The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (39 page)

“Playin' cards?” Dolina interrupted.

“We each cherish our own games, Aunt,” he said testily. “Do ye want to hear wot I discovered or not?”

She grudgingly said, “Go on.”

Munro smiled smugly. “This man speaks of a cousin he seeks from over near Kirkconnel. The girl, she leaves the estate and does not return at dark. They search for two days, but no one has seen her.”

“Be the gel Lady Esme?”

Munro shrugged. “If she be so, the gel's name be not Lady Esme. She be Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and her husband be a great war hero.”

“The gel say her husband be dead,” Dolina protested.

Munro thought to prevaricate, but he reminded himself of the pledge he had just made to leave the others to deal with the turmoil of their ultimate confrontations. “The estate be closed, but the gel bring in workers because she expect her husband's return. Unfortunately, she received word from his mother, an English countess, that Major General Fitzwilliam was among those lost at Waterloo.”

“A countess?” Dolina said greedily. “I knew Lady Esme be from quality.”

Munro ground his teeth in frustration. He knew what Dolina had planned for Lady Esme before Domhnall had stepped in and
put a stop to his mother's schemes. “She not be Lady Esme. The gel's name be Georgiana Fitzwilliam. Her brother reportedly owns the biggest estate in Derbyshire. When she learned of her husband's fate, she rode away, and no one be seeing her since that day.”

“Must be when Blane finds her and brings her in,” Dolina mused. Her jaw tightened, and the darkness returned to her eyes. “I shan't be fightin' Domhnall if he chooses the gel.”

“But ye be promisin' Lady Esme for me,” Aulay protested.

Dolina's frown lines met. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam be related to an earl. She has a powerful brother. The gel be needin' a powerful husband. A man with his own title and land. They be payin' to keep her reputation sound. Domhnall has demonstrated his regard for the gel.”

“She be English,” Munro observed. “Once she remembers her past, Mrs. Fitzwilliam may not wish to remain in Scotland.”

Aulay turned pointedly away. “Domhnall always be takin' the best of everything.”

“We shan't speak of this again,” Dolina ordered. “Your brother be needin' a wife and an heir, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam kin provide an influx of economy to stabilize the estate. Domhnall must press the gel to marry him immediately. We be requirin' the deed done before her family be discoverin' her presence at Normanna.”

Munro backed the horse up a few steps. “Ye should hurry along. Yer delivery's beginning to smell.”

“Me brother Oliver knows wot to do with the deliveries I bring him,” she said as she rearranged the reins between her fingers. “Ye shud return home. Tell no one of our meetin',” she instructed. “I be speakin' to Domhnall upon my return.”

“As ye wish,” Munro said contritely. Yet, he would speak to his cousin. Then he would pack his meager belongings. Tomorrow, he would leave Normanna Hall forever.

“How should we play this?” Edward asked as they dismounted before the manor house.

Darcy glanced toward the red sandstone monstrosity. “We ask about the horse. No one has admitted knowledge of a female taking refuge within. Let us see if the lord of the manor volunteers information on Georgiana's presence.”

Edward adjusted his horse's straps. “I do not like it. Something about this place feels wrong.”

Darcy removed his gloves as a groom rushed forward to claim their reins. “I agree,” he said softly. “We should listen to what is not said by our host. Our instincts are rarely wrong.”

Handing off the horses to the groom, they climbed the few steps leading to the main door. “This place makes one appreciate Pemberley's clean lines,” Edward said under his breath. “It feels as if each generation added on to the main house without regard to the previous generation's vision.”

Darcy released the knocker. “A person could literally become lost in the house's many wings and passages.”

“That is what frightens me the most. Is Georgiana lost within?”

AFTER SEEING ALL THERE WAS to see at Normanna, Wickham had reached for the saddle's stirrup with his booted foot. He had mounted the waiting horse and had ridden away from the Scottish property. “What should I do with what I have discovered today?” he had repeated aloud several times. How best to twist the situation at Normanna for his own good nagged at him. Looking off in the distance, he scanned the horizon. “A storm is brewing.” He shaded his eyes from the dust stirred up ahead of a line of dark clouds. “I require shelter.” Leaving his thoughts of profit and revenge behind, he turned his mount toward the south.

Rain pelted the windows, but she had more problems than the sudden downpour. She needed to discover a means of escape. She had remained in this room too long. It had offered her a brief sense of security, but now the walls had closed in and had robbed her of her very breath. Yet, the hope of freedom flickered within her chest, and she had resolved to alter what had held her immobile for so long. “There must be a way out.” She stared out the small window at the darkening clouds. “As soon as the storm clears, I must make a move to extricate myself from this place. If I remain much longer, I shall surely die behind these walls.”

“Yes, Sir.” A proper servant swung the door wide just as the heavens had opened again. Darcy and Edward stepped through the opening
into the house's main foyer. The droplets splattered against the dust-covered steps, leaving penny-sized marks in their wake.

Darcy removed his hat and presented his card. “Mr. Darcy to speak to your master,” he recited the words automatically. They were ingrained on his tongue. Such formality was so familiar that he often wondered if he repeated the phrase in his sleep.

Edward placed his card beside Darcy's on the tray. “Major General Fitzwilliam,” he said evenly.

The manservant accepted their hats and gloves. “If you gentlemen will follow me, I will inform Laird Wotherspoon of yer arrival.”

“Thank you.” Darcy glanced about the hall as he and Edward followed the servant to a small alcove. It was not the traditional English sitting room. Rather it was a recessed area off a large open room that could serve as a ballroom or a large stateroom. When the servant disappeared into the house's bowels, Darcy let out the breath he had held.

“What do you think?” Edward asked under his breath.

Darcy frowned. “I have never encountered such an unusual house. Parts of it take on the architecture of a medieval church.”

Edward's eyes searched for any sign of his wife. “True.” The Major General's voice took on threatening tones. “Heaven help us if Georgiana is being held within. How will we ever find her?”

“I hope it will not come to that,” Darcy assured. He nodded toward the walls. “Did you notice the faded paper where once hung several portraits?”

Edward spoke through clenched teeth. “I noticed.” He pointed to a nearby setting with a nod of his chin. “I would say the furniture has seen much wear.”

“Perhaps Lord Wotherspoon is in need of financial assistance,” Darcy observed. “Perhaps there are certain advantages which His Lordship is now obliged to forego through the urgency of his debts.”

The sound of approaching footsteps cut short their analysis. They rose to their feet as a man in his early thirties strode toward them. The gentleman was dressed with an English influence rather than in the typical Scottish garb that Darcy had expected.

“Mr. Darcy.” The man came to a halt and offered a bow. “Major General.” He showed Edward similar respect. “You gentlemen have surprised me. I had not known we had English visitors in the neighborhood.” He gestured toward the chairs they had recently abandoned. “I am Domhnall MacBethan, Lord Wotherspoon.” He sat across from Darcy.

Darcy's curiosity won out. He had instantly sized up the man before him. His late father had preached the importance of first impressions. Of course, Darcy had learned his lesson regarding the misconstruction often associated with assessing someone on first look when he had met Elizabeth Bennet, but he still placed a value on such imprints. “You have studied in England, Lord Wotherspoon?”

“I have, Mr. Darcy. Since I was a small boy. I have only recently returned to my ancestral land.” Wotherspoon leaned back into the chair's cushions and relaxed. “It is a pleasure to speak to someone from Derbyshire. Might I offer you gentlemen a drink? Some refreshments? I fear my mother, who serves as my hostess, is away from my home today. She will be sorry to have missed you.” When Darcy and Edward declined, Wotherspoon smiled widely and said, “How might I serve you?”

Darcy kept control of the conversation. Although he, too, wanted to grab Wotherspoon by the man's expensive jacket and demand to know immediately if Georgiana was in this house, he recognized his cousin's increasing fury. “My cousin and I have only recently arrived in Scotland, but it was brought to our attention that one of my uncle's thoroughbreds is missing. Unfortunately, that same report says that the horse has been spotted among your stock.”

The moment that his servant had presented the two embossed cards, Domhnall had expected the worst. The visitors would see his mother and the rest of the household to the gallows unless he could divert their questioning. He had watched their expressions as he attempted an amiable presence, but Domhnall realized that it was only a matter of time before the whole world knew of the evil his mother practiced behind these doors.

Now, these Englishmen sought information on the horse Lady Esme had ridden the night she was taken prisoner by Blane and placed in the cells by his mother. A part of him wanted this madness to end, but another part still clung to the hope that his ethereal prisoner would choose to stay with him. He had convinced himself that only Lady Esme could bring him happiness. Shifting his weight to appear concerned over the gentleman's request, Domhnall said, “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that no one at Normanna would purposely keep a horse that did not belong to the property.” He was thankful that his cousin had ridden out on the horse in question when his mother had sent Munro to search out Lady Esme's true identity.