Page 4 of Pride and Pursuit
CHAPTER 4
A Narrow Escape
E lizabeth found herself lost in her thoughts, the to-and-fro jostle of the carriage a sort of rocking that lulled her and permitted introspection.
Who was this man beside her? His tale of woe certainly explained a great deal—if he could be believed. Who could not feel compassion for a gentleman of means, rousted from his comfortable bed in the darkest hours of the night and forced to escape by any means necessary, even if they involved a muck cart and the theft—borrowing—of another man’s carriage? If his tale were true, this George Wickham had a great deal to answer for.
But could he really be believed? Elizabeth was no woman of the world, but neither was she completely sheltered from the harsh realities of life, and she had heard many a story. There was a sort of man, she knew, handsome of face and smooth of tongue, who lived by playing on the credulity of others. They looked and acted the part of gentlemen temporarily down on their luck, who would most certainly repay that loan the minute they were able to speak to their banker and withdraw the appropriate amount from a considerable bank account.
These bankers invariably did not exist, neither did the wealth of funds alluded to, and Mr John James Worthington-Smythe turned out to be the latest in a string of false names used by some worthless sort who had rubbed up against Quality enough to have learned the social niceties that went with the status.
Just like—the thought struck her like the slap of a hand—this George Wickham that Will had mentioned.
Heavens! Could he have misled her so completely? Was it possible that this man driving her father’s carriage was, in fact, George Wickham himself, seeking to escape from the real Will Darcy whom he had wronged and who was now seeking him to mete out justice?
She glanced sidelong at him, careful not to turn her head and alert him to her thoughts. Such men could be dangerous! There were even stories of them abducting and selling young women to places she ought not to know about. She almost cried out in alarm. Was that his true motivation in convincing her back onto the carriage after she set off down that lane earlier? He spoke with words of concern for her safety, but was he really trying to lull her into a sense of complacency, to have her learn to trust him before being…
She let out a squeak of alarm and Will turned to peer at her.
“Are you well, Elizabeth?”
She swallowed and nodded. She must make plans to escape once more, but they must be her secret alone. Perhaps if she could encourage him to talk more, she might learn something of use.
“I am well enough, but I am becoming fatigued, and to be honest, worried. My family will be beside themselves wondering what has become of me, and I wish to return home.”
He pursed his lips. “Indeed. I cannot say what our destination is, for I do not know exactly where we are. We have been travelling northward, roughly following the line of the Great North Road, or so I hope. We must, at some point, cross that road, for my intention is to head westward. Perhaps we shall find an inn where we cross, or along that path. I dare not stop at the coaching inns along the main route, as I have explained.”
Oh heavens! It was true. He was working to keep her from finding a reputable place where she would be safe. She bit her bottom lip to prevent another gasp of distress from escaping and took in a slow breath. “But what, then, am I to do?” That sounded calm enough, she hoped.
He contemplated her as if she had only now appeared on the seat beside him. “You must, I suppose, travel with me until such time as I can be assured of your safety.”
Elizabeth swallowed. This fit even more perfectly with her supposition of him being the villain she had begun to imagine. At first, he promised to take her to an inn, but now he had come up with a reason for her to continue as his captive, of a sort.
“And where shall we sleep? We cannot drive all night. The poor horses, at the very least, need to rest.”
“We shall find somewhere. Now,” he looked back up at the sky, “this road tends westward.” He started mumbling to himself, “Wolverton… Birmingham… Shrewsbury… Llangollen… We can avoid these towns. Perhaps some small village near Aylesbury. He will not think to seek us there.”
Elizabeth listened with great interest and tried to memorise the places. If she could determine his goal, she could send for help!
It was not too long before they came to the crossroads Will had mentioned, but rather than their lane continuing past the busier road, it ended there, forcing them to turn. Thunder clouded Will’s face, but he kept silent and let the horses pick up some speed as they enjoyed the smoother surface.
He drove them for another hour, saying very little. The sun was starting to dip towards the horizon, and they must find somewhere to stop for the night soon. This Elizabeth brought to Will’s attention, and he agreed with a scowl and a grumble.
When, a few miles down the road, they saw a large establishment fit for their purposes, he pulled the horses aside into the yard.
“Will this be suitable, Miss Bennet? Let us inquire as to the next coach to return you to your family, and then I shall see to the horses.” His words were still everything proper, and still she wondered if his motives were pure. Could this be the location where his… business operated? He had seemed unhappy enough at the prospect of stopping and had approached the inn with a show of reluctance, but it could all be a feint, to put her off her guard.
She must be prepared!
With the excuse of retrieving some of her belongings from the carriage, Elizabeth groped around the inside, looking for a weapon should she need one. Her umbrella had done her good service once today, and now that she had the luxury of a vehicle that was not bumping all over the road, she felt under the seats for the small folding knife that was kept there to effect minor repairs when needed. This she secured against her forearm with the ribbon closing her cuffs and hid it under her sleeve.
Will, despite her fears, seemed true to his word. He escorted her inside and inquired directly of the innkeeper whether there was a stage or mail coach that might help his cousin (so he called her) return home.
“The mail came by just an hour past,” the innkeeper answered as he shook his head. “Not another one till tomorrow, same time.”
The glimmer of hope Elizabeth had felt faded. Tomorrow! That was far too long to wait. “But my mother… my father! They must be so worried.”
Once more, Will surprised her by asking if there was an express rider available. “Write your family a letter,” he offered, “and it can go out at once. I shall get you a room for the night, and you can return home safely on the morrow. And perhaps,” he whispered to himself as much as to her, “I can find a fast horse and saddle, and ride rather than drive.”
A room in a strange inn, with no chaperone and no maid! It was quite alarming, but Elizabeth could think of no better solution, and accepted with as much good grace as she could manage.
She procured some paper and a pen from the innkeeper, and set about writing her missive, whilst Will went out to ensure the horses were being fed and given water, with plans to ride on after a quick meal. They would dine together, and then would say their good-byes, never to meet again.
There was something unsettling about that idea, no matter that she had only known the man for a few hours, and in the most unpleasant circumstances, at that. He was taciturn and, frankly, rather alarming, but there was also something appealing about him when he deigned to speak openly.
With a sigh, she finished her letter and went to find the innkeeper, who would call for the express rider.
A handsome man stood at the counter, leaning against it with one foot crossed over the other. His golden hair shone in a beam of light that filtered through a window, and his blue eyes sparkled with good humour. He straightened at once when he saw her approach, and gestured for the innkeeper to attend to her, suggesting that his business could well wait. A lady, his wink and grin intimated, must always take precedence.
Elizabeth nodded her thanks and then presented her letter, which the innkeeper took from her and sealed with some wax.
“I’ll have this off in just a few moments, Miss Bennet,” the good man nodded to her. “I’ve a good fast lad to deliver this for you. Allow me to ensure this direction is all correct: to Mr Bennet at Longbourn in Hertfordshire, near Meryton. I’ll make sure it gets there, and likely tonight afore the sun is gone. That’s not so very far, now, is it?”
She confirmed the directions to help the rider achieve his destination most easily as the handsome golden-haired man stood patiently by, and then went to sit in the calm public room until Will came to join her for their final meal together in a small private salon off the public.
Their meal was quiet, neither having much to say after their day on the carriage box. Will looked exhausted, and Elizabeth feared she looked little better. The food, when it arrived, was hot and tasty, and after they ate, Will sat back with a beer while she sipped at some weak tea.
“It has been an hour. The horses will be ready for me.” He stood to bow and take his leave. “I shall endeavour to return your family’s carriage as soon as I am able. Forgive me.” He reached for her hand and kissed the back of it before making for the door.
Why should her heart give a little flutter? The man was a thief and a scoundrel, after all, and she still did not entirely believe his tale, no matter that she was not—yet—sold into some form of bondage. Her eyes followed him as he departed the room, but the door was still open when she heard someone holler his name.
“Darcy!”
It was not a friendly greeting.
At once, she was on her feet and at the door. There, standing at a table near a set of windows, was that same handsome man who had been waiting at the counter when she handed her letter to the innkeeper. His eyes were no longer twinkling, but were hard and cold. The public had grown quite busy whilst they had been at their dinner, but the man seemed not to care about the others in the space.
“Wickham!” Will spat out. “What are you doing here?” He stepped backwards, realising too late that he was in a corner, with no escape.
“Waiting for you. We have business to complete.”
So Will really was Will Darcy, as he had claimed, and this elegant blond gentleman was not quite what he appeared. Looks could, indeed, be deceiving. But what of the rest of Will’s story?
Elizabeth watched as Wickham slid his way through the tables and approached Will’s side, facing away from her. The low orange sunlight that slipped through the windows caught on something, sending a glint of light through the space, and Elizabeth stifled a gasp. That was… that was a knife, and Wickham was clearly planning to use it.
“Outside, I said,” he repeated, his voice a rumble only just loud enough for Elizabeth to hear. “I have no wish to disturb these good diners with our disagreement.”
“Be reasonable, George,” Will spoke just above a whisper. His voice was even, but his eyes betrayed his alarm. He really was scared of this man. Elizabeth stood frozen in place, barely breathing, as Will tried to calm his nemesis. “There is no good ending if you try to harm me. Enough people know of our… disagreements. You will be found, and soon. Leave now, and I shall not raise the hue and cry. Just go.”
But Wickham’s shoulders shrugged off this plea.
“Leave? And go where? You’ve ruined me, Darcy. You’ve taken everything from me!”
“You ruined yourself. You were the one who threw away everything you were given. That money—my sister’s fortune—was never yours. Go now, or you will regret it.”
Wickham spat towards Darcy’s face, the spittle landing on the floor by his feet. “You’ve left me nothing! The debtors are after me… I’ve seen the bruisers from McLeary’s gaming halls crush men’s knees into rubble.” His voice took on a low, desperate edge that sent Elizabeth’s blood cold. “If I’m going down, I’ll take you with me, Darcy!”
Wickham began to move forward, but Will held him back—for now—with a gesture. His voice, when he spoke, also held an edge of something Elizabeth had not heard before.
“This is not my doing, George. It’s all of your own making. You had a good future; you had a fine prospect. Do not blame me for your mistakes. Those, I could have forgiven, but to try to draw Georgiana into your clutches, no! That was despicable, and you are lucky I did not call you out on it, as my cousin urged me to do.”
Pah! Wickham spat again, and this time he did not miss his mark. His breath was hard, desperate, although his voice was still low. The growl of a trapped animal, but malicious. This was a man who clearly took pleasure in cruelty.
“You useless sot, Darcy. Your mistake! You were always too soft as a boy, and you are worse now. I’ll finish you off, believe me, and then where will your precious Georgiana be? Outside, now!” He flicked his wrist and the blade he held glinted dully in the low tavern light. “Now.”
This was a repetition of what Will had told her earlier about the missed encounter last night. Then, too, Wickham planned to force him from the inn and kill him in some secluded place. This confrontation supported everything Will had told her; he had not been misleading her after all. Wickham really did want to kill him. She could not let this happen!
As silently as she could, she slid the folding knife from where she had secured it to her wrist and picked up a heavy metal tray from the table, where the tavern maid had left it a while ago. Whilst Wickham was scowling and making threats at Will, she crept up behind him, praying that Will would not give away her actions with a glance or a word, and as soon as she was within reach, she raised the tray as high as she could and slammed it down on Wickham’s head.
This did not have quite the effect she hoped for, as the man was several inches taller than her, but it sufficed. The crack on his pate broke Wickham’s attention and caused him that moment’s hesitation. Will took his opportunity to step out of the way of the knife and swing a fist at his enemy, causing him to drop his blade.
Wickham stumbled back, knocking over a nearby table and spilling a man’s ale all over his clothing.
“Watch it!” that ale-soaked man growled and threw himself at Wickham, who in turn launched himself at the new attacker, hitting another customer by mistake. More and more men rose from their tables, some angry, others seeming to enjoy the prospect of a good brawl, and the confrontation was growing into something quite alarming.
Chairs were pushed aside and fists flew through the air, and Wickham looked to be in the middle of it, being set upon by more men than Elizabeth could count. She stepped towards Will, who put a protective arm around her shoulders, just as Wickham glanced up to see them both. His momentary lapse was met by a fist to the jaw, and the fight continued.
“Now!” Will grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door. “We have to leave now! He saw us together, and you are not safe from him.”
They burst out of the inn and ran towards the carriage, which was waiting as Will had said it would be. “I cannot leave you here, Elizabeth. We have to find another way to get you home.”
He threw her up onto the box and leapt up after, cracking the whip to spur the horses into motion.
It was only after they had travelled a mile or more, far faster than the roads allowed, that Elizabeth turned to Will with a tear-stained face.
“He knows. He heard me give my name and where I live. I cannot go home at all!”
Elizabeth’s words hit Will like a bucket of icy water on a cold winter morning. The first import was that he would not be rid of her within an hour or two. All his plans to find a horse with a saddle and ride for his life vanished in the course of those short words. He was stuck with her until such time as they made their destination, wherever that might be. Instead of being able to gallop cross-country as fast as his steed would allow, he had to keep this slow-plodding team dragging a heavy coach, in order to accommodate a helpless young thing whose only skills in life were probably painting tables and embroidering initials on the corners of handkerchiefs.
She might be pleasant to look upon, with more than the usual allotment of sheer spunk, but she would slow him down most dreadfully.
The second realisation was that Elizabeth was now in danger just as much as he was. Wickham had seen the two of them together and would make the assumption that they were a pair. Indeed, being seen together at an inn far from town would lead the most generous observer to believe them engaged to be married; Wickham would not be so generous. The scoundrel would gladly use Elizabeth as a tool to wreak his revenge and would likely cause her great harm simply as another way to bring Will pain.
He could not send her home. If Wickham knew where she lived, she would not be safe. Will’s duty as a gentleman was to protect her.
Although, he now acknowledged, she had been quite efficient at protecting herself. The hatpin still stuck in his lapel reminded him of that. And she had been the one to save him back at the inn when she brought that heavy tray down on Wickham’s head. Will had seen the glint of the knife in his nemesis’ hand, and knew it would not be satisfied until it ran red with his blood.
“I neglected to thank you.” He turned to his unwanted companion and offered his gratitude. “You saved me from serious harm. I cannot repay that.”
“Returning my father’s possessions unharmed will be a good gesture.” Her gaze was sharp, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips.
“The horses and carriage, yes, and his daughter as well. I am sorry, Elizabeth. I never intended to embroil another in my troubles. This burden ought to have been mine alone. All I wished to do was flee until I could summon help.”
She cocked her head and faced him. “I see that now. I was uncertain, for a while, whether your story was true, or whether it was only a tale told to elicit my sympathy. But there was no mistaking the blade in his hand, or the hatred in his voice.”
She stared at him for a moment longer before asking, “Why does he hate you so? What did you do to him?”
Will let out a snort. “What did I do? As if I were the instigator of this! No, Madam, it is not what I did, but what he wished I would do, but did not. He is the villain in this story, not I.”
Her gaze did not waver. “Whether you intended this or not, I have been brought into your dispute. Do I not deserve to know, at least, why we are being pursued by this person?” She straightened her back. “And who is Georgiana?”
Will clamped his jaw and stared at the road, concentrating all his attention on the horses as they cantered along.
“Will…” Her tone brooked no refusal.
He sighed. This was a private matter, a history which would reflect well on nobody, with the exception of himself. His family’s name was at stake.
“Will?”
What was it about her eyes, so expressive, that pierced through his armour? He hardly knew the girl, but the touch of her hand on his arm and the glance from under her thick lashes were comfortable and familiar.
She had, after all, accepted her fate with surprisingly good grace. After her initial frenzied attack on his person when she first realised her predicament, after her attempt to walk down that abandoned country lane, she had been the model of calmness. Will might have expected endless weeping, or harpy-like screeching, or fits of nerves, not this resolute determination to do what she must until she could return home. She had castigated him for his crimes, but had not dissolved into the useless puddle so many fine ladies of his acquaintance would certainly have done.
And then, when Wickham had come at him with that knife, she had saved him. She had, at that point, the very real opportunity to be free of him completely, simply by letting Wickham act. The room was paid for, and she had money for the coach the next day. She could have been home within hours. But instead, she acted to save him, thereby throwing her lot in with his.
This deserved more than stony silence, and he chastised himself for his poor manners.
“Very well,” he spoke over the rattle of the carriage. “I owe you something, after all. But please, I must rely upon your absolute discretion, for it involves somebody very dear to me.”
A shadow crossed Elizabeth’s face, but she answered simply. “I give you my word as a lady.”
“It involves my sister. Georgiana is my sister.”
At these words, her smile grew easy. Encouraged by her compassionate expression, Will allowed himself to speak.
“She is more than ten years my junior, only fifteen years old.” He paused.
“I have a sister of that age as well,” Elizabeth supplied. “She is half woman, half child, with all the worst parts of each.”
Will blinked. Why had he not imagined that she might have younger sisters as well? “Georgiana is a quiet soul. I have been called aloof and withdrawn, but she is far more timid than I. Our mother died when she was young, and our father followed her five years ago. I have been both parent and brother to her since that dreadful day, and I feel most ill-equipped for the role.”
“It is a difficult position, I am certain. But how does it relate to Mr Wickham’s anger towards you?”
“Allow me to start again. There is more you must know. When I was very young, my father engaged a most capable man as the steward of our estate, this man having a son of around my own age. My father was named godfather to the boy and doted upon him, for he was handsome and lively, where I was quiet.”
“You are still quiet,” he thought he heard Elizabeth murmur to herself, “but also handsome.”
Pretending he had not heard her, he went on. “This boy, George Wickham by name, grew up to be most unlike his father. He was wild and dissolute, much given to wagering and running up debts. His dealings with the female sex were also less than respectable. I hope I need not say more.” His face grew warm as he spoke these words and dared not look at Elizabeth.
“I understand you perfectly. He is handsome, and I can see how a lady might fall for his charms.”
“Such that they are. Let me recount to you some of our sad history.”
Elizabeth sat quietly beside him on the box as Will told the tale of Wickham’s refusal of the living he had been offered, of his requests to study the law instead, of how he spent a huge gift of money within a year, and how he then returned to plead for the living he had rejected previously.
“He had found the law an unprofitable study, he told me, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained. It was rightfully his, he insisted, as my father had intended. You cannot blame me for refusing him, after he had quit every claim to it three years before.”
“No indeed. You did nothing wrong.” This was shocking. “Such a man ought not to be in such a role. Was he angry?”
Will’s face hardened. “Most vehemently. From what I heard tell, he was no less violent in his abuse of me to others as he was to my face. He blamed me entirely for his failings and believed that I owed him some great sum in recompense.”
“A fortune in exchange for the legacy he refused? I can hardly account for it!”
They were approaching a crossroads marker, which looked familiar, and Will slowed the horses for a moment to examine it. These names he knew, and despite the setting sun, the air brightened around him. He knew these roads, knew where he must go, and guided the horses onto the new road, heading westward. There was some hope for an easy night, for this evening at least.
He had four miles to travel before they must turn again, enough time to finish his story.
Elizabeth had remained quiet whilst he concentrated on his new destination, but now encouraged him to continue his tale, which he did.
“This is where my dear sister enters the story. I would wish to forget this dreadful circumstance, but I fear I will suffer its consequences for the rest of my days.
“Georgiana was unhappy at school, and I thought it would suit her quiet nature to engage a companion for her. At the beginning of the summer, they went to Ramsgate, where I took a house for them to enjoy the society and the sea air. Unbeknownst to me, Wickham was an associate of this companion, and he too made his way to Ramsgate with the sole purpose of endearing himself to my sister and convincing her into an elopement.”
The lady beside him gasped. “At fifteen! How shocking. I understand why you would not wish this spoken of. That is far too young to really know her heart and to consider matters sensibly. And yet I recall being fifteen, when one is entirely subject to one’s sensibilities, much like poor Juliet and her Romeo. My sister Lydia, I suspect, would act no differently.”
These words of understanding were a balm to his sore heart, and speaking further grew easier with each word.
“My sister’s heart is tender, and she recollected George fondly from her childhood, and his task, I fear, was an easy one. She soon felt herself to be in love with him. Luck, and luck alone, was with me, for I joined them unexpectedly just four days ago, immediately before the intended elopement, and Georgiana confessed the entire plan to me.
“You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. I informed Mr Wickham at once that I could not support this plan, that I refused to give my consent for the marriage, and that he would by no means achieve his aim, which was undoubtedly my sister’s fortune. Yes, this is the thirty thousand pounds that Wickham believes I owe him, and which he attempted to rob me of at the same time as destroying my sister’s happiness forever.”
“How very sad! But could he have been sincere?” Elizabeth asked. “Is it possible that he does, indeed, care for her?”
“Not he. I wish it were so, but he admitted it all when I confronted him. His aim was never love. It was vengeance. He wanted to harm me by harming my sister and winning her fortune, and I stopped him. And now he wishes to see me dead.”
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide with concern. “You poor man! But what happened? Where is your sister now?”
“Georgiana was horrified by the truth and was inconsolable. She needed a mother’s love, and the best I could manage was our aunt in London. I took her there, and left her in that good lady’s embrace, with a promise to seek a companion of far better character. After seeing to her comfort, I began my journey northward to my estate, and, well, you know what happened then. Wickham learned where I was, and being unable to importune my sister any longer, came after me.”
Elizabeth’s hand moved from his arm to cover his own as it held the reins. Her touch was light and comforting. “I am truly sorry. I am sorry for your sister, sorry for your trouble, and sorry that I doubted you.”
“And I,” Will met her eyes, “am sorry that you are now part of this. But I have been thinking and now have a plan. My uncle has a hunting lodge in the north of Wales. I do not believe Wickham knows exactly where it is. We will be safe there until I can summon aid to deal with him.”
“North Wales! But that is hundreds of miles distant! It will take days, no, a week or more, to arrive.”
Will shook his head. “Longer, I fear. We cannot take a direct path. I am still concerned lest he somehow track our route. But he will expect me to travel northward to Pemberley. Instead, we shall turn south and make our way up through the valleys. It may take some time, but I would not have you come to harm.”
“Nor I you.” She looked directly at him and smiled.