Chapter 20

When spring arrived, it was time to go to Rosings. Darcy had decided that they would break their journey in London for a couple of weeks. He had some business to do there, and wanted to hire a governess for Melody. She was getting to the age where she was almost too old for her nurse.

Elizabeth was five months along, and had a slight bulge which she was usually able to obscure with layered garments. Jane had come to town for the season with her husband, and they were staying at the Sedleys' townhouse. Elizabeth shared her time between visiting with Jane, visiting with the Gardiners, and becoming closer with Darcy's relations.

She also made a visit, with Darcy, to Mr. Pritchard's shop again. He had kept them updated in letters on how the books were selling, and declared, with delight, that they would have to make a second edition, since the first had sold so well. The 5,000 copies were gone already. He also gave her her royalty earnings of £750. "There will be more in a few months, I am sure," he said. "This is only the beginning."

They had just come back from visiting Mr. Pritchard when Elizabeth declared that she wanted to go on a walk. She was so full of excitement from the news that she needed to expend her energy. Darcy had an interview with a possible governess, so Elizabeth went out with the footman who usually accompanied her.

Elizabeth chose to take a lesser-known path. She did not want to go to the fashionable park which was near their Mayfair townhouse. She knew she would get stopped by all of Darcy's acquaintances, and wanted to avoid that.

The cherry blossoms were blooming, and Elizabeth inhaled deeply to pick up the scent. She walked by a patch of narcissus flowers and recollected her first walk in the Dunmore Manor gardens, when Darcy had told he that they reminded him of himself. She had stopped and was looking at them, in a reverie, when she heard a crack behind her, and then a heavy thud. She turned around to find that Thomas, the burly footman who always accompanied her on her walks, was lying prone on the ground with a man standing over him, cudgel raised. Elizabeth gasped and was just thinking that she should run, when the attacker rounded on her, and grabbed her from behind. A sweet-smelling handkerchief came over her mouth and nose, and she knew no more.

When Elizabeth woke she had an almighty headache. Her mouth felt like cotton and she felt nauseated. She looked around and realized she was in a shack, or a hovel of some kind. There were no windows in the room, and only a wooden table with one chair. Her hands and feet were tied and she was lying on a filthy mattress that smelled of urine and vomit. She had no idea what led through the only door, but she decided to try calling for help. She did not know who had taken her, or why; and she felt a pang for poor Thomas, who had been hit over the head. Was he alive? And if so, would he be able to tell Darcy what had happened to her?

Her cries for help did bring someone, but not the aid she had hoped for. A man of middle-age with a paunch opened the door. He had grey in his hair and his red face was sprinkled with broken blood vessels, signs of his dissipation. He smelled of alcohol, and the lines on his face made him look cruel and merciless. He was dressed in shabby, dirty clothing, covered in food crumbs and grease stains. Along with the alcohol, he brought with him the scent of body odour, which nearly made Elizabeth gag.

"There is no use shouting," he said. "No one can hear you from here."

She was surprised to hear the accents of a gentleman coming from his mouth. "Who are you?" she asked. "What do you want?"

"As to what I want, that should be obvious. I want your husband's money. He owes it to me."

"You must be mistaken. My husband would never let a debt go unpaid."

"Ah. Perhaps he has not told you about me, then. My name is George Wickham. I was old Mr. Darcy's godson, and he doted on me. Fitzwilliam and I were friends when we were children, but then he turned against me." His face turned hard. "It is his fault that I was imprisoned in the Marshalsea for over ten years. I have just been released and I am destitute. I need his money, and he owes it to me!"

Elizabeth perceived that this man was slightly unhinged. She recalled Darcy's telling her about this George Wickham, but not the details. She only remembered that he said his father had loved Wickham more than he had his own son.

"I am sure we can all come to some agreement," said Elizabeth soothingly. If the man really was insane, she needed to placate him in some way until help could come.

"Oh, we will," he said, and smiled. She could see that his teeth were yellow-stained and rotting. She shuddered. "I have already sent a ransom demand. You will stay here, Mrs. Darcy, until I have my money. Then perhaps I may kill you."

Elizabeth tried to hold in a gasp. "Why would you kill me when you have the money?" she asked in a tone of forced calm.

"For revenge!" Wickham cried with a savage look on his face. "I have always known that Darcy was miserable, and delighted in it. But now he has a beautiful young wife, and a child on the way. He is revoltingly happy. It is sickening. I have been watching the townhouse ever since you arrived two weeks ago, and I have seen the changes in him. If I cannot kill him, I want him as miserable as I am!"

He was shouting by the end of this speech, and Elizabeth had become truly frightened. The man was mad. Whether Darcy was responsible for his imprisonment or not, Wickham clearly believed he was, and that was all that mattered in his disordered mind. Before she could think of what she could say to pacify him, he turned to leave the room. "I am going back to check on the progress of the ransom. Stay quiet, Mrs. Darcy, or else I may have to gag you."

With that, he pulled up his sagging pants around his paunch, and closed the door behind him.

Darcy had enjoyed meeting Mrs. Fields. She was a young woman in her late twenties who was recently widowed and looking for a position as governess to support herself. Darcy was pleased with her responses to his questions, and looked forward to checking into her references. He had dismissed her and gone back to work before he realized how late in the day it was. Elizabeth should be home by now.

He exited his study to look for her. She usually would come in to greet him, but maybe she had been tired. Her body exhausted itself more easily in her condition. He did not want her to hurt herself or the baby.

"Mr. North, has Mrs. Darcy returned?" he asked the butler.

"No, sir," the servant replied.

"They have been gone several hours now," said Darcy. "Thomas has not returned?"

"No, sir."

Darcy knew which park Elizabeth had gone to. It was one of her favourites. He ordered the butler to send a few footmen to look for them. Then he paced as he waited.

A half an hour later, the footmen returned, bearing with them an unconscious Thomas.

"What is this? What has happened? Where is Mrs. Darcy?" Darcy demanded.

"We could not find her, sir. We searched the whole area. Thomas was lying unconscious on the side of the path."

"Have a doctor sent for at once." Maybe Thomas had seen something and could tell them where Elizabeth was. Had he been knocked out by another person?

When the physician arrived, he checked Thomas over and declared that he had no injuries save the bump on the back of his head. "I can revive him, but he will be in pain. Perhaps it would be better to let him sleep it off."

"No, I must have him awake. He might know where my wife is," Darcy insisted.

The doctor therefore waved a bottle with pungent fragrance under Thomas' nose, and the man awoke.

When Thomas saw Darcy, he looked aghast. "Sir, I do not know what has happened to Mrs. Darcy," he said before his master could question him. "I was walking along the path and was suddenly hit from behind. Is she here? Did she come back home?"

"No, she did not, Thomas," said Darcy grimly. Thomas looked alarmed, but Darcy reassured him. "It is not your fault. You did the best you could do." He turned to the butler. "We must call for the constabulary at once. It could be that Mrs. Darcy was kidnapped."

Several hours later, Darcy had told the constabulary everything he knew. The police had demanded whether he had any enemies, but Darcy could not think of one. "It may be just an opportunist, looking to gain some money," said the constable. He looked up from his notepad. "And you say your wife is with child?"

"Yes. I fear for her and the baby," replied Darcy desperately.

"We will do our best, but it will be hard to find tracks at night. We will consult with you again in the morning."

Darcy was angry and upset that the constable would not promise to do more, but they would not listen to his demands. He decided, therefore, to call on the Bow Street Runners.

"They know what they are about," his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam had always said. "If you have a problem the police cannot fix, go to them."

Two Bow Street Runners had just arrived at Darcy House and were being briefed on the situation when a note arrived. The butler brought it into the study.

"Where did this come from?" asked Darcy, taking it from his hand.

"A little street urchin dropped it off."

"Did you see which way he went?" asked one of the Runners, Symons.

"I had one of the footmen follow him," said the butler.

"Excellent, thank you, North," said Darcy.

They opened the letter and read.

Darcy,

I am certain you are not surprised to see this letter. At this point you have determined that your precious little wife is gone and have been searching for her for hours. Do not fear, I have her safe and sound. If you want her to remain that way, her and the little brat she carries, you will give me the £30,000 you owe me. That was, after all, the amount of Georgiana's dowry, which should have been mine had you not interfered. I have suffered in the Marshalsea for over ten years because of you. I want my recompense.

I have not laid hands on Mrs. Darcy – yet. Unless you want her dead body floating in the Thames, you will gather the money I requested and leave it in the designated place. I will send further instructions in the morning.

Your dear beloved brother,

George Wickham

"You know this George Wickham?" asked Symons at once. "What is your history with him?"

Darcy outlined his whole past dealings with Wickham, including his father's favouritism for the steward's son and his bequest of the living at Kympton, which Wickham had given up for monetary compensation. Then Wickham had convinced his fifteen-year-old sister to elope with him, and had only been stopped by Darcy's unexpected arrival in Ramsgate. "As for his claim that I am responsible for his imprisonment in the Marshalsea, that is false. After I sent him away from my sister at Ramsgate, I never saw him again. I only heard through my cousin a year or two later that he had been arrested for debt. I did not even know he had been released."

"And this Mr. Wickham has reason to want revenge against you?"

"He would perceive it so, yes, especially if he thinks I had him imprisoned."

"Then it is possible he might lay hands on Mrs. Darcy," said Symons.

Darcy could only agree, and felt his heart turn to ice. What if he hurt or killed Elizabeth and the child? All the joy that had come into his life would be gone. And Wickham was certainly capable of it. He should have guessed that Wickham was behind this; he was not surprised now to learn that he was.

"Our first step now is to wait until the footman returns, to tell us where the urchin who delivered the note has gone. Then we can go to that location ourselves and see if Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Darcy are there."

They waited over an hour, but when the footman returned, his news was not good. "I am afraid I lost him, sir," he said to Darcy. "He was a wily thing. He apparently noticed that he was being followed and disappeared somewhere around Fleet Ditch."

"Fleet Ditch?" Darcy gasped in horror. Fleet Ditch was the most filthy, poverty-stricken, disease-ridden, criminal-infested area of London. Was Elizabeth there? His skin turned cold and sweat beaded on his brow. He would not put it past Wickham to reside in such a place; but to bring Darcy's wife there? The man must be mad.

"Do you have a likeness of Mrs. Darcy that we might see?" asked the Runner.

"Yes. I had one painted over the winter." Darcy drew out the miniature of Elizabeth from the desk drawer.

The two men examined it. "Is she tall? Short?"

"She is petite, maybe only a couple of inches over five feet."

"And what was she wearing when she was taken?"

Darcy had to think about that. "A light blue dress with yellow flowers embroidered on it." He shrugged. "I am not sure what else to say about it. I pay no attention to women's fashions."

"That will do fine. And Mr. Wickham?"

"My father had a miniature made of him about twenty years ago, but it is at Pemberley. I doubt he still resembles that young man, however."

"What can you tell us about his appearance?"

"He is tall, but not so tall as I. Maybe six feet. He has brown, straight hair and blue eyes. He was always considered very handsome by the ladies."

"And how old is he now?"

"He and I are the same age, and I am almost forty-one. I am afraid that ten years in the Marshalsea will make him appear older, however."

"Very likely. That is enough for us to go on for now, Mr. Darcy. Daniels will return to Bow Street to send out scouts, and I will stay here in anticipation of receiving the next ransom note."

"Thank you, sirs." Darcy felt a bit better. At least something was being done.

He had some viands brought in for Symons, but Darcy could not eat. He paced restlessly, waiting for morning.

Bow Street scouts soon appeared outside Darcy House, and they were hiding skillfully when another street urchin appeared an hour after dawn to deliver a second note. These men were much better at stalking without detection, and took after the boy when he departed. The butler brought the letter straight to Darcy where he sat waiting with Symons. He opened the note and they read together.

Darcy,

Your wife is still alive, but will not remain so long unless you deliver the £30,000 in an unmarked bag to the courtyard of the Rose and Lion Inn on Thorpe Alleyway at 10 a.m. Once I have the money, I will return your wife to you. If you bring anyone else to the location, or bring the police into the situation, you will never see your wife or unborn child again.

G. Wickham

"I do not trust him," said Darcy. "Who is to say that once he has the money he will not do away with Mrs. Darcy?"

"I agree. There is no question of giving him the money."

"But if he sees the Runners, he will kill her," said Darcy desperately. "What are we to do?"

"Let us wait to hear back from my scouts who followed the boy. He may lead them straight to Wickham's hiding place."

"Do you think Wickham is working with any confederates?" Darcy asked.

"It is hard to know," said Symons. "He is certainly paying these street urchins to deliver his notes. Whether he is intelligent enough to have them return to a different location is another question."

Wickham was intelligent, Darcy knew that; but was he in his right mind? An insane man was capable of any kind of atrocities. His heart grew icy again at the thought of Elizabeth in Wickham's power.

Fortunately, the Bow Street scouts had better luck this time. They came back with a report that the little boy had returned to a hovel in Fleet Ditch. There they had seen a middle-aged man with greying-brown hair about six feet tall confer with the boy before giving him a coin and sending him on his way.

Symons at once began making plans to surround the house. Darcy insisted on coming with them. The Runners attempted to dissuade him, but he would not listen.

"This is not the place for a gentleman," Symons said. "There could be considerable danger if Wickham is armed, as we assume."

"If my wife is there, she must be in the considerable danger that you describe. I will not leave her in peril."

Eventually they agreed, since they could not stop him, and they rode out in a hackney coach. Darcy grew more and more appalled the closer they came to Fleet Ditch. He had never imagined such squalor and misery existed in England. He wondered how a human being could survive in such a place.

They hovel they approached was even worse. It looked as if even rats would flee from it. Symons indicated silence as they surrounded the edifice. It appeared deserted. Darcy wondered if anyone were still alive inside, and his heart rate picked up.

All at once the Runners had broken in, and Darcy followed them, his own pistol raised. They found only two rooms. Wickham lay on the floor in the first room, unconscious. They entered the second room. It was filthy and dark, but there was no sign of Elizabeth.

Darcy's heart filled with terror. Was she already dead?