Page 40 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

DARCY

E arly the next morning, I arrived at Longbourn to find Mr. Phillips already in attendance. Before we departed at nine o’clock, the necessary documents had been signed, granting me legal guardianship of the three youngest Bennet daughters.

In a commendable display of foresight, Mr. Phillips had also prepared a separate document naming himself as guardian to both Miss Bennet and Elizabeth.

With the potential for Miss Bennet to remain behind in Hertfordshire, it was more practical for Mr. Phillips to serve in that role.

Additionally, he recognised the ethical complications of my marrying someone under my own guardianship.

As Lydia had suspected, Miss Bennet stayed behind partly to tend to her mother but, more importantly, because she preferred to remain close in case Miss Bingley regained consciousness.

Whilst others could be relied upon to send word if she said anything of significance, Miss Bennet was determined to hear it firsthand.

Mr. Phillips, knowing my intention to marry Elizabeth as soon as she could be found, had also drawn up two additional documents.

The fatigue in his expression revealed the long hours he must have spent in the night preparing them, but I was impressed by his initiative and precision.

The first was a letter granting me permission to marry Elizabeth.

Once Mr. Bennet had signed over guardianship to Mr. Phillips—barely glancing at the text before making his mark—the solicitor added his own signature to the letter.

Even more surprising was the second document: a draft marriage settlement for Elizabeth.

Although incomplete in places, it contained all the standard provisions.

I quickly filled in the pertinent details—her settlement, pin money, and the terms of her jointure, should I predecease her.

The figures I wrote must have startled Mr. Phillips; his eyes widened although he wisely held his tongue.

I doubted he had prepared such a generous arrangement in his career, but Elizabeth would have the best of everything I could provide, and no less.

Mrs. Bennet was still abed when I departed with the three youngest Bennet daughters and their maid in one carriage, while I followed in another with my valet and their luggage.

The vehicle, newly repaired by the blacksmith in Meryton and intended for sale, had been secured early that morning; a generous offer to lease it at once ensured his ready consent.

The journey, which in good weather normally could be accomplished in three days, stretched into six.

Heavy rain and muddy roads slowed our pace, and we paused for a full day to observe the Sabbath.

I was impatient to reach Pemberley, particularly since I had received no further word from my agent since his last letter.

I had written back with new instructions, directing him to send all future correspondence to Pemberley, and prayed there would be a letter waiting for me there.

As the road stretched out before us, I could only hope that the next letter would bring not just a hint of her direction but would at last reveal her whereabouts.

Since I had little else to occupy my mind, I wrote letters making enquiries about an investigator in Scotland, in case one would be needed. I also contemplated what Sir William had told me about Isla and her brother and considered what little information I had obtained from Bingley and Hurst.

On the night of the abbreviated ball, I had spoken with both gentlemen before retiring. The apothecary was still attending Miss Bingley, with her sister and the housekeeper nearby, so I had not yet been able to question them.

“Do you recall a red-haired maid who worked here?” I asked Bingley as we stood in the sitting room adjoining Miss Bingley’s bedchamber. I disliked being so near to that venomous woman, even in her unconscious state, but with both of her brothers gathered here awaiting news, I had little choice.

Bingley furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment.

“Vaguely. She came with us from London, although she had not been with us long. Isla, I believe her name was. When we prepared to come to Netherfield, we asked the housekeeper to recommend a few servants to accompany us—she and her brother volunteered, saying they preferred country life.”

He hesitated before continuing. “She did not speak much—Caroline did not care for her accent; she found it grating, if I recall. The girl was assigned to assist with the laundry, and her brother worked in the stables. But they have been gone for about a week now.”

“Do you know why they left?” I pressed, watching him closely.

Bingley shook his head. “No idea. One day they were here; the next, gone. I assumed they had given notice, but I never thought to ask Caroline or Mrs Nicholls about it. We have always had a steady rotation of servants—Caroline’s temper being what it is.

I was honestly surprised they chose to accompany us here at all. ”

I turned to Hurst, who had been listening silently, cradling a glass of brandy in one hand.

“And you? Do you recall anything about them? ”

He gave a careless shrug. “Only the girl’s hair—it was a striking shade of red. As for the brother, I wouldn’t recognise him if he passed me on the street. I do recall Caroline scolding the girl more than once. Nothing unusual in that, of course—she snaps at most everyone.”

“No one seems to know where they went?” I asked again, hoping to uncover something new.

“I suppose Mrs Nicholls might know more,” Bingley offered, “but with Caroline in her current state, she is barely able to leave her side. Do you think these two had something to do with Miss Elizabeth’s disappearance?”

“It seems rather convenient that they vanished the same week Miss Elizabeth did,” I replied grimly. “It may be nothing—but then again, they may know something that could help.”

“One last question,” I added. “Do you recall their surname?”

“It was definitely something Scottish,” Hurst offered lazily. “Fraser? Or Wright?”

Bingley shook his head. “No, it was Dunbar. I am quite certain the brother’s name was Graeme Dunbar. I could have one of the staff check the records, if you like, but I remember thinking it sounded rather old-fashioned.”

“That is something, at least,” I said. “Now I know who I am asking after, once I reach the north.”

“He was good with horses,” Bingley added. “If he has taken work elsewhere, it is likely to be in a stable or coaching inn. That is where I would start.”

“Did he have red hair like his sister?” I asked, recalling a brief impression of someone with auburn hair in the stables during one of my earlier visits.

“Not quite,” Bingley replied. “His hair was more brown than red—dark auburn, perhaps—but his features were distinct enough. Tall, strapping lad, but rather quiet. ”

“I appreciate the information,” I said sincerely. “It is a little more than I had before.”

I reminded him of my plans to depart in the morning and informed him that I would be taking at least three of the Bennet sisters with me since their father would formally relinquish guardianship to me.

“Miss Lydia believes her elder sister will remain behind for now to tend to her mother and be near in case your sister wakes and can tell us something. Perhaps she will be of some use to you,” I added.

Bingley gave a small nod. “We will see. I am not sure Miss Bennet will even wish to speak to me after all that has happened.”

“Will you still go to London tomorrow?”

He sighed. “Not yet; not until I know more of Caroline’s condition. I must remain for now, but I will send word the moment anything changes.”

I inclined my head in thanks and left them, more determined than ever to find out what I could about Isla and Graeme Dunbar—my best hope yet of finding Elizabeth.

Georgiana was pleased to see me when I arrived at Pemberley, but in truth, I think she was even more pleased to meet the Bennet sisters I brought with me.

When I told her of Elizabeth’s disappearance, she was devastated that the lady I loved had been lost, but she was pleased that I intended to search for her.

It was early December, and the truly bad weather had not yet set in, so after introducing everyone and ensuring they were settled in, I went to my study to see if there had been any word from my messenger.

To my surprise, there were two letters there, one from him and another from Gardiner.

Unfortunately, they contained little information to help me.

My messenger had tracked Elizabeth to an inn near Dumfries, not far from Gretna Green, but no further.

He would remain in the area making enquiries until I reached him.

Gardiner’s letter had contained only a repetition of his previous information. Elizabeth was not in London, and he did not know of any connexions to the Bennets in Scotland. It was not particularly helpful, but at least the man seemed pleased that I had taken the three youngest Bennets with me.

I was surprised that he knew this already, but I suppose I ought not to be. The letter I had left to be posted just after the ball doubtlessly made it to him before I even reached the first inn, and the messenger I had sent would not have allowed the mud and muck to slow him too much.

Armed with what little information I had managed to gather, I began making arrangements to travel north the following morning. I intended to search for Elizabeth myself for a few weeks before returning to Pemberley to spend Christmas with Georgiana.

Although I was reluctant to leave the search so soon, I had given my word, and Elizabeth would no doubt scold me if I failed to keep a promise to my sister. I took comfort in knowing Georgiana would not be alone—Elizabeth’s sisters would remain at Pemberley to keep her company.

Unless I uncovered a lead too urgent to ignore, I would return home in time for Christmas, then resume the search for Elizabeth as soon as I was able.

However, I would speak to Georgiana before I left to ascertain her thoughts, and of course, all of this would be entirely dependent on the weather.

That would be more of a problem in January and February, however, and I prayed I would find Elizabeth long before then.

I would dearly love to be able to celebrate Christmas and the New Year alongside Elizabeth, together in our home.

It was with that image in my head that I went to sleep that night, and the same image remained in my mind the next morning when I woke .

Early the next morning, I set out northward. Though I would have preferred the speed of horseback, attempting so long a journey to Scotland in December was unwise. I would not have undertaken the trip at all were it not essential, yet I could not delay. Finding Elizabeth was my foremost concern.

However, I did ensure that my coachman and footman were as well protected as they could be, and a second coachman rode in the carriage with me and my valet.

I did not need Morris to assist me on the journey, but he would be a listening ear when I needed it.

Given how I was feeling, I needed someone I could confide in, and Morris was aware of all the particulars.

During our journey from Netherfield to Pemberley, Morris shared a few details he had learnt about the Dunbars.

He confirmed what others had said—that the siblings were quiet and kept mostly to themselves—but added that he had spoken with Isla once or twice when she assisted one of the chambermaids in changing the bedding in my room.

“She mentioned having family in Scotland,” Morris told me, “but never said exactly where—not the name of a town or village. What stood out to me, though, was how little she cared for Miss Bingley. She looked at her with a sort of disdain you do not often see from a servant, at least not from one who wishes to keep her employment.”

He paused, then continued, his voice lowering slightly.

“The housekeeper spoke to me once whilst watching the maids work. She remarked—more to herself than to me, I think—that it almost seemed as if Isla had known Miss Bingley before coming to Netherfield. Then, as though surprised to find I had overheard her, she added that the girl was unusually bold in her manner, defiant, even. She could not understand why Miss Bingley had not already dismissed her. She wondered aloud what Isla might be holding over her mistress to keep her place despite such behaviour.”

At the time, I had said nothing. I was uncertain what to make of it, but the conversation lingered with me.

I could not help but wonder whether there had been more between Miss Bingley and Isla Dunbar than anyone had realised—and whether that connexion might, somehow, lead me to Elizabeth.

But with neither woman currently available to question, speculation was all I had.

Another reason I had brought Morris with me was for precisely this sort of insight.

He could ask questions I could not. As a gentleman, my enquiries were confined to innkeepers, landlords, and the occasional physician or postmaster.

Morris, however, could speak more freely to chambermaids, stable hands, and cooks without raising suspicion.

The class divide that restricted me was a door through which he could pass with ease.

From what little information I had gathered so far, all signs pointed towards Gretna Green to start our search.

It was not a place I had ever imagined myself visiting.

If word of my presence there ever reached my family—or worse, members of the ton—I could only imagine what assumptions might follow.

There was no woman with me, of course, but facts had never stopped gossip before.

Some would no doubt whisper that I had gone to meet someone there, perhaps even to arrange an elopement.

Absurd though the notion was, I had no time to concern myself with appearances. Let society whisper if it pleased them—my only priority was finding Elizabeth. Wherever the trail led, I would follow without hesitation.

My man was already ahead of me, waiting at an inn just north of Gretna Green—the last place he had received word of Elizabeth. I intended to join him as soon as I arrived and devote the next fortnight to the search, leaving no village or posting inn unexplored until I had uncovered the truth.