The Journey (7 page)

“Shall I walk with you? I fear this prolonged sitting provides little advantage to our dispositions.”

“As you like.” I continued on my way. At length, I decided to change the subject and once again return to Mr. Darcy’s family. He had made it plain that he disapproved of mine. I would question him of his. “And does your mother reside at Pemberley?”

“No, my mother died when Georgiana was quite young, and I lost my own excellent father five years ago.”

That shamed me. There I was hoping to discover some disparagement regarding his relations, and he had few of which to speak. “I am sorry, sir. And so your uncle is your closest connection?”

“And, of course, my aunt in Kent, my mother’s sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

I recalled Mr. Wickham’s information. “Yes, my cousin Mr. Collins has great admiration for her. Does she not have a daughter, and have I not heard that you are engaged to marry?”

Mr. Darcy stopped abruptly. “Who told you that?”

“I am not certain; it seemed to be much talked of in Hertfordshire society.”

“Did Mr. Collins spread that story?”

“No, sir, I do not believe it was Mr. Collins.”

“Then who?”

He
would
ask, so what could I do but answer? “It was Mr. Wickham. He said you had been engaged to your cousin since childhood.”

A darkness descended about his face. “Do not believe everything Mr. Wickham says, Miss Bennet.”

“But why should he say such a thing if it is untrue?”

“I cannot account for Mr. Wickham’s motives. I can only warn you to take care with any information he imparts.”

“That is a dastardly accusation! Do you call the man a liar?”

“I could call him much worse.”

He turned on his heel and strode to the storeroom, slamming the door behind him. I know not whether he had true need of its facilities or whether it was the only place where he could escape my presence. Frankly, I did not care. I hoped he stayed there!

* * *

That evening, I was once again summoned to dine with Morgan while Mr. Darcy was left to eat alone from the meagre dish Gert had served him. It may have been just as well, for we had little to say to each other since our disagreement over Mr. Wickham. He remained a sore point between us, for no matter what Mr. Darcy said, I preferred to believe Mr. Wickham until he was proven wrong. What possible reason would he have to lie?

Mr. Darcy had injured him severely, and Mr. Wickham, in my opinion, had borne it exceedingly well. He was making the most of his life with his new position in the militia. He was always amiable and never rude or arrogant. Although he had the greatest possible reason to hate Mr. Darcy, he had displayed no such emotion in my presence. In fact, he had gone out of his way to speak somewhat favourably of the man, saying that he was well thought of in the society in which he moved, while on the other hand, Mr. Darcy could not mention Mr. Wickham’s name without anger. No, it would take some doing before I believed evil of the handsome young soldier.

At the table with Morgan, however, I soon forgot about Mr. Wickham, for that night all the men except for the one called Rufus joined us. They were rough and crude in their manners, again slurping from their greasy bowls and insulting in their remarks toward Gert. The way they looked me up and down made my stomach turn. I almost desired that Morgan would send them away as he had done the night before, but it did not happen. His only response was to call them down when they became abusive toward the serving woman. I wondered what his connection with her could be.

After they were chastened, they talked little until the man called Merle asked Morgan when they were to make their move. I listened closely, hoping they might give away some clue as to what had happened since the ransom note had been sent to the Earl of Matlock. Nothing was said that alerted me to any further knowledge, however, and they soon began to talk among themselves, raucous laughter erupting from time to time. As Morgan did not join in, I quietly broached the subject of bathing supplies with him.

“Mr. Morgan, did your man relate to you my request for towels and water with which to bathe?”

The highwayman looked up from his plate but continued to chew. Unfortunately, at that moment, a lull occurred in the conversation between the others, and the ugly man called Sneyd overheard me. He spoke up, laughing openly, his mouth full of food.

“Oh yeah, Nate, the fine missus here wants a bath.”

“I be glad to wash her back,” Merle said, which resulted in even more coarse, guttural laughter. I felt the blood rush to my face, flushing scarlet.

“Shut your mouth,” Morgan snarled and then addressed me. “We’re not much on bathing here and especially not in December.”

I leaned back in my chair and kept my eyes on my lap. Why had I even asked? It was pointless and only provided fuel for these animals’ crudeness.

Suddenly, I felt a finger lift up my chin. Morgan stared into my eyes. “Don’t mind the boys. They’re scamps, all of them, and they’re not used to the presence of a lady. I’ll see what I can do about your request on the morrow.”

I said nothing, hoping that he would let me return to my room without delay. His hand lingered upon my chin, however, and I felt his fingers caress my jaw line.

Oh, dear Lord, I prayed silently, rescue me from this place!

At last, he motioned Sneyd to escort me down the hall. I was never so glad to reach the sanctuary found behind that locked door. Perhaps cages had their merits after all. I shuddered slightly as I advanced into the room, and holding my arms, I ran my hands briskly up and down them as though I might restore heat to my blood, for it had turned bitterly cold.

Mr. Darcy hurriedly rose and crossed the room to my side. “Elizabeth, are you unharmed?”

I nodded.

“What has happened?”

I shook my head. “Pray, do not ask me any more questions. I am not hurt. I learned nothing that will help us tonight. There, I have said all I care to say. Please let me be.”

I sank down on the pallet and drew the quilt over me, turning my face to the wall. Would we ever be delivered?

Not long after that, Mr. Darcy picked up the blanket and lay down. It startled me, but I moved slightly so that he might share the cover. This was to be the second night we were to lie beside each other, and it continued to unnerve me. What must he think of me, allowing such intimacy? Should I protest again? Surely, he knew that I would never enter into this arrangement except for necessity.

Shadows of tree branches from outside the window jerked back and forth in a macabre sort of dance up and down the wall that I faced. The skittering sounds of a mouse could be heard from within the storeroom, and I shuddered again, hoping it would not find its way along the floor on which we lay.

We were in a situation fraught with danger and at the hands of cruel, heartless men. All of my earlier bravado had evaporated with nightfall, and now fear took hold of my heart and pulled me down into its clutches.

“Elizabeth?”

I inhaled sharply at the sound of Mr. Darcy’s voice, but I made no audible response. I held my breath and hoped he would think me asleep. Could he not honour my request and leave me alone? I was very near to tears, and I did not wish to break down before him.

He said my name again softly, but when I said nothing, I heard him sigh and turn his face away.

Chapter Four

On the morning of the third day, after Gert served Mr. Darcy and me our usual fare for breakfast, Sneyd stood in the doorway while she cleared the table. I shuddered as his eyes swept over me. He grinned and bared his yellow teeth.

“Come with me, Missus.”

I turned to Mr. Darcy, who immediately rose and stood by my side. “Where are you taking my wife?” he demanded.

“Wherever Morgan says to.” Sneyd advanced into the room.

“She will not go anywhere until you give me the truth!”

“Still the big man, are we?” Sneyd pulled his pistol from his waistband. “Be you big enough to match this?”

Once again, Mr. Darcy was forced to allow me to depart. I glanced back at him over my shoulder and saw the alarm in his eyes and the frustration of his helplessness. There was nothing he could do short of taking a bullet for me. Sneyd locked the door with one hand while holding the pistol levelled at me.

“There is no need to point that thing at me. I have little recourse but to follow you.”

He snickered — I had long since learned to hate the sound — placed the gun back in his waistband, and grabbed my arm roughly. Instead of ushering me into the main room where I had eaten the night before, he took me down a hallway and out a side door.

The brightness of the morning sun almost blinded me, but I welcomed its warmth and the smell of fresh air. At the same time, I began to fear my destination.

Although short and stocky in stature, Sneyd took long steps, and I had to tread quickly to match his gait. We walked around to the front of the cottage where I saw the highwayman named Merle stationed as guard. Across the creek I could see the man called Rufus up on a slight hill, walking back and forth like a sentry. Morgan was nowhere to be seen.

“Where are we going?”

“You wanted to wash, Missus. Here’s your tub.” He spread his arm wide, pointing toward the creek.

“Surely you do not expect me to bathe without privacy!”

“Your privacy ain’t my concern. Morgan says let you wash, so wash.” He snickered even more than before, and I could hear the man just outside the cottage join him with his own ugly chuckle.

I drew myself up, livid with anger and indignation, and narrowed my eyes, staring at him with all the vehemence I could muster.

“I require a bucket!”

He actually seemed taken aback somewhat by my tone, but not enough to release me. Merle, however, must have had some pity in his soul, for he picked up an old wooden bucket sitting beside the door and handed it to me.

“Thank you!” I said and directed my next remark at Sneyd. “I can hardly wash unless you release me.”

“All right, but don’t try nothin.’ Remember, I hold the gun.”

I glared at him. “How could I forget?”

I marched down the slightest of inclines to the water’s edge and observed with dismay that it had evidently rained sometime during the night, for mud two feet wide lined the bank. I glanced around, searching for a drier spot, but the only choices I could see were either to plod through the mud or attempt to hop over it onto a huge flat rock that protruded out into the stream. I elected to try my luck with the rock and was pleased when my efforts were successful.

I walked out to the edge and knelt down on one foot, but the water was too far below to reach easily. I surveyed the creek from the entire surface of the stone, but all the way around, the depth remained the same. At last, I dropped to both knees, reached way over and scooped up a handful of water. It was icy cold, but how delightful it was to wash my hands. As I lifted it to my face, I was thrilled to see it was clear, nigh to pristine.

I could hear the sound of falls somewhere up ahead and realized that we must be right below a small dam of some sort. I would remember to relate that piece of news to Mr. Darcy. Perhaps it might aid him in discovering our whereabouts.

“Is that all what you wash?” Sneyd’s voice was an irritating reminder of his presence. I glanced over my shoulder to see that he had followed me onto the rock and stood directly behind me.

“I prefer to finish inside.”

I bent over once again to fill the bucket. I rinsed it a couple of times and had just dipped it into the stream the third time, when I felt his hand cup my bottom. Instinctively, I straightened and hurled the bucket of water at him!

“Devil take you!” He staggered backward, shaking the water from his doused stringy hair. “Why, you little — ”

Knocking the bucket aside, he grabbed both my wrists and angrily began to force his face close to mine. I squirmed and screamed, trying desperately to push him away. He was far the victor in strength, however, and before I knew it, he had twisted both my arms behind me and held me against him in a tight grip, his vile mouth about to bear down upon mine.

From out of nowhere, two arms wrenched Sneyd away and threw him down on the rock, perilously close to the water! To my amazement, I saw Morgan tower over him, both fists clenched, a furious scowl upon his face.

“I told you she was not to be trifled with!” he yelled. Sneyd cowered before the leader of the gang. “Get in the water!”

“What? Nate — ” Sneyd muttered incredulously.

“You heard me. Dive in and snatch that pail. It’s the only one we’ve got.”

“But, Nate, I’ll catch me death! The water’s freezin’ cold.”

“I’ll not say it again, Sneyd. Get that bucket!”

Morgan’s tone was deep and ominous, and I watched the shorter man discard his jacket and gun, and then pull off his boots before he gingerly stepped down into the creek. He cursed with every step and began to shake uncontrollably when the water reached his waist.

Morgan picked up Sneyd’s gun and tucked it into his waistband, next to his own weapon. He then turned to me. “Come on. I’ll help you off this rock.”