Page 17 of Raised at Rosings (Elizabeth and Darcy True Love Multiverse #4)

Chapter Sixteen

“With Anne so near death, surely Aunt Catherine cannot prevent us from visiting her and offering comfort,” commented Darcy, his brow furrowed.

“I agree. In fact, we may just have to visit often, even every day, to monitor her situation.” Richard stood, a thoughtful expression on his face, and said, “Do not get me wrong, I want to be there for Anne, but it will also give us a chance to keep an eye on Aunt Catherine and make sure she doesn’t do anything foolish.”

“I will tell the staff to prepare our horses.” Moving over to the bell-pull, Darcy was about to pull it to summon someone when a maid came rushing in. Out of breath, she cried, “Sir, the cook says that you must come down to the kitchen. Someone from de Bourgh House has shown up and they are in quite a state.”

Darcy knew that he and Richard had been discussing how to protect Elizabeth all morning. Still, he had been completely oblivious to the possibility that something terrible might have already befallen her. His heart stuttered painfully in his chest and Darcy knew without a doubt that he was deeply in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

It was not mere affection or infatuation or any of the other words that he had tried to use to explain his emotions away; it was a bone deep, heart searing love. How else could the mere thought that she was in danger make him feel like he was dying? Was Elizabeth hurt? Was she scared, in desperate need of immediate aid? A searing agony twisted through him, worry escalating into a furious rage that propelled him down the hall, his footsteps echoing as he ran.

If he had taken a moment to think of anything but learning as he could about what Elizabeth needed, he would have realized that his were not the only steps that thudded as he rushed to the kitchen. Richard was right behind him as he slid through the door into the kitchen, his eyes scouring the area for any clues that could aid him in his quest to be of aid to Elizabeth. Darcy’s attention was immediately drawn to his cook, kneeling before a crying boy seated in a chair. The cook’s worried face was inches from the boy’s, holding a mug to his lips, the scene thick with tension and unspoken worry.

Seeing Darcy’s hurried entrance, Mrs. Patrick, the cook, said, “This is Zachary. He works with the horses at de Bourgh House, and he has come with a message for you.”

Darcy wanted to rush over to the pair and demand to be told what had gone wrong at de Bourgh House, but he knew instinctively that would not be productive. So he took a deep breath and forced himself to act calm, even if he did not feel it. Then, walking slowly over, he calmly said, “Hello, Zachary. I hear you have a message for me.”

Rubbing at his face, Zachary took a shuddering breath and, looking up at Darcy, said, “Theys gone. Miss Elizabeth and Lady Catherine are both gone.”

It made no sense to Darcy. The staff at de Bourgh House knew that Lady Catherine was not to be trusted. None of the stable hands would have prepared the carriage for her or taken her anywhere. So how did she and Elizabeth vanish? Shaking his head in confusion, Darcy asked, “Where did they go?”

Seeming to have himself under better control, Zachary sat up straighter before responding, “We don’t know, nor can we tell when they left exactly. The Footman that came from the earl’s said he was going to see about a hackney and told me I should come tell you that they are both gone.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Darcy attempted to contain his fury. He was not angry at the boy and did not want to frighten him or his staff. He was, in fact, angry at himself for underestimating his aunt, and her ability to seek outside assistance in the form of alternative transportation. Darcy had presumed that she was at least contained to de Bourgh House. It was an error in judgment that could prove disastrous. It seemed he would not be discussing plans with Elizabeth for her protection. He would be searching her out in an effort to save her.

The weight of Richard’s hand on Darcy’s shoulder felt heavy as he spoke. “We need to go to de Bourgh House and discover what we can learn there.”

Darcy nodded. “Mrs. Patrick, please make sure that Zachary is well taken care of. Richard and I will be going to de Bourgh House. Should any messages be sent here, please see to it that they are forwarded to me there.” He then moved through the kitchen to the mews where his horse was kept. It was not the time to wait while his horse was saddled. He would do it himself and hopefully work off some of his anxiety.

Richard was right with him as he emerged from the mews and on to the street, his horse’s hooves clopping loudly on the cobblestones. Neither of them spoke as they traveled, pushing their horses as fast as they dared in the crowded streets. Sadly, it gave Darcy too much time to envision too many ways in which Elizabeth could have been harmed by that point. The worst thing was the way his visions always included how Elizabeth would look at him, tears in her eyes and ask him why he had not been there to come to her aid when she needed it.

It was a good thing that his horse knew enough to follow Richard’s, as he was incapable of giving him much direction. Soon enough, they arrived at de Bourgh House, and they were dismounting and rushing up the front steps. Thankfully, Mrs. Jessop, the cook cum housekeeper, met them at the front door and said, “Young Zachary reached you then.”

Richard, quick to assert himself, said, “Yes, Zachary made it to Darcy House, though he was in quite the state by the time he got there.”

Hand on her chest, Mrs. Jessop smiled tearfully and said, “That boy sets great store by Miss Elizabeth. We all do.”

Clenching his fists at his sides, Darcy asked, “All Richard and I know at this point is that Elizabeth is missing, along with my aunt. Have you learned anything new?”

Patting his arm in sympathy, Mrs. Jessop shook her head. “Nothing new as of yet. Though that footman went off in search of someone he knew at one of the hackney companies.” Pausing, she added, “Oh, and Mrs. Cuthburt is gone too. Though that is not a surprise, as that woman is never far from Lady Catherine’s side. Believes the sun won’t rise or set without Lady Catherine’s approval, that one.”

Smoothing her skirts, Elizabeth set her shoulders and raised her chin. The intense gazes from the people on the street were hard to disregard, yet she remained mostly unaffected by them. Walking a few feet, Elizabeth chose a person to approach with care and, smiling, said, “Hello, my name is Lizzie. What is yours?”

Life had been as cruel to the girl before her as it had to her tattered and faded dress. Elizabeth estimated her to be around twelve or thirteen despite the expression that spoke of having seen too much. Eyes wide, she licked cracked lips before she answered, “Molly, miss.”

“Molly, it seems that I am in need of some directions. Would you be able to tell me where I should go to find some transportation to the home of a friend of mine?”

“You can catch a cab ‘bout ten blocks that way, miss.” A slim hand pointed down the street. Looking back-and-forth, Molly frowned, adding, “But it is not safe, miss, not by yourself.”

Her smile slipping into a frown, Elizabeth nodded, murmuring, “I suspected as much.”

Eyes narrowing, Molly glanced in the direction the carriage had left in. With a tsk she said, “That toff left you here on purpose, didn’t they?”

“Yes, she did,” commented Elizabeth with a sigh.

“You do somthin’ to make her angry?”

Chuckling in an odd, humorless sort of way, Elizabeth answered, “I stopped her from hurting someone that didn’t deserve it.”

“Sounds about right.” Molly put two fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. The sound barely registered with Elizabeth as her thoughts focused on just how dirty the girl’s hands were and the fact that she had put all that grime into her mouth. Elizabeth knew it was not the girl’s fault that she had no means to wash up, but she still fought a shudder.

Promptly as if summoned, a boy maybe a year or two older than the girl showed up and asked, “Ya need somthin’, Molls?”

“We need to get Miss Lizzie here to the Drunken Mule. She needs a ride.”

Elizabeth hesitated at the thought of seeking transportation at a place called the Drunken Mule, wondering if it was the wisest choice, but she had no other alternatives.

Looking her up and down, the boy shook his head, complaining, “What she doin’ here in the first place? Ain’t no place for a lady like her.”

“She ain’t had no choice in the matter, Matthew, and we’re gonna help her,” Molly asserted. Elizabeth watched the interaction, wondering at the relationship between the two. She suspected that they might be siblings. Their dark brown hair and eyes mirrored each other, and even though their faces were smudged with dirt and slightly gaunt, their similar features were unmistakable.

Kicking at the ground with a bare foot, Matthew grumbled, “Why we got to help her?”

Fists on her hips, Molly confronted the taller boy. “Cause it’s the right thing to do, Matthew Bailey, an’ you know it is what Momma woulda done!” It was a struggle not to smile at the antics of the two. It seemed siblings acted similarly wherever they were, whether it be the slums of London or the ballrooms of Mayfair.

With a roll of his eyes and a huff, Matthew turned to Elizabeth and said, “Let’s be about it, then.” Turning, he shuffled off in the direction Molly had said she would need to go.

Shaking her head, Molly said, “I am sorry about my brother, Miss Lizzie. Matt seems to have lost all the manners Momma taught him.”

As she trailed behind Matthew, she remarked, “I do not have a brother, but I have heard that they tend to be quite contrary.” Turning to look at Molly, she added, “I hope I am not keeping you from anything. Meeting an abandoned woman today was surely not part of your plans.”

Shrugging, Molly said, “Just lookin’ for rags to turn over to the ragman. We can find ‘im as we go.”

Elizabeth watched as Molly’s eyes scanned the street and the piles of refuse that lined the way. She knew people collected rags to be turned into paper and the like, but had not thought of meeting someone of the sort. “Do not let me keep you from your work. If we need to stop, I do not mind.”

Hearing her comment, Matthew turned to look at Elizabeth. “You are not like any toff I’ve seen before.”

Chuckling, Elizabeth responded, “Indeed, it helps that I am not a toff, at least not in any true sense.”

“Who are you then?” he asked.

“You know I cannot quite tell anymore,” Elizabeth murmured. “My father was a member of the lower gentry, but when he died, our estate went to one of his far-removed cousins. Before long, I was left to fend for myself, with only my older sister by my side. A well-to-do family took me in when I was too small to look after myself. However, it seems that I have become dispensable to them.”

“What about your momma? She die too?” asked Molly, her voice soft.

Feeling it was only fair to tell the painful truth, Elizabeth said, “No, she thought she would be able to do better for herself without two children about.”

“You are like us, then. When Momma died, Papa up and left Molly and I on our own.” Kicking at a stone, Matthew added, “We’re better off without him.”

Elizabeth could appreciate the sentiment. Occasionally, parents fell short of being the haven they were meant to provide. “I have long felt that way about my mother.”

There was only so much pacing a man could do, but Darcy had no clue what else he should do in his situation. It was not as if there was something at hand he could punch, no wood to chop or mountain to climb. So he paced.

“You really must stop that, Darcy. You will wear a hole in the carpet,” commented Richard from where he sat.

Glaring back at his cousin, Darcy snapped, “As it is a gaudy carpet selected by our aunt with horrible taste, I really do not care if I ruin it.”

Looking down at the garish carpet, Richard shrugged as if in agreement and said, “At least try not to harm the hardwood floor underneath the carpet. I will have to live here at some point, and I would like to be able to enjoy my parlor without having to hide the evidence of your tendency to pace.”

The footman that Richard had borrowed from Matlock had returned not long after they had arrived and had not brought good news with him. There had been no way for him to track down what carriage had been the one to leave with Elizabeth and Aunt Catherine. He had, however, been able to learn from the staff of the neighboring estate that a hackney had been seen pulling up next to the small kitchen garden sometime mid-morning. This confirmed Darcy’s theory that Aunt Catherine had secretly relied on outside help, beyond the de Bourgh household staff. At least he did not need to ferret out a traitor. Though that would have meant that Darcy would have something to do besides pace.

He halted beside the fireplace and grabbed the mantle, the cold stone a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands as he gripped it tightly, his head bowed low in defeat. Darcy was the master of one of the largest estates in England, nobility excluded. He even owned several smaller satellite estates that, though smaller, were all profitable and well run. He ensured his people were well-fed, clothed, and sheltered; despite his tireless efforts and years of success, a deep sense of futility washed over him. Who was he if he could not protect the people he cared for? How could a man fail to assist his beloved when she required his help?

Knuckles going white, Darcy fought a battle within himself. He wanted to go and tear London apart looking for Elizabeth, but the logical part of him knew that London was too large to search aimlessly through it. Regardless, he was still fighting the urge to run out the door. Conversely, he was terrified of leaving and missing the possibility that his aunt would return. Should he be gone when she came back, he would lose his chance to intimidate her into revealing what he wanted to know, what he needed to know. He was torn asunder, and he did not know how much longer he could take the strain.

It was a good thing then that he heard the door opening and a commotion coming from the entryway. “I demand you move out of my way, you hulking buffoon! In fact, you are dismissed from your position. Leave the premises at once.”

The commotion had Richard and Darcy racing out of the parlor in time for them to catch sight of their aunt wielding her umbrella in an attempt to strike the footman. Only the footman had no respect for the woman and was not actually an employee of the house, so he caught the umbrella in midair and jerked it out of her grasp. “I am not under your employment, Lady Catherine, and I want to make it clear that I will not stand for mistreatment, period, let alone from those who are unworthy of being addressed as Lady .” Darcy watched as his Aunt Catherine huffed and puffed, her face reddening with indignation, a comical sight that was utterly lost on the impassive footman.

“Thank you for preventing my aunt’s retreat, James,” drawled Richard as he and Darcy came to stand on either side of their aunt. Taking her elbow, he added, “We are in need to have a conversation with her. Could you see to it that my aunt’s companion, Mrs. Cuthburt, is seen to her room and stays there?” Mrs. Cuthburt gaped, mouth wide for a moment, but shoulders drooping, she went willingly enough. James, with a nod and a brief bow, guided Mrs. Cuthburt out of the hall and away from her mistress.

Turning to glare at Richard, Lady Catherine attempted to jerk her arm out of his grip, hissing, “Unhand me, nephew! I have been shopping and now find that I must rest.”

Moving to take her other elbow, Darcy forced himself not to clutch it so hard as to harm her, saying, “Oh but aunt, as Richard said, we absolutely must have a speak with you about a matter of vital importance.” Between Darcy and Richard, they managed to drag their aunt to the parlor and plop her down in the most uncomfortable straight-back chair in the room.

With a glare, Darcy crossed his arms stubbornly across his chest. He refused to engage in whatever game his aunt was playing. As Darcy stepped closer to her, his imposing size loomed over her, creating a sense of intimidation that he was happy to engender as he questioned her. “What have you done with Elizabeth?”

Lady Catherine crossed her arms and looked away from his glare, unwilling to respond. Darcy waited, the silence growing, punctuated only by the ticking of a distant clock, as the unspoken tension between him and his aunt crackled in the air. Eventually she glanced back at him, her countenance flippant as she said, “It is not my business to keep track of the staff. Something like that is beneath me.”

Darcy could hear Richard shift behind him, but he refused to take his eyes off his adversary. His jaw was set, his eyes unwavering; Elizabeth’s very life could depend on his ability to force his aunt to understand just how much Elizabeth meant to him. Richard spoke from behind Darcy. “Do not lie to us aunt, you do not know what I will do to protect the young lady I view as a sister. I suspect Darcy will be just as vicious in defense of a person that he loves.”

Attempting to stand, Lady Catherine shrieked when she was prevented from doing so by Darcy, shouting, “How is it that both of you can be so deceived by that little strumpet? She is nothing. She was nothing when my husband found her, and she is less than nothing now.”

Darcy leaned forward, boxing Lady Catherine in her chair, and growled, “You are not in a position to disparage Elizabeth, Aunt. She is a better person than you in every way, and I demand to know what you did to her. Keep in mind that your refusal to comply will bring terrible repercussions.”