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Page 25 of Mission to Meryton (Pride and Prejudice Variation #25)

Darcy was glad that he had worn dark clothing tonight.

The moon still shone brilliantly in the night sky, and while Luna’s glorious rays had been useful as they pursued Pratt, now Darcy felt quite exposed.

Ahead of him, Wickham seemed more a shadow than a man, slipping with noiseless steps from tree to tree before dashing across to a window in the side of the barn.

Darcy followed him, cringing when his foot impacted with a small stone, but they made it safely to the side of the barn without exciting any attention from those within.

Wickham lifted his head to peer cautiously inside, and relaxed marginally at the sight in front of him.

There were only three men within, and all were turned away from the window to inspect the tulips in the light of lanterns which hung from nails in the walls.

Pratt was speaking to an older man of some forty years – likely his superior.

Standing near the cart of tulips was a younger man, tall, dark haired, and strong, who held a pistol dangling in one meaty hand.

Wickham considered the scene for a full two minutes, turned to his friend and nodded grimly. It was time.

/

“Bravo,” Monsieur Lapointe said in French, using two slender fingers to shake a tulip bulb free of its dirt. “You did very well, Pratt.”

“Thank you, sir,” Pratt responded in the same language, relishing the pleasure of native syllables rolling off his tongue. He spoke perfect English, of course, but he far preferred his native French.

“Such a great deal of work over flowers,” Lapointe continued idly, “but Chauvelin was quite clear that these tulips are most important to the French cause. Were there any problems tonight?”

“A minor one,” Pratt admitted. “One of the occupants of the house stumbled across the operation and had to be silenced.”

Lapointe shook his head in disappointment. “That is most regrettable. I do hope you will not bring the English authorities down on us.”

Pratt shrugged elaborately. “If necessary, I will implicate Wickham, the lieutenant who actually carried out the murder, but I rather hope that it is not necessary, as he might be useful in the future. The man is a complete mercenary and quite willing to do anything in exchange for money.”

“I am flattered that you think so, Pratt,” a new voice announced in French.

Lapointe, Pratt, and the ruffian turned in shock toward the front door of the barn, a surprise which shifted into fear and distress at the sight of Wickham’s hands, both of which carried pistols pointing toward the Frenchmen.

The guns’ barrels glittered and flashed wickedly in the reflected lantern light, and Pratt glanced involuntarily toward the cart where his own pistols were uselessly out of reach.

“Take care, take care, sir,” Wickham ordered coldly, gesturing with his right hand toward the armed thug. “Drop that immediately unless you wish to die.”

The henchman did not hesitate but immediately started to lift his gun.

Darcy, who was lurking behind the French agents, observed the scene as if it were in slow motion.

Despite his preparation, he did not want to have to fire upon this unknown man, potentially ending the man’s life, but he also knew that there was no one else in a position to do what must be done.

Before the Frenchman could fire towards Wickham, there was the crack of a gun from the back door of the barn, and the man crumpled into a lifeless heap on the floor.

Pratt and Lapointe spun around in horror to observe Fitzwilliam Darcy, slightly pale in the flickering flame, his own pistol smoking slightly.

“Darcy!” Pratt snarled in rage.

“Lieutenant Pratt,” Darcy replied with dignity, “you and your compatriots are under arrest for crimes against our Sovereign King, George III.”

/

“Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth looked up from her book and rose to her feet. “Mrs. Younge. Is there any news of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham?”

The older lady shook her head compassionately. “None, but I would not expect anything yet. We do not know how long they will need to follow Pratt to where he plans to hand off the tulips. I would not be surprised if we have no solid word until morning and perhaps later.”

Elizabeth shivered. “I find this waiting quite dreadful. But come, please sit down and warm yourself by the fire. Can I get you some tea?”

“Thank you, but no,” the lady demurred. “Jacob fetched food and drink for us in the cellar. I find that sometimes, a little kindness goes a long way in encouraging someone to talk, and it was true this time.”

The second Bennet daughter frowned. “The Harrigans, you mean? I only know them by their reputations, which are poor in the extreme.”

“They are ruffians, but I am certain they had no idea that they were working for the French. Pratt told them that the tulips are valuable and they stole them in the hope of a quick payday. To their credit, both brothers were horrified at the thought of murdering Mr. Collins. I will recommend deportation instead of hanging.”

Elizabeth looked at the lady earnestly and asked, “Do you believe your recommendation will have any merit in a matter as serious as this?”

Mrs. Younge smiled a little. “I sense curiosity in your tone, Miss Elizabeth, but I fear you will need to remain unenlightened about my past.”

“I do apologize,” Elizabeth said remorsefully. “I understand the need for secrecy and can only blame the peculiarity of the situation for my inappropriate question.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” the lady replied quickly. “Indeed, I am impressed with how calmly you have dealt with the series of shocks these last days. It is most unusual for a civilian.”

“Thank you. I do not feel calm in the least. In fact, I am in a dreadful state of anxiety about Mr. Darcy ... and Mr. Wickham.”

Mrs. Younge narrowed her eyes as a new thought flew into her brain.

Was it possible that Miss Elizabeth had a soft spot in her heart for Mr. Darcy?

If so, it was unfortunate; Mr. Darcy was a good man, but his deep sense of responsibility had him unofficially engaged to Miss Anne de Bourgh, heiress to Rosings.

It was a pity, really; based on Mrs. Younge’s limited acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth, the girl could be an excellent match for her nominal employer, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

“You should go to bed and get some sleep, Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs. Younge suggested kindly. “Tomorrow will have its own share of shocks, and you need to be rested.”

Elizabeth was suddenly aware of the deep fatigue which had settled into her bones, and she rose reluctantly. “I suppose you are right. Mother will be upset when she learns that the breeders were stolen.”

“The breeders?”

“Father and I, with help from Mrs. Hill, moved all the valuable plants into a largely unused room off of the stillroom over the last two days, and replaced them with breeder tulip bulbs which were being stored in one of the outbuildings.”

“So Pratt stole useless bulbs?”

“Not useless,” Elizabeth explained with a weary smile, “but also not valuable.”

Mrs. Younge could only laugh in delight. “Well done!”

/

Colonel Forster opened his eyes with a glorious sense that all was right in the world. Based on the sun shining through the windows, it was late in the morning and he could not, for a moment, remember why he felt so happy.

But then it all came back; last night, Pratt had finally put into motion his plan to steal the Longbourn tulips, while Colonel Forster entertained the Bennets and Lucases and Mr. Bingley, who was the only person from Netherfield to accept his invitation to dine.

Forster had heard nothing in particular about the mission but was confident that Pratt had been successful; the man was quite disgustingly efficient. All Forster had to do now was express shock and distress when he heard of the theft and revel in his newly won freedom.

Yes, at last he was at liberty from his stupidity in falling into the clutches of the French intelligence network. He had paid his dues and would no longer assist in working against his own King and country.

The door opened to reveal his valet, whose face was even more devoid of expression than usual. “Sir, Sir William Lucas, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bennet are here to see you.”

Forster blinked in surprise. It must be later than he thought if the Bennets had already discovered the theft of the tulips and consulted with Sir William on the matter.

It also seemed odd that Mr. Darcy was here.

He had not attended last night’s dinner, but Mr. Bingley had told him that his friend wished to spend time with his young sister.

“Very well. Help me get dressed,” he ordered.

/

“Miss Lucas,” Mr. Collins croaked as his fiancé stepped into his bedroom at Longbourn.

“Mr. Collins,” Charlotte responded in concern, her gaze fixed on the man’s bandaged head. “I was so sorry to hear of the attack against you.”

In spite of himself, Collins’s eyes filled with tears. “It was quite terrible, Miss Lucas, quite terrible indeed. I thought I was going to die.”

Charlotte felt a genuine rush of compassion for the man who would soon be her husband. She was a pragmatic soul, but she was certain she too would be severely shaken to be threatened with violent death.

“You are safe now, sir,” she said soothingly, “and I am here to care for you, with a maid’s assistance for propriety, of course.”

“Thank you, Miss Lucas,” the man responded, holding out a feeble hand toward her. “You are all that is good.”

Charlotte glanced quickly around the room and turned to the maid. “Might you build up Mr. Collins’s fire a bit more, Sally?”

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