Bingley was listening intently, every word more important to him than the last. "Yes?" he prodded, being very careful not to ruin her patience with his constant demands.
The tea was cleared and Mrs. Townsend had brought out several biscuits, as though Bingley needed to be entertained. "The Doctor agreed to see her."
"Where?" Bingley demanded. "And for what, is she injured?"
"Oh, no," Mrs. Townsend assured. "No, you must not think such dark thoughts!" she reprimanded. "Please, do eat." How Bingley could ever think this woman to be capable of malice was far past him now.
He plucked up a biscuit and nervously gnawed at it, hands twitching. Every additional piece of information only led to horrendous images and scenarios playing out in his mind. He stared across the table, quite rudely, but he had no care for it.
"Anyhow," Mrs. Townsend continued, her voice rather sweet. "The Doctor did take his leave to go to the home."
"Is it in London!" Bingley asked excitedly. "Is Jane here?"
"Perhaps," Mrs. Townsend remarked, turning to hold out a stack of letters, bound together by thick ribbon. "At first, I did think it was quite strange, that it be your Mrs. Bingley who needed a Doctor, for she would be with you. Then I did realise…"
Bingley fidgeted past what was completely proper and he pleaded with his eyes.
"…that perhaps, my husband has been quite foul." She handed the letters to Mr. Bingley. "In these, there is a list of every location and family my husband has serviced over the years. The Doctor spoke of not knowing where he must go, and when he did depart, he did not give me the address."
Bingley nodded, taking the letters quite gratefully. He was one step closer then and the tea and the biscuits put him at a strange ease, for he could not worry about not finding Jane, not now, not when he had just discovered a iclue/i. "Thank you," he remarked, quite enthusiastic, bowing and jumping to his feet. "You have been most kind, Mrs. Townsend, thank you."
He nearly dashed from the room in his departure, almost running right into his man as they boarded the carriage. "Where to, sir?"
"The townhome," Bingley remarked, eagerly. "I've reading to do and I must send a letter to Darcy at once!"
One Week Later
The letter from Darcy arrived with due haste, but Bingley was no longer in the townhome to read it. The events of the past week had prevented that. Now, the townhome was in disarray from a breaking and entering, and the letter still sat, unopened upon the table, clearly unwanted.
Five Days Earlier
Arriving in London, Elizabeth barely stopped as she stepped off the carriage, hurrying to the door of the Bingleys townhome and knocking, holding her skirts up to prevent them from becoming muddy. Her father joined her as quickly as he could behind her, but it was not before Bingley drew open the door, looking quite unkempt and unshaven, letters in his hands.
"Mr. Bennet!" he remarked with surprise. "Elizabeth! You're early!"
"It is Tuesday," Elizabeth reminded him, almost sharply, as she peered past him. "As we agreed upon. May we come in?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Bingley hurriedly remarked, stepping back. "I apologise, I've not slept in what seems to be days! I've been to so many homes and locations and not a one has Jane!" Elizabeth passed him, followed by Mr. Bennet, and the both seemed to be traveling at a speed entirely different than that of Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth glanced about the house, searching for signs that Bingley was still taking good care of himself, and she found half-eaten remnants of food and a half-drank cup of tea from the last meal and she sighed.
"Charles," she remarked, sympathetic and stern all at once. "What would Jane say if she saw the way you were caring for yourself?"
"I hardly care," he said, brushing the criticism off. "She may say what she will when we discover her and until then, I shall not stop for lack of care in my diet or ways."
"What have you learned?" Mr. Bennet spoke up, for the first time, seemingly distracted by the trappings of the home and searching them as if to find some answer hidden amongst the busts and the books.
Bingley paced back and forth, running a hand through unruly locks of hair. "That Jane has been in need of a Doctor, though for what, I hardly know. If she is injured or ill, I shall not stop to bring them to justice, or…or harm them!" he said, hastily, though both Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet knew that the chances of Mr. Bingley harming anyone, even in the worst fits of rage, were very unlikely. "There is a list of places she may be, that this wretched man may have taken her, but I cannot say where she is, for I have not found her."
Elizabeth took the letters herself, reading them carefully.
Mr. Bennet crossed the room to peer over her shoulder and read the missives.
"There's a large number of homes named in here," he remarked, rather disapprovingly, in Bingley's direction, as though it were his fault specifically that it be such a long list. Elizabeth was mired in the details of the letter and she continued reading, looking for some hint or clue that would lead them to the right location.
She sat herself on the nearest chaise and sighed, returning to her reading. There was much work to be done and with Bingley in such a state, she did not truly believe him to be capable of standing the stress much longer.
Jane had begun to feel ill two whole days after her visit from the kind Doctor. It had awoken her in the morning and she barely had time from which to scramble from her bed into the nearest bucket they had brought into the room. It did make her feel relieved and unhappy all at once to know that she could conceive, but that she had found out in such dire circumstances.
There was no one in the room to witness her sickness and she remained swathed in the warm sheets of the bed, pale and exhausted from the sickness, barely moving when she heard the door unlatch and the humming of someone entering.
Jane did not even believe her eyes when she saw the woman, the woman who was so clearly the accomplice in these terrible acts.
"I've put ginger in your tea, Mrs. Bingley," Mrs. Brown remarked, voice stern and matronly, all at once. "It will settle your stomach and drive away those terrible ills that plague you."
The tea and tray of toast was set before Jane and the very smell made her sick once more and she nearly flipped the tray completed as she retched to the side of the bed, into the bucket, once more. The tea had spilled over the side and dripped downwards, dripping onto the coverlets and Jane closed her eyes tightly, tears staining them.
"Oh, this is a nasty case, then," Mrs. Brown observed. "You know what this means?"
Jane did not take the proffered damp cloth, but Mrs. Brown did not stop, easing in to clean up Jane's mouth. She eased away, bustling about the room to tidy it as Jane watched her warily, taking the cup of tea with shaky hands and washing about the miserable taste.
"It means a difficult pregnancy," Mrs. Brown remarked.
Jane watched as the curtains were drawn open and she winced. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, finally, her voice hoarse. In the back of her mind, she recalled that Mrs. Brown had been assigned to aid Elizabeth and William and she felt dreadful for both assigning such an awful woman to them and yet, at the same time, neglecting service to them while Jane herself was kidnapped.
"Mr. Townsend, he has promised a new start," she spoke, sounding rather elated and wistful. "We will have your child and have the life that the elder Bingley denied him."
Jane stared at her. She was clearly mad, but Jane did not dare say a word. "You truly intend to keep me here for nine months?"
"Yes, our plans are rather early, aren't they?" Mrs. Brown gave a thoughtful sound. "But such is the way of life. No matter. If someone gets too curious…" Her gaze turned over her shoulder and her smile was dark, almost sinister. "We have ways of dealing with that, dear."
She curtsied, as though she still served Jane somehow, and that very gesture sent another wave of nausea through Jane.
"I'll be by with more tea soon, Mrs. Bingley, you just keep drinking that."
Jane, however, would not touch the tea at all, preferring the sickness to the kindness of devils.
tbc