Darcy had not precisely meant to wait out to see Miss Elizabeth.
He'd woken as the carriage came into London half an hour before dawn. It was not driven by his regular coach driver, who'd been left behind after driving without break for nearly a day so that he could sleep, but by a friend of his driver who they'd hired at a post station. John swore that he was near as good a driver as he was himself.
They came into the streets from the north road and rattled down towards the middle of the city, through streets that were yet almost empty.
On a sudden urge Darcy had opened his window to the icy air and tapped on the roof.
The coachman had turned back in surprise.
"Take us to Gracechurch Street, and then let me off — take the carriage to Darcy house, I'll manage my own way the rest of the way."
"Course, sir. Course."
Darcy pulled on his coat, and he stepped off onto the road near Leadenhall. He slowly strolled south and then stopped on the far side of the street from the house of Elizabeth's aunt and uncle.
The house was wholly silent, though the morning was progressing. There were more and more wagons and carriages hurrying back and forth on the roads. The air had a bit of the general London stink to it, but it was far milder due to the cold.
Darcy smiled, thinking of Elizabeth hidden safely behind those windows. And though he might wish for her to suddenly open one of them and look out, he knew that was unlikely enough.
He wandered down as far as the bridge, and then walked out to the Tower, to admire the guards and the grounds, though he did not petition for entry to the menagerie.
Despite the peaceful scene, the anxiety gripped his stomach tightly.
Even in the middle of London, in the middle of winter, there were a few twittering birds who greeted the early morning with song.
The thick fog of the earliest morning made it impossible to see most of the boats and ships that forged their way up and down the Thames, the great commercial artery whose blood palpably beat with the commerce of the great heart of the British empire.
Darcy put one hand behind his back, and he strolled back up the waterway till he reached the Monument to the Great Fire. He leaned against the railing and stared at it for a long time.
Was she dead?
Had Wickham murdered her, thinking he might then inherit the fortune? — that was Colonel Fitzwilliam's dark speculation. Had she… what had happened?
So cold.
The wind off the river, that had not bothered him when he walked directly along the waterfront, now blew through his coat and scarf as though the fine broadcloth wool and inner furs were nothing.
Near a hundred fifty years ago a fire had burned London to the ground — or at least the great bulk of it. Thirteen thousand houses, a square mile, dozens of churches. Many men had died, and far more had lost everything they owned.
And now… he was surrounded by an endless bustle. Stone and brick buildings. The clatter of carriages. The lapping sound of the river. The commerce of a great empire, a city of a million men.
Damn it all.
Damn it all to hell.
Why? Why had God been so unkind to Georgiana? She had been sweet, kind, and helpless. She did not deserve this fate.
And then, as though she were a country nymph wafted from healthier rural climes to this grimy cold city, walking down the street as though she floated upon air, her face glowing like the light of the moon on a harvest night, Elizabeth came down the street towards him.
She walked quickly, pausing only to stop, smile and dodge out of the way of workmen who hurried past carrying heavy loads, or caned old men who stumbled up the street.
As she reached the other side of the monument, Darcy stepped out towards her, calling her name.
She looked up at him with enormous surprise. And then her eyes brightened, and she smiled and hurried to him. "You've returned. You didn't—" She cut herself off. "Mr. Darcy."
The two studied each other with uncertain gazes.
It was the curve of her neck, the way that her ear was shaped, the contrast of the dark hair. Her rosy cheeks, given color by the cold. The smiling nose.
By instant agreement they stepped up to each other, and Darcy took her arm. "Which way are you headed?"
"I had not decided. I always reach the waterfront, but whether I cross at London Bridge, walk towards St. Paul's or instead the Tower is a matter of my fancy of the moment."
"I have already walked around the Tower this morning, so if you do not object, I would fancy crossing the bridge."
Elizabeth smiled brilliantly at him. "Already around the Tower? And it cannot be eight yet. I fancied myself to have awakened early."
"I have not yet really slept," was Darcy's reply. "It is hard in a carriage."
Elizabeth's smile widened. "And you chose to wonder round Cheapside and the Tower in lieu of actual sleep? — where were you?"
Darcy's expression lost its warmth.
He felt that chill of anxiety for his sister returning.
But Elizabeth's presence reminded him that he had things he cared about in addition to his sister's welfare — that there was another person who he had come to love dearly, and who he hoped to unify his life with. She stood next to him, and more than that, she had been clearly delighted to see him.
"I see," Elizabeth said quietly. "Your business truly has been serious. I hope no one has died."
Darcy's face crumpled. He pressed his free hand against his mouth, but with his other arm, he pulled Elizabeth closer, pressing her hand and arm against his side. He stood still.
She put her hand softly over his. "I… I had not realized. Who was it?"
"I do not know if they are dead — that is the thing, the — dash it all. I do not know."
Elizabeth said nothing. She leaned her head against his shoulder briefly.
Darcy let out a shaky sigh. "My sister has disappeared."
Elizabeth gasped.
"We first heard of this… it was exactly after I called on you and your sister. There was a man who we had placed at one of the stables near the house. A disreputable looking fellow, I believe he had been flogged and beaten out the ranks of Colonel Fitzwilliam's regiment for theft. But he looked the part of a man who'd work at a modest stable, and my cousin trusted him. He was to report on my sister's condition — bruises, signs that Wickham had turned into a brute. Or if she was suffering in any vital manner. Or, well if she entered a delicate condition, we wished to hear of the matter."
Elizabeth nodded.
"As the man could tell, she had disappeared a few days earlier. And then Mr. Wickham left in a great hurry — this the man knew because he'd taken the horses they kept from the stables." Darcy took in a deep breath. "We hired a great many men, and Colonel Fitzwilliam had one of his military connections ask the watchmen around the city if they'd seen Georgiana. I tramped for hours all day — till three in the morning — going to various places I thought Wickham might have run, or my sister. I spread at least three hundred guineas around as bribes…"
Darcy slumped into silence.
They stepped out onto the bridge, the clattering of carriages, the sound of dozens of hawkers selling their wares. They were approached several times by sellers of cooked chestnuts, meat pies, and mulled wine. The stones beneath them made hard clapping noises under their boots. A hard wind off the wide river brought a stinking fishy smell.
The pointlessness and failure of the efforts was tiring to talk through, but he mainly worried for Georgiana. That was the point that scared him.
An absent point in his mind changed, when Georgiana had eloped with Wickham, he'd cursed himself, in the imagined voice of his father's ghost. Now he merely was scared for his sister.
"You've wandered round the city for days looking for her," Elizabeth said in a stunned voice. "So very much effort — poor Mr. Bingley lost his chance to fence with you."
"He has come around often? I am glad to hear that your dinner was still attended, despite my absence."
Elizabeth smiled. "Have you heard his news?"
Darcy shook his head, but despite the worry that he felt for Georgiana, a smile crossed his face. "I have not, but I suspect."
"He and my sister are to be married — he is out of town today to call on my father for permission, but I'd be quite surprised if there is any difficulty from that direction."
"That warms my heart to hear — I fear that I may have been a partial cause of any unhappiness the two felt over the past months."
Elizabeth looked sharply at him. "What did you say?"
"He asked me if I thought your sister loved him, and I told him that I'd not closely observed them together, but I could detect no sign of particular regard in her manner. This was my honest belief, but I was sore in spirit at the time. I've always feared that my answer may have been tainted."
Elizabeth frowned at this information.
Darcy felt a tightness in his chest.
Then she shrugged. "Jane is guarded — I had rather thought it a good thing once that it was unlikely that the general public would realize how deeply involved her feelings were if matters went awry. Yet… everyone somehow knew, in Meryton at least."
Darcy grimaced. Another matter he could feel guilty about. But it was a small matter next to the ways he'd failed his sister, besides… blaming himself did little good. He would strive to do so less. He thought that was what Elizabeth would like to see in him. "I wish I'd given him better counsel."
"I blame Bingley for his diffidence in trusting the judgement of another over his own, far more than you for giving him honest, yet mistaken, counsel — and all's well that ends well. And that is a truth."
"I only hope my sister's tale will have a happy end. At present I fear greatly… I… Elizabeth, my honest fear is that she is dead." The seagulls cawed, and a cold wind blew through their coats. A cloud concealed the sun.
Elizabeth looked at it, and incongruously smiled. "Darcy, do you remember that time when you complained that the weather was beautiful while your mood was terrible? Nature has heard your will."
Darcy looked at the bank of clouds coming in towards them, and he laughed. "Speaking with you always makes my heart lighter."
Elizabeth's cheeks pinked.
They reached the other side of the bridge and turned north, walking through Southwark. Neither of them spoke. Whatever thoughts Elizabeth had occupied her. But her gaze was everything that was sympathetic.
Darcy added, "My cousin is rather cleverer in these sorts of matters than I am. He was the one who had me send men through the post stations in every direction to ask after Wickham — we've also given money to men heading to ports throughout the Americas and Asia, just to ask around when they arrive. But I believe those questions will all return a negation — Wickham was seen heading north. These reports did not mention my sister, but we assumed she was with him, so Colonel Fitzwilliam and I followed that trail to Derbyshire."
"From your manor to a dead end — so much travel in so few days. You must be exhausted."
Darcy replied, "The walk is good for my legs, after so much time on horse or in carriage."
He did not speak more for several minutes, and Elizabeth did not push him. He was beginning to feel again the exhaustion of the past days, and he yawned several times.
When they reached the Blackfriars bridge, they crossed back over the Thames. The great dome of St. Paul's on their right. When they reached a spot on the bridge with a particularly fine view Darcy paused to take in the full glory of Christopher Wren's masterpiece, lit by the morning sun.
Seeing Elizabeth smile at him, Darcy smiled back. "I am not so often in this part of the capital to have become wholly inured to the great sights."
"The one advantage I suspect," Elizabeth said with a laugh, "of living so far from the center in your fashionable neighborhood."
They grinned at each other.
Elizabeth asked as they set off again, "Do you ever wonder what it was like to live in the past? In those great times when history was happening — the Fire of London, the Restoration, and then the Glorious Revolution. Time must have felt so pregnant with meaning and character. Now everything is everyday and workaday."
"I hardly think," Darcy replied, "that men back then conceived themselves as living through the great times of history. It merely was the present — besides, it is quite certain that Napoleon and his great wars and adventures will take up a prominent place in the books of history a hundred years from now. Maybe even five hundred years from now."
"Oh, quite." Elizabeth laughed with a bit of embarrassment. "It is easy to forget. The commerce of England grows apace, and we are safe behind our wooden wall. I think England has never been stronger, nor more prosperous than these past years. But there is war, bloody and violent war, and we are a chief participant in it."
"Small personal matters do not cease to seem large," Darcy replied. Their eyes locked. Her presence was warm and glowing. "Simply because the large matters also exist."
"Even within history there will be history," Elizabeth replied. She looked away again, seemingly embarrassed, but she walked closer to him, so that their shoulders brushed against each other.
The brief touches made Darcy's heart race.
"The events of today will be less prominent in the books of five hundred years from now than in those of two hundred years from now," Elizabeth added. Her cheeks were smiling, and she talked quickly. "Events from a hundred years from now may have a prominent place that displace those of today — I can scarce imagine what the world shall be like. How far will industrial manufactures have been taken? How far will the arts of science and knowledge be pushed? — what will the men of that future time think of us, and of our silly little customs?"
The two of them reached the far side of the bridge.
She looked back at him again. Her eyes sparkled. Darcy's heart swelled with a feeling of affection for this woman, this warm smiling and affectionate creature.
The loud church bells of St. Paul's rang the hour.
Elizabeth exclaimed, "Oh! I must hurry home." She pulled at his arm, and turned them towards Upper Thames Street, saying, "I have already been gone far longer than I ought on this walk. My family will wonder."
"I half wonder at them allowing you to walk freely about London as though it were a country lane where everyone knows you and your family."
"It is safe enough in the early morning when all the respectable workmen are out, and the disreputable criminals are turning towards bed — I would not walk in this manner after dark."
"I am glad to hear that."
"My dear friend, I will only hear the care in what you say!" Elizabeth laughed, and the sound made Darcy's heart leap. "But the rest of your tale about your sister."
"We followed Wickham's trail north. There was no direct sign of my sister, and we had no better option than to follow her husband. Wickham himself was clearly spotted at several post stations going north, towards Derbyshire it seemed. He grew up there, and though he has a bad reputation in the area around Pemberley, there are still some who consider themselves his friends. We sent men along all the other major roads to make inquiries, but both Colonel Fitzwilliam and I anticipated to find him along this path. Of course, he gave a different name for himself at each stop."
"Not a gentleman upon an honest journey," Elizabeth replied.
"It is a mystery, that is what he has become. The signs of him ceased when we reached Derbyshire. I imagine he is in the company of disreputable cronies, who he promised to give something if they hid him."
"But no sign of your sister?"
"None — that had not been wholly clear until we reached Derby. But we found the inn he stayed at — it was owned by one who has had a long relationship with the Darcy family, we stay there during the county assizes — they could confirm that there was no doubt that Mr. Wickham was alone. There was no woman with him."
Darcy's voice became tight and closed. He feared for his sister.
Elizabeth put her hand on his arm. "Darcy, my dear Darcy. That must have been terrible to hear. What do you think—"
"No. No. I refuse to think. I shall not speculate without reason. Yet what reason could he have to hide if my sister is well? But I know well that the fancies of an unhappy brain can drive a man mad." Darcy placed his other hand over her smaller one. "My cousin and I determined that I would return to London, to search for my sister in the capital, while he continues to follow the traces of his passage through Derbyshire."
"She might still be here?" Elizabeth exclaimed.
"Why not — this is… a speculation I like. She disappeared a few days before Wickham disappeared from their house. Perhaps she chose to run away from him for her own reasons. And then…" Darcy shrugged.
"Why then did Wickham also run?"
"Perhaps he feared me. Or maybe he feared his friends. I saw Mrs. Younge, the woman I'd hired who betrayed Georgiana to Mr. Wickham. She was at one of the post stations on the road south, with a man who I believe was her husband. Upon recognizing me they immediately took to their horses and fled before I could chase them — but of course they did, the customs men wish her husband to be arrested for his business as a smuggler. But… we asked around at the station and discovered that they had been asking after Wickham, just as we had."
"Oh."
"Georgiana told me that Wickham owed them ten thousand pounds. Her share of the fortune they meant to achieve by beguiling Georgiana into marriage with him."
Elizabeth looked at him with a suddenly queer expression. "I'd forgotten that your sister was named Georgiana. You usually simply refer to her as 'my sister'. Ten thousand pounds?"
"My hope is that when my sister disappeared, the Younges came to Wickham… some worry about him never being able to make good upon the debt he owes them. And then he fled them — but why would she not come to me if she is in trouble? Why?"
"But the number was ten thousand pounds?" Elizabeth's face was pale in morning light, and she chewed at her lip. "Georgiana — and what day did she disappear according to your man? What was the precise date?"
"He could not say for certain. He could not keep so close a watch upon the house without creating suspicion, but it was either January twenty-sixth or twenty-seventh that she was gone by."
"Oh." Elizabeth frowned. "But still, what an odd coincidence."
Darcy had no notion what Elizabeth referred to, but he added, "My man was certain that he saw her on the morning of the twenty-fifth, but perhaps she disappeared from the house that afternoon."
The reaction of Elizabeth to this was strange, she froze. The frown deepened. "Yes, yes. That would make sense of it. Yes, that would make very good sense of it."
They had wandered back the whole way to Gracechurch Street and now stood in front of the Gardiners' house.
"That is my whole tale." Darcy sighed, "I dearly, dearly wish to call upon you — dine with your family, but I fear… I fear my own plans cannot progress at all while my sister's fate is so uncertain. Can you forgive me for…"
"Oh, of course!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "But have hope. Have hope — I suspect matters are nowhere near so dreadful as they seem. Though… That awful man she married."
"I do not know if I can have so much hope," Darcy replied. "I think my optimism, my expectation of good, has been removed from me by the seriousness of this situation, but I shall adopt your hope for my own."
"Excellent."
The two smiled at each other.
Elizabeth's eyes were luminous and comforting.
"I…" Darcy hesitated. He had an urge to throw every other consideration away. To simply ask for her hand once more. He loved her so much that it changed him into a different and better man. "I thank you for listening to my tale. It… comforted me to speak it to you."
Her face softened as he said that. She glowed at him. "I… I cannot say in words how happy it makes me to hear you say that."
He leaned towards her. Her eyes were bright, her nose was pert, she had freckles on her cheeks, and he desperately wanted to kiss her. A desperation that pulsed through him with far more strength and need than he had ever felt anything before.
It was the exhaustion that made it impossible for him to resist his impulse.
She slowly lifted her head up towards him, her eyes flickered between his mouth and his eyes. She slightly pressed her lips with her tongue.
The door to the Gardiners' house opened suddenly. In shock at the sound, Elizabeth jumped back slightly, flushing. A balding gentleman dressed in a fine coat with his hand in his pocket stepped out into the cold and onto the street.
He stepped out towards them. "Hello Lizzy, you were out quite longer than expected." And then in a somewhat sharper tone, quite appropriate to that of an uncle whose duty was to keep some sort of eye on the niece who was under his care. "Might you introduce your friend?"
"Of course." Elizabeth smiled. "This is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. Mr. Darcy, my uncle, Mr. Gardiner."
"I am pleased to meet you, sir, at last." Mr. Gardiner smiled, and from something in his tone, Darcy suspected that his interlocutor would have been deeply surprised if he had not been Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. "I hope your business that took you away so suddenly was a success. I had looked forward to making your acquaintance at dinner."
Darcy shook his head. "I am afraid not. My business is still in an unsettled state, but the strands of it have now pulled me back to London."
"He was in Derbyshire," Elizabeth supplied.
Mr. Gardiner nodded, his expression losing the sardonic amusement it had before and becoming serious. "Might you chance to take a few hours from it tomorrow evening for dinner? — if matters are not so desperate that it is impossible."
"I will attempt to attend, but I had best not promise. There are certain messages I might receive, and I would run off at an instant if I did. But… I think I can attend."
Elizabeth said smilingly, "I shall count upon you, with a little doubt."
She waved at him, kissed her uncle on the cheek, and hurried into the house.
Mr. Gardiner studied him with a half frown, then he gave Darcy his own small bow and hurried up the street.