I am sure they would both benefit from some cooled juice, if you could provide some, Mr. Travers?”
He bowed, heading toward the kitchen while Simone and Georgiana walked across the tiled entryway to the wide glass-paned doors that opened onto the garden courtyard. It was strange how, in retrospect, traversing the airy hall seemed a walk of doom lasting an eternity. Yet she and Simone barely noticed their steps as they chatted and laughed all the way to the far corner where Lizzy and Alexander were supposed to be planting sunflowers. And then the painfully long seconds as they puzzled over a scene that made no sense.
Gardening tools and unplanted seedlings sat unattended but undisturbed, the dirt holes and misplaced rocks a normal expectation when gardening. It was the utter silence that struck them first. Then the absence of the two who should have been digging and who did not appear, no matter how often they both scanned the bush encircled glade expecting them to jump out and yell, “Surprise!” Still, they would likely have assumed that Lizzy and Alexander were in the house if not for the random clumps of grass gouged from the ground, the crumpled cloth discarded beside a human-shaped depression, the gray rabbit lying in a heap next to the cloth, and the folded parchment nearby.
Georgiana shivered and opened her eyes. The hallway was empty and silent. Michael was finally asleep, rocked in his aunt’s arms after the efforts of Mrs. Hanford to placate him with warm porridge and cow’s milk proved successful. The infant’s vocalized unhappiness at not having his mother’s breast and gentle touch was an emotion they empathized with, but neither spoke openly about the calamity that had befallen Darcy House. Miss Lisa had stood by the dresser silently crying as she folded and refolded a pile of Alexander’s freshly washed clothes.
Pushing herself away from the wall, Georgiana shuffled down the corridor wishing she could give in to her grief as Miss Lisa did. But then one should not cry over a nightmare, should they?
The period following the shocking garden revelation was identical to a dream. Someone screamed and Georgiana was still unsure whether it was she or Simone. She remembers bending to touch the poor rabbit, the warm fur and flutter of a heartbeat bizarrely relieving as if his life assured the survival of Lizzy and Alexander, wherever they were. Then there were shouts, running feet, and a blurred onset of commands and activity.
Simone scribbled a note, sending a groomsman to Angelo’s where she knew her husband and Darcy were. Another message was dispatched to the hospital for Dr. Darcy. Mr. Travers took charge, although there was nothing to do but wait.
Georgiana clutched on to the note, afraid to read it after the look on the butler’s face when he had, delivering it into her brother’s hands when he stormed in less than twenty minutes later. She had no time to marvel at how quickly he and Richard managed to travel from Angelo’s Academy in Soho to Grosvenor Square, her hand’s shaking and heart breaking as he silently read. Then she shrank away from the fury suffusing his face as he turned to Richard, who was reading the letter over his shoulder.
“Wickham has taken my wife and son.”
“Wickham?” Georgiana blurted, beyond stunned.
But Darcy ignored her, his eyes locked with Richard’s. “It is not his handwriting,” Richard began, holding his palm up to stay the scathing retort Darcy was about to deliver, “but I would agree it the logical conclusion. With no reason to deduce otherwise, we have the upper hand, as we know where to find him.”
“We waited too long,” Darcy interrupted, his voice shaking with rage and fear. “We should have… I should have…”
“It does not matter,” Richard snapped, his voice commanding and in control. “All that matters is getting them back. Wait here and…”
“I am not waiting for a second!” Darcy yelled, the words echoing from wall to ceiling. “They have my wife and son!”
Simone and Georgiana flinched, instinctively stepping back a pace and reaching for the other’s hand. But Colonel Fitzwilliam stood fast, his face grim but unperturbed.
“We need assistance, Cousin. There is no way to know what we are walking into. The best chance of success is with numbers. We need men who know how to handle weapons and are combat trained.”
Darcy did not reply, instead pivoting abruptly and moving toward his study. Richard sighed, turning toward Simone. “Did anyone think to send for Dr. Darcy? Well done,” he said when Simone nodded, his lips lifting in a minuscule smile that did not touch his eyes. “Darcy will require physical restraining, I fear.” And after a quick squeeze to his wife’s upper arm and the same semi-smile directed to Georgiana, he followed Darcy, mumbling, “Bloody idiot is probably loading his pistols.”
What transpired in the study between Darcy and Richard was never revealed to the females, but within five minutes Richard exited. He briefly conferred with his wife, kissing her brusquely before leaving the house.
Through it all Georgiana stood glued to the same spot, her mind unable to veer from Darcy’s firm proclamation of Wickham being the abductor.
Georgiana shuddered, her heart pounding to the point that she heard the blood rushing past her eardrums and felt the beats under the palms pressed against her breast. Wickham. The man she nearly eloped with so long ago. The man she knew to be unscrupulous and plagued by envy for her brother, but had never considered truly evil. Yet this act crossed into a place beyond evil into…
She shivered and gasped, and felt the room swimming before her glazed eyes.
“Georgiana, dearest. Come, let us sit down while the men deal with the situation.” Simone’s tender voice pierced through the haze, her hands warm and stabilizing where they grasped Georgiana’s elbows. “Mrs. Smyth,” she called to the lurking housekeeper, her eyes engaging Georgiana’s steadily, “we require tea, very hot and very strong, as quickly as possible.”
“Wickham,” Georgiana squeaked. “How?”
“Let us sit before you fall down and I will tell you what I know of the situation.”
A bitterly strong cup of scorching tea later, Georgiana persisted in believing it had to be a nightmare. But she was calmer and somewhat informed based on what Richard had told his wife of the matter since suspicions were raised in Hertfordshire.
“I cannot believe that Mr. Wickham could do this.” Georgiana paused, not certain how much Lady Simone knew of her entanglements with Wickham and not prepared to delve into that portion of her past, especially not now. “That explains William’s extra caution this past week, not that it has apparently been effective.”
“Do not be harsh on your brother. I am sure he is berating himself enough as it is. I wish he were not alone…”
Noises from the hall caused them to glance toward the door, the stomp of feet and hasty greetings of Mr. Travers followed by the appearance of Dr. Darcy, tall and serious faced with his dark, stained hospital coat covering the flowing suit of blue worn underneath.
“Ladies, can someone enlighten me as to what the bloody hell is going on?”
“I declare, Dr. Darcy, you must have flown from Whitechapel to arrive so speedily!”
“A fast horse can do wonders, my lady. Anyone I bowled over was instructed to convey my apologies to my associates and place the bill onto my account. Your note was understandably vague. Do we know what has happened? Does William know what has happened?”
“He is in his study awaiting the return of my husband with reinforcements. I am sure he needs you.”
George nodded, robes swirling as his wide stride carried him out the door, narrowly missing Mrs. Smyth, who flinched away from his body and the disgusting diseases she was sure he carried upon his person. He did not notice, intent only upon talking to his nephew, and seconds later was in the study where he would remain for a long while.
Mrs. Smyth, once recovered from the trauma of almost touching the doctor’s garments, delivered the message from Mrs. Hanford that Michael was awake and needing his mother.
Georgiana responded to the summons, as much to assist as to turn her mind away from the horrors that only grew worse. She informed the stricken nannies of Lizzy’s absence as succinctly as possible, her emotions buried while attending to her nephew. Assisting Mrs. Hanford with the chore of inducing a thoroughly angry baby to ingest warmed, sweetened cow’s milk and wheat porridge, and then rocking him to sleep while singing favorite lullabies had been an oddly comforting procedure that wrested her thoughts away from the drama beyond the nursery walls. At least to a degree as she was torn between envying Miss Lisa’s tears and shamefully wanting to throttle her!
