Page 24 of Gentlemen of Honor (Bennet Gang Duology #2)

Grey and Ghostly Shadows

Elizabeth waited until the household slumbered. All, that was, except for the patrolling pairs of footmen. As she had organized their deployment, evading them was little trouble.

And evade them she must, for she crept from her room dressed head to toe in men’s black garb, a mask over the top half of her face. Tonight, she was not Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of a country gentleman. She was Azile, because someone must find Thomas and bring him home. Not a one of Mary’s informants had been able to locate him. No one in Meryton, Dovemark, Longbourn, or Netherfield Park had seen hide nor hair of their brother.

Elizabeth slipped through the house, a shadow amongst other shadows, and sped along the garden path. Once inside the stable, she struck light to a small, shielded lantern. Tuck nickered softly in greeting and Mr. Darcy’s mount looked over with interest, but his teams and Mare Marian elected to ignore her intrusion on their rest.

She saddled Tuck, not troubling to chalk his nose for no one would see him this night, and led him into the cavern. She dared not leave from the stable. The Boney Bandits must never be tied back to Dovemark.

She belted on her rapier, and secreted several knives about her person, then crossed to the cavern’s final secret. The one she hadn’t shown her younger siblings, even though Thomas would own Dovemark someday. Grasping two of the hooks from which padded jerkins hung, she twisted. With a click, the compartment where they stored their pistols and Jane’s rifles opened.

But the sound that caught her attention was the swish of the secret door to the stable opening. Grabbing up her pistol, she whirled. In the center of the cavern, Tuck whickered in greeting.

Mr. Darcy, his tall form recognizable even in the murky light cast by her shielded lantern, stood framed in the doorway .

He stepped in, revealing that he had not stopped to don even a coat, let alone outerwear, his white lawn shirt in stark contrast to his sapphire waistcoat, and open at the throat, for he wore no cravat. “What are you doing?”

She blinked, battling against the heat that threatened to scorch through her cheeks at his state of undress. “I am going to have a word with Lord Franklin. He will hand over the antidote, and tell me where to find Thomas.”

His gaze dropped to the pistol she still pointed at him, then rose to meet hers once more. “When we agreed on a courtship, you said you were done with this.”

“I said there was no more need for the Boney Bandits, and there was not, then.” She lowered the gun, which was not loaded. Nor would it be. She might threaten Lord Franklin with it, but she had no intention of shooting anyone, even him. Besides which, guns were loud and imprecise, at least in her hands. She would accomplish her goal with more ease and subtlety if she carved the information from him.

Not that she wanted to, despite her loathing for the man. The Boney Bandits never actually harmed anyone. Papa Arthur had taught them so that they could defend themselves, and out of his love for all things martial. For the sheer joy of an active body and mind.

Not so that she could gut Lord Franklin like a fish, no matter how badly he deserved it.

Except that Jane had hurt Mr. Wickham. She’d wounded him when she shot the pistols from his hands, and she had not hesitated to do so because Mr. Wickham had been intent on killing Mr. Bingley. Nor would Elizabeth hesitate if it came to a choice between harming Lord Franklin and saving her brothers’ lives.

Mr. Darcy crossed the cavern to her, his gaze leaving hers to take in the array of firearms. He gestured to the weapons. “Will this always be your way, then? Whenever we face an obstacle, will you return to this?”

The strain in his voice cracked her heart but she raised her chin. “When the life of someone I love is in danger and the law offers no recourse, then yes, I will.”

He shook his head, shadows dancing over his features. “I cannot live like that. I cannot sanction this flagrant disregard for the laws and mores of a civilized Britain.”

The crack in her heart widened. “Tell me how to fix this, then? Tell me how to rid us of the threat that is the Hargreaves? Matthew grows weaker every day, his life hinging on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s speed if we cannot force Lord Franklin to provide the antidote. Now Thomas has been lured somewhere, and suffers who knows what fate, and you return from Netherfield Park with the news that you, Robert, and Mr. Bingley cannot even manage to confront the man responsible, let alone offer my brothers any assistance.”

He flinched, but the hard lines of his face didn’t ease as he said, “There is only one legal recourse open to us and I have taken it. I wrote to the earl.”

“You what?” Anger blazed through her. “First Miss Bingley summons the Hargreaves down on us and now, without seeking our blessing and well knowing our opinion, you summon the monster from whom Papa Arthur hid the entirety of his life?”

“It is the only legal recourse open to us.”

She shook her head, too angry to find words, and turned to snap closed the secret compartment of guns. Scooping up the lantern, she stepped around Mr. Darcy, going to Tuck.

“Where are you going?” he asked, an edge of desperation to his voice. “I told you, I have summoned the earl. He will take matters in hand.”

“And how soon will that be?” She whirled back to glare at him. “And if the earl were capable of curtailing the Hargreaves, how is it that his two older sons ended up dead?” She shook her head in disgust. How like Mr. Darcy to put his faith in a title, rather than in her capabilities. She took up Tuck’s reins, ready to lead him into the tunnel that came out at the base of Oakham Mount.

“Please,” Mr. Darcy blurted, striding forward to block her way. “Elizabeth, please, do not do this. Do you not comprehend the danger you will be in? If anything were to happen to you, I…” He trailed off, his features a mask of pain.

“You what?” she asked crisply. “What will happen to you if a woman you can scarcely deign to court suffers?”

He stared at her.

The fissure in her heart grew, pain welling up to wash away her anger. The lantern in one hand and Tuck’s reins in the other, she turned and walked away. Mr. Darcy did not call out, nor follow her into the tunnel. He remained behind in the darkness of the cavern.

Once free of the tunnel, Elizabeth mounted but kept Tuck to a walk, the night rendered extremely dark by low clouds. She chose their route to Netherfield Park with care, both to avoid being seen and to save her horse from a misstep. She hoped not to need his speed or strength. She’d brought him only in case she required a hasty retreat, but were she adept enough, that wouldn’t prove necessary.

In the last of the trees nearest the house, she dismounted and secured Tuck to a low limb, using a knot he could pull free if he so chose. She trusted him only to do so if she called, or if dawn found him still there and not in his stable.

Slinking from one deep shadow to another, most created by decorative trees, Elizabeth made her way closer to the house. She’d nearly reached one of the back doors that would be mostly employed by servants when it swung open and Lord Franklin stepped out.

She stilled, even her heart seeming hardly to beat. A footman in Hargreaves’ livery followed him out, a lantern in one hand and a bundle of some sort in the other. Slowly, Elizabeth dipped into a crouch, then peered through the leafless branches of the carefully trimmed bush behind which she sheltered.

The two started for the stable. Keeping low to the ground, she followed. Ahead, she could see her line of bushes would run out as the walk spilled into the stable yard.

She could subdue the footman easily enough. Lord Franklin would be too taken off guard to act. She should do so now, before they entered the stable. A groom or two likely slept within. This was not Dovemark, after all, where the mistress of the house refused to hire proper staff for the stable.

“Franklin,” a voice hissed, cutting through the darkness.

Elizabeth contained a start, chagrined that she’d been too focused on Lord Franklin to note the footfalls coming up the path. A moment later, Nathan Hargreaves hurried past.

“Franklin,” he called again.

Lord Franklin and his accompanying footman turned.

“Nathan,” his lordship drawled. “Is it not well past the time at which you generally hide away in your bed and dream of when your nanny used to sing you to sleep?”

Nathan marched up to his brother and snatched the footman’s bundle from him. A sack, Elizabeth realized as Nathan pulled it open. He peered inside, then looked up at his brother. “Food? Then you do have Thomas Oakwood.”

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered. Lord Franklin was on his way to where he had Thomas.

Lord Franklin put an arm around the shoulder of the footman, who flinched. “Perhaps we are on our way to a picnic.”

“Thomas is but thirteen,” Nathan gritted out. “And Matthew only eleven. They are mere lads. They are no threat to you.”

“No, they are not.” Lord Franklin plucked the sack from his brother’s hands and shoved it at the footman. “And I mean to ensure they never become threats.”

“They have shown no interest in their grandfather’s title.”

“Nor will they, once they are taken care of.”

Nathan shook his head. “Have you no decency?”

“If I do, your attempts to appeal to it are pathetic.”

Nathan’s fists clenched.

Lord Franklin grinned at him, smug and amused. “Was there anything more, Nat? If not, why do you not buzz away.” He flapped a hand in a shooing gesture.

Nathan’s shoulders drooped. He dropped his gaze. “If you will not see reason, at least let me help you. I can take the boy his food.”

Elizabeth cared little which of them took Thomas his food. She could follow one as easily as the other.

The chuckle that left Lord Franklin’s mouth was hard and edged with cruelty. “Go back to your room and work on your skill as an actor, Nat.”

“I mean it.” Nathan raised his gaze but his entire posture slumped. “I will go wherever it is you have him and give him the sack. You know I am always happy to help you and Isabella, in exchange for being permitted to live free of your torment.”

“Happy to help us, are you?” Lord Franklin leaned closer to his brother. “Or are you smitten with a certain blonde Bennet girl, and hoping to impress her by saving her brother?”

Nathan dropped his gaze.

“Go back inside, Nat.” Lord Franklin turned away.

“At least permit me to accompany you for safety,” Nathan blurted as his brother resumed walking to the stable. “There are bandits out—”

“Bandits?” Lord Franklin scoffed, not looking back. “If they had any spines at all, they would have come after me when I convinced the whole village that they attacked Matthew Oakwood. I am not afraid of any bandits.”

Nathan stared after him, his fists clenched and his teeth gritted, all traces of submissiveness gone from his frame. Elizabeth watched the battle waging in him, silently urging him to give up. She needed him gone so that she could follow Lord Franklin. She didn’t dare move from where she hid with Nathan standing so near, no matter how much he admired Lydia.

“On second thought.”

She looked to see that Lord Franklin had turned back .

He took the lantern and sack from his footman. “Escort my brother inside. He possesses a revolting streak of nobility. I do not wish it to cause him trouble.”

The footman, almost a head taller than the slim young man before her, nodded and returned back up the path. He took a scowling Nathan by the arm and dragged him back in the direction of the house. Lord Franklin pivoted and continued on his way.

The moment he disappeared into the stable, Nathan and the footman nearly to the house, Elizabeth spun and made her way quickly back to Tuck. Mounting, she urged him in an arc around the low structure that housed Netherfield Park’s equine population. She needed to be where she could see which way Lord Franklin went, and yet not be noticed.

He rode out not long after, atop a showy, high-stepping stallion. Elizabeth followed, keeping as far back as she dared, aided by her familiarity with the roadways and trails. Unless he turned off into a field, which would not hide him from her, or a dense copse with no trails, in which case he would be slow and noisy, he could not take a turn she didn’t know.

They followed an old farm track past fields turned over for winter, then turned onto a brush-choked trail no one used. Elizabeth searched her memories of the area. There was but one shelter ahead. An abandoned tenant’s farm. One no one wanted to take, deeming it ill luck. She couldn’t remember what had happened to the rest of the family, but the farmer who once lived there had died in Elizabeth’s youth. She recalled no one being surprised that he’d met his end. Once, she and Mary had heard two of the maids whispering about him…drinking himself to death…

Her gut tightened. An old farmer, alone, on Netherfield Park’s land, who’d drank himself to death some years ago. They were going to the farm of the man who’d shot Papa Arthur. That was where Thomas was being held.

Lord Franklin likely didn’t know the tale. He undoubtedly had no idea of the dire twist of fate he’d crafted by holding Thomas prisoner there. Or, if he somehow did, the idea undoubtedly delighted him.

Certain now where he was going, for no more turns left the overgrown path he’d taken, Elizabeth hung back even farther. When she reached a particularly dense copse, she dismounted, wending her way into the darkness with Tuck, to hide him.

He gave a soft nicker. Elizabeth cast him a startled look. Tuck knew better than to make noise when they were sneaking.

Something shifted in front of them, in the deeper shadows of the copse. She went still, except for the hand she dropped to her sword hilt. Perhaps she should have loaded the pistol after all. Unloaded, it did no good in such darkness. She couldn’t very well threaten someone with a gun they could not see.

A second whicker sounded, as soft as Tuck’s but touched with fear, coming from the darkness ahead.

Robin.

Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed to a more natural angle as she started forward once more. Thomas must have picked this same copse. He’d come here, tied Robin to a tree, and gone the remainder of the way on foot. Like as not, he’d first crept to the edge of the trees to spy on the ruined farm, much as she meant to.

Somewhere ahead, the sound dulled by distance, a knock pounded out, the rhythm odd. After a moment, it sounded again.

Quickly, Elizabeth secured Tuck using the same sort of knot she had before, then retied Robin as well, patting him and murmuring reassurance. Tuck nuzzled Robin’s shoulder. Robin released a relieved huff.

“You two remain here while I go take a look,” Elizabeth whispered. “And if I’m not back by dawn, go home to Dovemark.”

Tuck shook his head, though whether because he had an itch or he understood her command, Elizabeth had no idea.

Nor did she have time to contemplate which. She needed to find Lord Franklin, and Thomas. With care not to make undue noise, she set off through the trees.

She reached the edge of the lower brush around the cottage to the sight of warm candlelight glowing behind bubbled panes so old they were noticeably thicker and more distorted at the bottom, and offered little more clarity than silhouettes of those within. Restraining the impulse to charge the stout wooden door, she crouched down among the brush at the edge of the trees to observe.

A moment later, two men came around the cottage, one from each side. They nodded as they passed one another and kept circling. Elizabeth counted as they came around again. The cottage wasn’t overly large, and their circuit around it didn’t take long. As she counted a second time, a shadow passed between the source of light and the window within. A short time later, a more slender one did, then what she suspected was a third. The slender one might be Lord Franklin, which meant at least two men within and two without. Were she in charge, she would have as many men asleep as awake, so they were always alert, bringing the total to eight.

She couldn’t be certain from where she crouched, but she didn’t believe either of the two outside were familiar. He’d brought them in from somewhere, which made it unlikely that reasoning with them would work. She skirted the cottage with care, finding a second entrance, probably into the larder, at the back, and another window where light shone out, this time in slivers through closed shutters.

She returned to the front, lips pressed into a hard line as she evaluated the challenge before her. The two outside were too often within sight of one another. It would be nearly impossible for her to subdue one without the other raising an alarm. On top of that, if two men were awake within, at this hour, she had every reason to suspect that four more did, indeed, slumber, ready to take their places. She was skilled, but eight armed men?

The front door opened and Lord Franklin stepped out, his voice spilling into the night. “…one not accompanied by me comes to this door, slit the boy’s throat. I will bring more food tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord.”

With a crisp nod, he turned and trotted down the rickety porch steps, going to where he’d tied his horse.

Anger and fear pulsing through her, Elizabeth clenched her hands, fighting against the need to confront him. At least four, but likely eight, men, and Lord Franklin. She could not win that fight. Every muscle so tense she could hardly breath, she held her hatred for Lord Franklin in check as he rode away down the path. A large, unfamiliar man stood framed in the cottage doorway.

Once Lord Franklin was out of sight, the man closed the door, cutting off the rectangle of light. She’d hardly been able to see around him, and hadn’t glimpsed Thomas inside. More than likely, he was in the shuttered room.

Elizabeth sat back on her heels, still contemplating the cottage, but could see no way around her first conclusion. She could not prevail against eight armed men. Not alone. She had to leave, and to take Robin home, but she would return. And vows to their future husbands or not, she knew precisely who she could prevail upon to fight alongside her.