Unforgiving Temper (62 page)

The path they followed wound through the
thickly-wooded grove until it emptied onto the western edge of
Pettigrew's Meadow. A short trip across the meadow brought them to
another stand of trees and then a road. When they reached the road,
Wickham pulled Elizabeth down and set her on her feet. It took a
moment to clear her head and then she could see her sister's
familiar figure standing near a carriage, being watched over by
none other than Mrs. Ann Younge! At Elizabeth's appearance, Lydia
dashed forward, a steady flow of tears trickling down her face.

“Oh, Lizzy! I could not say anything at the
church. I just couldn't!” she sobbed violently, reaching for her
sister. “I am so afraid!”

Elizabeth gasped at the several red and
purple blotches marking her sister's arms. Looking closer, she
found more marks only partially visible along Lydia's neckline.
Wickham reached out, roughly pulling Lydia to his side. She
flinched away from his touch and began crying softly.

“I told you to stay at the carriage, did I
not?”

“Yes -- yes, you did. I am sorry.”

“And well you should be.”

Guiding Elizabeth forward, Wickham calmly
returned Lydia to Mrs. Younge's side where she sank to the
ground in muted sobs.

“You must excuse my wife's intemperate
outburst. She has found obedience in marriage to be a somewhat
difficult lesson to learn.”

“You are an outrageous brute!” Elizabeth
hissed furiously. “How dare you treat my sister as if she were
nothing more than a dog to be trained! Our father will not stand
for it!”

“Your father will never know. And even if he
did, it means nothing. I have the law. She is MY wife and I may do
as I see fit.”

Elizabeth's chin lifted defiantly. “What is
it you want?”

“What do I want?” he snarled. “I want the
fortune that you have cost me. Darcy has robbed me for the last
time and I will now have what is my due!”

Realizing he was losing control, Wickham
stopped abruptly, adjusting his waistcoat and visibly setting his
composure with a cleansing breath before he continued evenly. “You
really should have tried a little harder to become Lady Grissholm,
you know. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. You and
your sister are now about to meet with an unfortunate accident
while admiring the views from Mount Oakham. I am told it can be
very treacherous this time of year. Once you are out of the way for
good, I shall be rich enough to do as I please for the rest of my
life.”

“You must be mad if you think you will get
away with this. You will be found out!”

“I do not think so. A man can hide for a very
long time if he has enough money. Now then, we can do this as
swiftly as possible, or we can make this difficult. It is up to
you. In any case, I shall at last have my revenge.”

Elizabeth stood her ground even though her
heart thudded in her chest and her mind raced furiously. She would
not willingly allow herself and Lydia to be murdered. She would not
be led like a lamb to the slaughter.

Feigning compliance, she slowly moved to
Lydia and raised her from the ground. Facing away from Wickham, she
pulled Lydia close in a comforting embrace, and whispered into her
ear. “You must have courage now. He will not hurt you ever again.
When I release you, take the path I came on and run home as fast as
you can. He will not risk losing me to catch you. Run home to
father and tell him what has happened. I am counting on you to be
brave. Can you do that?”

Sniffling into Elizabeth's shoulder, Lydia
nodded slowly once.

“Here we go, then,” Elizabeth murmured
softly. “Remember, as fast as you can!”

With that, Elizabeth stepped back and turned
to face Wickham just as Lydia bolted up the road toward the
grove.

“What the devil?!” Wickham shouted in
surprise and instantly started in pursuit. He had not run a dozen
steps, however, before stopping and whirling on Elizabeth; but it
was too late. She had sprinted in the opposite direction the second
he had started after Lydia, leaving a startled Ann Younge in her
wake.

Elizabeth raced down the road as fast as she
could, spurred on by the sound of Wickham's anger exploding behind
her. Her foot painfully struck the sharp edge of a stone that
jutted from the road, making her wish for a sturdy pair of walking
shoes instead of the thin-soled slippers she now wore. Ignoring the
sharp pain that shot up her leg with every step, she ran on, her
only thought being to reach the berry thicket she had played in as
a child.

She forced her legs to go faster, the beat of
her heart pulsing in her ears and her breath coming in hard, ragged
pants. One foot fell rhythmically in front of the other, every step
bringing her closer to the thick, protective mounds of thorny
branches that would conceal her from Wickham. The road ahead curved
and then sloped down, giving her a few precious moments out of
Wickham's view.

The ground was saturated from the recent
downpour that she had worried would ruin Jane's wedding day. She
rushed headlong, nearly losing her footing on the grassy slope more
than once. Reaching the bottom, she could hear Wickham thrashing
through the brush above her as she splashed across a little stream
and lunged into the tangle of branches that bordered it. Heedless
of the sharp thorns that tore at her, she moved deeper into the
brambles and crouched behind a fallen tree as his voice rang out in
a tone of strained patience.

“You have nowhere to go, my dear. Do not make
this difficult.”

She could hear his progress down the incline,
punctuated by an infuriated oath as he hit a particularly slippery
spot and went down. “You will regret this, I'll bloody well make
certain of it!” he swore fiercely. Had he seen her? Elizabeth froze
where she was, feeling the angry scratches that throbbed on her
arms and neck. She could feel brambles pulling at her hair. Still,
she dared not move as she gulped shallow gasps of air, trying to
catch her breath and praying he would not hear her.

There were more oaths as he finally reached
the bottom and began searching the thicket. Branches stirred and
twigs snapped sending her heart racing at every sound. Once, the
sight of Wickham's green jacket through the tangle of branches
stopped her very breath and then he turned in another direction.
After what seemed an eternity, the sounds of his searching slowly
began to grow more distant.

When she gauged Wickham to be at a safe
distance, she crept out from her hiding spot and made a run for it
along the brook toward Longbourn and away from him. Stumbling on
the slick, rocky bank, her coat caught on a branch and she hastily
yanked it free, tearing the thin woolen fabric. She began to strip
it off, but stopped as soon as she saw the brighter yellow muslin
beneath that had not been darkened by mud and brambles. She wrapped
the coat tightly around herself, hoping the now dingy golden yellow
she had thought so lovely for the wedding celebration would not
give her away amidst the stark brown and gray foliage.

A loud snap sounded behind her and Elizabeth
darted into a thicket of Blackthorn, pushing her way into its
sheltering branches and shredding the last bits of her thin leather
gloves. Cold and now very wet from crossing the stream, she
crouched low and stifled a gasp as she saw her feet. Her hasty
retreat down the rock-strewn bank had re-opened the gash on her
foot and now rivulets of muddy water dripping from her petticoat
mixed with the oozing blood. In horror, Elizabeth's eyes followed
an unmistakable trail of blood which led directly from the
riverbank to her hiding place. She could now hear Wickham coming
along the riverbank as well. He would not miss it! There was
nothing to be done but make another run for it. She prayed her
superior knowledge of the grove would give her the advantage she
needed to elude him.

Quickly, she sprang from her hiding place and
darted through the trees. She could hear Wickham's growl and the
crashing sounds of his pursuit. Staying to the more dense parts of
the overgrown wood, she ran in a wide turning arc that would bring
her back to the stream and the quickest route to Longbourn. Fearful
that every noise was Wickham about to pounce on her, she pressed on
until she could go no further without a short rest. She paused
beside the gnarled limbs of a towering hazel tree, casting furtive
glances around as she struggled to catch her breath. Straining to
hear any sign of her pursuer, all she could hear was her own
labored breathing and pounding heart.

With another steadying breath, she stepped
out, ready to continue her run when suddenly, she felt the weight
of a hand on her back, grabbing her coat and pulling her backward.
Before she could gain her balance, Wickham captured her arm in a
brutal grip, forcing a startled cry of pain from her and angrily
whirling her around hard enough to make her head spin.

The sleeve of his coat and leg of his
trousers were coated with mud and debris, and a deep scratch
crusted with dried blood scored his forehead, disappearing into his
disheveled hair. He drew her close, speaking with a chilling
sharpness. “Did you really think you could escape me, madam? Try
that again and you will find, in the little time you have left,
that I can be
very
disagreeable.”

Without another word, he turned and pulled
Elizabeth roughly behind him, ignoring her attempts to break free.
He deftly navigated his way back to the brook and then followed its
course back to the slope. Flinging Elizabeth to the ground ahead of
him, he ordered her to ascend.

“Why should I? You plan to kill me in any
case.”

“You are still valuable as a bargaining tool
should we find anyone waiting for us at the carriage. Now get
going!”

“No! If I am to die, it might as well be
here!”

When she refused to move, he grabbed her
hair, yanking her head back and pulling at her skirts.

“I told you this can be as difficult as you
choose to make it. If you do not start up this hill immediately, I
shall be happy to add one more injury to the damages listed when
your body is discovered! Not a very fitting memory to leave your
family, is it?”

Knowing the threat was not idle, Elizabeth
slapped his hand from her dress and turned to climb the hill,
Wickham following close behind. When they reached the road, Wickham
stopped to catch his breath while keeping Elizabeth's arm firmly in
his grasp.

“You cannot possibly succeed in this,” she
huffed, trying to catch her own breath after the precipitous climb.
“Lydia must be home by now. It is only a matter of minutes before
they will come, you know – my father, Mr. Bingley.” She took
another deep breath. “And I am willing to wager Mr. Darcy will
be in the party. Do you really want to face that possibility?”

“You forget I have the element of surprise in
my favor – and a considerable head start. Your father's health
being what it is, I imagine it will take time for the party to form
– that is, if the strain doesn't bring on another attack. Do you
really think he is in any condition to leap on a horse, come to
save you, and live to tell the tale?”

A fresh surge of dread gripped Elizabeth. The
excitement of Lydia's abused condition and news of her own
abduction would certainly have an adverse effect on her father's
health. He was right, but she would never give him the satisfaction
of giving up.

“Nevertheless, Lydia will expose you and they
will come. If you have any hopes of escaping, I advise you to give
up this scheme and leave now.”

“You are too hopeful by half, my dear. I
am
leaving, but not until my business is finished. I have
every intention of collecting a very large fortune by you.”

His hand still wrapped around Elizabeth's
arm, Wickham started for the carriage at an alarming rate. The
nearer they came to the carriage, the more she struggled against
him. She was certain that once they reached the carriage, they
would be too far ahead of any rescue party to be found in time. She
tugged against his unyielding grasp again and again, resisting
their advance as they walked.

After a particularly vigorous pull, she felt
him slow his pace then stop altogether, turning to her with a low
growl. “I have had enough of this!”

With blinding speed, Wickham struck her
across the cheek, delivering a second blow with the backswing of
his hand. Elizabeth choked back a stunned cry. Raising her free
hand, she gingerly stroked the burning pain in her face and the
recollection of the appalling marks she had seen earlier on Lydia
loomed in her mind.

Wickham's menacing snarl underscored her
mounting fear, “Now, we shall make our way to the carriage, and if
you give me any further trouble I shall make good on my promise! Do
you understand?” At her unwilling nod, he resumed his pace with a
satisfied smirk. “I see you are a much better student than your
sister.”

* * * *

Coming up short in the middle of the little
glen, Darcy stood in the stirrups and surveyed the divergent paths
ahead, irritated with himself.
Could I have taken the wrong
direction? Am I too late?
He turned his mount, considering his
options.
If only there was something to give direction!

At that moment, a faint sound of distress
resonated in the woods to his right. Responding immediately, Darcy
launched into the grove at full gallop, dodging the branches and
shrubs blocking his advance. Rounding a blind turn, he barely had
time to grapple with the reins and rear his horse back, narrowly
missing the terrified figure directly in front of him. Darcy
brought the animal to bear and looked down, seeing Lydia Wickham's
tear-stained face frozen in fear at very nearly being trampled.

Jumping from the saddle, Darcy grabbed
Lydia's shoulders, shaking her from her terrified trance. “Mrs.
Wickham! Have you seen your sister? Is Wickham here?”