Chapter 13

B aron Henderson was pacing back and forth in his study. His trusted men should have returned with Prinny’s by-blow by now. If they had been delayed, he expected he would have received some sort of note from Smithington, who was the most trusted of them all.

He rationalised his fears by telling himself that his men were lying low and would not chance sending him a message at the same time the Royal Guard must be turning over every rock searching for whichever of the girls the late Wickham had snatched. Once he had convinced himself that all was as it should be, he relaxed and pulled out his special ledger which held the information of the money he earned from his not so legal activities, one of which was trading in slaves.

When one added in his other income to the income he would receive once Prinny awarded him the dukedom, he would be almost as wealthy as Bedford. He was sure as soon as he was a duke no one would dare shun him or look down on his business activities.

Yes. He would hear from Smithington in a day or two, and then he would receive his due.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Biggs nodded to the private who, with a menacing grin, pulled the poker out of the fire where it had been heating for some time.

Denny felt beads of sweat roll down his face. This was to be the first day of interrogation. The Baron’s man, Smithington had died of his wound from being shot, refusing to talk beforehand. Smithington and the other man employed by the Baron had threatened Younge and himself with all manner of punishments if they spoke. The problem was, none of them would ever be free again, and more than likely they would soon be dead too. The only question was how much pain would each of them endure before they met their ends at the Tower of London. He realised the threats were empty, so there was no point in protecting the man who had sent them all to die.

He should have seen it before; the Baron’s men were present to make sure none of them survived if they were in danger of capture. Denny told himself that more likely than not, even had they escaped, their lives would have been forfeit as he was sure their employer did not want anyone alive who could bear witness against him.

The private approached Denny; the poker’s tip glowing white hot, and a malevolent glint in his eyes. “That is not needed, I will tell you anything you wish to know,” he stated. He did not miss the disappointment in the private’s eyes which flashed momentarily before the man schooled his features.

“Denny! Don’ya bloody talk…” Whatever the Baron’s man was about to scream out was lost when Biggs unleashed his fist and connected under the man’s chin, rendering him unconscious.

“You were about to say?” Biggs asked as he wiped off his enormous hand where it had connected with the now senseless man.

“Baron Henderson employed us to kidnap one of Mrs Fitzherbert’s daughters. I know not why he wanted her; he never told us that. If you want proof, Smithington, the one who died, has a secret pocket sewn into the lining of his coat. He thought I did not notice when he secreted things into it. The one who got away is Lieutenant George Wickham, late of a regiment of the Derbyshire Militia. As I will meet my end for this anyway, I am Lieutenant James Denny of the same unit, and we deserted some months ago.” Denny hung his head. He knew his end was coming, but at least he would meet the executioner’s axe with his honour intact.

Biggs had one of his men remove the coat from the corpse of the man the deserter identified as Smithington. He began to search. “Where is it?” he asked Denny.

“Right hand side, I would guess about level with his chest,” Denny responded.

Knowing the general area made the search much quicker. Biggs felt the bulk before he discovered the cleverly disguised opening to the hidden pocket. Inside were a number of papers. “I need to show these to ‘is ‘Ighness,” Biggs drawled after looking over a sampling of what he had removed from the pocket. “You should know, ‘e have orders for all of you to be killed if you managed to escape.”

“I had deduced that,” Denny reported.

Through all of this, Younge had remained silent. He had never been so scared in his life. He was used to being the one to intimidate others, but he realised he was powerless in this situation. After damned Denny spoke, there was only one piece of information he could trade. “I knows sumin that could be helpful,” Younge rasped out before the man named Biggs left the corner of the stables where they were being held. He was very uncomfortable with his hands above his head while attached to a rope tied to a ring in the ceiling, and he hoped the information would gain him something, even being put into a more comfortable position for now.

“What?” Biggs demanded gruffly.

“Untie me, it ‘urts wif me ‘ands like they be,” Younge bargained.

With a nod to two of his soldiers, Younge was cut down, and promptly shackled, wrists and ankles. “Tell me,” Biggs growled.

From up close, the enormous man scared Younge even more. “First thing ‘e employed me and me men ta do was kill four men fir ‘im. ‘E thought I did’na know why ‘e wanted ‘em dead, but one tol’ me afore ‘e died, they had murdered the other baron an’ ‘is sons, so Weasley could be baron.”

“Interesting, but we ‘ave more than enough to ‘ave Baron ‘Enderson up for treason,” Biggs growled. He looked to his sergeant. “I am off to see ‘is ‘Ighness.”

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

The Darcy and Fitzwilliam coaches reached London in much less time than they would have under normal circumstances. They planned to overnight at Darcy House—there was no point having two houses opened in Grosvenor Square for a single night—and press on at first light.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was waiting for them when the conveyances were halted by the coachmen in front of Darcy House. The Killions were standing on the top step in front of the oversized front door.

“Are you sure Anna had it right? There has been no mention of this in the papers and the rumour mill is silent on the subject,” the Colonel informed his family as soon as they were all inside of Darcy’s house. “Then again,” he thought, “I would assume the Regent would make sure no word was breathed with one of his daughters the target of the plot. It is what I would do to make those who ordered this to relax and think there are in the clear.”

“That must be it because Anna would never have written this,” Darcy pulled the letter out of his jacket pocket, “on a whim.”

The Colonel read the letter. “Now I understand why Mother and Father are here. But what of you, Andy?” He looked at his older brother, the same one who was convinced he would never find a woman worth marrying. Andrew looked more serious than he had seen him before, could it be his fun-loving brother was finally ready to settle down. He shook the thought from his mind and turned toward his younger cousin. “ Do they know that Anna’s welfare, who may I state seems perfectly well, is not the only reason you are hellbent to reach the Pavilion?”

“I think we should retire to my study before we have this discussion,” Darcy stated as he glared at his loose-lipped cousin.

The Earl and Countess looked between their younger son and nephew. There was something they were not aware of; of that they were sure. It was the viscount who spoke. “I for one am intrigued, let us retire to Darcy’s inner sanctum,” Lord Hilldale drawled.

“Would you not like to wash and change, and then have some refreshments first?” Darcy attempted to procrastinate.

“No!” was the succinct reply chorused by two men and a lady.

Darcy shrugged and led the Fitzwilliams into his study. He paced back and forth while three Fitzwilliams looked at him expectantly, and the other one smirked at him. “It all began when I joined Bingley at his leased estate in Hertfordshire…” Darcy told the whole of the mortifying story, including the slight and his behaviour when he thought he was in danger of raising expectations. He told them how Anna had met Miss Elizabeth by chance in Brighton, how close they had become, and lastly of his having begged her pardon in a letter he had sent her via Anna. “In the letter Anna wrote, as Richard can attest, Miss Elizabeth forgave me before she was injured while saving Miss Seymour.”

“This lady you are in love with is the one who jumped in front of a galloping horse to save an unknown girl?” Lord Matlock whistled as he blew out some air. “She is a gentleman’s daughter, is she not?” Darcy and the Colonel both nodded. “Then, William, you are equal.”

Not wanting to see the ‘I told you so’ look on his cousin’s face,’ Darcy pointedly did not look at Richard .

“I have a feeling that will no longer be true,” Lady Matlock opined. Four men looked at her quizzically. “The Regent loves Maria and her daughters as well as any husband or father could. I believe when all is said and done this Miss Elizabeth will be far above you, mayhap all of us.”

It was as if an ice hand gripped his heart. Darcy had not considered that. However, he consoled himself with the thought Miss Elizabeth would not have accepted him because of his wealth and connections being superior to her own, thus, he believed she would not reject him if roles were reversed. He could only send thanks to God on high he had sent his apologies before all of this occurred.

The Viscount guffawed. His family all looked at him. “I just thought about what Aunt Cat will have to say if she learns you are interested in a lady not named Anne de Bourgh,” Lord Hilldale grinned.

A collective groan was heard from the other four in the study. “I did not think of that, and now that Anne will be five and twenty before the end of this month, the old dragon will be more desperate than ever to marry Anne off to one who will remove her from Rosings Park.” The Colonel had verbalised what the rest were thinking.

Neither of his parents admonished him for the way he spoke of his father’s sister, as it was nothing but the truth.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Lady Catherine was seriously displeased. Her daughter’s birthday, on which she would turn five and twenty, was in not much more than a fortnight. Unless she could force her recalcitrant nephew to do his duty to her, she would lose control of Rosings Park, and that was not to be borne. The problem was she knew not how to work on him. Fitzwilliam was as stubborn as his late father, Robert Darcy, who had refused her every entreaty to engage his son to Anne. He had even rejected her claim his late wife had agreed to the same. She chose to forget about her nephew’s emphatic words telling her he would never marry Anne. She cared not what either of them wanted, as long as they did what she desired.

Then as luck would have it, Robert Darcy had passed away some six years past. She had hied to Pemberley to demand the ‘ cradle betrothal ’ be fulfilled. Even in death, Robert Darcy had thwarted her. He left letters for his son and her own brother, Reggie, the Earl of Matlock, stating categorically that there was no engagement agreed to between his son and her daughter. To be bested by an untitled man was not the way it was supposed to be. Every time she had seen Fitzwilliam, she had repeated her demand he marry Anne, conveniently forgetting about the letters her late brother-in-law had left behind.

She had thought of engineering a compromise the last time her nephews had been at Rosings Park. Somehow Fitzwilliam had learnt of her plan and told her in no uncertain terms he would never give in to a compromise. To rub salt in the wound, Anne and Richard both echoed what he said and claimed they would never acknowledge a compromise occurred. How dare her diffident daughter defy her.

It seemed the closer Anne got to her birthday and the day she would inherit, the more she resisted her mother’s edicts.

The great lady (as far as she was concerned, she was) was brought back to the present when her butler bowed before her and presented her a letter on his silver salver. She was seated on her elevated chair in the main drawing room where she would receive people, so the old butler had to lift the salver for his mistress to be able to take the missive.

The paper was expensive pressed paper in the colour pink, and there was an odour of French scent she could detect. She did not recognise the script, but as she had nothing better to do, Lady Catherine condescended to read what was on the paper. She broke the seal .

11 July 1811

Bingley House

Scarborough

The Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh,

Pardon the freedom I take to write this letter to you, my Lady. My name is Miss Caroline Bingley, and I write to you to warn you that your nephew, Mr Darcy is in grave danger of being entrapped by a country nobody from Hertfordshire.

My brother leased an estate near the town of Meryton in the above-mentioned shire. There we met the Bennets, an insignificant family with many ties to trade, and an unremarkable estate. In fact, it is the one your own rector, Mr Collins, will one day inherit.

Rather than accept a man like your rector who is of a similar station, Miss Eliza Bennet set her cap for your nephew, his connections, land, and fortune. On that subject, my brother had a narrow escape from being tied to the older sister, who like the younger is shifting after your nephew, she wanted access to the fortune my brother has.

As soon as your nephew commented on Miss Eliza’s eyes, saying he found them fine, I knew that her feminine wiles were succeeding in swaying your nephew from his duty to his name and family.

Although I would have been honoured to accept one like your nephew, knowing he is engaged to your estimable daughter, I would never have accepted him.

I pray I have been of service to you,

Miss Caroline Bingley

What Lady Catherine could not know was Miss Bingley had written the letter to gain a measure of revenge against Mr Darcy for rejecting her in the manner he had, and if she hurt the hated Eliza at the same time, so be it.

“I must stop this,” Lady Catherine screeched. She threw the letter to one side and then rang the bell nonstop until the butler shuffled into the drawing room. “Have my chase and four made ready; I depart within the hour. Send a note to Mr and Mrs Collins to be ready to accompany me.”

The coach barely stopped to allow the Collinses to board. Lady Catherine began to berate her rector for not marrying Miss Elizabeth who was now using her arts and allurements on her daughter’s fiancé.

“To where are we to travel?” Collins squeaked. How he hated displeasing his patroness.

“To this Longbourn to make my opinions known to this harlot. I will forbid her from ever seeing my nephew again. If you had married the girl, then all would be well. This is all your fault,” Lady Catherine bellowed.

“Please pardon me for failing you,” Collins begged.

Neither her husband nor his patroness considered their words in the company of his wife. Charlotte bit her tongue. As long as she was the mistress of Longbourn one day, the degradation of being Mr Collins’s wife would be worth it. She smiled to herself. She knew Eliza was in Brighton with the Gardiners, but she would not share that information yet. This way she would be able to engineer a call at Lucas Lodge.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

On arriving at Longbourn, Lady Catherine had her footman bang on the door until it was opened. She waited in her coach having demanded Miss Elizabeth Bennet be brought to her. The footman returned looking chagrined.

“The family is away from home,” he revealed.

Lady Catherine struck the man with her cane in frustration; luckily for him there was little force behind the strike.

“Lady Catherine, if I may make a suggestion,” Charlotte spoke up. There was a curt nod of agreement. “My father, Sir William, is a close friend of Mr Bennet’s. I am sure he will know where the residents of Longbourn are.”

There was no thank you, but the coach was off for the short ride to Lucas Lodge. Rather than bother her ladyship, Charlotte entered the house to speak to her father. Once she had greeted her family, she returned without ever asking them anything.

“The family is in Brighton. My father knows not at what address they are staying,” Charlotte related.

“Then to Brighton we will go. It is late. Tell your parents they will have the honour of hosting me in this hovel,” Lady Catherine commanded.