Page 19 of The Bennet Heir

Chapter Eighteen

B ennet was cold, dirty, and a little battered from his rough treatment. More than anything, he was deeply concerned for both himself and his family. His affairs were in order—his will had been written not long after his wedding. The knowledge that his dear Charlotte was with child offered some comfort, as he hoped that his heir would be safely birthed and raised to carry his name and essence into the future. On the other hand, the thought of his child growing up never knowing him was almost unbearable. His worries circled his disordered mind, bringing him little comfort.

Throughout the day, his thoughts shifted between fears for his own fate and worries for his wife and sisters. He grimaced, realising that some of his carefully laid plans might not unfold as intended. When he had written his will, Elizabeth had not yet come out. However, she was well prepared to manage Longbourn with Charlotte and their uncles to support her. Still, if she married Darcy, she would be far away, leaving Charlotte to oversee the estate alone.

His child, whether boy or girl, would inherit Longbourn, but he had never truly considered that Charlotte or Elizabeth might have to take control until the child reached maturity. He had always assumed he would be there to guide and assist his heir in learning to manage the estate. The thought that he might not was unsettling, and for a moment, he allowed himself to dwell on it. At least Darcy’s sense of honour would ensure the family was cared for. He could trust that Charlotte would have the guidance she needed to keep Longbourn running smoothly.

At last, he shook off the dark thoughts and forced himself to focus. He was no longer in the carriage—of that, he was certain—and he vaguely recalled being dragged from it and brought to this place.

The room was dim, but as his eyes adjusted, he began to make out subtle variations in the shadows, revealing details of his surroundings. The space was small, damp, and in disrepair—proof that he was no longer on Longbourn’s grounds. Perhaps he was somewhere within the bounds of Netherfield where a few abandoned buildings near the former village had fallen into ruin. Of course, he could also be further afield, but they had not travelled far enough to have taken him outside of Hertfordshire.

Although his captors had left him alone for now, Bennet doubted it would last. He had overheard them speaking, and something about one man’s voice stirred a faint, nagging familiarity. Once, he thought he heard a woman, but the sound had come just as he was rousing from sleep, leaving him uncertain. Their intentions also remained unclear—ransom, coercion, or merely ensuring his removal—but he was fairly certain they did not plan to kill him. If that had been their goal, they would have done so already rather than going to the trouble of binding and transporting him.

Still, he could not count on them keeping him alive indefinitely. He had to find a way out. His hands and feet remained bound, but he shifted carefully, testing for any slack in the ropes. Flexing his fingers, he probed the knots for weakness, his mind racing through possible escape strategies. If his captors believed he would simply sit back and accept his fate, they had gravely underestimated him.

Even as he struggled, his thoughts drifted back to his dear Charlotte. She must be worried—of course she was. She would have known something was wrong when he failed to return by dinner. Had she sent for help? He could only hope so. If word reached the right people—the magistrate, Colonel Forster, Darcy—there was a chance he might be found before his captors carried out whatever scheme they had planned.

He heard some noise outside and wondered if that meant someone had discovered him, or if it was merely one of his captors returning. To his dismay, it was one of the captors. The man wore the red coat of the militia, but Bennet did not recognise him and wondered who he was and what reason he had for his actions.

“Well, Mr. Bennet,” the man drawled, and once again, Bennet caught a note of familiarity in his voice. Perhaps he came from the same part of the country as an acquaintance—someone from university, perhaps. Bennet shook off the thought and refocused on his captor.

“I daren’t tell you my name, as it would do you no good to know it,” the man continued. “But since you’ll be my guest for a while, I thought good manners dictated that I at least speak to you on occasion. It is after dark now, and at daybreak, the militia and the entire neighbourhood will mount a search for you. Fortunately for my friends and me, we’ve been assigned to comb this particular area, and—shockingly enough—none of us will be able to find you.”

He gave a low chuckle before continuing. “I’ll leave you a blanket or two, since the night will be cold, and here’s a flagon of water and some bread. Of course, your hands are tied, and I doubt you’ll manage to free them—I secured them myself. But if nothing else, the food and water might sustain you a little longer, assuming the cold does not kill you first.”

Bennet tensed as the man’s tone darkened. “I have no idea what you’ve done to the women of this area, but two of them dislike you greatly and want you out of their way. They promised me money for my assistance, but I have decided to take what I want instead. The talk in town is that your sister is a pretty thing, with a respectable dowry, and engaged to Fitzwilliam Darcy. Since I despise him, I believe I’ll kill two birds with one stone—take what belongs to him and marry your sister, securing a substantial fortune for myself while leaving him crossed in love.

“Once you’re dead, Longbourn will no doubt belong to your sister, and as her husband, I’ll ensure our estate is properly managed. Her guardians will have no choice but to give me all I desire once I am finished with her.”

Bennet’s stomach churned with revulsion. The man’s insinuations made him sick, but he forced himself to remain composed, even as his captor’s voice faded as he moved towards the door.

Desperately, Bennet prayed that word had reached Darcy—that he would hurry to Meryton, not only to join the search but to ensure that the Bennet women were well protected from the horrors his captor intended.

Darcy was startled when his footman arrived from Meryton that evening after dinner. The sight of the man—his clothing splattered with mud, his hair disheveled, and his expression grave—sent a ripple of unease through him. Clearly, the servant had ridden hard, making no stop to clean up or change before delivering his message.

“Sir,” the footman said, pulling a folded letter from his inside pocket where he had carefully placed it to protect it from the elements.

Darcy took it without hesitation, his fingers tightening around the paper as he recognised Elizabeth’s handwriting. With a swift motion, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the contents. His face paled as he read, his dread solidifying into something colder and sharper than mere anxiety.

“Do you have any additional information?” Darcy asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

“The local magistrate is Sir William Lucas, sir,” the footman answered. “He and the militia colonel had arrived at the Bennet house before I left. Miss Elizabeth believed they would organise search parties, but she doubted much would be done this evening. It seems likely they will conduct a cursory search of the immediate area tonight and begin looking in earnest tomorrow once there is proper light.”

Darcy exhaled slowly, his mind already calculating the best course of action. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded. “That is the most reasonable approach,” he said. “We will leave at first light. I will send word to my cousin’s barracks to see if he can accompany me—he arrived in London a few days ago after completing some duty in the north.”

The footman inclined his head and withdrew, leaving Darcy alone to act. He wasted no time, immediately sitting at his desk to draft letters. One was to Colonel Fitzwilliam, requesting his presence on the journey to Hertfordshire. Another was to Bow Street, requesting that experienced runners accompany him to investigate the abduction of Mr. Bennet. If Bennet had been taken for ransom, there would likely be signs—questions to ask, patterns to discern. If, however, there was some other motive at play, Darcy wanted men with the skills to uncover it swiftly.

Less than an hour later, a knock at his study door signaled the arrival of his cousin’s reply. Fitzwilliam had secured leave from his regiment and would accompany him at first light.

With that matter settled, Darcy forced himself to seek what rest he could. Sleep would not come easily, but he needed to be clear-headed for the trials ahead. Somewhere in the countryside, Bennet was being held against his will, and Elizabeth would be beside herself with worry. Tomorrow, Darcy would do everything in his power to find her brother and offer her whatever comfort he could.

Grandmama Bennet was approaching her seventy-eighth birthday and had raised not only her own children, but several of her grandchildren as well. Although she did not get around as well as she once did, her mind was as sharp as it ever was.

“My dear Lizzy, I would not worry about your brother too much,” she said when Elizabeth told her what they had learned that evening. “Before the Sabbath comes, your brother will be returned to you and the culprits found out.”

“Grandmama,” Elizabeth cried, “you cannot know that for certain. It is likely that he has been injured or even killed or that whoever took him will demand a ransom.”

“Lizzy,” Grandmama Bennet said calmly, “I assure you, he will be well.”

“How can you be so sure, Grandmama?” Elizabeth asked. She was usually far more reasonable, but worry over her brother had set her imagination racing. While she read great works of literature and histories with her brother, she and her sisters had read several gothic novels together, encouraged by her grandmother who purchased the books. Since Grandmama Bennet preferred to save her eyes for her sewing, she delighted in having her granddaughters read the sensational tales.

Her grandmother’s eyes turned serious. “Elizabeth, your brother is intelligent and resourceful. He will find a way to either escape from his captors or to trick them into letting him go. Should the worst happen, you are all well protected. Do you not have a rather handsome, not to mention wealthy, intended who will do all he can to ensure you will be well? Including your sisters?”

“Fitzwilliam is all those things,” Elizabeth said with a slight smile. She drew in a breath. “Now, Grandmama, what do you know that makes you so certain that all will be well with Jon?”

“Do you not find it interesting that he was taken at this particular time?” Grandmama asked, fixing Elizabeth with a pointed look before continuing. “Last week, I had several visitors from the village informing me of the rumours that are circulating and of the presence of this Collins fellow at Netherfield of all places. I remember the Collins family—they were all fools of the worst sort. I was not at all sad when they finally moved away from the area.”

She paused in her tale, watching her granddaughter as she spoke. “Do you not find it odd that not long after being sent away, this Mr. Collins visited my son’s widow, and then, shortly after that lady visited Netherfield, was installed in the manor, although not as a guest, but in the room of an upper servant?”

“Mrs. Bennet visited Netherfield?” Elizabeth asked, startled at this news. “Do you know when?”

“As I understand it, several times, the most recent of which was this past Sunday, when the rest of the village was at church. Neither Miss Bingley nor Mr. Collins attended either, and the three of them had a not-so-secret conversation. The following day, Mr. Collins sent a letter by express to his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, no doubt informing that lady of the news of your engagement to Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed. “Fitzwilliam intended to speak to her soon, but not quite yet. He hoped to warn his cousin Anne of his engagement first, but cannot correspond with her directly and has to use other methods to get word to her. He wanted Anne to know first, in the hopes that she could temper the lady’s reaction. I wonder if she has already appeared at Darcy House to scold her nephew.”

Grandmama Bennet let out a little chuckle. “If it rained in Kent as much as it did in Meryton, I doubt she was able to travel, but I cannot say for certain. You sent word to your young man already, did you not?”

Elizabeth nodded, and the elder lady continued. “There is little doubt in my mind that this kidnapping is the design of Fanny, Miss Bingley, and Mr. Collins. I can only imagine their reasoning, but each has an idea of obtaining something from it. With the rumours circulating in Meryton, Mr. Collins hopes to use the confusion of your brother’s disappearance to somehow claim Longbourn and will likely appear at the front door far sooner than he ought. Be wary, my dear girl, for he will also intend to claim you. As I recall, it was Fanny who suggested the man come here to marry you, and she would be delighted to put you in your place by forcing a marriage to that man.”

Such a thought caused Elizabeth to gasp. “Do you truly believe that is her intent?”

“I know it is, my girl,” Grandmama Bennet said, reaching out to pat her granddaughter’s hand. “The servants at Netherfield are not loyal to their temporary mistress, and they are well aware of the good you do for that estate as well as your brother’s. As Fanny has always done, Miss Bingley treats the servants at Netherfield as though they are invisible and, therefore, did not notice the maids lingering near the door as they conspired together on Sunday.

“It has never been a secret that Fanny despises you and your brother and would do anything to harm you. Their plan is to have Mr. Collins lay claim to Longbourn, hoping no one will question it too closely in light of your brother’s disappearance, and using the rumours of the stolen inheritance to bolster his case. Mr. Collins is a fool who is easily led, and the three of them have enlisted members of the militia—namely, a man called Wickham—to aid them in their scheme.

“Somehow, Miss Bingley is acquainted with this man Wickham. She met him during a visit to Pemberley and is well aware that he is no friend to your intended. She still harbours hopes that, once Mr. Darcy leaves you in disgrace after you have been compromised?—”

She stopped here as Elizabeth shuddered at the implication, but Grandmama continued.

“She believes that the scandal will force Mr. Darcy to finally do what she has long desired: propose to her. She is a fool if she thinks her scheme will succeed. But the fact that she is conspiring with Fanny to have your brother kidnapped—possibly even killed—along with her connection to this Wickham character and her reliance on Mr. Collins only proves how much of a fool she truly is. I knew their scheme would not be successful in the end.”

Elizabeth could only stare at her grandmother in stunned surprise. “How do you know of all this?”

“The maids at Netherfield reported what they overheard to Mrs. Nichols who sent a note to my own housekeeper informing her of their plans. She told me, but with the rain, I was unable to get word to Jonathan before he departed this morning,” Grandmama Bennet replied.

“It did not rain yesterday,” Elizabeth said.

“The mud, my dear,” Grandmama explained.

Elizabeth eyed her grandmother. “You are plotting something,” she said after a moment.

Her grandmother did not deny the charge. “I am not worried about your brother’s safety. I am certain he will return to us just as he left us, though perhaps a bit worse for wear.”

Still surprised at the revelation, Elizabeth stared at her grandmother. “You should have warned him. What if he was injured?”

“Do not worry so much, my dear,” her grandmother said, patting her clenched hands. “He will be well. I have taken steps to ensure it.”