Page 12 of Losing Lizzy
C hapter Twelve
“ Mr. Darcy,” his coachman pleaded. “This is a dangerous endeavor. I must advise you against entering the well.”
Darcy continued to release the buttons on his waistcoat. His greatcoat, dress coat, and hat rested upon the ground near where his carriage sat ready. “I did not realize the well had collapsed further,” he admitted. “I know my efforts are likely futile, but I cannot walk away until I attempt to discover for certain whether my daughter is lying at the bottom. Even if she has not survived this abuse exacted against her, Elizabeth Anne should look down from heaven and know her father loved her enough to enact the impossible in her name.”
Both his coachman and footman nodded sharply, tears evident in their eyes. “We will support you, sir.” Jasper said. “Do what you must. We will not abandon you.”
Mr. Farrin backed the coach close to where the Queenborough Castle well once stood. Traces of the bricks and the hole were all any of them could see: A gaping hole—one reportedly more than a hundred feet deep.
Darcy tied the rope about his waist as Jasper placed a three-inch wide tree limb through the back wheels of the carriage to keep it from rolling. They had tied the other end of the rope to the carriage’s chassis. Mr. Farrin stood at the head, holding the horses in place, prepared to pull Darcy out if he encountered difficulties.
“We only have fifty feet of rope, sir. Not enough to reach the bottom,” Jasper cautioned.
“I understand.” If Elizabeth Anne was alive at the bottom of the well, Darcy would purchase every length of rope in Kent in order to reach her, and if she died at the hands of Townsend, he would pay to have an expert climber retrieve his child’s body, see her buried properly, and, then, personally hunt down Townsend and exact his own revenge. Upon The Lost Sparrow , Darcy had learned several unique methods of torture, and he would see each performed on Townsend before the man died. “Perhaps there is enough to learn the truth. That is all I ask.”
He tied a lantern to the rope about his waist before moving to the edge of the opening to kneel down and yell into the black opening. “Elizabeth Anne, if you hear me, darling, please answer me. I know you are frightened, but I am here to see you returned to your mother’s arms. Please answer me.”
He listened with his whole self, but there was not even a whimper. Disheartened, Darcy swallowed his sorrow and turned where he could drop himself into the abyss. Inching downward, the rope sliding through his hand burned, but the pain was familiar, one he had experienced often in his years aboard The Lost Sparrow . Odd how those years of drudgery and bottomless hopes allowed him the confidence to search for his daughter.
“A little more,” he called as he permitted himself to slide into the darkness, the air in the well colder than he had expected. He shivered, but rather his reaction came from the cold or from the dread of the unknown, he could not say.
“Only ten more feet of rope, sir,” Jasper called from above, and Darcy slowed his descent. Releasing the lantern, with trembling fingers he finally managed to light the candle within and then close the latch. The lantern offered only a weak flicker of light, barely cutting through the thick blackness of the expanse below him. “Elizabeth Anne,” he called his voice bouncing off what remained of the walls. “Fine eyes!” Yet, there was no response .
He lifted the light away from his body, calling out. “Look up, sweetheart. Do you see the light? Call out if you do!” He listened with all his heart, but there was nothing. “Fine eyes!” he called once again on a watery plea. The silence that followed nearly had him releasing the knot in the rope about his waist and permitting his earthly body to join what he imagined to be the broken body of his child at the bottom of the pit. “I wish I knew for certain,” he whispered. “I wish I knew if you are below, my child. Dear God, am I to know more hardship? How might I support Elizabeth when I feel as if all I wish to do is to abandon this world?”
He bowed his head then and wept. His heart breaking. At length, he murmured a passage he recalled from the book of Revelatio n , “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” He sighed heavily and waited for God’s answer.
* * *
“There!” Elizabeth pointed as Mr. Sheffield’s carriage bounced through yet another rut in the road. Mr. Jacobsen had permitted the horses their heads.
Mr. Sheffield held onto the strap to keep himself upright, pounding on the roof to signal for Jacobsen to stop.
The messenger had indeed been sent from Mr. Darcy, stating the gentleman had learned that Townsend meant to take Lizzy to the Queenborough Castle’s abandoned well. “ What Townsend plans to do at that point, I cannot sa y ,” read his message.
It was then that they—she and Sheffield—had set off on a mad dash across Kent. “Fitzwilliam will go to great lengths to learn if Lizzy has been placed in the well when Mr. Collins says otherwise. I cannot lose him, Albert,” she had said, at least, a dozen times over their thirty miles’ journey.
At length, the carriage slowed and the spectacle before them had unfolded. Albert beat her to the door this time, crawling down awkwardly, before turning to lift her from the opening. As quickly as her feet hit the ground, she was calling his name. “ Fitzwilliam! Dear God, Fitzwilliam! She is not in the well! Do you hear me, William? Lizzy is not in the well!”
* * *
Darcy’s tears flowed easily, and his body shook from the despair filling every part of him. Reluctantly, he blew out the candle and resigned himself to the barren existence awaiting him. He reattached the lantern to his person and prepared himself to be pulled to the surface when he heard what he thought was Elizabeth calling his name. Had she found their child at Rosings? He lifted himself up to climb up the rope if necessary.
She was nearer now. “She is not in the well. Do you hear me, William? Lizzy is not in the well!”
Hope bloomed in his heart again. “Thank you, God,” he whispered before he called to those at the surface. “Pull me up!” He could feel the slight tug on the rope as Jasper steadied the rope attached to the brace under his carriage.
“Pull him out!” Elizabeth’s frantic pleas filled the air above his head. “Mr. Sheffield,” she ordered, “assist me with the rope while Jasper removes the limb blocking the wheels!”
Although Darcy doubted her and Sheffield’s combined strength was strong enough to pull him out without the assistance of his coach and his servants, the fact Elizabeth Bennet would risk her life to save him healed another fissure of his bruised existence.
“William?” she called in a strained voice.
“I am here,” he answered, as the rope began to move upward. He leaned back so he might “walk” up the remaining wall of the well rather than to be slammed into the bricks.
“William?” Her worry-filled face showed over the edge of the open well. “Please practice care.”
Each of her gestures of affection provided him the strength to carry on, which had been foolishly lacking but a few moments earlier. Finally, Jasper reached into the well and, quite literally, jerked Darcy to the surface.
“Thank you, Jasper,” he grunted as he elbowed his way up and over the well’s roughly defined opening. With what felt like a lifetime, and perhaps it was, he was flat on the ground upon his stomach, and Elizabeth was draped over him, whispering his name, her tears sliding down his neck.
As quickly as he could free himself from the rope about his waist, he rolled over to capture her to him. Lying on his back in the grass upon a cold damp ground with the woman he dearly loved draped across him was a moment he had dreamed of many times—naturally, without the audience and the cold, but a dream fulfilled, nevertheless. However, this idyllic memory would only be complete if their child was near. “Did you recover Elizabeth Anne at Rosings?”
His words must have reminded her of their dilemma, for she stiffened and sat up. “We did not reach Rosings.”
He sat also. “Did my message turn you around before you confronted Lady Catherine? When I heard your call, I thought you had news of Elizabeth Anne. In fact, I had hoped she was with you.”
Sheffield reached a hand down to Elizabeth and then one to him as the man explained, “Elizabeth encountered her cousin before we made it to the great house.” Sheffield smiled easily. “Knocked Mr. Collins to the ground and kicked him a few times before I could reach her.” He winked at Darcy. “You must remember, sir, never to rile the lady.”
“So noted,” Darcy said with a caress of her cheek. “Now, tell me, love, what did you learn from the estimable Mr. Collins?”
She glanced to the sky and frowned. “It is a long story, and we do not have much time. It will be dark soon. In short, Collins says Townsend, who is supposedly employed by your aunt, was instructed to capture Lizzy and to leave her unattended upon one of the islands at the mouth of the Medway Estuary.”
“My dearest Lord,” he groaned. “Will this never end?” He turned to his servants. “We must be to Queenborough Harbor immediately.” To Sheffield, he said, “Once your horses have cooled, please follow. For now, Elizabeth is coming with me. I want to know what happened at Hunsford Cottage before we reach the coast. We are headed into a smuggler’s den on Burntwick Island, and I require information before I must negotiate with men who have defied more than one government excise man. The smugglers are said to have no regard for the law and my presence on the island will not be welcomed.”
* * *
“You understand, sir,” the man said for the third time since he had agreed to let Darcy the small dinghy, “the men on Burntwick will not take well to a stranger among their mix.” The boat was likely one left behind or stolen from a larger vessel, but it was the only one available.
“I understand,” Darcy assured, handing the man the coins upon which they had agreed. If your dinghy is lost in the approaching storm or destroyed in retaliation by those on Burntwick, Mr. Sheffield, here, will see you have a replacement.” He reached for Elizabeth’s hand. Although, Darcy remained hesitant about taking Elizabeth with him, he did not press the issue. He knew it would be fruitless to attempt to convince her not to travel with him to the island. Whether bonds of marriage had been pronounced or not, they were committed to each other: They had been a couple even long before she had finally accepted his proposal. In fact, he suspected some day, in the future, mayhap even long after they were gone, their love story would be the one by which all others would be judged. “Are you prepared, my dear?”
“I am prepared to know the return of my daughter,” she announced as she stepped carefully into the dinghy. If the high tide had not already arrived, their journey would have been easier. Burntwick was a flat, raised marshland barely a mile long and less than a mile wide that at one time was part of the parish of Upchurch and attached to Kent’s mainland. There was a narrow channel, called Stangate Creek, that separated the island from the Chetney Marshes. One of their fears for the child was if Lizzy was alone on the island, she might wander into an area that would become cut off by the high water and would not know what to do. Unfortunately for them, at high tide the island was separated into several smaller islands by the water .
Over the last twenty years, at various times, the island had been used by the government for a quarantine base for ships sporting some sort of onboard infection before the ship was permitted to enter the Thames, preventing the infection to reach London. The Capital had seen enough of plagues and contagions over the centuries. More importantly, of late, the North Kent Gang, a notorious group of smugglers, would not be happy for outsiders to appear suddenly upon ‘their’ island.
Darcy shoved off and deftly stepped into the boat, quickly settling himself on the seat and taking up the oars.
“Do you think Mr. Townsend is one of the smugglers?” she asked.
“My encounter with Townsend was brief, but from what all I have learned of the man, I doubt it. Those on the island are smugglers, but most who form such a gang are men just eking out a living. The custom duties on tea and spirits and a variety of other goods affects all Englishmen, but not equally. From what I observed of the home Townsend’s mother resides in, he does not share what money my aunt provided him with the lady. She lives in impoverishment. I am assuming he has been in Brighton for some time?”
“A few months,” she confided.
“Even staying at the boarding house, food, drink, and his passing his time at The Dingy Ros e must have cost Lady Catherine a fair sum,” he observed.
After that, they remained silent for the remainder of their short journey, each lost in his or her own thoughts. “Allow me to go first,” he said as he directed the dingy onto the marshy beach. “My boots are more appropriate for the damp ground.” He nimbly stepped out of the boat and tugged it up onto the beach. When she stood, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the drier area.
“The blanket,” she said looking back to the boat.
“I will fetch it,” he assured as he set her on her feet. Despite the trials remaining before them, he smiled upon her. “I find I am quite satisfied to follow your orders. ”
She glanced upward, “We must hurry. We are racing against both dusk and what appears to be another storm rolling in.”
However, before he had the opportunity to respond, the sound of two clicks of guns coming close together said they had company upon their right and their left. “This be not the place for a lovers’ tryst,” a voice announced.
Darcy slowly raised his hands. “We have no tryst planned. We have been told a man who has stolen our three-year-old daughter away has abandoned her on this island. All we wish is an opportunity to search for her.”
“There be no child on the island.” The man gestured toward the dinghy. “I suggest you return to the mainland while you may.”
Uncharacteristically, Elizabeth buried her face in her hands, rather than to argue with the man. “Please, sir,” she wailed with a well-placed sniffle, and Darcy realized the sham she practiced. He worked hard to hide the surprise at her display of emotions. “We have trailed the man from Brighton, across Sussex—” Another sniffle followed by a hiccup. “From Tunbridge Wells to Rochester and now here. We cannot simply leave without knowing for certain!” She turned and buried her face in his shirt. Darcy held her close—close enough to know there were no damp tears upon his shirt, even though her shoulders heaved and shuddered in apparent distress.
“Why would someone steal away your child? You be someone important?”
Darcy shook his head in the negative. “I am no titled gentleman, but I am willing to pay for your assistance in the search for my child or for any information you may have on a man called ‘Sidney Townsend.’”
“Townsend? He involved?” The man frowned in obvious disapproval.
Darcy nodded, as he gently stroked Elizabeth’s back, keeping her close in case the situation turned sour.
“Yes, Townsend from near Tunbridge Wells. Supposedly a groom at Rosings Park near Rochester.” He would not mention that Rosings Park was owned by his aunt.
The man’s eyebrow shot upward. “Townsend, a groom? That scoundrel can barely sit a horse. If’n the owner of Rosings Park be such a fool as to hire a man with no skills, mayhap I shud seek employment there.”
Darcy asked, “May I employ you long enough to search the island? The cloud bank indicates a storm approaches, and it is becoming dark. Once we lose the light, our hopes of finding the child fade.”
The man motioned to his partner. “We each search this island every evening.” He likely meant they made certain others did not come for the stash of goods they had hidden somewhere upon the strip of land. “No one has sent up an alarm of discovering an excise man or a child.” The fellow’s eyebrow rose in challenge, meaning he would not permit Darcy to wander about the place.
It was Darcy’s turn to frown. “We were specifically told by someone involved in this caper that Townsend had been ordered to abandon our child upon an uninhabited island in the Medway Estuary.”
The man looked off to the east. “If I didn’t want someone found ‘till it be too late to change the outcome, I’d choose Deadman’s Island, not Burntwick. No one alive goes there unless he be burying the remains of someone who died upon a diseased ship.”
Darcy’s heart plummeted. “For that very reason, I never considered Deadman’s Island.” His voice broke when he belatedly realized his aunt would be cruel enough to order his child placed in such an environment. If Lady Catherine paid to have him pressed upon a pirate ship, she would not consider his illegitimate child worthy of being spared.
He felt Elizabeth clutch his lapels in distress. “Fitzwilliam,” she pleaded.
He looked to the man, a total stranger, but one he had the uncanny suspicion was more than a smuggler—he was an honest man. “May I trust you to see my wife returned to the mainland where her uncle awaits us. I cannot chance having her infected on that island.” He knew the likelihood of any disease remaining from the bodies was next to nil, but Darcy did not want her on such a place. It was bad enough his daughter could be hiding somewhere on an island named “Deadman’s.”
She pounded his chest in a fit of rage. “You cannot think to leave me behind,” Elizabeth protested. “You cannot ... I cannot ... please.”
He knew she would not change her mind easily, but he had made his decision, nonetheless. “Listen to me, Elizabeth.” He gave her shoulders a solid shake to force her to respond. “It is nearly two miles to Deadman’s Island, and a storm approaches. It will be upon me before I can reach the island. I require you to return to Sheffield’s side. If I do not reach Elizabeth Anne, then you and Sheffield must take up the task. Our daughter should not lose both her parents in an act of madness. Through no fault of her own, our child lost her father once already. She does not really know me, and my loss would be sad, yet, not memorable. However, she would be broken to lose her mother. Elizabeth Anne requires you to be strong, and so do I. Tell me you understand.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I understand,” she said through trembling lips. “But how will I know if you have her?”
He was desperate to be gone and said the first thing to come to his mind, no matter how preposterous it was. “After the storm passes, I will light the lantern and place it on the highest point on the island as a signal we are together. If she is there, I will carry her to your waiting arms in the morning.”
“Where should I go to watch for the light?” She followed him toward the dinghy.
He doubted anyone would see a candle burning from so far, but he said, “Queenborough is less than a mile removed. Choose somewhere along Shepherd’s Creek. Just know if I am not successful, you and Sheffield must seek out our daughter with the dawn.”
“You will be successful,” she declared as she rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him briefly .
When she wrapped her arms about his waist for a final embrace, he spoke to the men who trailed behind them. “I ask again. Do you give me your word to see my wife safely returned to her uncle?”
“Aye, sir,” the man declared firmly. “We’ll see it done properly. Before the storm.”
Darcy set Elizabeth to the side to reach for one of his cards. “If you discover Townsend, deliver him to this address in the Capital. Either my cousin, who is in residence there, or I will see you paid handsomely. Just be forewarned my cousin is a retired colonel of the army.”
The man pocketed the card and presented Darcy a toothy grin. “If’n we discover Townsend, we’ll wait fer yer return befoe we deliver the ne’er-do-well.” He motioned to Elizabeth. “We should be gone before the storm, ma’am. Follow me.”
Darcy watched her leave with the man, belatedly realizing he did not ask either man for his name. He risked much by not taking her with him. He risked more, however, if he were to be so foolish. Dragging the dinghy back toward the water, he, again, climbed in and took up the oars. He had never visited Deadman’s Island. Few had. Like Burntwick, he knew Deadman’s Island was crisscrossed by narrow tidal channels, which meant it was currently separated into several smaller islands because of the high tide. Some channels could be crossed by simply trudging through the standing water. Others were swiftly running streams. The island, itself, was marshy and covered by mudbanks. At one time, prison hulks moored there. Those who died were left upon the island to decompose in shallow graves.
“Please, God,” he prayed as he turned the rowboat toward where he hoped to know an end to this nightmare. “I keep turning to you, God, and, in your infinite wisdom, you keep sending me messages. This time I ask that you extend your hand over my child. Protect her until her earthly father can do his duty to her and her mother.”
As quickly as he left the shallow creek for the open water, the wind whipped up, and within minutes the first bands of rain arrived. “Under these conditions, this could take me more than an hour,” he groaned as he fought to keep the dinghy upright. “Yet, I shall not stop until I am either at the bottom of the sea or I find Elizabeth Anne. Neither her mother nor I can live without the child.”