Page 91 of Midnight at Pemberley

“This is more than for what we all bargained, Peters, but those creatures must be invited in by someone who lives here. No one will do that.” Edward leaned back against the door to steady his nerves.

The servant moved closer, fearing that someone might hear. “Did ye find him, Colonel? The Master? He be alive?”

Edward gave a curt nod. “Now I must determine how to release Mr. Darcy from that hellhole.”

“Bless you, Sir.” Peters started for his pallet before the fire. “When ye be needin’ me, I be prepared, Sir. The Master be a good man.”

“That he is, Peters.” Edward moved towards the stairs. “I must speak to Mrs. Darcy of what I learned.”

“The Mistress will assuredly be glad to hear it.” The coachman settled onto the straw-stuffed mattress.

Edward permitted his gaze to travel up the stairs. “Mrs. Darcy is an exceptional woman.” He knew she would be awake, waiting for his news. Slowly, he climbed the steps. They held a daunting task ahead of them. What if we cannot save Darcy?

“Someone looks for you, Darcy.” Wickham paced the cell in agitation.

Darcy refused to react. He forced his breathing to remain even, but the joy of knowing another knew of his capture played havoc with his composure. He kept his eyes closed, fearing Wickham could read his countenance.

Wickham leaned down, his face only inches from Darcy’s. “Do you want to know who it was?”

Darcy opened his eyes slowly and smiled. “As you appear intent on telling me, I see no reason to guess.”

Wickham walked away casually. “It was your beautiful wife, Mrs. Darcy.” Wickham straddled a straight-backed chair, turning it to where he could watch Darcy’s reaction.

For a split second, Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. He did not want Elizabeth to put herself in danger for him, but then the truth flashed in Wickham’s eyes. “You are quite amusing, Wickham, but the thought of my wife being here is ludicrous. I told you from the beginning that Elizabeth left me after your seduction of Miss Lydia. However, if what you purport were true, and my wife were here, you have not enough ghouls in your congregation to hold me in these chains, for she would not stop until I was free. Trust me, Wickham, there is no way you could defeat her. She is more than either of us can handle.”

Wickham sat in complete silence; Darcy chose to ignore him and closed his eyes again. Finally, Wickham barked out a forced laugh. “You have me there, Darcy. Your rescuer was a man. Mayhap you would have been better off with your wife. At least, she would not have abandoned you.” He stood with that statement. “The man favored you in some ways, Darcy—not quite as tall, however. Should I send for reinforcements?”

“Likely a stranger enticed by tales of the unknown.” Darcy hoped to convince his enemy to ignore the incursion.

“I can smell human blood.” Wickham looked off, as if no longer seeing Darcy. “Did you know that? I smell it as easily as I once smelled a rose. It is metallic and bittersweet. Have you ever tasted it, Darcy? It is addictive.”

At first the words were offensive, but then Darcy’s pity replaced his anger. Despite his personal loathing of Wickham’s baseness, Darcy felt empathy for what once must have been a proud and handsome man—a man who loved a woman too well and lost everything because of it. “I have not tasted it,” Darcy spoke softly, not wishing to break the understanding between them.

Wickham laughed lightly at his own show of weakness. “That was a foolish question, was it not? Naturally, you never succumbed to the noxious hunger that consumes me. You are too honorable to permit the poison to cross your lips.”

Darcy shook his head, a deep sadness overcoming him. “I simply want it to end, Wickham. It is not honor which drives me. It is the fear that my child—my son—could know such despondency—could live an inconsolable life. I would not term that honorable. It is pure cowardice.”

Wickham watched as Darcy once more took up his resigned vigil against the wall. An understanding passed between them. Darcy imagined that in another lifetime, he and Wickham might even have been friends, but circumstances prevented that idea ever becoming a reality. Darcy respected Wickham as much as he abhorred him.

“Never fear, Darcy,” Wickham said as a way of parting. “I may yet do the honorable thing and fight you to the death, so to speak.”

Darcy attempted to relax the pain in his shoulders and arms. Wickham had imprisoned him twenty-four hours prior, and other than the occasional break Darcy negotiated to meet his personal needs, he remained restrained by the shackles. Wickham, as he suspected, brought him no food or drink. He was to die of starvation, and Darcy accepted it. “You will bring me notice of when we meet on the battlefield,” he mumbled, closing his eyes to welcome sleep. He heard the door close and knew when the bolt slid into the latch, but Darcy remained in repose. Images of Elizabeth filled his mind. Their time together was all that brought him peace.

Chapter Twenty-Six

THE OPENED THE DOOR BEFORE HE KNOCKED. ELIZABETH PULLED HIM into the room. “You promised,” she chastised, “you would do nothing to put yourself in danger!” She swatted at the colonel’s chest. “I have been at my wit’s end with worry since I learned of your excursion.”

He smiled kindly upon her protestations. “Then you do not wish to know what I learned?”

Elizabeth pulled him to the table, forcibly shoving the colonel into a chair. “Tell me you found William.” Her voice held her fears.

“My cousin is alive.”

She collapsed into a second chair, burying her face in her hands. Sobs of joy racked her shoulders. “Thank God,” she moaned. The colonel rested his hand on her back in comfort. Allowing herself the moment of relief, she dramatically caught her breath, dashing away her tears with the knuckles of her hands. Raising her head, her eyes falling on her husband’s cousin, she instructed, “Tell me everything.”

Although his voice shared some of the fear he had experienced in Wickham’s house, Edward Fitzwilliam held nothing back. He described the horror of the lost souls found in the cemetery and the compelling dance in Wickford’s main hall. He told her in detail of the young girl’s seduction and of Wickham’s bloody feast.

Elizabeth gasped, “It must be Lydia!” Her voice shook with anger and with remorse. “My poor dear Lydia. She knows no rest.”