Jane did not move from her position, huddled in the corner. Mr. Townsend was slowly healing and upon several occasions, they had each seen someone's shadow pass the door. She was becoming quite hungry and thirsty and had needed to relieve herself a great many times since first waking in the strange barn. But what was most clear and most frightening was the constant footsteps outside, crunching in the cold dirt.

They were not alone.

The entire Bingley staff was made up of four menservants, five maids, three housekeepers, two cooks, and several assorted servants who fulfilled a variety of jobs. They were now all lined up in a row for Darcy's inspection. That was, they were all there save for two. Mrs. Brown, the maid, and Mr. Townsend were suspiciously missing and no one had seen them depart.

Darcy had trouble believing it to be a coincidence when one of the stablehands said that he'd last seen Mrs. Brown digging out a suspicious looking bottle and intercepting Mrs. Bingley's tea.

"That's not it," a young man said, whose name was Mr. Henry; who tended to Bingley's clothing. "There's far more to all of it." He sounded worried and he glanced at Darcy as though fearful, shrinking under his gaze. "There's rumours in the staff, about Mrs. Brown and Mr. Townsend."

"But e's married!" Miss Frost remarked from down the line. "Or he was, t'il his wife done left him."

Darcy sighed. Honestly, he felt as though he had just unknowingly walked into a lion's den. He had the distinct feeling that 'one at a time' would be a warning in vain. So, instead, he nodded to indicate that they should continue and he did hope they would adhere to his silent plea not to overlap their conversations with one another.

"Mr. Townsend worked with Master Bingley's father," a maid named Miss Sarah Toth spoke up, smiling nervously. She was a quiet woman that Jane had taken to and used as her personal maid. She had worked there for many a year, but had only received a pay increase with the marriage of Jane and Charles. "And his wife did too, they were very much happy! Well, the Master of those days was said to be carrying on with one of the girls of the house and Mr. Townsend disapproved and had himself a discussion with the Master."

"Yes," Darcy prodded. "And what happened?"

"Well," Mr. Henry piped up. "It's clear, no?"

It truly wasn't, but Darcy did not feel inclined to admit such a thing.

"Master Bingley fired Mrs. Townsend," Miss Toth explained. "Poor Mr. Townsend didn't realize he'd done in his wife. After that, Master Bingley went back to sleeping only with his wife, so I guess that talk had done some good." She ducked her head down. "Mr. Townsend kept working because they needed the money, see, but Mrs. Townsend never got another job. No good word put in."

"And she asked Mr. Townsend to leave," Mr. Henry interjected, excitedly, eyes wide.

Miss Toth nodded. "And when he wouldn't, she left him. No one's seen her since!"

This was becoming quite suspicious and Darcy now had a prime suspect. He gave a nod to the servants and offered them a brief, 'dismissed' before he rose the stairs to find his way back to Elizabeth and Bingley to see what had come of their time researching. When he arrived to the room, though, there was only Elizabeth and she was reshelving books with a rather cross look upon her face.

"Where's Bingley?" Darcy demanded.

Elizabeth hardly looked back at him. "Don't take such a severe tone with me," she warned, sounding cold. "He's gone to London."

"For what, the season?" Darcy replied with harsh sarcasm. "This is hardly the time to be heading off to London." He peered past the blinds to watch the carriage in the distance, no doubt carrying the master of the house towards town for God only knew what purpose. He glanced over his shoulder to see Elizabeth tapping a book.

She opened it and showed it to him. "He's gone to speak with Mrs. Townsend," she offered.

Darcy took the book into his hands. "The very woman in question," he observed. "The staff had much to say about her. Apparently, Bingley the Senior had quite an interesting little secret life occurring under this very roof." He took the book and peered through the journal entries which indeed, contained the thoughts of Bingley's father in the matter of dismissing Mrs. Townsend. Words like, 'dangerous' and 'potentially problematic' were being used.

"Should we follow?" Elizabeth inquired.

"No," Darcy said, assured. "We should inform your family," he said, cutting off Elizabeth's protest with another directive. "And we should continue to search locally, as well as to search the books for more information regarding this history."

The trip was already taking too long in Bingley's opinion. He had taken the covered carriage and had given the driver specific instructions that they were to stop for nothing and to go straight and direct to Mrs. Townsend's home in London, which promised to hold his clues as to where Jane was.

He could hardly believe that she was gone, not when she seemed so warm and present still in his memory. Just that morning over breakfast, they had spoken of taking the horses out for a ride and perhaps…well, engaging in the act in the countryside upon a blanket in the spring. He had suggested a walk in the woods, but Jane had cited a soreness to her muscles, most likely from her previous constitutionals.

He closed his eyes to ward off another wave of sickness that threatened him. This simply could not be.

Bingley held tight to the carriage as it hurried along the country paths, the horses neighing ahead of him and the landscape about him quickly becoming shrouded in the darkness of dusk. He watched the sky as tiny snowflakes drifted down and his gaze turned forlorn as he recalled the last time it had snowed.

He had been on the porch, leaving the door open to shed some light on the evening, waiting for his angel to return. She had only gone out for a quick walk, but then it had begun to snow and she had seemingly taken the weather as an invitation to stay out longer and play. Bingley only wished that she would have invited him as well.

He ignored the servants' words about closing the door to prevent the heat from escaping, for he could see her in the distance, approaching. She wore a long coat and a lovely hat, hands tied up in woolen mittens and for a moment, all their troubles melted away as Bingley wandered down the front steps to greet her in the cool moonlight, her figure little, light, and lovely from where he stood.

"Jane," he greeted, taking her into his arms and pressing a warm hand to her cheek. "You're positively icy!"

Her smile was soft and demure, but she pressed her body to his and oh! Yes, body warmth. It truly was quite nice.

"Perhaps you might warm me?" she asked, almost shyly, still, as though they had not been married for over a year and six months. "Your hands are quite warm. I imagine the rest of you is quite the same."

Bingley laughed delightedly and leaned in, nuzzling his nose against hers, brushing them together softly and when he inhaled sharply, the cold jolted him awake, but he could smell the scent of flowers about her, as though they hadn't died out months before. She truly was an angel and enchanting in ways he could not even fathom. Her soft exhalation against his neck made him stir in several places (his stomach and within his trousers, as well) and he leaned down to kiss her softly in the lightly falling snow.

Jane tipped her lips towards him and then it was like magic all over again, like every other time he kissed his wife and the whole world disappeared. Bingley wondered why it seemed that they could not produce an heir, not when they truly loved each other immensely, when kisses like this made Bingley feel as though his heart might stop in a swell of love and lust for her.

She exhaled softly and murmured a gentle 'Charles', pressed against the warmth of his neck and she happily leaned into his embrace and they both grinned as though sharing a secret and silent joke between them.

"Come," Bingley encouraged, his breath wafting over her swan-like neck, so pale and perfect. "Let us go upstairs to the bedroom. We needn't even attempt…tonight, if you do not want."

Jane took him by the hand, warming his bare fingers, and warming him through and through with the look in her eyes.

Bingley exhaled, swallowing a lump in his throat.

London could not arrive soon enough.

With William put down for the night with Miss Toth's help, Elizabeth now turned to her own undressing, with Darcy watching her within their bed in the guest room. The tension ran quite high in their room and Elizabeth did not think she would sleep a single wink upon this night, not with her sister out there somewhere and Bingley running about like a chicken with its' head and wings cut off, even.

"Elizabeth," Darcy pleaded softly. "Come to bed."

She was still pacing, brushing her hair thoughtfully as she ignored her husband's words, going through all the options in this situation. "I must go to Longbourn myself," she said, sternly.

"No."

Elizabeth whirled on her heel. "Whyever not! My family deserves to hear such news from me in person. And after that, I can continue the search for her closer to home, just in case this maniac has thieved her away closer to home." Her tone brooked little argument and she simply challenged Darcy with her thoughts to argue back. She could use some verbal sparring while her emotions were so very on edge.

But Darcy did not seem to be biting at her bait.

So she took a deep breath and turned to face him, setting down her brush and approaching. "I do not think it possible for me to sleep," she admitted. "Whenever I close my eyes, all I can see is poor Jane, all I can do is imagine her in some terrible situation, trussed up for some sick man's pleasure."

Darcy pulled Elizabeth closer to him, wrapping his arms about her. To Elizabeth's credit (and she believed she was owed a great deal of credit), she did not struggle. She merely sighed. "Elizabeth," Darcy entreated quietly.

"I hope you do not expect me to sleep in this chaos," she said sharply. "With Jane missing and Charles gone running after her. It is not ample conditions for sleeping, darling."

"As I know, my dear," Darcy assured, stern and firm. "And I am not suggesting you take a nap of forty winks, or heavens forfend, more than that. I am merely suggesting that you take rest before you write a letter to your family. I do not think going to them would be wise, between dealing with your father's wit, and your mother's nerves."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, biting back a retort. "My dear," she bit back. "I do not think we should be so spiteful with each other at a time like this." She rested her chin upon his nightshirt with a soft little jab. "I must tell my mother," Elizabeth realised, staring forward into space. "It would be most poor if she were to hear from anyone else."

Darcy sighed.

"We must," Elizabeth confirmed, knowing that Darcy would not like the idea in the least. "My dear husband, trust me, I will make it up to you." She leaned up to kiss him firmly, a promise of what was to come when things were properly settled and everyone was home. "Perhaps we might even give little William a sibling?"

Darcy laughed ruefully, smiling and kissing Elizabeth with great fervour. She returned the favour to him with aplomb and only eased away, fear lurking within her eyes that would be more than easy for Darcy to see.

"Don't be scared," he assured her quietly. "Charles actually does know what he's doing, and I shall aid from here. We will find Jane."

"Don't be scared," Elizabeth echoed with disbelief. "She's my older sister," she whispered. "How can I not be scared of losing her when I have had her all my life and now she is taken?" She looked up into Darcy's eyes. "Of all the people in the world to be taken from me, I have lost my confidante and my sister, which is a grave and terrible thing short only of losing you, William, and Papa."

She closed her eyes tightly and felt, rather than saw, Darcy pull her closer. He kissed the top of her head and kept her safe in her arms the whole of the night, though neither of them truly slept.

It was upon the eve of the second day that a meal was delivered to the door. Jane's eyes widened upon the sight of it and she collected it, peering around to see who might have left it, but there was no one who might have delivered it. From the chair, Mr. Townsend peered at her, looking groggy and almost sick.

There appeared to be some form of meat and potato on the plate and none of it looked particularly poisoned. Jane was beginning to worry over the smallest of things now, as she feared she could not trust anything. She feared that she would be meek as a mouse in days to come and that the slightest sound would scare her. She did not wish such things, but it almost seemed as though inevitable.

"Mr. Townsend, please, eat," Jane encouraged, setting the plate down before him and not hesitating to offer it all to him. Her nerves ate away at her and she did not think that she could eat, even if she wanted to.

But Mr. Townsend afforded her a soft smile of sympathy. "No, Mrs. Bingley," he said kindly. "You must eat."

"Would you like to know why you should be eating, Mrs. Bingley?" a female voice trilled from the doorway.

Jane turned, staring in confusion at the shadowy figure. There was the cock of a pistol and Jane swallowed nervously, staring at Mr. Townsend, as though he might know how to best protect the both of them. She was scared, utterly so, and she remained on the floor, kneeling.

"There's a very simple reason," the woman continued, her voice cold. "Eat the food, Mrs. Bingley. It's safe. You need your strength."

"Why?" Jane inquired.

"The purpose will reveal itself soon enough," the woman assured, easing back into the darkness of the evening. "For now, eat. And soon enough, I'll be able to tell you what your purpose is. When we're a little further."

The door to the stable closed again, before Jane could think to inquire as to where they were going, and just what this 'purpose' was.

tbc

Me: Thank you for the feedback and I'm glad that the original plot works! I was worried about that and wanted to write Austen-fic for so long, but on my own terms.

Johanna Holmes: Thank you for the lovely feedback! I've got a few more parts in my head already plotted!

Thank you to everyone who's been feedbacking. It really does make my day and get my fingers flying faster with the plot.