Chapter Nineteen Departure

Lizzy stared at the phone for a moment after shutting the computer.

Wickham.

She picked it up and answered, trying to steel herself, her voice. Ned will text you that he loves you. Fitzwilliam’s words still rang in her ears.

"Hello, Fanny Prince speaking." As she was supposed to be at work, she strove to sound businesslike, slightly harried but still pleasant, the way her Aunt Gardiner sounded on the phone.

"Hello, Fanny. How's work?"

"Demanding today. A lot has accumulated on my desk. Busywork."

"But you can still travel with me tomorrow, let me…transport you?"

Fanny giggled softly at the unexpected phrasing. "Yes, I told you I would. Vegas or bust."

"Well, as I said, it won't be Vegas."

"Where are we going?" She tried to sound innocent and experienced all at once, guardedly eager.

Wickham chuckled, a chilling sound. "Let me surprise you. Rook and I will be there tomorrow at 1 p.m. to pick you up."

"Okay. But tell me. I need to know what to pack!"

"I'd say nothing—because that's what I most want to see you in. But pack for a hike. Hiking boots, if you have them, sweatshirts or sweaters, a warm jacket, maybe a hat."

"We're going camping?"

"No, not quite but we will be…roughing it. A little. Not off the grid, but on its edge."

Lizzy swallowed soundlessly. "Please tell me?" She tried for a subtly coquettish tone.

Wickham only chuckled again. "What have you told Ned about your trip?"

Lizzy hesitated. "Um…nothing. He's tied up in New York, an unexpectedly heavy workload. He can't be in Chicago again until next week at the earliest."

"So, lie by omission? What he doesn't know won't hurt him?" Wickham seemed to want her to confess it, acknowledge it, what she, Fanny, had done. Was planning to do.

Another hesitation. "Yes. Like you said, this isn't anything…permanent."

"No, just a chance for you to satisfy your desires. Scratch some itches before you have them. And I promise you will. Scratch them. I mean seriously scratch them." More chuckles.

He was eager but still sure of her, not in too much of a hurry for the event, not when it was inevitable. And not when what he wanted most, the corruption of the previously innocent Fanny, had already begun.

Lizzy realized with a sinking feeling that this phone call and the other night in her apartment had all been foreplay for him in more than a physical sense. Getting her to agree to the trip, the coming affair, titillated Wickham. He wanted to bed her, yes, but as he saw it, he had already gotten her to want it and agree to it. What aroused him was already happening.

She decided to let Fanny openly flirt back. "So you say."

His chuckle deepened, pleased. "I do. And you will. And on those too long, too short, dry nights with Ned, you'll have something to think of, something to moisten and enliven the proceedings."

"Tell me where we're going," she pleaded, keeping the outright flirty tone and hoping it would keep him from noticing her insistence, the number of times she had asked. She tried to avoid thinking about “moisten.”

"No. I want you to stay curious. See you at 1 p.m. Bye."

"Okay, bye."

About an hour later, Charlie returned from the UIC campus and was debriefing on the computer. Fitzwilliam was off-screen beside Charlie while Lizzy sat at the counter in her apartment watching her laptop screen and listening.

"I found Ms. Sanz. Teresa," Charlie said. "She was at a Starbucks on campus between classes. Langley gave me her schedule and a campus map, so I guessed that she might be there since it’s in the same building as both of her classes. I was lucky. Not only was she there, but it was crowded and the two-top where she was seated had one of the only empty chairs left. I asked to sit down, and she agreed.

“She’s just as attractive as the Polaroid showed. She was studying—psychology, I think—and I sat for a moment without saying anything. But then I looked at her and played a hunch. I told her that I knew I’d seen her before but that I wasn’t normally on campus. Pretended to be there on a sales call. Said it had to have been somewhere else that I saw her. She looked at me, wary at first, and then she studied my face. She said she didn’t recognize me, that she spends almost all her time on campus and doesn’t spend much of it off-campus. She thought a second and blushed a little. Then she surprised me by saying, 'Maybe it was at church?'

"I managed not to blurt out, 'Church?’ Instead, I nodded and pretended to try to recall. And she just volunteered what I wanted to know. Said she used to go to St. James Episcopal and asked whether I’d ever been there. I hesitantly mentioned Father Robyn, and you should have seen the look on her face!

“I told her I’d been there once and figured that must be where it was. Made up a story about thinking I’d seen her sitting beside a woman and described Lady Catherine to her…older, blonde, striking-looking lady. Made her go beet red, and she shook her head. Told me she did know the lady―said point blank that it was Lady Catherine―but she’d never sat near her in church. Liked Father Robyn well enough and said he was the one who introduced her to Lady Catherine after a service.

"I told her it was nice to meet her, we exchanged names―I told her mine was John―and I left the table.

“It seemed clear that she got pulled into…whatever…with Wickham and Lady Catherine. Father Robyn didn't know what he was doing when he introduced that girl to that woman. Maybe Father Robyn came to see Fanny because of Teresa? Teresa didn't mention Wickham. So far as we know, Wickham’s never been to St. James, so I'm assuming Lady Catherine introduced Teresa to him. I'd be shocked if she's involved with the Wicker Man. Her body language was all seriously suppressed shame and regret." Charlie paused, shaking his head in pity. “Another Wickham victim―that's my strong intuition. Inexperienced, seduced, and now ashamed. I bet she regrets that Polaroid and lives in constant fear of it."

They were all silent for a long while, and then Charlie spoke again. "Lizzy, I’ll be bringing you a small black Patagonia sling bag to use, one you could also carry on a hike. There's a tracker sewn into the lining that’s Langley's latest and best. As long as you have the bag with you, we should be able to find you."

Fitzwilliam stepped onto the screen. "There will also be pills, tranquilizers in the bag disguised in a birth control package. Quick-dissolving and fast acting. Just put one in liquid. Once Wickham drinks it, he'll be out for a couple of hours. Unfortunately, given airport security and the whole situation, there's no way for you to carry a weapon. Once we know where you're going, we'll try to get one to you."

***

Friday, October 23

Chicago-O'Hare was the same vast concrete nightmare Lizzy remembered. It sprawled, leaden, beneath a leaden Chicago sky. Cold drizzle fell slowly but relentlessly. Rook was driving the limo, wipers on low, and Wickham was seated beside her, close, with his hands on his legs as he stared out the window, apparently deep in thought.

He had given Fanny a hungry smile when he picked her up, running his eyes up and down her body while Rook put her bag in the trunk. She had chosen snug jeans and a flowing, watery-blue silk blouse, and Wickham approved. When he leaned in for a kiss, Fanny turned her face at the last minute so the kiss landed on her cheek, not her lips. But she smiled at him, a small roguish smile, and tried to backlight her eyes with promises even if her head-turn had suggested reservations.

Lizzy needed to keep him off-balance, unsure. If he was off-balance, she had a chance, the mission had a chance. Being off-balance increased the chances Wickham would make a mistake, slip. He needed to slip. She needed him to slip.

She had just about played out all her options with almost no way forward but the one that she refused even to contemplate. All her spy tactics were needed now, the ones Kellynch prized and that Lizzy prized in herself—her reactions must be alert, quick, and elastic.

Lizzy was careful to do nothing to break Wickham's brooding silence. She had enough to think about herself. Was it possible to complete this mission and remain true to herself?

As Rook stopped the car at the airport, Wickham took his phone out of his coat pocket and glanced at it. Lizzy couldn’t see the message, but she saw the instant frown of displeasure on Wickham's face. He got out and turned away from her, his body angled between her and his phone. After a moment, he returned it to his pocket.

Lizzy walked to the rear of the car and waited for Rook to get the luggage. She had packed only one small suitcase; Wickham had one small duffle bag.

Rook gave her a look as he handed her the suitcase, a look of amusement and fate, as if he knew she would eventually be here traveling with Wickham, his plaything. She dropped her eyes as she took the suitcase from him. It felt too much like he was right, even if he was wrong. Wickham took his bag, and the two of them walked into the airport. Lizzy looked over her shoulder to see Rook pulling away and shaking his head.

Wickham reached for Fanny's hand and Lizzy took his, walking with him beneath a security camera above the door. He seemed unconcerned by the camera, but his face had not relaxed since the text. Lizzy gave him a minute. They walked toward the security gate, and he took his cell phone out again—no call this time. Lizzy saw their tickets appear on the small screen but could not read the details.

"Where are we going, George?" Fanny asked, Lizzy deliberately dropping her chin and using her eyelashes as a veil. She tried to be as demurely fetching as she knew how, willing to employ any cliché.

Wickham's scowl finally relaxed. He took a breath and dropped her hand, accelerating his pace. "Casper, Wyoming."

Lizzy stopped and stared at him. "Wow, when you said we weren't going to Vegas, you meant it! Casper is the anti-Vegas."

Wickham stopped, too, and turned around, having been a step ahead of her. His scowl was now a smirk. "Believe me, given the weekend I have planned for you, you aren't going to care where we are as long as the bed and the shower are large enough. And they will be. Everything will be . What happens in Casper stays in Casper.” Wickham winked. “We can't have Ned finding out, can we?" He can’t wait for Ned to find out.

He started to walk again, and she hurried to catch up, blushing at his remarks despite not being Fanny, despite there being no Ned. Fitzwilliam. "So, we’re going to be in Casper itself?"

"No, we'll be outside the city. On Casper Mountain. We'll get there later this afternoon or early evening. The spot's primitive. You'll have to give up on your phone for a while, so you might want to come up with an excuse for Ned."

Fanny frowned. "Okay, I'll send him a text and tell him that…my phone's been on the fritz and that I'll be getting a new one in the next couple of days."

He shrugged, smiling quickly, more interested in the fact of the lie than its actual content. "Whatever."

They made their way through security with no trouble beyond the usual—presenting tickets and ID, and removing the required items for the scans. Lizzy had only Fanny's phone with her. Much as she wanted to let Fitzwilliam know where they were flying, she couldn’t have a text to Ned on her phone revealing the very thing she was supposed to be lying to him about. There was no reason to think Wickham could access her texts, but previous missions had taught her to be especially guarded when as vulnerable as she now was.

Once he had put his belt back on and Fanny had put on her shoes, they headed to their gate. At the first restroom, Fanny slowed. "The wise woman goes when she may, not when she must," she intoned with mock solemnity. Wickham, taking her to be showing a more playful side, grinned. "The wise man too."

They parted company and went to their respective restrooms. When Lizzy got into a stall, she immediately grabbed her phone from her bag and called Fitzwilliam, who picked up before the second ring.

"Yes, Elizabeth?" His voice was quiet, intense.

She kept her voice down so as not to be heard by others in the bathroom. "Our destination is Casper, Wyoming."

Fitzwilliam was silent for a moment, thinking. "Okay, I'll scramble a team and make sure they’re careful. The last team obviously made a mistake, but we still don't know what it was. I'm wondering if there was someone there following Wickham. Although the Rapid City team never considered that possibility, this team will."

"Okay. It’s likely we're not staying in Casper itself, given what Wickham said about clothes and shoes I should bring. I'm trying to think….Casper Mountain is near the city, right?"

He laughed, trying to help her relax. "It's your country—since the end of the so-called 'Revolutionary War,' Lizzy."

She laughed too, his unexpected snark helping to ease her tightly screwed tension. He called me “Lizzy.” Did he pick that up from Charlie or Jane?

"Right. Well, it is, I'm almost sure. The mountain, I mean. I bet that our destination is on the mountain, somewhere up there. Maybe a cabin. And it was a revolution!" she said with mischief.

"Yeah, sure. Tea and taxes. And the BBC needs subtitles.” They both laughed again, and then Fitzwilliam sobered. “Bingley and I will be in Casper as soon as we can get there. He's already talking to Langley, and I’ve arranged for a company jet to be on standby. It won't take us long. We'll be a couple of hours or so behind you. Oh, and Bingley says to tell you that your tracker is working. The signal's strong. I'll arrange with the team for someone to be waiting for you in the women’s bathroom closest to your gate to supply you with a weapon. If I can't arrange that, Ned will send a text complaining about work."

"Okay, Fitzwilliam. Thanks. I have to go."

They paused. Both knew there was more dialogue between them that belonged at this point, but it had to remain unspoken, the place for it on the page left blank, whatever exactly it was.

"Be careful. He has some plan, and we don't know the full extent of it…even if we do know some of it, the part connected to Fanny." Fitzwilliam’s voice quieted as he spoke, the last words delivered softly and slowly.

"I will."

Lizzy met Wickham outside the men’s room. He was looking at his phone again but without any particular expression, no frown, and put it in his pocket as soon as she approached. "Our flight begins to board in about 15 minutes. The gate's just down the hallway."

Just before boarding, Lizzy glanced at her phone, Fanny's phone. Ned had not texted Fanny that he loved her. No cancellation. That meant Lizzy had to board the plane and depart with Wickham. She couldn't help herself; she felt doubly disappointed—that Fanny was going to Casper, and that Ned hadn't told he loved her.

That he loved Fanny. That meant Lizzy was going to Casper.

It was stupid to feel like that—unprofessional. Identities like musical chairs.

Unprofessional. Like her tears in her apartment after Fitzwilliam closed the door. But the tears had come then, as the sadness did here in the airport where she was leaving to go on a trip she dreaded taking.

She swallowed the sadness and made herself smile excitedly when Wickham stood, one hand grabbing his duffle and the other reaching for her hand.

***

The previous day, Lizzy had walked into her bedroom after her computer call with Fitzwilliam and Charlie covering the importance of learning where Wickham would be taking Fanny and the precautions they were taking―the tracker that would be in her sling bag, the tranquillizing pills. She stretched out on the bed, feeling as anxious as she could remember being on any mission. Her dread of the upcoming trip with Wickham passed the physical and reached the spiritual.

She tried to calm herself, control her breathing. She wouldn't be alone for long, and only in public, the airport, on the plane. The destination team would trail them from the airport. Fitzwilliam and Charlie would follow not long after. But she could not manage calm. She could feel her pulse all over her body, her heart thumping.

The problem was not just the mission, Wickham. It was Fitzwilliam. It wasn’t only because of all that was unspoken and unacted upon between them. Or the fact that her desire, her feelings for him, made the mission so much more repugnant than it would have been otherwise—and it would have been deeply repugnant regardless, more than any of her previous seduction missions.

But now? The thought of Wickham's hands on her, his body pressed against her made her feel nauseated, seasick. Not just her mind was protesting against the thought; her body rebelled against it, too. Her surroundings started to spin again.

She would have to hide that nausea and pretend the opposite, pretend to be aroused, awaiting Wickham's advances, eager, in Fanny's conflicted but yielding way.

She rolled over to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and took out her personal phone. Then she did what she had promised more than once but never fully intended to do: she called her mother.

Desperate times.

" Lizzy?" Her mother answered the phone, the familiar background noise of soft chatter and love songs confirming that she was at the bridal shop.

" Yes, it's me. How are you?"

Mrs. Bennet huffed. "Annoyed. Your uncle Hubert’s had a setback, some complication with his heart, and your aunt's not been in the shop the last two days. I've had to run it by myself."

Her mother had forgotten her constant complaints about Aunt Christine now that the work of the shop had fallen to her. Unsurprisingly, she was unconcerned about the health of her own brother. Mrs. Bennet’s circle of concern was exactly as large as herself.

" How is he, Mom?"

" Oh, he'll live. But your aunt's worried and wants to be with him in the hospital. The procedure is done, whatever it was. Another stent or some kind of adjustment of a previous one. He’s recovering. It looks like he won't be back at work soon, if ever, even part-time."

Lizzy realized she'd have to call her aunt if she wanted to know what was happening. She overheard her mother speak to a customer in a loud voice. "No, no, you're too fat for that. There's no use dragging it to the fitting room. A waist of time―‘waist’ with a middle ‘I,’ not a final ‘E.’ Our plus sizes are against the wall."

Lizzy thought she heard a broken sob in the background. " Mom," she said, wanting more information and hoping to distract her from the savaged customer, "what hospital is he in?"

" The university one…not the one on South Avenue, but the big one…"

" Strong Memorial?"

" Yes, in their heart and vascular center."

" Thanks. Look, I'm going to let you go and call Aunt Christine, okay? I want to hear about Uncle Hubert from her."

" Okay, but there's not much more to know. How's work?"

Lousy. " Fine, Mom. Busy. Stressful."

" Well, it can't compare to the stress I'm under. So much to do with these beautiful, svelte dresses but only fat girls in the shop…"

" Mom, I've got to go. Be nice to your customers. A sale is a sale, and this is supposed to be a happy time for the customer. Make her feel beautiful."

"I'm supposed to be happy too. Why should their happiness matter more than mine? They stomp on my poor nerves. And I can’t work miracles."

" Got to go, Mom," Lizzy said, and she ended the call.

She was more anxious and frustrated than ever. She called her aunt. Given her mother’s attitude, it was hard to believe that Uncle Hubert was her brother.

***

They boarded the plane and found their seats―Fanny by the window and Wickham by the aisle. He now seemed wholly focused on her as he smiled and leaned in, putting his mouth close to her ear. "Soon, Fanny! Everything you've been fantasizing about…and more…will happen."

Lizzy wanted to push him away, claw at his face; her stomach roiled. His bragging was repulsive. But Fanny turned her head and gave him another of her coy, eyelash-veiled looks. Then she mimicked his gesture and whispered into his ear, "It's all I've been thinking about, imagining." She made sure her voice conveyed the right combination of reluctance, resignation, and enchantment. It took all her concentration, all her talent. The words tasted foul on her lips, but she made herself smile as he pulled back.

His answering smile became a frank leer, and he slid his hand from her knee up…up…to a spot high on her thigh. He stopped very close to her crotch and put his mouth again to her ear. This time, his tongue snaked out and licked her lobe.

She shivered in revulsion, but he took it to be arousal. Satisfied, he removed his hand and sat back in the seat.

Lizzy turned her head and stared at the wet, dark gray tarmac beneath the wet, light gray sky. The drizzle continued.

***

" He's okay, Lizzy," Aunt Christine said softly, thankfully. " There was more blockage. One of his stents closed, or something. Restenosis, the doctor calls it. His artery grew over the stent, like a scab on a wound. Drugs were supposed to keep that from happening, but they failed. Anyway, they were able to open it up again using a tiny drill. Can you imagine that? It's crazy! But he's okay. Awake and alert. He should go home soon. Your mom's running the shop. Lord help us!"

" I know. I talked to her there."

" Just two days and our Yelp rating has sunk like a stone."

" I'm sorry. She can't help herself—or anyone else. I wish there was something I could do for you or Uncle Hubert."

" That’s all right, dear. Thanks so much for calling. I know you're…traveling for work, so I appreciate it. I didn't want to worry you, especially since the angina attack and the surgery happened so close together and I learned quickly he would be fine…"

"I’m so glad he’s doing better. What about you?"

" I’m sure I’ll be busy for a while. He'll be at home but will need attention. The doctor wants him to stay away from work while they adjust his medication to keep this from recurring. Once he’s okay, I’ll worry about putting out the fires in the bridal shop."

" Good luck. My love to you and him."

" We love you too, Lizzy. Best of luck with your work."

Lizzy put her phone down. She was worried about her uncle, but she couldn't allow that to steal her focus. At least everything seemed like it would be okay.

At least in Rochester.

***

Although Lizzy had never been to Casper, coincidentally she had been in Cheyenne on a trip west to Yellowstone National Park with her uncle and aunt. She had just turned fifteen, and the trip was a birthday present. She hadn't traveled much; her mother's nerves and her father's reclusion had kept Lizzy mostly homebound. She vaguely recalled having passed a sign for Casper as the three of them had driven from Cheyenne to Yellowstone. The memory stayed with her because of her then-amused thought of Casper the Friendly Ghost.

As the plane taxied to the runway, she could not manage to find anything about Casper friendly. Nothing amusing. Now she was the spook, the spy, and she was likely headed up the mountain.

Wickham put his hand on her knee and the plane accelerated. It left the ground, departing Chicago.

Lizzy wished she could dematerialize.