The Journey (3 page)

Caroline and Mrs. Hurst began to slip off their bracelets and rings. When Mrs. Hurst’s hands shook too much to undo her necklace, the highwayman grabbed the chain from around her neck and broke it, and then he jerked the eardrops from her ears. Both she and Caroline cried aloud at such treatment, and Mr. Darcy stepped forward to protest.

“Aha, we got us a hero in our midst,” one of the men yelled, as he placed his pistol beneath Mr. Darcy’s chin. “All right, mate, let’s see how brave you be!”

Mr. Darcy, of course, was forced to back down, and I could see his fury at being rendered helpless. I had dropped my garnet cross in the robber’s open bag by that time, and he then forced Mr. Darcy to remove his signet ring and pocket watch.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” the leader said, motioning to the man with the bag. “Puny pickings from the likes of this bunch. Those two in the feathers and silks are bound to have more than this. Go through their luggage again. And that gent, there — did you search his pockets?”

His orders resulted in more rough treatment of Mrs. Hurst’s and Miss Bingley’s belongings, and a thorough search of Mr. Darcy’s coat pockets. Eventually, one of the men discovered his money clip.

“This be more like it.” He handed the prize to the leader who added it to the bag of loot. “Now, what do we do, shoot the lot of them?”

Caroline screamed again until one of the men raised his hand, threatening to strike her.

“We’ll not hold the screechin’ one for ransom, will we?” he asked the man on horseback.

“What’s your name?” the man in black asked Caroline.

“Miss Ca . . . Ca . . . Caroline Bingley.”

He motioned toward her sister, and she answered, “Mrs. Ambrose Hurst,” her voice quavering.

“Never heard of them,” the leader said.

“Yeah, but what with the fine clothes, they must come from money,” the man on the ground said.

“Of course, we have money,” Caroline blurted out. “You just wait until — ”

“In truth, they do not.” Mr. Darcy raised his voice.

“What do you know about it? You married to the screecher?” asked the man holding the gun on him.

“No, but I know them and their family. They have no money. The little they have is spent on such fripperies as you see before you. Their father is deceased, and their brother is in trade in a small town up north.”

Caroline gasped aloud, but Mrs. Hurst stepped on her foot, causing her to cry out in pain and thus say nothing to refute Mr. Darcy’s fabrication.

“He barely makes a living. In fact, I am on my way to London to withdraw funds for a loan he has requested.”

Mr. Bingley’s sisters gaped at that statement, their eyes huge with wonder at Mr. Darcy’s mendacity. The leader of the highwaymen said nothing. He looked them up and down and then surveyed Mr. Darcy, as though weighing whether he spoke the truth or not.

“Allow the women to go free. If you hold anyone for ransom, let it be me. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley Estates in Derbyshire. My uncle is the Earl of Matlock who will pay you what you will for my release. These women are worthless. They will bring nothing but trouble on you.”

“He’s probably right about this ’un,” said the man on the ground, grunting his displeasure at Caroline.

The man in black rode over to the other horseman, and they spoke in low, indistinguishable tones. He then directed the footmen to unharness the two horses from the carriage.

“Now, you women,” he said, motioning to Mr. Bingley’s sisters, “get in the carriage. And, Merle, tie the rich man’s hands together.”

The man moved to carry out his instructions, while the other man on the ground began to herd Mr. Bingley’s sisters toward the carriage. I walked behind them, but just as I reached the bottom step, the man grabbed my arm and pulled me back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Darcy start toward me, only to be jerked back by the other highwayman.

“Hey, Morgan, this one’s bonny. She’s no fine lady — she’s dressed in muslin — but I fancy her eyes. Cain’t we take her?”

The other man on horseback began to snicker. “She is a bonny wench.”

“Take your hands off her!” Mr. Darcy shouted, taking steps toward me. The man who had tied his hands grabbed him, and with one swift upswing, knocked him to the ground.

“If she’s not rich, there’s no reason to take her. She’ll slow us down,” Merle said.

“Wait,” the leader said, “money’s not the only thing to gain from this little jaunt. I think old Sneyd’s right. This one pleasures me just to look at her.”

I was suddenly conscious that I had been holding my breath, and when my lungs insisted on taking in air, I began to pant. My palms turned icy cold, and yet my face burned with shame at the thought of what those horrid men suggested.

“Come on, let’s put her on a horse,” Sneyd said, his ugly face so close to mine I could smell his foul breath and see his rotten, yellow teeth. “She can ride with me, Morgan. What do you say?”

“If she rides with anyone, it’ll be with me,” he replied. “Bring her here.”

Sneyd frowned and cursed, but he pushed me toward the man in black, and with one swift move, lifted me up onto the horse. The rider pushed my bonnet back and peered closely at me, his rough hands gripping my waist. I could feel the cold steel of the pistol rub against my side. Fear petrified me! I tried to hold myself away from him, but he persisted in pulling me close.

“You’re right, Sneyd. This lass
is
worth the trouble.”

“I can tell you right now,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice strong even though he struggled to stand after having the air punched out of him, “that if you harm her in any way, you will not receive a farthing from my uncle.”

Each of the robbers stopped, Sneyd jerking around as he turned to face Mr. Darcy.

“And why is that?” the ruffian holding me asked. “What possible difference would it make to his lordship what happens to this little country miss?”

“Because she is not some little country miss. She . . . she is my wife.”

My eyes widened, and once again, I forgot to breathe. I heard audible gasps from both of Mr. Bingley’s sisters from inside the carriage, but I prayed the highwaymen would pay them no mind.

“Your wife?” the leader said in disbelief. “You would have us believe your wife dresses in plain garb, and yet you say you’re rich?”

I saw Mr. Darcy swallow and wet his lips as if he needed time to think of an answer.

“I . . . I dress simply when I travel,” I said quickly, “precisely because of creatures like you.” My voice shook, and my hands trembled, but I held my chin up and looked him directly in the eye. “That is why I do not wear jewels on the road. I — that is,
we
have been robbed before.”

The men looked at each other, and it was evident that they doubted what we said. Mr. Darcy spoke once again. “I can assure you that my wife is a favourite of the Earl of Matlock and my entire family. They might conceivably consider foregoing my ransom, but they would pay any amount you ask for my wife’s freedom if — and only if — she is unharmed.”

The three masked men looked to the man called Morgan, who turned his eyes first upon me and then Mr. Darcy.

“Put him on one of the carriage horses, but you keep the reins in your hands, Sneyd. And you,
Mister
Darcy, don’t even think of trying anything, or I’ll cut her throat — ransom or no ransom.”

Chapter Two

I wondered how the highwaymen would abscond with us in daylight, knowing that the road to London was well travelled. I never dreamed they would lead us through thickets, hedgerows, woods, and forests deep enough that no one could find us.

As we fled, my mind darted frantically from thought to thought, wondering how Mr. Darcy and I might ever escape this predicament. Surely, when our carriage did not reach Town, someone would come looking for us. My aunt and uncle were expecting me, and Mr. Darcy’s sister awaited his arrival.

We had ridden for some time by then, and I wondered whether Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had been rescued yet. The robbers had pushed the carriage minus its horses into a wooded area. They gagged and bound the hands and feet of the ladies, the driver and footmen, forced all of them into the carriage, and tied the doors shut.

I could not imagine the indignity Mr. Bingley’s sisters felt, trapped in such close quarters with common servants, but that thought shamed me. I should not have mocked them, for were we not all in desperate straits and Mr. Darcy and I in the worst of them?

Just then, I felt the leader remove his hand from my waist. He signalled for all the horsemen to stop while he motioned to the man called Merle to go on ahead. No one said a word. Shifting slightly, I attempted to adjust my seating, as pain from the prolonged ride radiated down my back and into my legs.

I took the opportunity to glance back at Mr. Darcy and saw his eyes upon me, a fierce scowl across his face. He had been forced to ride bareback on one of the carriage horses, his hands tied behind him the entire journey. I thought him an excellent horseman to keep his balance in such a position.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, anything to him, but winced, instead, when the highwayman grabbed my face with one hand, jerking my head back to face forward.

“Not one word,” he hissed in my ear, his lips against my hair.

A few moments later, Merle returned, crashing through the underbrush on his great horse. “Come on. Didn’t spy nobody at the cottage but Gert. We can go ’round back.”

Within minutes, we had rounded the knoll and come upon a clearing in the woods. A small, rustic cottage sat a few hundred yards back from a stream of swiftly running water. My mouth was dry, and I longed to taste the coolness of that brook. Two of the men dismounted and entered the cottage through a rear door, their pistols drawn.

Not long thereafter, the man called Merle appeared in the doorway. “Bring ’em in.”

Inside, a slattern of a woman lounged against a long, rough table. She looked to be middle-aged and well used by life, her hair in need of a good wash, her skirt soiled and patched.

“Nate,” she called, as the leader pulled me through the door and into the room. “What’s this? Ain’t I told you not to bring your fancy pieces back here?”

“Shut your mouth,” he growled, pushing past her down a dingy hall. He kicked a door open and shoved me into the room. “Bring the
gentleman
back here,” he called to the others.

Immediately, Mr. Darcy was thrust into the room. Sneyd, Merle, and the leader closed the door behind them.

“Now,” he said, “heed my words, ’cause I’m saying this but once. There’s no way out of this room. The window’s nailed shut with iron bars on the outside, and this door stays locked, so don’t even think about escape. You got that,
Mister
Darcy? And you, Miss or
Missus
if you’re really that, do you understand? ’Cause if you don’t, I’ve got a real nasty way of teaching you.”

He stood very close to me, less than a foot between his face and mine. I swallowed and nodded.

“Mrs. Darcy will not go anywhere,” Mr. Darcy said, moving to stand between us. “You have my word. Can you not untie my hands? If escape is impossible, why should I remain bound?”

The man let out a short laugh. “Your word? Hah! I wouldn’t give a fadge for no gentleman’s word. Leave him tied!” With a sneer, he turned and walked out the door, the others following close behind. My heart sank when I heard the key click the lock shut.

Mr. Darcy strode to the door, and leaning against it, placed his ear next to the rough wood. “I cannot distinguish their conversation. The door and walls are too thick, which may be in our favour.”

“How?”

“They, in turn, cannot hear us if we speak softly.” He walked around the room, searching every corner, examining the single window, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. The only other possible exit was through a narrow door at the back of the room.

“Try to open it, but step back in case there is someone there.”

I did as he instructed, hoping it led to the outside, but I was dismayed to find nothing more than a tiny room containing assorted rubbish: old rags, broken, discoloured crockery, portions of a saddle and bridle, a chamber pot, and a cracked ewer and basin. Mr. Darcy searched the tiny room with me, motioning with his head when he wanted me to pull things back or move trash around, but it was all to no avail. There was no window, no trap door, no hole in the old stone wall, no provision for our escape.

“It is useless,” I said, returning to the larger room.

The late afternoon sun streamed through the high window. Disturbed dust particles danced in its illumination. A small wooden table, one of its legs broken and propped up with a brick, sat on a threadbare rug. Two small, hard chairs were the only other furnishings in the room. Against the far wall lay what appeared to be an assortment of more rubbish partially covered with a tarp. The room contained neither bed nor quilt.

I suddenly shivered, cold and fearful of the night to come. How would we manage? What would we do to stay warm? The room did not have a fireplace, and it was early December. I turned and faced Mr. Darcy, my apprehension evident.