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“Jane says it was right after Lizzy turned down the count a second time that she disappeared.”

At this, William stopped pacing. “Disappeared?”

“Yes. Lizzy just disappeared, and suddenly Mrs. Bennet was rich, five thousand pounds richer, if her bragging is to be believed. She even began shopping for a house. Knowing all of this, Jane was almost hysterical... fearful of what might have happened to her sister.”

Charles shuddered in remembrance. “Her mother was totally unconcerned for Lizzy. It was only after Jane threatened to go in search of her, that Mrs. Bennet admitted she had given her permission for the count to marry her. She claims Lizzy consented, and they left immediately for Gretna Green. Jane says it is impossible for Lizzy to have consented, as she loathed him.”

William scowled and his face became even more sombre at the revelation that Elizabeth had been taken away against her will. It was not lost on Charles.

“I promised Jane I would do everything in my power to locate Lizzy. Right after we married, I hired a retired investigator from the Bow Street Runners, but he could find no trace of either of them. If the count was still in England, he was not in London. I had my investigator look throughout the surrounding counties, but I simply did not know where else to begin searching.” He shook his head as if remembering. Then Charles’ face hardened, and he barely resembled the amiable man William knew.

“We had just about given up, when it happened.”

William’s voice was rough with emotion. “What?”

“A man appeared at our door, carrying a letter for Jane. It happened that his aunt had worked as a housekeeper for the count.” William tried to brace himself as Charles turned away, not willing to look William in the eyes, while he lied to protect his sister.

“She informed us that Lizzy had been living near Sheffield, at an estate owned by Count Stefano—Northgate, it is called. There was some type of altercation, Lizzy was harmed and the mansion set afire. Lizzy died either from her injuries or the fire.”

William groaned and sank down onto a sofa, head in hands. “Oh, God!”

Charles moved to him, squeezing his shoulder as William continued to cradle his head in his hands, shaking visibly.

“We retrieved the body and buried Lizzy here in the churchyard, next to her father.” William barely nodded, still hiding his face in his hands.

“I... I will leave you to your grief.” Charles walked over to the door and looked back to see him in the same position.

Time will reveal the truth of the situation. Did Darcy love Lizzy? Does he still? Not sure he was doing the right thing, Charles left William alone.

That night William finished the rest of the bottle of brandy and finally fell into a fitful sleep, lying on the sofa. Nightmares of Lizzy raced through his troubled mind, and he awoke frequently with tears in his eyes. Finding himself wide awake just before dawn, he struggled to his room to change clothes. He had to see her grave, or he would never accept she was gone.

Thus, the first rays of daylight found him walking through the mist hovering near the ground as he made his way to the stables.

~~~*~~~

John Williamson resided in a cottage behind the Meryton church he had served as vicar for forty years before his retirement. The present vicar, Mr. Clary, had a large family and needed a bigger house, so he lived in town. Mr. Williamson, in addition to filling in for Mr. Clary when the need arose, kept watch over the building and grounds in exchange for being allowed to stay in the smaller house. He dearly loved living near the church where he preached his first sermon and where his dear wife, sister and parents rested in the cemetery beyond.

As was his habit, he rose before dawn to go into the church to pray. He found he was disturbed in his morning prayers less often at that hour, since so many of his parishioners still stopped by the cottage to talk with him if they had a need or were just in the neighbourhood. Mr. Clary was not jealous of his relationship with the parishioners, and frankly, was glad for his assistance. With the growing number of people in the parish, his help was gratefully accepted.

On this particular morning, the sky was still quite dark. Streaks of orange, red and purple were just beginning to appear on the horizon, and Mr. Williamson shivered a little in the chilly air. As happened every morning, the mist rose like a fog from the ground, hiding his shoes as he came down his front steps. Swiftly making his way around to the front of the chapel, he could barely discern the outline of a horse tethered to a tree on the opposite side, near the cemetery. Unused to anyone being about at this hour, he walked toward the animal, hoping to find the rider. As he drew nearer, he heard an anguished cry coming from somewhere in the cemetery. It sounded so distraught that he wondered if he could be of help and thus moved in that direction.

Daylight now began to illuminate the headstones, and he carefully picked his way back to the corner where someone knelt near one of the newer graves. Just recently a stone had been set, engraved with a name that he knew well.

Ah, he is visiting Lizzybet! Immediately the image of a dark-haired imp with laughing eyes made his eyes glisten with tears. How well I remember you, my sweet girl.

In his grief, the young man did not hear Mr. Williamson approach, so the old vicar stopped to observe, trying to determine when or if to intervene.

Suddenly the younger man cried out, “Oh Elizabeth! Why could you not have accepted me? I would never have let anyone harm you!”

Then he lowered his head into his hands, crying, and new tears appeared in the old vicar’s eyes as well.

He ventured softy, “She was my favourite, too.”

William jerked his head around at the sound. A tall, lanky, white-haired man with kindly brown eyes stood behind him. Turning back around swiftly, he began wiping his eyes self-consciously.

“Do not mind me, son. Cry all you want—she is worthy of your tears. I have cried for months, ever since I was notified of her death. Lizzybet was a great pal of mine.”

William got to his feet, brushed the dirt from his knees and turned to face the man. His voice was barely audible. “Lizzybet?”