Page 10

Darcy drove up in his curricle shortly after ten the next morning and found Mary Bennet seated at a table placed on the carriage sweep at Longbourn.

Barrels of water and homebrewed ale stood next to her, and tired men rode or walked up the drive to refresh themselves as she wrote down what they were reporting to her before consulting a list and sending them back out.

“Assisting with the harvest, Miss Mary?” His greeting was cheerful.

One of the men set down his cup of ale, came to the leaders’ heads, and led the curricle to the stable after Darcy jumped down.

Mary stood, and he noted that her face was pinched and white, the usual dark circles under her eyes contrasting alarmingly with her pale skin.

“Miss Mary, are you well? What is the matter? Shall I call one of your sisters?” He strode to her side and offered her his arm, noting that she leaned on it as an old woman might.

Mary beckoned to one of the men standing nearby. “Take over here, please, Jem. Mr. Darcy, let us walk over to the wilderness.”

Once they had gained the cover of the trees she turned to him, a look of helplessness in her dark eyes.

“It is Elizabeth. She has disappeared. We fear she may have been abducted. Those men and many more have been out searching for her all night.” She quickly provided the details of Jem and Tim’s investigation, the footprints and tracks leading towards the London road, and the recovery of Elizabeth’s glove.

Darcy was silent for many long minutes, staggered by what Mary Bennet had just told him.

His mind strayed first to Wickham. Was he holding Elizabeth somewhere to extract a ransom from Darcy?

Were his plans directed more towards revenge?

Was it someone else, some random evildoer passing through the neighborhood?

He cursed his failure to protect her. His mind rebelled at the very thought that this was happening, and his deepest inclination was to seek refuge in denial.

Then he looked again at Elizabeth’s sister.

Mary had dried her eyes and resumed her work of coordinating the search.

She must be overcome by grief, anxiety, and fear—yet she labored on.

Could he do any less? Rather than wasting time cursing his utter ignorance of the surrounding terrain, he would find a way to make himself most useful.

Darcy spent some time walking around the garden and house observing the recovery efforts to determine what he could do to be of most assistance.

He learned that Mr. Bennet had been out searching all night.

Mrs. Bennet had uncharacteristically laid aside her histrionics and was deeply asleep, thanks largely to a composer mixed for her by Jane, who was supervising her care.

He found the two younger girls, scared and silent, working under Mrs. Hill’s direction in the large kitchen, for there were many mouths to feed.

Mary had dried her eyes and resumed her work of coordinating the search.

At one time she caught Darcy’s eye and shook her head hopelessly.

They were running out of places to look.

The mill pond had been dragged, as had the marshy area between Netherfield and Longbourn.

Women began to lay out food on trestles set up on the lawn beside the house.

Mr. Bennet rode up shortly before noon and slid from his horse with an exhausted grunt.

He had not slept, and he was pale, filthy, and unshaven.

He swallowed a cup of ale as he spoke in a bleak voice that could scarcely be heard.

“It begins to look as though Lizzy has been carried off. It is as though the earth had opened and swallowed her up.”

Darcy, despairing himself, tried to summon up words that might be of comfort. “She is somewhere, sir, and we will find her.”

As men began gathering on the lawn to eat, Darcy and Mr. Bennet were approached by a plump, comfortable woman of middle age who was dragging a young boy by his elbow. She bobbed a curtsey and shook the little boy gently. “Go on, tell these gentlemen what you told me.” The child ducked his head.

Darcy folded his height down to the child’s eye level. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Ezra, sir.”

“Well, Ezra, you’re not in any trouble. Why don’t you tell us what you told your mother? You might help us.”

“I run off after dinner yesterday.”

“And what happened?”

“I saw two men with a horse and cart. I never did see those men before. They were strangers. And it was Sunday. And something was in the cart. I thought it was some kind of animal like a dog, maybe, or a litter of kittens. It was under some blankets or rags or such. It was moving.”

“What time of day was this, Ezra?”

“A little after dinner, sir. We eats dinner right after church.”

“And which way was the cart going?”

The child pointed. “Towards the road to Lunnon, sir.”

“Very good, Ezra. Just one more thing. What did the men look like?”

“Well, sir, I couldn’t see their faces. They had their hats pulled down. They was wearing smock-frocks like we wears, but I couldn’t see much of the rest of them for the cart.” He paused and knit his brows. “Nice horse, though. Good worker. Big gray gelding.”

“Like a farm horse?”

“No, sir. Not a cob, neither. Like a gentry horse. Too big and stout for a hunter. Mebbe a carriage horse.”

Darcy stood. “Ezra, you’ve helped us a great deal. It’s a good thing you told your mother.” A coin of unspecified value changed hands, and Ezra’s eyes lit up. “Ask your mother or father to tell Mr. Bennet if you think of anything else.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Ezra’s mother made another curtsey and the pair walked down the drive and out of sight.

“We checked with the tollgates for miles in both directions, but we had no description other than that of two men in a farm cart. We learned nothing in either direction.”

“At least now we know what the horse looks like. It is entirely possible they changed to some other conveyance.” Darcy turned to Mr. Bennet. “Sir, will you accompany me indoors?”

“I must ride out to the search again.”

“You are of necessity commanding the search in this area. I can be of little help. My ignorance of the district, its terrain, and its inhabitants renders me all but useless. But you cannot continue without proper food and rest. You owe it to your daughter to sustain yourself now.”

The two men turned toward the house and entered the library. Darcy requested that a cold luncheon be brought for Mr. Bennet, and the two settled in comfortable chairs.

“My purpose in coming here was originally much happier.” Darcy reached into his breast pocket. “I have the settlement we agreed to, prepared for your signature.” He opened the sheaf of papers and placed it on the desk. “I have already signed it. I would like for you to add your signature.”

“But why?” asked Mr. Bennet. “Something may change.”

“Nothing can change. I believe she is alive, and I will spend the rest of my life searching for her if need be. This marriage settlement has become an act of faith.”

For that reason, the imposing document ultimately bore the name and signature of “Mrs. Anne Hill, Housekeeper” in the space marked out for the witness to Mr. Bennet’s signature.

After he had satisfied himself that Mr. Bennet had eaten and drunk, Darcy stood and extended his hand. “Now, sir, I will return to London.”

“But. . .”

“I believe I may be of more use there, sir. The search here, while it is far from over, has not yielded any fruit aside from the single glove. The boy Ezra’s description of the cart horse was singularly helpful: Not a cob nor a draft horse but a gentry horse.

Two men in farmers’ smocks with a simple cart and a fine carriage horse. ”

“Any boy growing up in this district would know his horses, but young Ezra showed a depth of knowledge far beyond his years.”

“I believe we must expand our search to include London, and I am the man to do that.”

“Mr. Darcy, you are right.” Mr. Bennet shook the outstretched hand. “Let us correspond frequently by means of the express.”

As Darcy left the house and asked one of the men to see about his curricle, Mary stood up with a weary smile. “Could I trouble you to take one more stroll over to the wilderness?”

Darcy offered her his arm. “Of course.”

She did not speak until they had entered the seclusion of the small space.

She sat on one of the benches and said, “I can make no logical sense of what I am about to tell you, but sometimes logical inconsistencies are a signal that something is amiss. I had put this out of my mind after it occurred, but the loss of Lizzy has made me recall it. Please bear with me.” She began folding and refolding her handkerchief into small pleats.

“On the day that our father brought Lydia home, we received a morning call from Mr. Collins.”

“The parson from Hunsford?”

“The very same. He came to condole with us on Lydia’s reputed fall from grace.

He said. . .he said that he had been prompted to make the visit after receiving word from Hertfordshire.

Those were his words: Word from Hertfordshire.

” She paused and looked directly at Darcy.

“Mr. Darcy, I do not see how that can be true.”

“The Lucases?”

“That would be the most logical solution, and it may yet turn out to be true. But Lydia left Brighton on Sunday at midnight. We received word twenty-four hours later on Monday at midnight. Hill was with us, and my mother cried a great deal, but nothing much was said about the situation. It pays to bear in mind that our servants do not get along with those at Lucas Lodge. There is a feeling below stairs that the servants at Lucas Lodge are high-and-mighty for no particular reason. And on the other hand, the servants at Lucas Lodge are envious because my father pays our people better wages. The gossip does not flow.” She paused for breath.

“The days of the week are all wrong for marketing, which would have been done on Saturday. And we did not see my Aunt Philips until toward the end of that week, so there was not enough time for her to make a hue and cry. Gossip as a source of their news is possible, but it is not likely. There was not time.”

“Well done, Miss Mary. You have been an astute observer.”

“I should also tell you, sir, that Lizzy felt the same way. In fact, she interrupted Mr. Collins to ask him who his correspondent was.”

“And what did he say?”

“He passed over it—ignored it. We did not discuss it afterward. Her remarks signaled the beginning of a general uprising among Jane, Lizzy, and myself in which Mr. Collins was made so uncomfortable that he left the house rather abruptly.”

Darcy could not forbear to smile. “I should like to have seen that. I will be maintaining a frequent correspondence with your father. Send me word through him if anything else occurs to you. And I implore you, take food and get some rest. You must keep up your strength in order to help the family. This is the same request I made of your father.”

“I will.” Mary extended her hand, which he shook. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, on behalf of my family. You have given me faith that Lizzy will be found and restored to us. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye for now, Sister Mary.”