Page 66 of Sweet on Mr Darcy

A strange coldness swept through her. Lydia would never simply abandon a ribbon. Not even a strange ribbon found on the street. Kitty dropped her sketch book and ran.

She burst through the back door and into the kitchen so abruptly that the cook nearly dropped a pot of stew. The servants, seated around the table, all lowered their spoons and turned.

“I am sorry to interrupt your meal,” Kitty apologised. “Where is Lydia? Is she in the house?”

“We have not seen her, miss. We thought she went out with you,” a maid answered.

“She went out with me, but I cannot find her now.”

Peter, Lady Barry’s footman, rose from his chair. “I should have gone out with you. I should not only have been concerned with Miss Elizabeth. I should have been watching you all.”

“You can’t watch them all, there’s five of them, Peter.” The housekeeper stood as well. “Go out and search for her. Miss Kitty and I will search the house. Perhaps she came in the front door.”

“If she is in the house, I will be so grateful I shall not even chide her,” Kitty said in anxiety as two male servants left the house with Peter.

Mr Bennet went white from the sight of their expressions the moment Kitty entered the room with the housekeeper. “Something is wrong.”

“I cannot find Lydia,” Kitty said fearfully.

Mary stood, abandoning her writing. “Whatever can you mean?”

“We were outside, like we planned, and…I was drawing…and she was walking about…and when I looked for her…she was missing.”

“Where could she possibly have gone?” Mary exclaimed

“I do not know!” Kitty was shaking and began to sob. “I called, and she never answered. I hoped perhaps she was inside.”

Elizabeth and Jane entered the room, followed by the maid who had checked upstairs.

“Charlotte is settling Lucas in the nursery. Lydia is not upstairs. When did you last see her, Kitty?” demanded Elizabeth.

Kitty was sobbing in earnest now. “I do not know! An hour? A little more? I was drawing. I found her ribbon on the ground near the back gate.”

Charlotte entered the room with an annoyed expression on her face. “I assume we have found her? Where was she?”

Peter entered the room, eyes wild. “Mr Bennet, this ribbon was by the back gate. Looks like someone was dragged away. You’d better come and see.”

“What?” Charlotte said in disbelief.

Jane pressed her hand to her mouth and began to cry.

Mr Bennet pointed at the maid. “Tell the groom to saddle every horse, including mine. The men will go out and search. I will ride to Darcy Cottage. Young Darcy will help us. Peter, show me.”

He turned back to his women. “Not one of you is to step outside this house. Do you all understand?”

The ladies promised as the men left them with all speed. They began to pace and babble amongst themselves, each attempting to think of what innocent diversion might have led Lydia harmlessly from the garden. Considering everything that had happened in the last few days…a terrifying possibility took shape in every lady’s mind.

Wickham had intended to elope with Georgiana for a dowry and had been desperate enough to strike his own godfather. Even worse, a rather frightening man had recently entered Ramsgate, concerned for his inheritance, and had determined that Elizabeth was a threat to his fortunes. Suddenly, Lydia was missing. These certainties would not likely occur in the same week by coincidence. Someone must have taken her. The Bennet women stayed in the drawing room together and prayed for a miracle.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Monday 3 August 1812

The outbuilding where Lydia was held was chilly, even in August. It was tiny, damp, and smelled strongly of rotten wood and mouse droppings. She could hear mice or other small animals rustling in the corners and in the pile of hay against the wall.

Lydia sat in a heavy chair, her hands free, but manacled to the floor by her ankle with a device Wickham had stolen from the militia camp. Her foot throbbed painfully from the hard, cold iron. Her bonnet was gone. Her hair was half fallen from its pins.

Though she had cried earlier–infuriatedly, tempestuously, fleetingly–she was no longer weeping now. She was incensed.