This is the last chapter that needs a captivity narrative warning.
When Anne next awoke, she found she was cold. Night had fallen. She wrapped the blankets more tightly about her and was thankful that she had worn a thick wool gown and wool stockings that day. She wished she had her pelisse, but she did not know what her captors had done with it. Anne noted that her bucket was empty and her waterskin filled. A hunk of cheese, two small carrots, and another hunk of bread was laid inside the pouch she had made out of the blanket for her food.
Anne walked to where the trap door hatch was, looking up at it. The cellar was maybe nine feet deep. Anne was but five feet. She supposed that her arms were likely half that, but as she had no great strength, she could not consider herself equal to pulling herself up unless she was close to the door. She considered what she had at her disposal. The mat was maybe four inches thick. Even if she was able to fold it so it was three times the thickness, she would still be unable to reach the hatch. The bucket was perhaps a foot high, so if it held her weight and if she could balance it atop the mat, she would be perhaps at a height of 7 feet. It was impossible. She wondered if she might be able to ask for a few things, perhaps a second bucket. She could say that she wished to use one for the food as the other was used for other purposes.
Anne looked around the room. She grabbed the bucket and brought it to near her mat to examine it. It was made of wood and metal, with a metal handle. The handle detached easily, and Anne contemplated it. She wondered if it could be used somehow.
Anne tried to remember and practice many of the lessons that her cousin Rich had taught her while he told her stories of his time in the regulars. Ration food and water if you do not know how much you will have or when you will have access again. Designate an area well away from where you eat for other purposes. Make friends with the enemy where you can. Think of how things might be used for purposes other than what their maker intended.
She tried to think of what Richard to do if he were in her situation. She looked around for rocks but could find only small pebbles. These she piled together, thinking that at least she might throw them. She felt along the cracks of the walls, feeling for loose rocks. When a rock the size of her fist gave way, she nearly squealed in delight, but caught herself in time. She felt about the rest of the walls, as high as she could reach, but did not find any more large rocks that were loose.
She hid the large rock between her mat and the wall, positioning a blanket over it so it might escape detection. Then she realized what she might do and scrambled to grab it again. As she supposed it to be night, or at least dusk, for she could still see a little, she supposed now would be the best time to undertake the task she was about to do. She began to hit the metal handle with the rock, thinking that she might sharpen it. Richard had once shown her a Roman spear and detailed how the rock was sharpened by another rock. He demonstrated, rotating the stone he held as he struck it. She tried to mimic his movements the best she could.
"Sirs," said the groom, approaching the three men, "You requested my presence."
"Indeed, we did," said the colonel.
"We want to know exactly where you went the day that Miss de Bourgh disappeared," said Lord Barlow.
"I told you already, sir," said the groom.
"I want you to tell us again, Frank," said Wickham.
Wickham's words drew the groom's attention to him. The other two men were all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour, Frank looked white, Wickham red. The groom's mouth opened and closed several times while he attempted to speak. He had never expected to see Wickham again and certainly not in Kent of all places.
"I just wanted to make a fresh start," said Frank Younge.
"I doubt it. Where is your sister and where is Miss de Bourgh?" asked Wickham.
"My sister went missing with Miss de Bourgh. I have been dreadfully anxious over where they might have gone. It's been dreadful trying to not show my feelings of worry over my sister," said Mr. Younge.
"Indeed," said Wickham, "Rich, hand me your pistol."
"You won't shoot me, Wickie," said Mr. Younge.
"Won't I?" he asked.
"Come now, are we not old friends?" asked Mr. Younge.
"I never considered you a friend," said Mr. Wickham, "but you are right. I couldn't shoot a man."
"You always were a soft touch, Wickham," said Mr. Younge with a grin as Wickham waved away the pistol, "You told me once that you'd never bedded a maiden. Said something about honour. Is that still true, Wickie? Still never bed maidens?"
Wickham blushed but did not answer the question.
"I said I would not shoot you. My friend, the colonel, holds no such scruples. He's shot men for king and country, and I suppose he would shoot another to find his cousin," said Wickham.
The colonel pulled back the hammer on the pistol, as if to signify his agreement. Mr. Young paled.
"But how will you find out where she is if I am dead?" asked Mr. Younge.
"I did not say I would shoot to kill," said the Colonel, aiming his pistol towards the man's genitals.
A few minutes later, the three men were in a carriage heading towards where Miss de Bourgh was being held. Surprisingly, it was only ten miles from Rosings. It seemed that the carriage had gone to London only to throw off any pursuers. When they arrived, Mr. Younge led them into an outbuilding, before opening a hatch in the floor. He lowered a rope ladder into the space. Coronel Fitzwilliam gestured for Lord Barlow and Wickham to go first, so he might keep the pistol trained on Mr. Younge in case it was a trap.
Wickham, wary of what they might be walking into, nonetheless went first. He was nearly down the rope ladder when he was suddenly hit with a handful of rocks.
"Miss de Bourgh, stop! It is George Wickham!" he called, dropping down to the dirt floor. It was well that he had called out, for Miss de Bourgh had a sharpened bit of metal in her hand and was poised to strike.
"Pemberley's steward?" asked Anne, "But you are too young to be he."
"Anne!" called Lord Barlow, scrambling down the ladder after Wickham.
"I am his son. I am Darcy's friend," said Wickham.
"Now that all the introductions have been made, perhaps you might assist the lady in climbing out?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Lord Barlow went back up the ladder first so he might assist her from above while Wickham held the ladder steady while Anne climbed out. It seemed that, now assured of her safety, the shock of what she had been through overtook her and she collapsed.
The next evening, while Darcy enjoyed some of Mr. Bennet's port and was questioned by Mr. Bennet, Mr. Gardiner, and Mr. Phillips, he realised how he had longed for a father figure. How lucky his Elizabeth was to have three such that cared so well for him. His uncle, Lord Matlock, had been perhaps the closest he had since his father's passing, but too often was he focused only on material gain.
When the men joined the ladies in the drawing room, they saw that an express was being delivered.
"Oh, here he is," said Mrs. Bennet, "It is from Lord Barlow and the colonel."
Darcy grasped the letter immediately from the man and tore it open. The news he wished to hear was found within the first sentence, so he only skimmed the rest. He gave a whole guinea to the rider, which shocked the man.
"She is found?" asked Elizabeth, hopefully.
"She is found," said Mr. Darcy. Then he added, "She has been missing too long and too many people knew, so she must marry. It seems that my cousin has decided to offer for her. They will get a special license and wed as soon as possible."
"Your cousin?" asked Kitty, attempting to keep her mien calm.
Elizabeth realised her sister's distress and asked, "Which cousin is that?"
"Colonel Fitzwilliam. He needs to marry an heiress anyhow, as a second son, so he might as well marry Anne, it seems," answered Darcy.
A look of instant relief overcame Kitty, which multiple people in the room noticed, including Darcy. He raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth, who shrugged. It seemed things were far more serious between Miss Catherine and his cousin than he had supposed.