Page 142

Wickham casually called over his shoulder as he walked ahead of Stefano to the door, “Yes, I hear.”

Entering the premises, he was pleasantly surprised to find a comfortable home. Stefano, who quickly caught up with him, explained that the house was mainly one level, with the bedrooms occupying the second floor. A young maid, who greatly resembled one Wickham had seen at the count’s rented townhouse in London, appeared out of nowhere. Stefano nodded to her. “Florenza will show you to your room.”

As he followed the maid through the house, Wickham tried to count the number of people he encountered. In his estimation, the number of servants was now up to ten—four women and six men. After showing him to his room, the maid was about to leave when Wickham addressed her. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

The woman looked at him blankly and shrugged as if she did not understand. He assumed she did not, as she had the same dark characteristics of all the servants whom Stefano had bragged of bringing with him from Italy. He was frustrated to find that she probably spoke only Italian, as he hoped to bribe at least one of the servants to provide information about the count’s plans. If all the servants were from his mother’s country, that was unlikely to happen. Wickham cringed to think that he had allowed the count to replace the driver and footmen with his own men before they left London. In hindsight, he would have liked to have had a few men loyal to him close by.

Pemberley

Mrs. Reynolds was not surprised to see the express rider galloping up the drive and was most pleased that she happened to be on the front portico when she spotted him. Hurriedly, she descended the steps to meet the man, unwilling to wait until he came to her. After retrieving the post, she instructed a footman to see after the horse and motioned for the messenger to follow her. She was eager to share the missive with Mr. Walker, who was just as worried over the present situation. Though much younger, the rider had to do a bit of a quick-step to catch up with the housekeeper, who was definitely not standing in place waiting for him. As they mounted the steps, she assured the young man that he would be fed and given a place to rest, and that she would have some expresses of her own to dispatch.

Mr. Walker was busy in another part of the house when he heard voices in the foyer and immediately returned in the event he was needed. When he arrived, Mrs. Reynolds was hurrying towards him waving a post.

“It seems we have heard from Mr. Darcy at last!”

Quickly making her way to her office, Mr. Walker on her heels, she began opening the missive the minute they were inside the door. She scanned the short paragraph swiftly as Mr. Walker’s eyebrows rose higher and higher in anticipation.

“What luck!” she declared. “Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are on their way directly to Liverpool! Mr. Ingram will have help when he arrives to confront his sister and whoever else may be aiding her in this scheme. I am so relieved for Mrs. Ingram’s sake, as I know she must fear for his safety. Our dear boy will not let anything bad happen to his brother, nor shall the colonel.”

“We should inform Mrs. Ingram as soon as possible to ease her distress.”

“According to this, Mr. Darcy sent her the same information, but I shall send her a note in any event. I shall tell her that I am also sending an express to Liverpool to inform Mr. Darcy of Mr. Ingram’s journey in that direction. The Master has given me an address to use while he is there—

Barnwell’s Boarding House. It is where he stays before he travels to Ireland. If you would call a footman, I shall have a note ready for Miss Georgiana shortly.”

As Mr. Walker left to find a footman, Mrs. Reynolds stilled, and her eyes searched the heavens. You have answered my prayers to keep my dear boy safe so many times, Lord, but I am asking once again. Only this time I need to ask more of You. May it please You to keep my Master William, Richard, Evan and Elizabeth safe. I know You will not fail me.

Wiping the tears that had gathered involuntarily, she took a deep breath and sat down to compose her notes, confident that all would be well now that it was in the Lord’s hands.

It was no time at all until a man was mounted and on his way to inform Georgiana of the situation. Unbeknownst to Mrs. Reynolds, Georgiana was reading her own copy of the express about that same time. Luckily, the housekeeper’s note reached Rosewood in time to keep Georgiana from sending a duplicate express to William in Liverpool.

On the road to Liverpool

Between Birmingham and Stafford

Several miles outside Birmingham, the rain began coming down in sheets while lightning flashed and thunder roared relentlessly. The howling wind blew against the coach with such force that it rocked from side to side as well as back and forth. More than once, William held his breath wondering if this time the coach would succumb to the wind. The roads were now dangerously slick, and Richard and Mr. Williamson exchanged worried glances. They had watched William clench and unclench his jaw for the last few miles as it became obvious that they had gone as far as they could. The next small establishment would have to suffice as there was no hope of reaching the more elegant inn in Stafford.

Not eager to suffer his cousin’s annoyance, Richard had held his tongue but was aware that he would have to act soon. Fortunately, William’s coachman, Mr. Burnside, took that judgment from his hands by pulling the coach off the road and into the yard of a small inn. He did so without hesitation, knowing the master would agree with him if he decided they were in danger.

William sighed audibly, and Richard responded in an attempt to soothe him, “Darce, you realise that we cannot chance one of the horses breaking a leg in this mud, especially since our next change of horses is in Stafford. If we continue in this deluge, we could all end up in a ditch.” William closed his eyes, shaking his head in agreement though he was too disappointed to reply.

“Stay in the coach, and I will enquire if they have rooms enough for us,” Richard commanded. Then he smiled and began to chuckle as a spray of water blew in the now opening door. “Pray we do not have to lodge in the stables, vicar!”

Several minutes later, the colonel ran back though the rain, his boots already thick with mud, sliding in the muck with each step. He almost fell several times before reaching them. Jumping back inside the coach, and shaking the water from his head, he cheerfully exclaimed, “The proprietor says he has one large room left which we may share. There is also room in the servants’ quarters over the stables for the driver and footmen. Best of all, there is food and drink aplenty!”

“Then let us get out of this deluge, have something to eat and get some rest,” William replied with more equanimity than he felt. “If we retire early, we may be able to make up lost time by rising even earlier than usual tomorrow.”

Mr. Williamson raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Richard’s slight smile. Both expected this to happen. “I think that a splendid plan,” the vicar offered while managing to squelch a smile of his own.

The night found them sleeping on folding beds in a backroom normally used as an extra dining room—the large table had been moved to one end after they had eaten and still held some bread and such. Though the lodgings were not perfect, each was content to be dry and warm, due to the large fireplaces at both ends of the room. It seemed that Richard and Mr. Williamson were very weary as they nodded off first and were already snoring.

William, as usual, could not sleep. The weather reminded him of the night he found Elizabeth at Netherfield and how, even now, she was afraid of storms. Was she out there somewhere in this storm needing his reassurance?

Thoughts of her brought back memories of time spent in Scotland and Ireland, trying not to love her, and his heart began to ache. Those two years had taught him the cruelty of being without the one you love—no arms to embrace you, no lips to kiss. He closed his eyes and the softness of Elizabeth’s lips, the scent and feel of her skin, the way she melted into his body came flooding into his senses, and for a few seconds, she was in his arms, her head under his chin; he could smell the lavender in her hair. Her delightful laughter had just filled the air when, all at once, a long sequence of thunder and lightning assaulted the inn, startling him from his trance. Disappointed that it was only a dream, he rose from the bed.

Walking to a window near the fire, he pulled back the curtain to watch nature’s fury playing out in the darkness. As another bolt lit up the porch outside, he saw her face reflected in the pane, just as he had at Netherfield. Dropping his head in his hands, he cried quietly. Will I ever find you Elizabeth? Can I live if I do not?

A hand patted his shoulder, startling him. “We will find her, I promise,” Richard said softly. “You need to lie down and rest, even if you cannot sleep.”