Page 20 of Reckless, Headstrong Girl (Pride and Prejudice Variations #5)
CROSS POST AT THE COWFOLD AND LONDON ROADS
D arcy discovered Hickstead to be little more than a marker on a lonely stretch of road between Brighton and Crawley.
For the third time in as many days, he rode from Hickstead northward to the cross post Wickham remembered.
He had gone west from the London Road down every single track, path and road.
He talked to farmers, cottagers, milk maids and carters, and no one had seen a girl alone.
The second time he went out, Darcy went east and found only a smattering of hovels and cow sheds, most of them deserted.
He then decided to try one last sweep westward.
His way led him down the road to Cowfold.
He stopped at the Red Lion for a second time, questioned everyone he saw, and was once again greeted with closed suspicion.
They shrugged and harrumphed, and otherwise told Darcy that, not only had they not seen whoever he was looking for, but they resented his prying inquiries.
Darcy went as far as the Worthing Road and turned back.
Deciding on the following day he would try one more time before he would need to return to London to meet with Mr Gardiner, he made up his mind to go further north from the cross post, having thoroughly canvassed the last place Lydia was known to be and come up empty.
At some terrible point in time, he would need to go the cemeteries and have the recent unmarked graves dug up.
This dreadful eventuality drove him on, and he once more crossed the London Road at the cross post and went a few miles eastward.
When he topped a gentle rise, he looked down and saw a donkey cart in the distance.
He expected nothing at all, but when he got near enough to hail the driver, he pulled up and said, “I am looking for a young lady who might have been hereabouts as much as two weeks ago or more. She would have been alone, and perhaps worn a frilly dress.”
“Took ’at to Horsham,” said the bent little man.
“What?”
“Gone to Horsham. Couldna’ keep ’er fed, and so I told ’er.”
“You saw a girl, then?” Mr Darcy cried, his heart pounding. “And you took her to Horsham?”
“Yup. To the ’ouse.”
A sick feeling came over Darcy. Had Lydia been taken to a brothel? “Which house?” he demanded.
“Work’ouse. Methody ’ouse. Wouldna’ take ’er to the parish, as ’ems no good I ’ear. ”
Darcy’s sick feeling continued unabated. The difference between a workhouse and a brothel was not significant enough to relieve his mind. “What is your name?” he demanded.
“Parch.”
Darcy wheeled his horse around and galloped back to Brighton.
He careened into the stable at the Old Ship Hotel on King’s Street and shouted for his coach.
It was late afternoon already, and he wished to be in Horsham looking for Lydia Bennet first thing in the morning.
For half a moment, Darcy considered sending an express to Mr Gardiner, but he was too conscious that this lead might prove to be false and crushingly disappointing.
Darcy arrived in Horsham well after midnight.
He tossed and turned and thought of Elizabeth in a state of horrible agony.
How could he tell her that her youngest sister had been languishing in a workhouse all this time?
He was aghast and twisting in the trap of his sheets.
If only Mr Bennet had alerted Mr Gardiner sooner.
No. Darcy never would have spent those few precious days with Elizabeth. If only…if only…
If only came down to the one thing, no matter how many times Darcy tried to reason otherwise.
If only he had done something about Wickham when he meddled with Georgiana.
If only he had not been so proud and protective of his good name—a name that had been more important than anything Wickham would do to someone else’s sister.
“This,” he said to the air above his head, “is surely hell I am in. ”
In the morning, Darcy dressed as if he would soon face judgment, and in a state of both dread and determination, he instructed his driver to the place the innkeeper said the Methodists dispensed charity.
When they got to Clarence Lane, the coachman pulled to a stop for further instructions, but Darcy, seeing a brick building of some size at the end of the street, stepped down and said, “Walk the horses if you must, but do not go far. I may be some time, or I may be back directly.”
“Very good, Mr Darcy,” his coachman said.
Darcy walked along and considered the advantages of wealth as he went.
Comfort was one thing, but competent people were another benefit altogether, and he felt the enormity of his luck in having a legion of highly capable, discreet, and professional people to support him in his desperate search.
Never once had anyone raised an eyebrow or looked askance at him.
They followed him to Mrs Younge’s disgusting lodging, stood to the ready to buy Wickham brandy or to roust out a sweeper or drive around and around a tavern while their master prowled London.
And now they were wandering around Horsham and waiting outside a workhouse, and Darcy never once worried that even a word of his business would be talked of.
He greeted the porter. “Is this the Methodist Workhouse?”
“Yes, sir. You’d be wantin’ to see Mr Perkins?”
“If he is the master here, yes.”
Darcy entered the place and followed the porter to an office.
A quarter of an hour later, after a closed-door conference, he followed Mr Perkins to a large, gloomy room filled with four long tables.
Women dressed identically hunched over their work, and when Mr Perkins entered, they all stood and curtseyed.
Darcy scanned the multiple faces to no purpose—he did not see Lydia Bennet among them.
“Bennet!” Mr Perkins called. “The rest of you may go back to your work.”
The crowd all sat but for one lone figure. Darcy slowly walked forward, and he saw the girl’s eyes widen as he neared her.
“Mr Darcy?” she whispered. “Have you come to visit me, sir?”
For a second Darcy’s throat closed up, and he was forced to blink back the moisture in his eyes.
He cleared his throat and spoke gently. “Miss Bennet, I am very glad to see you. I have been looking for you for a while now. Your family is desperate to find you, and I would be so happy to take you home. Will you come with me?”
She looked bewildered and turned to look at the upturned faces of the women who worked at the table beside her.
“Go on, Bennie,” one woman said. “I always said they’d come fer ya.”
And so, Lydia took a few halting steps forwards, and as she did so, many more voices called out encouragement and even mumbled expressions of joy.
One woman reached out her hand, and Lydia clasped it before turning back to the women at the worktable and saying, with her face aglow and her eyes sparkling with tears, “Oh, I shall miss you all so much!”
“Ya daft girl, go back to yer Longbridge! Send us a note to let us know’s yer well once in a while. We’ll not miss yer fancy ways, though.”
“Oh, Carver,” Lydia cried, hugging the woman who spoke. “Thank you for being so kind to me. I will not forget you or anyone here.”
She turned to Darcy, who held out his hand, and looked up wonderingly into his face.
“Is it really you, sir?”
“I am sorry I am not your father or your uncle, Miss Bennet.”
“Oh, but you will do just as well,” she said.
“I intend to take you to London today if that is acceptable to you.”
“London?”
They were standing in the workroom with Mr Perkins and an audience of thirty women at least. Lydia Bennet appeared a little dazzled, and thinking to give her a little time to adjust, he said, “I shall hire a maid at my hotel to go with you, unless Mr Perkins has someone he can recommend.”
“Take Sally,” someone called from the work tables.
“Oh yes, Mr Perkins. Might I borrow Sally Watkins for a few days?” Turning to Darcy, she said, “I had to have my hair cut off—well, perhaps I should not explain it, only Sally is very gentle and she is a comfort to me. ”
“Mr Perkins, I would be very glad to engage Miss Watkins for an indeterminate period of time. Might I also have a word in your office? Miss Bennet, do you have things you need to collect?”
She looked obediently at Mr Perkins, who called up Sally and sent them to the ward for their things.
Darcy meanwhile went to Mr Perkins’s office, pulled out a handful of bills, and put them on the table.
“A donation. And I would be very glad to have any paperwork related to Miss Lydia Bennet. You understand her family will expect complete discretion on your part?”
Mr Perkins wordlessly reached into his desk, and after a moment he pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it over. “She has been treated well here, sir,” he said primly.
“I most certainly hope so,” Darcy said with narrowed eyes. He could hardly account for the observable changes in Lydia Bennet and thought she may have been beaten into submission. “I shall certainly hear her account of things just as soon as may be.”
Lydia returned before more could be said in that vein.
She had a small bundle wrapped in her apron as did the woman who came with her.
Another woman in a white cap and black dress stood behind and said, “Miss Bennet, I am glad to see you restored to your family. They must be good Christians to have you back.”
“Thank you, Mrs Hart,” Lydia said meekly, and then with an enormous grin, she looked up and said, “I am ready to go, Mr Darcy.”