Page 35 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy

Elizabeth

T he narrow streets of London twisted and turned like a labyrinth, each corner offering a new, dimly lit passage. Bloomsbury had once been a bustling thoroughfare, but the houses here were old now, with narrow facades and small, shuttered windows, stacked close together, as though they were crowding the space in fear of the unknown.

It was not the worst part of London—there was no stench of sewage, nor the clamour of the lower classes—that would be further east. Nor was it a wealthy neighbourhood, the stone was cracked in places, and the weathered wooden shutters bore the marks of years of use.

A worn sign hung crookedly above the door, an unremarkable affair that read ‘Younge’ in faded script.

Elizabeth felt a chill settle in her chest as they approached the house. Mary might be here. She might be beyond this very door. Would she be able to convince her sister to come back with them? What would happen if she could not?

Darcy’s gaze swept over the building, his jaw tightening. The windows, though unadorned, were not entirely free from watchful eyes—there was something about the stillness of the place that hinted it had recently been occupied.

“Are you ready?” Elizabeth asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she knew the question was for both of them.

Darcy’s lips pressed together in a thin line as he nodded. “Let’s be quick.”

He reached forward and knocked on the door with a sharp, measured sound that echoed in the quiet street. They waited, the seconds stretching, until finally, the door creaked open slightly, revealing a woman of middling years, her features unremarkable and her eyes cautious. Then, recognition washed over her face.

“Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice smooth but with an edge. “What an unexpected visit. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Do not play games with me, Mrs Younge,” Darcy replied, his tone icy. “We know Wickham is here. As is my sister-in-law. Where are they?”

Mrs Younge’s face shifted, a slight flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with an imperious expression. “Mr Wickham?” she said, her voice betraying nothing. “I do not know what you mean. I’ve not seen him since you dismissed me from Pemberley two years ago.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Please do not tell Banbury tales. We know you sheltered him after he fled the militia. And I know you have been sheltering him now.”

He knew no such thing of course, but Elizabeth admired the confidence with which he hid this fact.

Elizabeth stood beside him, watching Mrs Younge carefully. There was something about her calm demeanour that unsettled Elizabeth. She had an air of someone who had grown accustomed to lies and deception.

“You cannot be serious,” Mrs Younge said, lifting her chin. “You are accusing me of harbouring a man I have not seen in years, Mr Darcy. I have done nothing wrong. I am simply a woman trying to live a quiet life.”

“My sister was taken from her home without informing her parents or sisters. She is under the influence of a man I know you understand is utterly self-serving who has no interest in her welfare and I will not stand here and let you lie and deceive us,” Elizabeth hoped that her words would sway the woman, but from the expression on her face she feared they were falling on deaf ears.

“Mrs Younge, I did not take matters further when you attempted to corrupt my sister,” Darcy said his voice now lower than before, almost threatening. “I only did so because I discovered you were in allegiance with Wickham before you had a chance to put your plan into motion. Otherwise I would not have been so forgiving. But if you dare to try and repeat your actions now with my sister-in-law, I will not be so lenient.”

“I do not appreciate being threatened,” she said.

“You do not have to appreciate it, but I will tell you this only once. My family has wide-reaching connections both in the North and in Town. If you wish to keep your employment, or have any hope of working in another great house anywhere you will tell me where Miss Bennet is. And you will do so at once.”

The woman considered this and then, to Elizabeth’s relief, she stepped aside.

“She is upstairs in the bedroom to the right. Mr Wickham is out.”

Without waiting for any further invitation, Darcy moved past her, rushed upstairs, and pushed open the door.