Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 4
“Oi!” The driver turned in shock as Darcy landed with a thud and a splat. The smell was alarming, but he could wash later if he remained alive.
“Hush, please, my good man. There’s coin in it for you if you take me somewhere safe, and at good speed.”
“What are ya?” the driver scowled. “Some toff so far in ‘is cups ‘e’s falling off roofs?”
“Something like that, indeed. All good haste, if you please.”
The driver sniffed once more, as if Darcy smelled worse than the contents of his cart, and pressed the nag on, mumbling about ‘damned rotten half-wit nobs’ the whole time. At any other time, Darcy would have looked down his patrician nose in arrogant horror at this display of crude manners, but a saviour was a saviour, even when dressed in rags and transporting… whatever this mess was. If the man delivered him to safety, Darcy would supply him with the promised coin and not utter a word in defiance of the man’s insults.
Luck was with him. The driver was heading towards a market, where Darcy was able to convince a farmer to carry him further out in the back of a hay wagon. Thus, despite the filth and damage to his fine clothing, he made it to the coaching inn where he hid behind the bales until the opportunity of the Bennet coach was given to him.
The gist of this tale he recounted to Elizabeth with an economy of words. It was bad enough to think of, and worse to tell. And now, just as he was on the brink of being able to fly home on the back of some borrowed horse, he was saddled—he grimaced at the word—with this pampered young woman who would be nothing but a hinderance.
She did not know his thoughts, however, and looked at him with a compassion he did not expect.
“You are certain he wished to kill you?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Quite certain. I heard those words most clearly.”
“How dreadful. I suppose… I suppose, then, that I cannot blame you for wishing to make your escape. But why did you not send for help from the inn?”
“I hoped to clean myself before entering the building, and was still rather worried that I might be found. And, indeed, it was Wickham’s arrival at that very moment that spurred me to my rather rash actions.”
She contemplated him for a moment, and under her scrutiny he was strangely relieved that he had taken the time to wash off the worst of the filth at Mrs Peters’ stables.
“What will you do now?”
“That, Madam, is the question I have been asking myself all day.”
CHAPTER 4
A Narrow Escape
Elizabeth found herself lost in her thoughts, the to-and-fro jostle of the carriage a sort of rocking that lulled her and permitted introspection.
Who was this man beside her? His tale of woe certainly explained a great deal—if he could be believed. Who could not feel compassion for a gentleman of means, rousted from his comfortable bed in the darkest hours of the night and forced to escape by any means necessary, even if they involved a muck cart and the theft—borrowing—of another man’s carriage? If his tale were true, this George Wickham had a great deal to answer for.
But could he really be believed? Elizabeth was no woman of the world, but neither was she completely sheltered from the harsh realities of life, and she had heard many a story. There was a sort of man, she knew, handsome of face and smooth of tongue, who lived by playing on the credulity of others. They looked and acted the part of gentlemen temporarily down on their luck, who would most certainly repay that loan the minute they were able to speak to their banker and withdraw the appropriate amount from a considerable bank account.
These bankers invariably did not exist, neither did the wealth of funds alluded to, and Mr John James Worthington-Smythe turned out to be the latest in a string of false names used by some worthless sort who had rubbed up against Quality enough to have learned the social niceties that went with the status.
Just like—the thought struck her like the slap of a hand—this George Wickham that Will had mentioned.
Heavens! Could he have misled her so completely? Was it possible that this man driving her father’s carriage was, in fact, George Wickham himself, seeking to escape from the real Will Darcy whom he had wronged and who was now seeking him to mete out justice?
She glanced sidelong at him, careful not to turn her head and alert him to her thoughts. Such men could be dangerous! There were even stories of them abducting and selling young women to places she ought not to know about. She almost cried out in alarm. Was that his true motivation in convincing her back onto the carriage after she set off down that lane earlier? He spoke with words of concern for her safety, but was he really trying to lull her into a sense of complacency, to have her learn to trust him before being…
She let out a squeak of alarm and Will turned to peer at her.
“Are you well, Elizabeth?”
She swallowed and nodded. She must make plans to escape once more, but they must be her secret alone. Perhaps if she could encourage him to talk more, she might learn something of use.
“I am well enough, but I am becoming fatigued, and to be honest, worried. My family will be beside themselves wondering what has become of me, and I wish to return home.”
He pursed his lips. “Indeed. I cannot say what our destination is, for I do not know exactly where we are. We have been travelling northward, roughly following the line of the Great North Road, or so I hope. We must, at some point, cross that road, for my intention is to head westward. Perhaps we shall find an inn where we cross, or along that path. I dare not stop at the coaching inns along the main route, as I have explained.”
Oh heavens! It was true. He was working to keep her from finding a reputable place where she would be safe. She bit her bottom lip to prevent another gasp of distress from escaping and took in a slow breath. “But what, then, am I to do?” That sounded calm enough, she hoped.
He contemplated her as if she had only now appeared on the seat beside him. “You must, I suppose, travel with me until such time as I can be assured of your safety.”
Elizabeth swallowed. This fit even more perfectly with her supposition of him being the villain she had begun to imagine. At first, he promised to take her to an inn, but now he had come up with a reason for her to continue as his captive, of a sort.
“And where shall we sleep? We cannot drive all night. The poor horses, at the very least, need to rest.”
“We shall find somewhere. Now,” he looked back up at the sky, “this road tends westward.” He started mumbling to himself, “Wolverton… Birmingham… Shrewsbury… Llangollen… We can avoid these towns. Perhaps some small village near Aylesbury. He will not think to seek us there.”
Elizabeth listened with great interest and tried to memorise the places. If she could determine his goal, she could send for help!
It was not too long before they came to the crossroads Will had mentioned, but rather than their lane continuing past the busier road, it ended there, forcing them to turn. Thunder clouded Will’s face, but he kept silent and let the horses pick up some speed as they enjoyed the smoother surface.
He drove them for another hour, saying very little. The sun was starting to dip towards the horizon, and they must find somewhere to stop for the night soon. This Elizabeth brought to Will’s attention, and he agreed with a scowl and a grumble.
When, a few miles down the road, they saw a large establishment fit for their purposes, he pulled the horses aside into the yard.
“Will this be suitable, Miss Bennet? Let us inquire as to the next coach to return you to your family, and then I shall see to the horses.” His words were still everything proper, and still she wondered if his motives were pure. Could this be the location where his… business operated? He had seemed unhappy enough at the prospect of stopping and had approached the inn with a show of reluctance, but it could all be a feint, to put her off her guard.
She must be prepared!
With the excuse of retrieving some of her belongings from the carriage, Elizabeth groped around the inside, looking for a weapon should she need one. Her umbrella had done her good service once today, and now that she had the luxury of a vehicle that was not bumping all over the road, she felt under the seats for the small folding knife that was kept there to effect minor repairs when needed. This she secured against her forearm with the ribbon closing her cuffs and hid it under her sleeve.
Will, despite her fears, seemed true to his word. He escorted her inside and inquired directly of the innkeeper whether there was a stage or mail coach that might help his cousin (so he called her) return home.
“The mail came by just an hour past,” the innkeeper answered as he shook his head. “Not another one till tomorrow, same time.”
The glimmer of hope Elizabeth had felt faded. Tomorrow! That was far too long to wait. “But my mother… my father! They must be so worried.”
Once more, Will surprised her by asking if there was an express rider available. “Write your family a letter,” he offered, “and it can go out at once. I shall get you a room for the night, and you can return home safely on the morrow. And perhaps,” he whispered to himself as much as to her, “I can find a fast horse and saddle, and ride rather than drive.”
A room in a strange inn, with no chaperone and no maid! It was quite alarming, but Elizabeth could think of no better solution, and accepted with as much good grace as she could manage.
She procured some paper and a pen from the innkeeper, and set about writing her missive, whilst Will went out to ensure the horses were being fed and given water, with plans to ride on after a quick meal. They would dine together, and then would say their good-byes, never to meet again.
There was something unsettling about that idea, no matter that she had only known the man for a few hours, and in the most unpleasant circumstances, at that. He was taciturn and, frankly, rather alarming, but there was also something appealing about him when he deigned to speak openly.
With a sigh, she finished her letter and went to find the innkeeper, who would call for the express rider.
A handsome man stood at the counter, leaning against it with one foot crossed over the other. His golden hair shone in a beam of light that filtered through a window, and his blue eyes sparkled with good humour. He straightened at once when he saw her approach, and gestured for the innkeeper to attend to her, suggesting that his business could well wait. A lady, his wink and grin intimated, must always take precedence.
Elizabeth nodded her thanks and then presented her letter, which the innkeeper took from her and sealed with some wax.
“I’ll have this off in just a few moments, Miss Bennet,” the good man nodded to her. “I’ve a good fast lad to deliver this for you. Allow me to ensure this direction is all correct: to Mr Bennet at Longbourn in Hertfordshire, near Meryton. I’ll make sure it gets there, and likely tonight afore the sun is gone. That’s not so very far, now, is it?”
She confirmed the directions to help the rider achieve his destination most easily as the handsome golden-haired man stood patiently by, and then went to sit in the calm public room until Will came to join her for their final meal together in a small private salon off the public.
Their meal was quiet, neither having much to say after their day on the carriage box. Will looked exhausted, and Elizabeth feared she looked little better. The food, when it arrived, was hot and tasty, and after they ate, Will sat back with a beer while she sipped at some weak tea.
“It has been an hour. The horses will be ready for me.” He stood to bow and take his leave. “I shall endeavour to return your family’s carriage as soon as I am able. Forgive me.” He reached for her hand and kissed the back of it before making for the door.
Why should her heart give a little flutter? The man was a thief and a scoundrel, after all, and she still did not entirely believe his tale, no matter that she was not—yet—sold into some form of bondage. Her eyes followed him as he departed the room, but the door was still open when she heard someone holler his name.
“Darcy!”
It was not a friendly greeting.
At once, she was on her feet and at the door. There, standing at a table near a set of windows, was that same handsome man who had been waiting at the counter when she handed her letter to the innkeeper. His eyes were no longer twinkling, but were hard and cold. The public had grown quite busy whilst they had been at their dinner, but the man seemed not to care about the others in the space.
“Wickham!” Will spat out. “What are you doing here?” He stepped backwards, realising too late that he was in a corner, with no escape.
“Waiting for you. We have business to complete.”
So Will really was Will Darcy, as he had claimed, and this elegant blond gentleman was not quite what he appeared. Looks could, indeed, be deceiving. But what of the rest of Will’s story?
Elizabeth watched as Wickham slid his way through the tables and approached Will’s side, facing away from her. The low orange sunlight that slipped through the windows caught on something, sending a glint of light through the space, and Elizabeth stifled a gasp. That was… that was a knife, and Wickham was clearly planning to use it.
“Outside, I said,” he repeated, his voice a rumble only just loud enough for Elizabeth to hear. “I have no wish to disturb these good diners with our disagreement.”
“Be reasonable, George,” Will spoke just above a whisper. His voice was even, but his eyes betrayed his alarm. He really was scared of this man. Elizabeth stood frozen in place, barely breathing, as Will tried to calm his nemesis. “There is no good ending if you try to harm me. Enough people know of our… disagreements. You will be found, and soon. Leave now, and I shall not raise the hue and cry. Just go.”
But Wickham’s shoulders shrugged off this plea.
“Leave? And go where? You’ve ruined me, Darcy. You’ve taken everything from me!”
“You ruined yourself. You were the one who threw away everything you were given. That money—my sister’s fortune—was never yours. Go now, or you will regret it.”
Wickham spat towards Darcy’s face, the spittle landing on the floor by his feet. “You’ve left me nothing! The debtors are after me… I’ve seen the bruisers from McLeary’s gaming halls crush men’s knees into rubble.” His voice took on a low, desperate edge that sent Elizabeth’s blood cold. “If I’m going down, I’ll take you with me, Darcy!”
Wickham began to move forward, but Will held him back—for now—with a gesture. His voice, when he spoke, also held an edge of something Elizabeth had not heard before.
“This is not my doing, George. It’s all of your own making. You had a good future; you had a fine prospect. Do not blame me for your mistakes. Those, I could have forgiven, but to try to draw Georgiana into your clutches, no! That was despicable, and you are lucky I did not call you out on it, as my cousin urged me to do.”
Pah! Wickham spat again, and this time he did not miss his mark. His breath was hard, desperate, although his voice was still low. The growl of a trapped animal, but malicious. This was a man who clearly took pleasure in cruelty.
“You useless sot, Darcy. Your mistake! You were always too soft as a boy, and you are worse now. I’ll finish you off, believe me, and then where will your precious Georgiana be? Outside, now!” He flicked his wrist and the blade he held glinted dully in the low tavern light. “Now.”
This was a repetition of what Will had told her earlier about the missed encounter last night. Then, too, Wickham planned to force him from the inn and kill him in some secluded place. This confrontation supported everything Will had told her; he had not been misleading her after all. Wickham really did want to kill him. She could not let this happen!
As silently as she could, she slid the folding knife from where she had secured it to her wrist and picked up a heavy metal tray from the table, where the tavern maid had left it a while ago. Whilst Wickham was scowling and making threats at Will, she crept up behind him, praying that Will would not give away her actions with a glance or a word, and as soon as she was within reach, she raised the tray as high as she could and slammed it down on Wickham’s head.
This did not have quite the effect she hoped for, as the man was several inches taller than her, but it sufficed. The crack on his pate broke Wickham’s attention and caused him that moment’s hesitation. Will took his opportunity to step out of the way of the knife and swing a fist at his enemy, causing him to drop his blade.
Wickham stumbled back, knocking over a nearby table and spilling a man’s ale all over his clothing.
“Watch it!” that ale-soaked man growled and threw himself at Wickham, who in turn launched himself at the new attacker, hitting another customer by mistake. More and more men rose from their tables, some angry, others seeming to enjoy the prospect of a good brawl, and the confrontation was growing into something quite alarming.
Chairs were pushed aside and fists flew through the air, and Wickham looked to be in the middle of it, being set upon by more men than Elizabeth could count. She stepped towards Will, who put a protective arm around her shoulders, just as Wickham glanced up to see them both. His momentary lapse was met by a fist to the jaw, and the fight continued.
“Now!” Will grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door. “We have to leave now! He saw us together, and you are not safe from him.”
They burst out of the inn and ran towards the carriage, which was waiting as Will had said it would be. “I cannot leave you here, Elizabeth. We have to find another way to get you home.”
He threw her up onto the box and leapt up after, cracking the whip to spur the horses into motion.
It was only after they had travelled a mile or more, far faster than the roads allowed, that Elizabeth turned to Will with a tear-stained face.
“He knows. He heard me give my name and where I live. I cannot go home at all!”
Elizabeth’s words hit Will like a bucket of icy water on a cold winter morning. The first import was that he would not be rid of her within an hour or two. All his plans to find a horse with a saddle and ride for his life vanished in the course of those short words. He was stuck with her until such time as they made their destination, wherever that might be. Instead of being able to gallop cross-country as fast as his steed would allow, he had to keep this slow-plodding team dragging a heavy coach, in order to accommodate a helpless young thing whose only skills in life were probably painting tables and embroidering initials on the corners of handkerchiefs.
