Mr. Darcy's Forbidden Love-kindle (77 page)

Too absorbed in his braggadocio to await any reply, he continued, “I would give a hundred pounds to have seen the look on Darcy’s face when that necklace fell into his lap!” He guffawed, slapping his knee. “That arrogant bastard has always thought himself a step ahead of me. Now he has learned that he is not so smart after all!”

During the time that Elizabeth was forced to listen to his boasts, she did learn where they were headed—Stillwater Manor in Teddington. She knew that Teddington was south of London, but she would never have known that the estate was owned by Gisela Darcy, had Wickham not blurted it out. That bit of news had caused a shiver to run down her spine, for she realised that she was in the clutches of two people, each having their own reason to hate her.

At length, the coach came to a jarring halt, and she had been dragged inside a building, led to a room and shoved down into a chair. Her feet were tied once more, and she was left alone for the balance of the night. The fright of not knowing where she was, or what lurked beyond her blindfold, had finally given way to exhaustion and, until just seconds ago, she had fallen into a restless sleep.

Fortuitously, as she struggled to sit upright upon waking, the scarf used to blind her slipped, baring the corner of one eye so that she could take in the small room, likely a housekeeper’s quarters. She could plainly see the outline of a bed and a dresser under some type of cloth. A glance at the floor next to her revealed a similar fabric had once shielded the chair in which she sat. Glancing to the ceiling, she was aghast at the number of cobwebs dominating the corners of the walls. Involuntarily she cringed, imagining where all the inhabitants of the webs might be.

Just at that instant, a mouse ran towards her feet across the thickly powdered floor, and she stifled a scream. It was then that she realised the gag they had shoved into her mouth at the park was still doing its duty. The offending rag made her mouth dry, so dry that she could barely swallow. She longed for a drink of water, but had little time to dwell on that as she struggled to make sense of it all.
Think Lizzy! You must think clearly in order to help yourself and Fitzwilliam!
She had no doubt that he would come for her.

Suddenly the door opened, causing her to jump. A grey-haired woman, as round as she was tall, shuffled into the room with a tray holding a pot, a cup and some bread. Elizabeth assumed it was the woman from the coach. At the prospect of something to quench her thirst, she tried to swallow but found she could not.

Paying no attention to the captive, the servant searched for a place to set her burden down and settled on a small table. Jerking the sheet from off it, copious dust particles instantly rose to ride the shafts of daylight now streaming through the holes in the window coverings. Though the dust filled the room, Elizabeth tried hard not to cough. She did not wish to draw attention to the blindfold’s failings.

Satisfied, the old servant plopped the tray down and turned to study her charge, immediately noticing that Elizabeth’s blindfold was half off. She stepped over to pull the entire thing over the captive’s head and then removed the gag from her mouth.

“Ain’t no point to it now, dearie. We’ll be long gone afore they find ya. If ya be quiet, I’ll let it be.”

Then she proceeded to untie Elizabeth hands. “Just til ya eat what I brung ya.” She slid the table before her captive, poured a cup of tea that looked like water and with a toothless grin, stated, “Fixed it fer ya myself.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, trying not to think of how nasty everything in the house was—especially what she was expected to eat. She had seen the dust settling on the bread as it filtered through the air. Nevertheless, she pasted on a small smile.

Her hands now free, she massaged each of her fingers to improve the circulation before carefully taking hold of the lukewarm cup of tea. Starved for water, she drank it down quickly. Seeing how hurriedly she drained the cup, her captor replenished it from the small pot.

“Thirsty are ya? Drink up! I’ll make more if need be.”

Elizabeth nodded, grateful for any show of concern for her wellbeing. Then she picked up a piece of bread spread with some type of jam and took a bite. While it did not appear appetising, it was edible, so she finished it. Going without food when it was offered was no option. She would need all her strength to face what was to happen. As she ate, her mind wandered as the old woman babbled about being expected to clean up the house and how pitifully inadequate the kitchen was, but she caught Elizabeth’s undivided attention when she mentioned Gisela.

A part of her would always be curious about that woman, but a more prudent side cautioned that she was better off not satisfying her curiosity. Nevertheless, Elizabeth knew that if Gisela was at this place, it was not because she had come to welcome her.

Instantly, the ring she had placed in her pocket at the park came to mind. She wondered if Wickham had discovered it when he pulled the necklace from its hiding place. Stealthily sliding a hand inside the pouch, she breathed a sigh of relief to find it still there.

“Ya better mind your manners if the mistress comes in ta see ya. She ain’t slow to anger, if ya know what I mean.”

Just at that moment, the sounds of people arguing just outside the door reinforced the old woman’s warning. The door flew open, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang. A woman, barely resembling the Gisela Darcy that Elizabeth had seen once at a ball, stumbled into the room. She was followed by a man who was trying to keep her from falling. That man, whom she instantly recognised from Ramsgate, gave up trying to aid Gisela after she latched onto a bed post, disturbing the cobwebs that were attached and causing several spiders to sprint across the sheet that covered the bed. Paying no mind, Gisela struggled to stay upright while simultaneously studying her. And as she did, an expression of absolute loathing crossed her face.

Shocked at Gisela’s dilapidated appearance, Elizabeth knew she should not stare, but she could not tear her eyes away. It was evident that the gown that Gisela wore was once very expensive, thought now it appeared wrinkled and dirty, with even a few slashes around the hem. Her hair was dishevelled—half of it upswept, the other half hanging down unkempt. What was more, she smelled as though she had bathed in brandy, though Elizabeth seriously doubted that she had had a bath in days. What little rouge was left on her cheeks was smudged, and she had heavily powdered her face, creating the same pasty look immortalised in portraits she had seen of The Virgin Queen.
20

Gisela’s words were slurred. “So you are the whore my husband keeps in London!” Elizabeth’s silence seemed to provoke her. Gisela moved to stand before her. “I am speaking to you! Answer me!”

Elizabeth met her glare. “I am Elizabeth Bennet, and I am no man’s mistress!”

“Do you think me an idiot? Too stupid to find you out?”  She raised a hand as if to strike her, but Wickham grabbed it and twirled her around to face him.

“I told you she is not to be hurt! Darcy will track us to the ends of the earth if she is harmed!”

“I have not pledged that she will go unscathed.”

“You had best listen to me in this matter! You are too drunk to be of sound mind!”

“I am drunk? When you arrived yesterday, you were in-your-cups according to my servants!”

“I was celebrating. Now it is time to get down to business. No more brandy! Do you hear?”

He began to drag Gisela out of the room, her shoes streaking the dust on the floor as she struggled to be free. Nonetheless, her present state left her unable to resist, and soon the door slammed shut behind them. Their argument continued outside, the noise level lessening as they moved down the hall towards another part of the house. And as they did, Elizabeth let go the breath she had been holding.

“Like I said, dearie! She ain’t one to be crossin’.” Agnes reached for the teapot a little more cautiously. “Another cup of tea?”

~~~*~~~

Percival Manor

As dawn broke over Lord Percival’s estate, a dense fog still bathed the ground though the sky was now turning a pearly grey. The sun, which had begun to rise, coloured just the top of the treeline on the horizon in shades of orange and purple. It was at this hour that Richard went in search of his cousin. He found William on the balcony outside his bedroom, standing next to a column, one white-knuckled hand clutching it tightly as though it was all that kept him upright, his head hung in despair.

“Darcy?”

William’s head snapped up and turned. Quickly confirming that it was Richard, he turned back to stare into the indistinct, still foggy landscape. All the unknown of the night and the universe had been pressing upon him and he was spent.

Richard ventured, “You thought I was Lord Landingham?”

A nod was his reply.

“He would not think less of you if he knew you were worried.”

“I do not want him to worry for me. He is not fully recovered.”

“I understand. But, alas, it is only me, your
voice of reason
.”

William could not help but smile. “Then my
voice of reason
could not sleep either?”

“It was not
that
duty that kept me awake! It is my training as an officer. We sleep little before a battle.”

Doubt tortured William. “This would not have happened had I not made Elizabeth return to Gracechurch Street with her father.”

“You do not know that. Knowing Miss Bennet, she would have walked out in Hyde Park, if she had no other choice, and he could have taken her from there. Besides, you had no say in the matter. Until she is of age, she must obey her father.”

William seemed to consider that for a long moment. “Do you think it shall be much of a battle? How many men do you suppose Wickham has recruited?”

“I do not suppose he would have any trouble recruiting the riff-raff that he knows, perhaps as many as twenty, more likely twelve or so.”

“There are fourteen of us, not counting Mr. Gladstone. Do you think that enough?”

“Yes. That bunch of misfits will be no match for us. Just the colleagues I brought with me could take them all, of that I am sure.”

“I fear they will kill Elizabeth before we can free her.” William’s voice faded and Richard came forward to clamp a firm hand on his shoulder.

“They did not bring her this far to kill her. I give that snake, Wickham, enough credit to fear what you would do to him if he were to harm her. And we will have the element of surprise.”

“But there is Gisela. She has become so…” William hesitated, trying to find the right word. “Unhinged is the only way to describe her. I fear that she will harm Elizabeth even more than I do Wickham.”

“But we have no real knowledge that she is at Stillwater.”

“I know her well enough. She is here.”

Richard could not concur with his cousin’s certainty, but was not willing to argue the point. It was just as likely true as untrue, thus he decided to get William’s mind off the prospect of Elizabeth’s death by changing the subject.

“Do you smell that? I could swear someone is already brewing coffee downstairs. Mrs. Watwood did say that we could come down to the dining room as soon as it was light, and I made sure to mention that I particularly enjoy coffee in the mornings.” His stomach growled loudly. “Come! Let us eat! It shall do none of us any good to be famished when we have important decisions to make.”

William nodded, allowing his cousin to push him towards the balcony door.

~~~*~~~

Once Richard and William descended the grand staircase, they found the downstairs abuzz with servants quietly taking tray after tray in the direction of what was likely the dining room. They also encountered Mrs. Watwood, Lord Percival’s housekeeper, who had been awakened to meet them last evening.

“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she exclaimed. “We have coffee and tea prepared already, with sweet rolls, buns, jams, preserves and butter. Bacon and sausages will be ready shortly, along with eggs, if that is more to your liking.” She swept her arm towards the double doors through which all the servants were disappearing. “Please help yourself.”

All of five feet tall and completely white-headed, Mrs. Watwood had greeted them cordially despite the hour and seen to their comfort seemingly unfazed by the prospect of feeding and housing a number of guests and servants with no notice. Lord Matlock, whom she had met before, had hand delivered Lord Percival’s letter of instructions and offered an apology for the lateness of the notice upon their arrival. The epitome of graciousness, even when her guests protested that they did not expect to be treated as guests but only wished to use the manor house as a gathering point, she would have none of it! 

“No guests of Lord Percival will spend the night sitting around a fireplace in the drawing room as long as I am housekeeper at Percival Manor!”

Thus they had each been ushered to a guest room in short order. Not only had many of the rooms been at ready for occupancy, others were sufficient for habitation with very little wait. The marksmen who arrived on the later coaches also found clean and comfortable rooms in the servants’ quarters.

Now as Richard and William entered the dining room, William found that the wonderful smells emanating from all the trays made his stomach rumble, as he had eaten little yesterday. So they both took a cup of coffee and filled a plate, sitting down at a table made to seat at least fifty comfortably. Not long after, the rest of their party had joined them, eaten and at Mrs. Watwood’s suggestion, adjoined to the library. She had insisted that only the library had tables large enough to spread their maps and papers effortlessly.

~~~*~~~

Teddington
Stillwater Manor
The Stables
Midday

Inside the now crumbling stables of Stillwater, a motley crew of misfits played cards around an old table they had found in a back room. Grimsby, one of those brought to Stillwater by Gisela, had established himself the leader the moment he had arrived. Tall, muscular, dark-haired and swarthy, he looked even more dangerous now that he sported an ugly red scar that ran the length of the left side of his face. And when he threw one of Wickham’s recruits from the best room in what was once the grooms’ quarters, he went unchallenged. Of course, most of the chaps that Wickham had talked into this adventure were more interested in the few pounds promised than trying to best Grimsby, so they deferred easily.