, Colonel. Find a real bed tonight. You deserve a proper sleep.” Elizabeth led him to the door. “I will be prepared in the morning, Sir.”

From the upper window, they watched Wickham’s attempt to blend in with the villagers moving about the area. He dressed in plain clothing, but he did not assume another’s identity, and Elizabeth easily recognized his awkward movements as he pretended to hold knowledge of moving a herd of sheep through a series of pens.

“Peters knows what to do.” The colonel stood behind her.

“He is brave to face this. Mr. Darcy must reward him accordingly.”

The colonel walked away. “I am confident my cousin will be generous.” He picked up his gloves. Today he dressed, as did the local gentry, in a loose shepherd’s coat and a plain waistcoat.

“The stable hand has brought out Trident.” Edward returned to the window just in time to observe Peters striding from the inn. He wore the colonel’s uniform, belted and tucked in to give the appearance of fitting, along with a hat pulled down over his forehead and a scarf covering the lower part of his face. He used a mounting block to settle himself into the saddle. Although no horseman, Peters knew horses well enough to create an illusion, and he kicked Trident’s flanks to edge the horse out onto the road. Recognizing the man who regularly offered the horse a treat, Trident responded by dropping into a lazy canter.

“I hope Peters is able to walk tonight,” Elizabeth mused.

“His misery will be for a good cause.” Edward watched more intently. “Come on, Wickham,” he thought aloud, “take the bait.”

They waited for several long moments, and then Wickham moved to a waiting gig. “We are on, Elizabeth.” He moved swiftly towards the door. “We have very little time.”

Nearly at a run, they crossed several fields at an angle to make their trek shorter. The innkeeper pointed out the way and within less than ten minutes, Wickford Manor loomed ahead.

“You are very adept at moving through the countryside,” the colonel murmured close to Elizabeth’s ear as she knelt beside him, observing the house for occupants.

She smiled brightly. “I am often criticized for being a good walker.”

“Not today, my dear.” He touched her hand and pointed to the kitchen door he used the previous night.

Elizabeth nodded in understanding. He expected her to follow him. Less cautious today than during the night, the colonel opened the door to the portal. He motioned for her to wait while he scouted the area, taking the servant stairs to move quickly through the house.

However, Elizabeth chose not to wait. Impatient to see Darcy, she discovered the door by the hearth. The crucifix affixed to the handle, which she intuited Wickham had placed there for his own nefarious purposes, told her she found what she sought. As expected, the latch did not turn, but Elizabeth was not the type to abandon her task so easily. She searched for the key. Could Wickham have it on him? The thought frightened her as she turned over cups and bowls, assuming Wickham would hide the key in a unique place.