A million thanks for your continued love and support. I am simply speechless!
Thanks for pointing out the discrepancy in date. It was a typo which is now removed. The actual year was 1780.
As for those missing words, it is some technical snag. I read my chapter at least twice before updating and once again in the preview. Those words were there then, however it was only after I published the chapter that they were removed. This has happened earlier too and needless to say, is irritating the hell out of me. If you have some solution, then kindly let me know.
PLEASE REVIEW. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS MOST WELCOME.
Dovedale, 1791
The man exited the carriage and swiftly entered the dilapidated old structure to avoid getting the bundle he clutched in his hands, wet. The velvet blackness inside was barely dispelled by the flickering flame of a candle that was held by the woman he was supposed to meet.
However, he deliberately stood in the shadow cast by a pillar so that his face was barely discernable.
"Here it is, your promised six hundred pounds. There is also some laudanum in this bag. Do what you must, but get that babe out of there." The man said, thrusting the bundle in the woman's arms.
"I am taking such a big risk. What if..." The woman trailed off, her eyes riveted to the silver of the sword that the man had withdrawn and she gulped audibly.
"Do your job first and then open your mouth for more money. Not a word before and do not dare to attempt anything cunning. You know the consequences." The man growled, setting the blade of his sword against the woman's neck and pressing ever so slightly.
The blade broke through the delicate membrane and blood trickled down.
"Please, I will do anything!" The woman whimpered, absolutely terrified.
"See that you do so." The man nodded in satisfaction and walked away.
Chatsworth, 1791
Lord Harold Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Lynley was perplexed. He watched quitely as the wet nurse clutched his five months old sister tightly and slowly made her way downstairs.
It was quite late in the night and it seemed that all inhabitants of the great estate were asleep. He too had been on his way to his chambers from the Library when he had come upon this scene and stopped short. Something about the woman's demeanour alarmed him. She was walking slowly, carefully, keeping to the shadows almost as if she did not wish to be seen.
As quitely as possible, the Viscount followed her until she advanced towards the servants' quarters.
"Where are you going?" He asked and saw the woman start violently.
The wet nurse quickly turned around and dropped in a curtsy.
"I...I just had to retrieve something from my quarters, My Lord, and I did not wish to leave Lady Elizabeth alone." She replied breathlessly.
Her excuse was innocent enough. However, the wild look in her eyes struck the Viscount. His instincts told him that the woman was not to be trusted with his sister.
"Give me my sister." He commanded, raising his arms.
"Oh no, My Lord! I would not wish to..."
"Do it!" Lord Harold cut her off in a voice that brooked no argument. Reluctantly, the woman handed him the babe and after dropping into a curtsy once more, went to her quarters.
The Viscount stationed a footman near the servants' quarter and took his sister to his chambers.
"Sleep well, sweet Lizzy. Brother is here." He cooed softly, patting her chest when she startled slightly as he laid her down on his bed.
The next morning, after a thorough enquiry by a stern Lord Matlock, the wet nurse was discharged from her duty.
The woman was terrified of the fate that shall surely befall her, if she admitted to being paid for kidnapping Lady Elizabeth. Thus, she dared not utter a word. However, her reticence did not pay.
A few days later, her corpse was found in the woods near Dovedale by a Woodcutter, mangled beyond recognition. The wet nurse paid the price of her failure with her life!
London, 1812
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were ensconced in the office of Mr Jeremiah Edwards, discussing his new findings. After a thorough search, Mr Edwards had finally unearthed the legal papers pertaining to the trust fund that was set up in the name of Miss Emily Sutherby.
"A Mrs Esmeralda Caruther, Mr Jerome Rathbone and Mr James Morton are enlisted as the trustees."Mr Edwards explained, handing over the papers to them.
"James Morton? He is the same man whom Mr Bennet named as the one who bought his debts." The Colonel cried.
"Yes, but what of the other two. I am sure that they too were somehow involved in Elizabeth's disappearance." Mr Darcy enquired.
"I did search them. I sent my men to the respective address of these trustees,as was enlisted in the Bank records. Unfortunately, Mr Morton died in a riding accident a decade ago and Mr Rathbone is believed to have left the country for India."
"And what of this Mrs Caruther?"
"No information. Hers is an address of a house in Cheapside which has been shut for years. No body knows as to who owns it. However, there is an interesting development." Mr Edwards said, leaning back in his chair.
"What?"
"The date of maturity of the trust fund is approaching- the exact date that you have told me is Lady Elizabeth's birthday." He said slowly, letting his words sink.
The Matlock House, 1812
"Caughey, is there anyone in my aquaintance by the name Sutherby...an Emily Sutherby?" Lord Matlock asked his steward.
The man had been with him for more than three decades, having taken up the responsibility when Lord Matlock had still been a Viscount. He was extremely sharp and had an eidetic memory.
Surely, he must know this Sutherby. Lord Matlock thought absently, hoping to have an answer to that irritating feeling of familiarity that had so troubled him ever since he had come across the name.
Mr Caughey froze at his employer's impromptu question, remembering exactly who she was.
"My Lord she...its her!" The poor steward stuttered nervously.
"Do not speak in riddles Caughey. Who is she? Do you know her? Do I know her?" Lord Matlock asked sharply.
Mr Caughey wiped the sweat that beaded on his brow and coughed awkwardly.
"Ophelia Williams, Serena Wilmanson, Sylvia Dali, Emily Sutherby...these all were the monikers of...of The Honourable Miss Frederica Colton, the daughter of Baron Colton of Nettlestone. Your...mistress, My Lord." He whispered, terrified.
Lord Henry Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock froze. His face paled and eyes widened in shock as he remembered... he finally remembered!
Hertfordshire, 1812
Sir William, the Magistrate sat down to pen a missive to Colonel Fitzwilliam, to inform him about the recent developments. He had promised the man to let him know if the Cook, who was responsible for preparing food for the Prisoners, confessed anything of consequence.
He had a feeling that the good Colonel will find her confession and the person she had named, rather interesting.