Page 87 of Midnight at Pemberley

Wickham’s eyes flashed. “I returned to Stanwick because I wished retribution against the descendants of those who turned on my parents and sent them to a fiery grave.”

“An avenging angel?”

Wickham offered an honest smile. “I like that, Darcy—an apropos signature. I believe I may borrow it from you. You will not mind, will you, as you will be dead by then?” He gestured to the ceiling. “Those sounds you hear above are my pupils dancing a waltz of sorts about the main hall. They gather there nightly. Many are the descendants of those original villagers. I have my revenge, you see. They took my parents, and, just as with your family, I choose among them. I studiously avoid the families who arrived here after my parents’ death. It is a conundrum of sorts for I hunger for the more delectable morsels, shall we say, but it is an indiscretion I do not permit myself.”

“Unfortunately, Wickham, you must be satisfied with my death only. Elizabeth will remain from her family and from me. And, like me, she would gladly die to end the curse.” Now it was Darcy’s turn to laugh. “Have you considered, Wickham, what happens to you when I die? The curse involves all of us. Even if you were to capture Elizabeth, she would, as I am doing, sacrifice herself. Then there would be no more bonding of the D’Arcy and Benning families. Have you considered the fact that the curse exists only as long as my family produces firstborn sons. I am the last of the male line, and I refused to permit my wife to produce another. There will be no more, and soon no more villagers. It has taken two hundred years to eradicate you, but the evil will stop.”

Wickham feigned nonchalance. “I thought of all this, Darcy.” He stood quickly to make his departure, but Darcy was certain his announcement had struck a chord. “I will do a little reconnoitering this evening, searching for your wife’s presence in the area. I am sorry to say I must keep you here for now. Some of my followers might consider you an appealing meal. You are quite the delicacy. As the majority of them were brought up with Christian beliefs, I will hang your trusty crucifix on the door to dissuade them of any overwhelming desires they might have to feed on mixed blood.” He hooked the chain on the latch. “Rest now, Darcy. The end will not be much longer.”

With Wickham’s exit, Darcy leaned his chair against the wall to relax the tension on his arms. His shoulders throbbed from the strain upon them. Considering Wickham’s threats, he was happy Elizabeth had absented herself from him. She would not witness his death nor would she be in danger. He would die by Wickham’s hand or he would die by his own devices. It was not likely Wickham would think to feed him, so he might starve or die of thirst or smother in his own waste, but Darcy would die, and there would be no more firstborn sons to carry on the curse. The thought satisfied him, and he closed his eyes to find some pleasure in the idea and to do as his enemy suggested: rest.

Wickham moved through the inn like a cold breeze let in through an open window. One of the women Darcy had dispatched during the night once resided here and had foolishly invited him in. Now, he checked each of the rooms, finding no signs of Elizabeth Darcy, only the remnants of Darcy’s toilette. In some ways it pleased him to know his subterfuge had played out so well, but he also regretted the possibility of meeting the formidable Mrs. Darcy again. During their previous meeting, her incantation had sent him slamming into the back wall of a bookshop, and while he recovered, Elizabeth Darcy had set Amelia Younge free with a powerful thrust of Darcy’s sword. The woman was no wilting violet; in fact, she was a briar rose, just like the one in the accursed ballad about the love between Fair Ellender and Lord Thomas.

Satisfied, he returned to his house. He would come again tomorrow before he would believe Darcy completely. Wickham had witnessed the love Elizabeth Darcy attempted to conceal even before Darcy married her. She did not fear Wickham, even then, because the woman knew Darcy would protect her. His enemy had presented her that damnable crucifix, and Elizabeth Bennet put her trust in the symbol of her God and in the man she adored. Wickham avoided touching the necklace because of the love associated with it. Darcy had never succumbed to any of the women who threw themselves at his feet, but a saucy maid from a country estate brought the man to his knees. Originally, Wickham thought her a weapon he could use to defeat Darcy. Little had he known, the reverse was true: Elizabeth Bennet Darcy would provide her husband the strength to bring about the closure Darcy sought.

Wickham took up his favorite chair and observed the ritual movement about the room. A mesmerizing mist filled the hall. These souls belonged to him, and he controlled when they hunted and when they fed. As the first streaks of dawn lit the upper panes of the windows, they drifted away. They would return, leaving their graves to congregate in his home. The only disciples remaining throughout the day were Lydia Bennet and an opera singer he brought to his house a little more than a year earlier.

Neither woman had a grave to which to return. They never knew the blessing of a funeral.

Elizabeth hurried from the room she shared with the colonel. She had put away all the bedding she managed to procure from the various maids, knowing her husband’s cousin had spent the past five nights sleeping on hard floors. She was thankful for the man’s intrusion, but tonight she wished to sleep in her husband’s arms and feel his breath on the back of her neck. She had missed him terribly.

The colonel met her in the open dining room, took her hand, and pulled her towards the private room. “Is something amiss?” she whispered when the door closed behind them.

“The carriage has a problem. A mail coach lost a wheel, and it struck our livery, breaking several of the spokes. It will take several hours to repair.” He still held her hand, and she knew the colonel expected her to act impulsively.

“This cannot be!” she protested. She tugged on her hand, but the colonel held tight. “We must leave today! William is in danger!”

With his thumbs the colonel wiped away the tears now streaming down her cheeks. “What other choice do we possess? My cousin is a strong man, and he will not do anything rash. We will go to Stanwick today, but it will be later than we anticipated. Fortunately, we are on the eastern side of the county, traveling along the coastal way, whereas Darcy must cross the entire shire. Possibly, he was detained, as well.”

In agitation, Elizabeth strode away from him. “Why do we not take the horses? I can ride.”

“We have but one saddle, the one from my horse, and even if we could find another, it assuredly would not be designed for a lady.” He moved to where she now stood looking out the window. Despite her best efforts, what she could not control terrified her. “Be reasonable, Elizabeth. We are seven to eight hours away in the carriage. That translates to six hours in the saddle. Even an experienced rider has difficulty maintaining such a pace.”

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip in indecision. At length, she declared, “I will give the repair two hours. If the coach is not ready by then, I am hiking these skirts to my knees, and I am riding off on the best horse I can acquire.You may join me or choose to wait on the coach, Colonel.”

He laughed at her stubbornness. “Two hours, Mrs. Darcy,” he repeated. Then he took two steps towards the door. “Elizabeth,” he said to her back, “my cousin is wealthy in more ways than one.”

Elizabeth heard the door close behind her. Darcy’s cousin was an exemplary man, someone to whom she would always be grateful, but he did not understand. When a person loved as she loved Darcy, a life without that love was impossible. How could she explain how she could not properly breathe without Darcy? Could not exist without him? He was her other half. Elizabeth’s whole heart belonged to Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“YES, MA’AM.” THE INNKEEPER BOWED TO ELIZABETH UPON HER ENTRANCE. “May I be of assistance?”

“I am seeking my husband, Sir.” She demanded immediate attention with her tone.

The innkeeper gave her a critical look, thinking her a spurned wife hoping to catch her husband in a dalliance. “I assure you, Madam, I do not tolerate such use of my establishment.”

Elizabeth looked momentarily confused, and then she flushed with color. “You misunderstand, Sir. My husband and I were to meet here. This is his cousin.” She gestured to Colonel Fitzwilliam as he stepped up beside her.

“Of course, Madam.” The man bowed once again to guarantee he offered no offense. He stepped behind the registration book. “Your husband’s name, Ma’am?”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

The man ran his finger down the page to find Darcy’s name. “Yes, Ma’am. Mr. Darcy is a guest. Might you wish to join him?”

“Naturally,” Elizabeth said, “and my cousin will also require quarters.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam took control. “Please see that the lady’s luggage is placed in Mr. Darcy’s room, and our carriage and coachman receive proper care.”