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Chapter 24: Kidnapped!
Alexander Darcy knew something was amiss the moment he and his valet alighted from his carriage. His parents were dashing down the front steps of their townhouse, their faces looking very grim. His father was speaking rapidly to his mother, and he kept a protective hand upon her elbow as they continued their hasty steps. They were so preoccupied that they did not notice their eldest son until they were almost directly upon him.
"Father! Mother!" Alexander greeted them. "What is the matter?"
"Alexander! You are home! Thank God!" exclaimed Mrs. Darcy. Her face had lost its usual radiance. She was ashen-faced and agitated.
"Back into your carriage, son! Make haste!" commanded Mr. Darcy as he grabbed his son by the foreman to turn him around. He called to the driver, "Parker! To Mr. Bingley's house! Immediately!"
"Yes, sir!" said the driver alertly as the other servants scrambled out of the way.
The carriage was in motion before they were properly seated. Mr. Darcy kept his arm around his wife - partly for protection against the jolting motions of the carriage, and partly to comfort her from her distress.
"Pray tell! What is the matter, Father? Is someone gravely ill? Injured?" asked Alexander in great concern.
Mr. Darcy looked at his son for a long moment before he spoke. His deep voice was grim and he told him the horrible news directly.
"Isabella is missing!"
"What?" exclaimed Alexander, completely stunned. He was so shocked that it took him a moment to comprehend his father's words.
"Missing? How? When?" Alexander was barely coherent. His hands were shaking, and his father grasped them with his free hand to steady them.
"We do not have the details. We received the urgent summon from your Uncle Charles just moments prior to your arrival at home."
"Dear God in Heaven!" cried Alexander. He felt as if an avalanche had landed squarely upon him. His chest felt constricted, and he could hardly breathe. He had never felt so helpless before!
His own darling! Missing! What could have happened to her?
Their arrival at the Bingleys coincided with the arrival of the Gardiner family. The latter party was there for a social call, and did not realize the grim situation at hand. One look at the Darcys, however, enlightened these sensible folks immediately. There was an emergency at hand! They made the briefest of greetings as their way into the townhouse.
They found Mrs. Bingley in near hysterics. Her daughters Margaret and Emily held her within their arms. Jane Darcy was busy preparing the smelling salts. Mr. Bingley was speaking to Lizzy Darcy and the footman Jenkins.
"Papa!" exclaimed Lizzy as she ran directly into his arms. "It is so dreadful! It is entirely my fault!"
She turned to look at her brother. Tears that she had held in check when she spoke to her Uncle Charles finally broke through her iron resolve, and they flowed freely down her face now.
"What happened, Lizzy?" asked Alexander quietly. He had long regained his composure, and he stood ready to take on any challenges, however grim and daunting they might be. He needed basic facts and information before he could take immediate and decisive actions.
"We were all at our dressmaker's, but Isabella and I were impatient to be at Hachard's, so we went ahead of our party. We took a hired carriage home - Jenkins was with us as our escort. When we arrived here at Uncle Charles' house, we saw Lord Braunfield's fancy landau waiting out front. Isabella wished to avoid her cousin at all cost, but she did not want to come home with me directly - a matter of changing gowns and getting her art portfolio for you," explained Lizzy as she brushed her tears away. "So, we drove around the block, and she told me that she would enter this house by the back garden. Jenkins escorted her past the stable mews to the garden gate. She sent him back promptly, and stood there waving jauntily at us when we made our departure."
"Apparently Bella never came indoors," remarked Mr. Bingley grimly. "Lizzy and Jenkins last saw her standing at our garden gate, but no one else has seen her since!"
"No one?" repeated Alexander incredulously. "There were no screams? Cries of distress? Sounds of a struggle?"
"None! I have spoken to all the servants and our neighbours as well - no one heard or saw anything!" replied Mr. Bingley gravely. "I was home at the time, and was speaking with Lord Braunfield. He was very agitated, and shouted many demands at me. Frankly, I was too preoccupied with this popinjay son of my sister Caroline to notice anything outside my house. When he finally stormed out of here, I was suffering from the worst headache. When my dear wife and Emily came home, I was only too glad to see them! Indeed, no one at this household realized that Isabella was missing until your sisters paid their social call barely half an hour ago!"
Alexander looked at his youngest sister to confirm the sequence of events.
"I came back here with Jane - almost three hours after I last saw Isabella. It was only then that we discovered that she never came into this house!"
"I should have done my duty properly, and should have escorted Miss Isabella directly to the door!" lamented Jenkins. The loyal servant, formerly a Sergeant of her Majesty's Dargoon Guards, seemed to have aged a full decade since early afternoon. "I always have, except this last time!"
"You were ordered not to!" said Lizzy truthfully, not wanting the faithful footman to shoulder any unwarranted blame.
"My cousin had insisted that she walked the short distance from the gate to the kitchen door alone. We could see her so clearly from the carriage," stated Lizzy as she shook her head ruefully. "If only I was not so eager to run off when Mama suggested that we visit Hachard's together! We would be remain as one party, and would have arrived home together with Mama and Aunt Jane. Alas! Isabella would be here now . . ."
Lizzy broke off in mid-sentence with a sob. She was about to say, "in a blissful reunion with Alexander!"
Mrs. Bingley let out a fresh cry of distress.
Mrs. Darcy was already administrating to her elder sister since the first moments of her arrival. Mrs. Gardiner was pouring out a cup of herbal tea and mixing in some home remedies for "poor nerves." Her son Philip Gardiner made the sensible suggestion for adding several drop of French cognac to the tea instead. He had never indulged in drink, but had found a sip of cognac to be quite effective in moments of extreme distress.
"Braunfield!" declared Alexander. "He was here when Isabella came home. When he left here, he might have seen her in the garden. . "
"And kidnapped my daughter in order to make her his wife?" exclaimed Mr. Bingley incredulously.
"Customs of savages," remarked Mr. Edward Gardiner.
"And of unscrupulous rakehells," added Philip Gardiner. As the oldest son, Philip had taken over the family business since Mr. Gardiner's retirement. As a trusted and capable manager, he was also the new custodian of the Wickhams' account at Barings Bank.
"There could be other possibilities, involving different perpetrators and their sinister plots, and Braunfield might be entirely innocent," observed Mr. Darcy calmly. "However, given his infamous reputation with women, and his relentless pursuit of Isabella as wife - Braunfield does make a very likely culprit!"
"We must inform Lord and Lady Paxton of Isabella's disappearance, and their son's involvement in the matter!" exclaimed Lizzy.
"His likely involvement," cautioned Mr. Darcy. "Let us not jump into any conclusive scenario and blind ourselves to other possibilities. We must pursue any and all suspicious persons and probable causes! Bingley, have you send for the Metropolitan Police yet?"
"Yes, they should be here very soon!" confirmed Mr. Bingley.
"We must go to Lord Paxton immediately," suggested Alexander. "If Braunfield is the guilty party, his parents may have some inkling to his whereabouts. Uncle Charles, since you have to wait for the police, Henry and I can go to Paxton Hall directly. Indeed, where is my cousin Henry? I did not notice his absence until now!"
"My son is with your Fitzwilliam cousins. They are racing yachts on the Thames - from Greenwich to Gravesend - for a summer regatta. I have sent a messenger to summon him home," said Mr. Bingley. With a look of urgent appeal, he added, "Every moment of inaction or delay will only add to the endangerment of my dear Isabella!"
Mr. Darcy was level-headed and steadfast even in a whirlwind. He put a reassuring hand upon Mr. Bingley's shoulder, and said calmly, "My son and I shall go to Lord Paxton in your place."
The Darcys were men of prudent judgment and decisive action. Whilst Lord Braunfield seemed the most likely kidnapper of Isabella, they did not rule out other possibilities. Isabella could have been kidnapped for ransom, abducted for sinful purposes, or being a victim of other heinous crimes! London had her fair share of vipers in fashionable society as well as within her slums. The fate of fair Isabella could be an extremely grim one if they did not find her as soon as possible!
Lord Paxton was home, and he promptly received his unexpected guests.
"Mr. Darcy! Alexander! What a delightful surprise! I regret that neither my wife nor son is home presently. . ."
Mr. Darcy shook hands with Lord Paxton, but did not spare any decorous protocol. He spoke directly and succinctly to the heart of the matter. Lord Paxton listened without any interruption, nodding his head very gravely as Mr. Darcy finished his narration.
"Allow me to say yet again, my lord, that we are here to solicit your invaluable aid. We do not have any evidence to accuse your son of any transgression. Our primary concern is Isabella's safety," reiterated Mr. Darcy.
Lord Paxton smiled at him, "I take no offense, sir! I am as much Isabella's uncle as you are, Mr. Darcy! And under the circumstances, I agree with you entirely - my unworthy son is the most likely culprit!"
"Do you know of your son's current whereabouts, my lord?" asked Alexander anxiously.
"No," Lord Paxton shook his head regretfully. "The young rogue stormed out of here last evening, and most likely spent the night at his club. He sent for his carriage and his valet this morning. I have not seen him since, but I can make a fair estimation of his destination. If my son has taken Isabella, he is more likely to return to Paris with her rather than to go north to Scotland. William considers Paris his second home."
"My lord, please give us his address!" said Alexander, the look in his dark eyes was of pleading urgency. Lord Paxton scribbled the address on a piece of fine vellum, and handed it over.
Indeed, the aged earl took the trouble to rise from his chair, suffered the severe pain of disturbing his gouty foot, in order to shake hands with the Darcys.
He looked at Alexander Darcy for a long moment, and said apologetically, "Forgive the presumption of a meddling old man, young Darcy. Unless my old eyes have deceived me, I believe that you care for your fair cousin very deeply. If my son has indeed committed such a dastardly deed, I must beg for your forgiveness. William is not half the man you are, but I shall make him take full responsibility for his actions. I shall never allow Isabella to suffer! All the honour and esteem of the House of Warring shall be accorded to her as the rightful Viscountess Braunfield and the future Countess of Paxton."
Alexander Darcy winced upon hearing those words. Lord Paxton meant well, but he could not have inflicted greater pain upon him than with such affirmations of honour.
Alexander berated himself for being such a great fool. It was his own stubborn will and overly rigid sense of chivalry that prevented him from speaking up before. If he had declared himself to Isabella long before this date, if he had arrived in London just one day earlier, perhaps they would not be caught in this living nightmare!
He took a deep breath, and met his lordship's eyes squarely.
"Lord Paxton, thank you for your honourable intentions. I shall find my beloved Isabella if I have to go to the ends of the world!" His deep voice carried a steely determination. It was the voice of a man who would face any daunting task with unflinching courage and spirit. His words demanded attention and respect, and the two older men stood in rapt attention.
Alexander continued, "If the perpetuator of her abduction is your son or any other man - prince or rogue - I shall not hesitate to run a sword through him when I find him! Above all, let it be clearly known, that I am resolved to have Isabella as my cherished wife - no matter the circumstances or consequences, God forbid, that I should find her in!"
With that, he gave the Earl of Paxton a respectful bow, and took leave. Mr. Darcy did so likewise.
As soon as they were back in their carriage, Alexander was making his plans aloud.
"Father, I shall go to Ramsgate immediately, and take the first available boat to Calais. I know Paris well, and have a handful of trusted friends whom I can call upon for assistance. It is imperative that we must track down this most probable cause of Isabella's disappearance."
"I should go with you, son."
"No, sir! I think it is best that you remain in London. Uncle Charles and Aunt Jane rely so much upon you, sir. The Metropolitan Police, I trust, will be vigilant in their investigation of other probable causes. Perhaps we should hire our own investigators as well - to make a more effective and speedy hunt!"
Mr. Darcy nodded in full agreement to his suggestions. He looked at his son steadily, and said, "It was quite a declaration back there, son."
"I meant every word of it, Father," insisted Alexander. "If . . . if my darling should suffer. . ." he stopped abruptly, unable to bring himself to voice the words. Violent, nauseating imaginary flashed through his mind, and he felt as if he was choking.
He gulped down a couple of deep breaths, and found his voice again. "I love Isabella so deeply, Father. She is my life! All I want is to find her, rescue her and marry her. . . God forbid that we should be too late in our rescue! . . . Whatever the circumstances or consequences . . . her lost of virtue . . . bearing a child not of my blood . . . nothing in the world can prevent me from wanting her as my wife! I am perfectly willing to relinquish all my claims as your heir in favour of my brother James. Isabella and I can go abroad, to Tuscany perhaps. As long as we have each other, I know that we can make a quiet but very happy life together."
Mr. Darcy put a fatherly arm around his son's shoulder. Finding mere words quite inadequate to express his sense of commiseration, fatherly love and pride, he quoted Shakespeare instead, "Is not love an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempest and is never shaken?"
Alexander gave the slightest smile, and nodded solemnly. In this worst of nightmares, it was comforting to know he had the abiding love of his parents.
"I can comprehend every raging emotion in your heart, my dear son! Your Uncle James is always fond of saying that when one is tested by fire, one shows his true mettle. This is certainly such a trial, and you have lived up to the full measure of your manhood. You have the truest heart and the most noble character, my son, and I am in awe of you," said Mr. Darcy, at last finding the proper words.
"Thank you, Father," murmured Alexander humbly, too emotional to speak further.
"Your mother is my life as well!" added Mr. Darcy, "I would not care to live in the world without her! I have great faith that God is merciful. He would not be so cruel to bless you with someone as splendid as Isabella, and snatch her away!"
"We shall find her!" muttered Alexander desperately, "We must!"
Isabella Bingley regained her consciousness slowly. She knew not where she was or how long she had fainted. Her abductor had blindfolded her, gagged her mouth, and bound her hands behind her back.
Cold and frightened, she was lying helplessly on the floor, and could hardly move. She knew the acute danger she was in. A great part of her wanted to scream or to sob hopelessly, but she knew that she needed to think - desperately needed to think coherently and rationally - if she wished to survive this ordeal, nay, this nightmare!
She tried to regain her wits and summon up her courage by not dwelling upon her sense of fear. Indeed, she forced herself to think of pleasant memories - recalling the sound, sight, and sensation of such happiness - to lull herself into a better state of mind. It was not difficult to recall happy experiences - in a life so blessed with felicity and good fortune.
She concentrated her thoughts solely upon Alexander Darcy - how safe and wonderful it had felt when she was in his arms and how sweet their last kiss had been. The ardour of their first kiss held such promise of a passionate and vibrant life together! Oh, her heart's own darling!
Where was her beloved now? Surely, he must be in London already!
Had anyone at home notice her disappearance yet, she wondered? If the alarm had been sounded, and if Alexander was already here - somewhere in this vast city - he would find her!
She strained her ears to listen - for noises and sounds that could give her clues as to her whereabouts. It seemed strangely quiet, as if she was in a place quite isolated from the bustling heart of the city. Yet, she knew, by her natural instinct and by the foul smells, that she was being jailed in the city!
Suddenly, she could discern voices - harsh male voices hauling curses at each other. They seemed to be in the next room, and were engaged in a fierce argument. Their speech remained indistinct until the lock of her room was turned - a loud and rusty metal sound - and the wooden door swung open with a loud thump!
"Off to the devil with you!" The first man cured his companion. "I am not going to pay you a single guinea for your work! You have botched it completely!"
The man's voice sounded strangely familiar, but Isabella's throbbing head refused to function properly.
Who was the man, she wondered?
"Botched it?" shouted a rougher voice in reply. "You simply wanted a poor excuse not to pay me well and proper!"
"You miserable nitwit! Are you blind?" shouted the first voice in cold fury. "It is the dark-headed chit I want, not this chit of golden hair! I have pointed them out to you many times these past few days! Could you not tell the difference before you throw a sack over her head?"
"What are you complaining about? I got the more handsome chit for you!" The gruff voice laughed lewdly, and added, "I think you should be more grateful and appreciative - when you are enjoying such sweetness!"
"She is intended for my son!" growled the first man. "There is a vast difference between dark hair and golden hair - a difference of twenty thousands pounds of dowry!"
"Look, you demanded to have the chit here by a specific date and time!"
"My son is not a gentleman of leisure. His time is not of his own, and today is the most opportune time for him to be away from his post."
"Whatever the reasons, I care not!" The gruff voice seemed more heated with each word. "Those two chits stuck to each other like two peas in a pod! They always had a chaperone, or a group of young bucks swarming around them like bees to honey! When I saw my former Sergeant - the burly tough Jenkins - trailing after them like a mother hen, I knew I had to strike at the first chance I had! Dark hair or golden, I grabbed the chit when I saw no one else was around the back garden of this great mansion! I did a bloody good job too! Well, it was very helpful that she was so sweetly concerned about this old veteran soldier begging for a bowl of broth. She never suspected me for a moment! When I made my move, she could not get a scream out. I got her bundled tight in the big sack in such a jiffy! You should have paid me extra for my troubles!"
"Figo! I shall pay you not a farthing!" replied the first man angrily, "If you want to report this to Scotland Yard, I can always tell them that you shot your Colonel in the face before you deserted your regiment at Waterloo - they can still make you swing from the gallows for it after all these years, you know!"
"Me a deserter? I can readily recall you being a mere step or two behind me!"
The first man roared with delirious laughter. "I carried our mortally wounded Colonel back behind our lines. The good man lived long enough to affix his signature to my service citation. I was promoted in rank, and was duly awarded a medal for valor in battle because of it!"
"Fancy medal and rank, indeed! What does it signify? I know you to be a coward!" The rough man spat out his words with loathsome contempt. "If I hang from the gallows, you will too!"
The first man seemed to ponder such a grave point for a moment. He laughed again, this time he sounded amiable and soothing, "Here, take a few coppers for a drink to quench your thirst! I shall take care of you as par our agreement - when my son has secured the marriage!"
The rough man grunted, and let off another string of curses. His parting words were loud and clear, erasing any lingering doubts in Isabella's mind, but putting new fears into her heart at the same time.
"The devil takes you, George Wickham!"
Chapter 25: A Great Peril
"Darcy! Alexander!" exclaimed Mr. Bingley as soon as the Darcys returned. "What news?"
Mr. Darcy shook his head grimly.
Captain Greenwood of the Metropolitan Police Force was on hand. A stoutly built middle-aged man with an intelligent face, he exuded experienced competence. His long years as a Bow Street Runner had secured him a rank of command when Scotland Yard was formed. He resumed his questioning, and inquired about the Darcys' visit with Lord Paxton.
Mr. Darcy gave a succinct report to all present. Captain Greenwood nodded thoughtfully, and declared, "If Lord Braunfield has indeed carried off Miss Bingley, but fully intends to marry her . . . well, I cannot arrest him. There is no real crime involved here."
"No real crime?" exclaimed Lizzy Darcy emphatically. She could not believe her ears! "If my cousin is being held against her will, and is forced into matrimony against her wishes and her heart, it is the uttermost offense and crime!"
Alexander Darcy placed a comforting hand upon his youngest sister, and tried to ease her extreme agitation.
"Lizzy!" admonished Mr. Darcy. "Let Captain Greenwood do his work! There are other possible reasons for Isabella's disappearance . . ."
"Yes, indeed!" stated Captain Greenwood earnestly. "Forgive me, miss! I was only commenting on specifics. I agree that it is a very wretched business!"
Turning to the Bingleys, he continued, "I fully intend to start our investigation without making any hasty judgment and presumptions. As Mr. Darcy has wisely pointed out, there may be other probable causes and suspects as well. Miss Elizabeth mentioned earlier that your daughter had the suspicion of being followed by someone these past few days whenever they were out and about . . . An important matter of concern, indeed!"
"Followed?" exclaimed Alexander.
The notion sent a chilling sensation down his spine. If Isabella had been followed by some unknown persons for several days, the entire situation now seemed more sinister!
"Lord Braunfield is a young man driven by his emotions and sudden whims," remarked Mrs. Darcy as if she could read her son's mind. "If he is the culprit responsible for Isabella's disappearance, it is more likely that he snatched her away without any premeditated plans."
"Yes, your opinion seems very logical, madam!" agreed Captain Greenwood. "If Miss Bingley has been under the surveillance of some unknown party, it points to an entirely different scenario - one far more urgent and serious! Mr. Bingley, I shall send my men to investigate this immediately. I have the full description of your daughter, and . . ."
"Wait one moment, sir!" said Alexander Darcy. "A picture of my cousin would serve you better than a verbal description."
The good captain gestured helplessly at the large canvas portrait of the Bingley family hanging over the mantle. Did the young gentleman wish him to carry an oil painting around - for potential witnesses to identify the young lady - whilst they investigate? There would be smaller, individual portraits around the mansion, of course, but all would be far too fragile to be lugged around by his constables!
The young gentleman, however, seemed to have an entire different idea in mind. He fumbled for a piece of charcoal from his pocket, and grabbed several sheets of parchment from a nearby desk. With quick, bold strokes, he drew a vivid and lifelike drawing of Isabella Bingley's face, and handed it over to the Captain.
"This is amazing;" said Captain Greenwood appreciatively "and you have real talent, sir!"
Alexander Darcy did not reply, but concentrated on making more drawings of his beloved's face. He was very proficient, and was finished within a few moments. He handed the additional drawings over to the older man, and said simply, "I pray that these would help."
Their eyes met. The Captain could clearly see the abject pain in young Darcy's eyes. "I shall do my best to find her for you, sir."
Alexander nodded gravely, and said, "In the meantime, I shall leave for Paris. If Lord Braunfield has taken Isabella, I believe I can find them there."
The cold fear that gripped Isabella Bingley when she heard Mr. Wickham's name was compounded by her sense of shock.
Uncle George Wickham was responsible for her abduction?
She could hardly believe it!
Like the rest of her family, she was aware that the estranged husband of her Aunt Lydia was a man of dissolute habits and questionable character, but until this moment, she had never imagined him capable of such evils! Uncle George was nothing but charming when he spoke to her briefly at her sister Margaret's wedding. Indeed, he had seemed so sincere in his compliments, and so genuine in his regrets - of his estrangement from his wife, and of being denied the domestic felicity that he would otherwise enjoyed - and she had felt rather sorry for him!
Wickham's cohort - the gruff man with the furious temper - had erased any pleasant illusions Isabella had about Mr. Wickham. The declaration that "she is intended for my son" was unmistakable. Her fate would be a horrible one if Wickham and his son succeeded in their nefarious plot!
"Dear God in Heaven!" Isabella's mind cried out in a frantic prayer. She had been so overwhelmed by her fears and by the unexpected chain of events that she had not examined her situation rationally.
A tiny voice of Reason whispered in the deep recesses of her mind. Her abductors were not total strangers, not brutal criminals who would slit one's throat without hesitation; she was not being sold off to a harem in a foreign land, or be flung into the hellish world of prostitution in local bordellos! Uncle George Wickham might be a virtual stranger, but she knew her cousin Freddie. She believed that she could save herself from this nightmare if she could speak to Freddie alone!
The sudden sound of footsteps arrested her attention. She felt herself being lifted off the floor, and put upon a chair by a pair of large hands which were none too gentle. Her blindfold came off. She blinked her eyes several times to regain their focus.
Mr. George Wickham!
The villain himself was standing before her! She wanted to shout at him, but the gag in her mouth remained firmly in place.
Wickham laughed when he saw the flash of intense anger in her vivid blue eyes.
"Well, now, you have suffered such a shock, my poor niece!" said he soothingly. I must apologize - for you were never my intended target. That abominable nitwit ignored my directive completely! He panicked, and abducted you instead of your cousin Elizabeth Darcy."
He paused to check his pocket watch, and heaved a heavy sigh of resignation. "Well, one must make the best under such tying circumstances. You will suffice - I shall have to drive a harder bargain with your most agreeable Papa in order to meet my original monetary expectations! My son Freddie is due here any moment now!"
No sooner had he spoken did Frederick Wickham's voice called from the next room. His tone was jovial and carefree, and he continued his remarks as he sauntered into the room. He did not see Isabella immediately as his father was standing directly before her, and effectively blocked his view of her.
"Father! Why on earth did you choose to make our rendezvous at this old warehouse? This entire area has been damaged by that big fire several weeks ago. It is like a ghost town here - entire blocks of burnt and badly damaged warehouses. This old Gardiner warehouse is intact, but I fear it is being condemned by the authorities as being unsafe for use! All the streets nearby are deserted, and I did not encounter anyone on my way here - not even the night watch!"
"Good evening, son!" Mr. Wickham turned to greet him with a bright smile. "The night watch is temporarily off duty - courtesy of a few guineas from me. I think you can find the fellow at his favourite pub! As for this condemned warehouse, well, my dear boy, it is of the best strategic value for us - we are quite alone in this part of Cheapside. The Gardiners have their large new warehouses along their own wharves - they have had no use for this old one . . ."
Gagged and bound as Isabella was, she was determined to make her presence known. She let off a shout - although the sound was muffled, it was distinctive enough to attract her cousin's attention.
"Good God!" exclaimed Frederick Wickham as he walked around his father, and caught sight of her. "Isabella?"
Isabella nodded her head vigorously, and attempted to speak through the gag in her mouth.
"Isabella?" repeated Freddie. He was utterly dumbfounded. "Where is Lizzy?"
"A stupid and very costly mistake made by the old drunk I hired!" exclaimed Wickham angrily. "A Bingley is not quite a Darcy - in wealth or prestige - but there is no other choice before us now! The element of surprise is gone - we shall never have another chance. Isabella Bingley will have to suffice."
"Father!" Freddie was almost frantic. "You spoke of seduction - not this cruel abduction!" He moved to untie Isabella, but his father stopped him.
"Leave her be for a moment, my boy!" He laughed sarcastically, and added, "We are, however, so isolated here that she could scream like a banshee and not be heard!"
"Father! Why this drastic departure from our original plan?" demanded Freddie.
Wickham's sarcasm increased with every sharp word "This is our plan! Lieutenant Frederick Wickham, do you wish for moonlight music, fine wine, satin sheets, and a feathered bed instead? Such luxuries cost a lot of blunt, which neither one of us has at the present moment! So, imagine this crude room to be your own palace. Employ your tender charms, my boy! Your cousin is an innocent - she should not have any prejudiced preferences. Assert your manly prowess and force her consent if necessary! I shall leave you both here for an hour or two, and I fully expect the deed to be accomplished by the time I return! We shall leave for Gretna Green by dawn."
"Father, you have tricked me into this!" protested Freddie.
"Do it, son, unless you wish to see your dear father locked up in Newgate Prison!" Wickham laughed loudly, and added, "Cease your complaining now, my dear Freddie, and undertake your duty with pleasure! Remember that the future generations of Wickhams depend entirely upon you - make me a proud grandfather tonight! She is very beautiful . . . and if she were not my own niece, I would envy you!"
Wickham continued to laugh deliriously as he bolted the door firmly behind him. The old lock turned with a loud, rusty click.
The cousins found themselves staring at each other - too stunned to move. . .
Lizzy Darcy was quite adamant. She insisted that she accompanied her brother to Paris in his search for Isabella and Lord Braunfield.
"This is absurd, Lizzy," exclaimed Alexander. "I cannot bring you along! Speed is critical, and I cannot be delayed by petticoats and feminine frills!"
"You would not hesitate for a heartbeat if I were James!" she replied emphatically. "It is my fault, my neglect, and my disregard for danger that our cousin is in peril! I must do whatever I can to find her and to rescue her!"
Alexander grasped his sister's hands in his, and said firmly, "The best thing you can do is to stay here and be helpful to the families! Pray with all your heart that Isabella be delivered from evil without suffering any harm! I do appreciate your determination and courage, but I cannot take you. If you were my brother instead of my sister, yes, I would gladly have you along. Please, Lizzy! Do not argue! I do not doubt your abilities, your intelligence, and your resolute will, but I cannot worry and watch over you whilst I search for Isabella! You are far too lovely - you will likely be a new victim than Isabella's saviour in this difficult journey! Even in the simple matter of riding - if we have to travel on horseback rather than in a carriage - you can never keep up with my punishing pace if you have to ride sidesaddle whilst I ride astride. Please, Lizzy, please understand!"
Lizzy knew that her brother was being overly protective, but he also spoke with perfect sense and logic. She would be a hindrance in his endeavor.
She kissed his cheek lightly, and said, "Good luck and Godspeed, my big brother!"
He gave her a brotherly embrace in return. He held her in his arms for a moment longer, as if the severe strain of the day was pushing him to a breaking point, and he needed to feel a touch of feminine warmth to give him renewed courage.
He felt a momentary panic - what if he journeyed to Paris and yet failed to find Isabella? What if someone else had abducted her, and she was still in London?
The disturbing imagery of his beloved in great peril was constant in his mind's eye. He had vowed to marry Isabella regardless of consequences, even at the enormous cost of forsaking his birthright as the heir of Pemberley. Yet, a nagging question gnawed at him. With effusive bravado, he had declared he would not care if she was defiled, or with child, that he would be the loving father of a son not of his blood? His world was one in which family heritage and bloodlines were so important. Could he truly be so generous and selfless?
His father's words reminded him that true love required personal courage, selflessness and abiding commitment. In his deep love for Isabella, he found his answer: he must do everything in his power to love and cherish her, and if it meant going through hell's fire, he was prepared to do so! Isabella Bingley would be his wife, if she would have him!
The feast day of St. Laurence indeed! He murmured an earnest prayer, beseeching the martyred saint to intercede with the Almighty on his behalf.
Frederick Wickham made the first move.
"I am very sorry, Isabella," he said softly, "but . . . I promise I shall be very gentle with you." He looked distressed and uncertain as he reached out to caress Isabella's cheek.
She flinched as if she had been bitten by a snake. She shook her head vigorously, and tried to get up from the chair - to be away from him. Freddie hesitated for a moment before he reached for her again.
"Please! Isabella! Please! I am going to take the gag off your mouth," he said quietly, almost pleading in his tone, "but promise me you will not scream when I do so!"
Suddenly, Isabella realized that she needed to speak to Freddie forcefully if she had a ghost of a chance to escape from this horrid ordeal. Violent emotional outbursts would only upset and confuse him - his was a weaker character that would yield to superior authority. Thus, rational reasoning augmented by a commanding presence would be the only approach under the present circumstances.
She hoped that she could muster the personal courage required for such an awesome task. If she failed now, all would be lost! She had prayed fervently for deliverance - that by some miraculous chance, Alexander and all her family would come to her rescue, with the full force and might of the Metropolitan Police behind them - but she now feared that her rescuers, if any, might arrive too late. If she was already defiled by Frederick Wickham, she doubted if anyone could save her from infamy.
She did not doubt Alexander Darcy's abiding love for her - he had yet to declare it to her in person, but had already expressed it so clearly in his love sonnets - but she knew it would be utterly impossible for the heir of Pemberley to marry someone who would be shunned by society if she had lost her . . .
"Isabella?" Freddie's voice arrested her thoughts. She turned to him, and their eyes met. "Do you promise?"
She nodded her consent. He removed the gag as well as the bindings on her hands. Small patches of red welts had appeared on either side of her face and upon her wrists - spots where the cloth bindings had rubbed too tightly against her tender skin. Her mouth felt bone dry, and her lips were parched. Freddie took out his small whiskey flask, and offered it to her. She was about to refuse him when she thought the better of it.
She accepted the flask with a gracious nod of her head, and took a tiny sip of whiskey - enough to wet her mouth, but definitely not enough to render her in a state of inebriation.
"Thank you," she said as she tried frantically to find the right words to say to him.
Freddie mistook her courteous words as a welcoming sign. He grasped her by her forearms, and pulled her up from the chair in a swift, fluid motion. He did not release his hold upon her, but drew her rather roughly into his arms.
Instinctively, she tried to back away, but his hold upon her was too strong! His right hand cradled her head like an iron vise, whilst his left hand pressed her hard against him. She tried to fight him, but her arms were tightly trapped. She could hardly move.
Without hesitation, Freddie forced a kiss upon her. She clenched her teeth, and tried to turn her face away.
A wave of intense fear mingled with disgust swept over her.
Frederick Wickham was a strong man, and she already felt violated by the touch of his lips upon hers! He seemed determined to follow his father's order, and she could sense that his blood was bestirred by the kiss and the thrill of the moment.
If she could not fight him off soon, she would surely be defiled beyond redemption!
Chapter 26: Small Twists of Fate
Frederick Wickham marveled at the thrilling sensations he felt as he held Isabella Bingley so tightly within his embrace. He had had many willing females within his arms before, but he never held such an exquisitely beautiful and innocent creature until this moment. Her lovely scent, her flawless skin, her alluring figure overwhelmed his senses altogether. His father was correct - it would be a great enjoyment rather than an awful duty to make this woman his wife!
He wondered briefly about Lord Braunfield and his persistent courtship of Isabella Bingley. The gossip mills of the ton were still swirling with the latest tidbits of news. If Braunfield had kissed such lips, thought Freddie, he could not begrudge the nobleman of being bewitched by Isabella.
Freddie took a brief moment to imagine himself being the envy of the ton. Such a beauty for wife! Emboldened by such thoughts, he tried to deepen his kiss, but she was clenching her month so tightly together that he failed. He finally noticed that she was holding herself very rigidly, and had been struggling to break free from him. He hesitated, and leaned his head back slightly to look at her. His arms, however, remained around her like bands of iron.
"Trust me, my sweet!" His voice was soothingly tender, as if he were talking to a frightened filly. "I shall show you pleasures you have never imagined before!"
"Freddie! Stop!"
Isabella seized the chance, and spoke in her most authoritative tone.
"Before you plunge into this mad scheme of your father's, allow me a moment of grace!" She knew that she needed to break free from his vise-like hold first if she were to have a fighting chance of talking some sense into him.
"Of course! As you wish, my sweet."
He smiled winsomely as he released her. He had no fear of her escape. After all, they were locked in by his father.
She stepped away from him hastily, and placed herself behind the chair - effectively making a physical barrier between them. She gripped the back of the chair tightly with her hands, ready to use it as a weapon to defend herself if necessary.
"It is sheer madness, Freddie!"
"Yes, my sweet! I am quite mad with love," laughed Freddie. "You are so maddeningly bewitching!"
It was not the response she had wished for. She plunged on determinedly, "No! Madness as in sickness of mind! Perverse villainy! Freddie! Think hard before you make yourself into a docile victim of your father's manipulations?"
"Victim?" he seemed quite amazed by the word.
"Yes! You and I - we are both his victims . . . his pawns . . . his means of gaining everything for himself at great harm and expense to others!"
"He . . . he is my father - it is my filial duty to stand by him," protested Freddie, his countenance showing faint signs of uncertainty which gave her fresh hopes.
"Is it also your filial duty to pillage and plunder like a barbarian of the Middle Ages if your father gives such dastardly commands?" asked Isabella assertively.
Freddie shook his head slowly as her words sunk in. A deepening frown appeared upon his handsome face, and he remained silent.
"What you intend to do to me will be nothing short of a disgustingly barbaric act - pillage upon my soul, and plunder upon my person! You will destroy our friendship, and betray your own good conscience as well! Are you prepared to pay such a horrible price, Freddie?"
"Isabella. . ." he said quietly, the moral dilemma evident in his eyes, ". . . you have always been the kindest of all my cousins, and I do cherish our friendship. . . Surely, I am not so offensive to you that you cannot contemplate matrimony with me? We need not . . . well, we can pretend to my father that we have done what he has demanded of us. Indeed, I can furnish the requisite bloodied cloth as proof of evidence by some other means . . . I can obtain a bit of pig's blood on our way to Gretna . . . perhaps I can delay the display of such a proof until our interview with your father - after our return from Gretna, when the evidence will be irrefutably from you! . . . Oh, my sweet Isabella, if you are too distressed now, we can wait until we are married at Gretna before we truly become man and wife! I promise you that . . ."
Isabella flinched at the details the Wickhams had planned for this "bride kidnapping." Apparently, the Wickhams were prepared to drive a hard monetary bargain with their "proof of evidence!"
She was relieved, however, that Freddie was not such a heartless brute after all. She might yet save herself from this infamy if she maintained her own grace under fire. She decided to put a definite end to Freddie's fanciful musings.
"Frederick Wickham, hear the truth from me now! I can never be your wife! If you insist on being a fool and follow your father's evil plans, then I prefer instant death over this horrid fate! You shall never secure my dowry or any marriage settlement if I perish here! I can simply jump out of this window to meet my death!"
"Death? No!" pleaded Freddie almost in desperation. "Do not contemplate death! You have so much to live for!"
"Indeed, I do have much to live for," she smiled inwardly as she thought of her beloved Alexander. The very image of him in her mind's eye gave her renewed courage.
She met Freddie's eyes with an unequivocally determined look, and added with great solemnity, "Yes, by God's grace, a long and fruitful life, but not in a life with you, Freddie. There is only one man I can ever contemplate sharing my life with, and you are not him!"
He stared at her speechlessly. She had long declared herself "on the shelf" - surely there should be no claims to her tender heart! Who was this "only man" she would wish to share her life with? Certainly not the obnoxious Lord Braunfield?
"This man . . ." asked Freddie curiously. "Is he worthy of you?"
"Yes," she replied with hesitation. A dreamy look came into her vivid blue eyes - Freddie suddenly realized that he was looking at the face of a woman in love.
He did not wince at her honest reply. He knew that he was unworthy of her, but had hoped, rather vainly, that she might succumb to his charms.
He felt so defeated and confused - what should he do now?
Isabella saw the lost look in his brown eyes, and seized her chance to win the upper hand in this debate on morality and duty.
"You have your follies, but you are a good man, Freddie. Do not ruin your own future by allying your fate with that of your unworthy father! By his own volition, he has overthrown every benefit and mercy from all his relations - the Bennets, the Gardiners, the Darcys, and my own family these many years . . ."
"The Darcys?" Freddie protested in sudden anger, "They have shunned my father mercilessly these many years for no apparent reason other than his elopement with my mother! My father remedied his folly with honourable marriage, but they have persisted in such petty vindictiveness."
"Has your father borne his dutiful responsibilities as a husband and as a father?" she shot back her reply.
He stood muted before her, and could not defend his father on such a charge. Her question also prompted him to view his father in differently, other than blind filial devotion.
"Knowing my Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Fitzwilliam Darcy as I do, I can vouchsafe that they must have far greater and justifiable reasons to shun your father," she reasoned firmly with him. "Indeed, I would not be overly surprised to learn that the Darcys have given very generously to your family over the years, albeit unbeknownst to everyone else."
She was merely guessing, of course, but she suspected that she was not far from the truth. Her cousin Philip Gardiner had made an off-handed comment recently which had puzzled her exceedingly: "Mr. Darcy's generosity knows no bounds - and his beneficiaries are universally grateful, well, all but one! Such an unworthy louse, but I am sworn to secrecy!"
Freddie gazed at his cousin Isabella for a thoughtful moment. In his agitated state, her confident voice had a calming effect upon him. Her sensible words seemed very logical as well. Until this day, Freddie had never imagined that his father would stoop so low as to engineer this nefarious plot! He had always harboured a certain boyhood dream that his father was merely the victim of a cruel fate - that beneath his dissolute habits was a character as worthy and heroic as General Sir James Fitzwilliam!
Finally, the simple truth became clear to Frederick Wickham. His father George was nothing but a scoundrel, an unscrupulous man who was selfish and immoral. This realization was both painful and shocking, and he turned to Isabella with a questioning look.
She knew he was waiting for her directives. He was too stunned and too timid to think for himself. With the brisk and confident manner of a born leader, she said, "Your father has locked us in. Therefore, we need to find another way to escape from here!"
She looked towards the window, and gestured, "That is our only way out!"
Freddie walked over to the window obediently, but shook his head when he realized that they were three stories high from the ground level.
"We are too high up - and we do not have any sturdy rope for climbing!" he lamented.
She leaned out the window to assess the situation herself. There was a way!
"We can climb down using the metal drain pipe! It runs the height of the building, and it seems sturdy enough," she declared as she reached out to shake the pipe. It did not budge.
"It is adequate enough for our purpose," she said as she contemplated about her mode of fashion for the suitability of such a dangerous endeavour. The petticoats underneath her dress would have to come off . . .
"No! It won't do at all, Isabella!" said Freddie, overcame by a sudden sense of protectiveness. "It is too risky for you to climb down! I shall do it, and summon help!"
Once he had made up his mind, Freddie proved to be a man of action. He patted Isabella's shoulder reassuringly as he took leave of her.
He even managed a smile. "I shall be back, as soon as I can! I promise you, Isabella!"
"Good luck!" she called after him as he began his descent. "Go to my parents and to the Darcys! Please, Freddie! Please hurry back!"
Captain Josiah Greenwood was in a frustrated mood. The constables he had assigned to the case had come back empty-handed from their initial investigation. It seemed as if Miss Isabella Bingley had simply vanished.
"There must be a simple explanation," muttered the Captain as he held the charcoal drawing of the young lady in his hands. Such a radiant beauty - one who would turn people's heads wherever she went. Lord Braunfield, whom he had met a few times when the young Corinthian had gotten into a few scrapes with the law - reckless races, public brawls, and other irresponsible deeds so fashionable amongst the idle rich youths - was a flamboyant figure that drew much attention as well. Where was the young viscount? Someone must have spotted him in Town! Yet, none of his constables found any valid clues thus far!
Captain Greenwood checked his pocket watch. It was a very late hour, but he knew that the entire Bingley household would be at their vigil, and would be waiting for his call. He tucked the charcoal drawing neatly into his pocket, and wondered about the young gentleman with the intense dark eyes and grave manners who had drawn the stretches.
The younger Mr. Darcy certainly had the look of a man in agony. Indeed, thought the captain ruefully, it was a look he was very familiar with in his line of work. He only hoped that this particular case would not lead to tragedy like so many others . . .
Frederick Wickham had not stopped running the moment his feet reached the ground after his safe descent from the drain pipe. He ran past the long blocks of burnt and condemned warehouses, and finally found a hackney cab for hire. The streets were nearly deserted as it was very late, and most people were already resting by their own hearth.
"Where to, sir?" asked the jarvey, awaiting instructions.
Freddie was in a great dilemma. He had promised Isabella Bingley that he would summon help to liberate her, but to whom should he go to?
Whilst he was willing to overturn his father's nefarious plot by his own disobedience, he was unwilling to deliver him, albeit a guilty scoundrel, into the hands of the authorities!
Isabella had urged him to go to her parents or to the Darcys. His Uncle Charles and cousin Henry Bingley would undoubtedly race to free their beloved Isabella, but they would surely report the identity of the culprits to Scotland Yard afterwards! He himself might be implicated as a culprit as well!
He could not approach the Darcys for he was not so familiar with them that he could simply walk into their magnificent townhouse and ask for their assistance without going into a lengthy explanation. Again, they would summon the police immediately, and would march into the warehouse with drawn pistols!
He could go to Mr. Edward Gardiner, or to his eldest son Philip. The Gardiners had moved into a new mansion in Regent Park recently, and he did not know their address. He had a quarrel with Philip last week regarding his profligate spending habit, and Philip had threatened to cut off his allowance. . .
As Freddie agonized over his dilemma, a thought flashed through his troubled mind. There was one man whom he could turn to - the one all his fellow cousins always depended upon for help throughout their childhood years - the one who would gave them a stern lecture for their misdeeds and poor behavior, but would unfailingly help them to resolve any problem at hand. He himself had been a grateful beneficiary from time to time, and had always admired him, albeit from a polite distance. The recent talk amongst the ton of his tremendous success at the Ridgemont coal mine was a further confirmation that he was a capable and resourceful man even in the face of daunting odds. Surely, such a man could help him!
The image of his cousin Alexander Darcy came clearly into his mind. Yes, Alexander was the man to trust in times of crisis! He was always so protective of his female relations; and he, above all men, would understand filial obligations to one's father! Such a man would find a solution to his dilemma.
"Grosvenor Square, number 28. Make haste, man!" Freddie finally said. He drew a long breath - his first breath of relief in many hours. He was about to close his eyes for a brief spell before another wave of despair swept over him.
Was his cousin Alexander Darcy back in London yet? His arrival was duly expected by everyone, but was he home this night? Freddie could only pray.
If Alexander was not home, perhaps he would have to take his problem directly to his very formidable Uncle Fitzwilliam Darcy after all! The thought of such a daunting task made Frederick Wickham felt weak at the knees!
Alexander Darcy waited impatiently as his valet placed the portmanteau in the carriage.
"Come along, Coxwell! We are not making a leisure trip to Paris! I am prepared to ditch our carriage and all accessories, and gallop on horseback on the last leg of our journey to Paris."
"All is ready, sir!" replied Coxwell.
They were about to step into the carriage when a hired hackney came galloping towards them. A lithe figure leaped from it before the carriage came to a complete stop. Alexander found himself staring directly into the face of Frederick Wickham.
"Thank God!" Freddie exclaimed. "Alexander! Come with me! At once! Please!"
Alexander grabbed the younger man by the arm, and said commandingly, "Freddie! Take a deep breath, and regain your composure! Now, explain yourself first!"
"No!" Freddie shouted back in a frantic cry. "Not a moment to waste! Please come with me!"
Alexander saw the earnest look in his cousin's eyes - of panic and urgent concern. His first instinct was to help, but he knew he could not.
"I am very sorry, Freddie, but I have the most important matter to attend to, and I have to leave for Paris at once! However, you can take any of my servants, and I can send word to my father to render you any assistance that you may require. Fear not! My father will help you - whatever your grave concerns may be. . ."
"Please, Alexander, it is you that I need most urgently! Please come with me! Only an hour or so of delay for you! No harm will be done! When you reach Ramsgate, you will be cooling your heels whilst you wait for the tide, and there are always more than one boat bound for Paris!" replied Freddie pleadingly. "Please! A small detour to Cheapside, and you shall be on your way afterwards!"
Alexander shook his dark head ruefully - he never liked to turn anyone away, especially his own relations, when pleads of help were so urgently expressed. His cousin Freddie was certainly in distress. Yet, he would not place anyone or any matter before his most paramount concern at the moment - he had to find his beloved Isabella first!
"Go to my father - he is with the Bingleys. I am sure that he will render you every possible assistance! I must go now - I have to find our cousin Isabella!"
Freddie Wickham grabbed Alexander by the lapels, and shouted back hoarsely, "Find Isabella? I know where she is! Indeed, I am here to beg for your help to rescue her!"
"What?" exclaimed Alexander flabbergastingly, but he regained his senses almost immediately. "You know Isabella's whereabouts? Did you see her? Is Lord Braunfield with her?"
"Braunfield? No, no, not him. Please, Alexander! The situation is too complicated to be explained in a few words! We must rescue Isabella first!"
"Where is she?" demanded Alexander urgently.
"She is being held at Mr. Gardiner's old warehouse - the one which they had shut down some years ago when they moved into their new warehouse premises."
"The old one located in the fire damaged section of Cheapside?"
"Yes, the very one!"
Alexander signaled to his valet. "Coxwell, take my carriage and go to Mr. Bingley's house immediately. Tell my father and my Uncle Charles that I am going to Mr. Gardiner's old warehouse with my cousin Frederick Wickham to rescue Miss Isabella. By God's grace, we shall return home safely with her very soon!"
Turning to Freddie, Alexander pulled him by his forearm and said, "Come, Freddie! We shall take your hired carriage! Tell me the full details of your story whilst we are on our way!"
Chapter 27: Grace Under Fire
Frederick Wickham did not mince any words - once he began to recount his story to Alexander Darcy, he made a full confession.
He admitted that he was as much a victim as he was a perpetuator of his father's scheme. He had been a gullible fool to believe that he was supposed to lure and seduce Lizzy Darcy at a rightfully romantic place. When the mad scheme became one of forced abduction, and the wrong girl was snatched, he was still willing to compromise Isabella Bingley in the dingy room of an abandoned warehouse until she put a definite stop to his advances. His only claim for clemency was his avowed goal of honourable marriage after the intended foul deed.
Alexander was in a cold fury as he listened to his cousin, but he held his temper in check, and did not interrupt Freddie. He was quite shocked to learn that George Wickham had declined into such maliciousness. He hardly knew Mr. Wickham, or thought of him with any frequency, for such a man certainly did not deserve his consideration, except when his Aunt Lydia lamented over her miserable life.
Freddie concluded with an earnest plead, "Who can fault me for this? What man does not wish for such an intelligent, beautiful and tendered-heart wife?"
"If Isabella is harmed in any way, Freddie, I shall personally bring the wrath of swift justice upon you and your father!"
"I swore to you, upon our Grandfather Bennet's soul, that I have not harmed Isabella at all!"
"Until I have Isabella safely in my arms, I am not inclined to trust you so completely," Alexander muttered softly, his deep voice had an edge of menace in it. Freddie looked up sharply - by the dim carriage lantern, he could see the look of fury on Alexander's face.
"Good heavens! You are in love with our fair cousin Isabella, aren't you?" exclaimed Freddie in stupefied realization.
"Yes," muttered Alexander almost inaudibly, although the anger in his voice did not diminish.
"Zounds! Forgive me for my transgression! I beg of you!" pleaded Freddie. "I did not know! I would never have tried to seduce her if I knew of your partiality!"
"I have sworn earlier to run a sword through whoever is responsible for my darling's abduction!" said Alexander as he came dangerously close to losing his iron control, and almost unleashed his powerful fists upon Freddie.
"Please consider this!" pleaded Freddie frantically. "I have come to you - to beg for your assistance - by my own volition! Viewed in such a light, the gravity of my offense should be lessened somewhat."
"Your offense is grave indeed! Moreover, you seem to have no qualms or remorse in regards to the original plan of seducing my sister Lizzy!"
"Can you blame me for inspiring to such an exalted match with your sister? Or with our cousin Isabella? Indeed, honourable marriage was to be my ultimate goal . . ."
"And you believe that the end can justify the means? I do blame you, Freddie, for not taking the feelings of either lady into full consideration. An exulted match, or a match with someone equal or even below your station in life, should be made with mutual consent and affections!"
"You are perfectly right! I shall not blame you if you do run a sword through me," confessed Freddie in defeated resignation. "Nevertheless, we must rescue Isabella first! I can no longer vouchsafe for my father's conduct! Although you and I never have a close friendship, you have always been very forthright with me. I know I can trust you implicitly - trust you enough to place my own future and the fate of my father in your hands!"
Alexander nodded thoughtfully, his rational mind had always mastered over his raw emotions.
"Uncle Charles Bingley has already called in the police. It is now beyond my power, or the power of others, to prevent Her Majesty's justice being carried out! If we can rescue Isabella, and have her safely home, however, I believe that the mitigating circumstances may well circumvent your complicity in the matter, and may be greatly in your favour. As for your father, I can only promise you that he will have competent legal counsel to represent him when he stands trial!"
Freddie knew that Alexander had spoken the truth, however harsh it might be. They soon became too preoccupied with the rescue of Isabella for further discussions in other matters.
George Wickham returned to the top floor of the warehouse in a jaunty mood. He had spent nearly two hours downstairs - in the old office on the main floor - and enjoyed the bottle of fine cognac that he had taken from Paxton Hall during the Knightleys' wedding ball.
He checked his pocket watch again. It was almost midnight, and he had arranged for a hired carriage to be here by dawn. Wickham congratulated himself again on his own cleverness. He had chosen this particular warehouse for specific reasons - it had been the first one of many owned by Gardiner & Sons, and had been shut down some years ago, pending renovations. The recent fire that swept through a large area nearby had caused the entire vicinity to be closed off. It was now an ideally isolated site, one that ensured the absence of prying eyes and alert ears. They could rest safely here without the risk of being discovered.
With Isabella Bingley's virtue being compromised by Freddie beyond redemption, Wickham felt that it was no longer necessary for the young couple to elope to Gretna with such urgency. He surmised that he would simply go over to the Bingley townhouse, and informed her parents of the situation. Knowing Charles and Jane Bingley as well as he did, he could wager that they would send their best carriage forth to transport the young couple in style to Gretna Green, or better yet, they would obtain a Special License for their daughter to marry Freddie in Town as soon as possible! Perhaps for nostalgic reasons, he might insist upon the ceremony to be conducted at St. Clement's Church - the same church where he had been force-marched to the altar to wed Lydia Bennet.
It was truly unfortunate that Isabella Bingley was abducted instead of young Lizzy Darcy, mused Wickham. What he would have given to see the Darcys' faces at their daughter's wedding to his son! Alas, even the best laid plans would go awry sometimes! If a mistake had been inevitable, he was glad that Isabella Bingley was the alternate reality. She was truly beautiful - gentlemen were inevitably drawn to her side, including the aloof and sternly silent Alexander Darcy. He could readily recall how attentive young Darcy had been towards Isabella at the Knightleys' wedding breakfast . . .
"Of course! The young man is in love with Isabella Bingley!" exclaimed Wickham in sudden realization. How could he have missed such a connection, he wondered as he berated himself for his own lack of foresight? He had no personal quarrels with Alexander Darcy, but the fact that the firstborn Darcy heir bore such a striking resemblance to the Master of Pemberley was a great irritant. He found that he could easily transfer his vehement feelings for Fitzwilliam Darcy towards the next generation. Depriving Alexander Darcy of the splendid Isabella could well be considered sweet revenge, mused Wickham as he took a gulp from the bottle of cognac.
The entire situation was getting better and better!
George Wickham did not realize immediately that his son Frederick was not in the room. He had given a courtesy knock upon the locked door before he undid the bolt - after all, thought Wickham bemusedly, no gentleman would barge in upon a couple engaged in their marital affairs! It did not signify that the couple was yet to be wed, for such an awkward situation would soon be remedied!
It was only when he stepped into the room, and looked upon the empty straw mattress in the corner of the room did he realize that Freddie was not there.
"Where is my son?" he demanded loudly as he confronted Isabella.
She had placed herself near the door when she heard the turning of the key, but her uncle had bolted the door too rapidly behind him after he entered the room for her to make an effective escape. She now moved quickly to place herself behind the chair, her hands grasping the back of it, ready to wield it as a weapon to protect herself if necessary.
He caught her furtive glances towards the door, and said rather cruelly, "I have taken the precaution to lock it behind me - now it seems that I was not being overly careful."
He took another menacing step towards her, and growled, "Where is my son?"
"He has left - climbed down the drain pipe," she answered defiantly, her voice clear and confident despite of her internal anxiety. Her mind was busy. How would she extract herself from this confrontation?
"Why?" he demanded.
"Unlike you, Uncle, he has the innate goodness to distinguish between moral rights versus moral wrongs!" She had used the honourary title of "uncle" as a gauntlet in a duel - flinging it at him with confident defiance.
"Unruly wench!" he muttered angrily, "I shall teach you some manners!"
All of a sudden, it seemed that she would be safer being locked into this room alone than to have her Uncle George Wickham standing so formidably before her. He took a threatening step towards her, raising his large hand as if he would hit her. Isabella took a deep breath, grasped the chair tighter in her hands, and braced herself for an attack from her uncle. If she had to fight him, she would do so with every sinew of her body!
She waited until she could almost see the whites of his eyes, and she heaved the chair in a strong and fluid motion, swinging it outward in an arc to aim it at Wickham's head. She did so quickly and determinedly, and hit him solidly upon his head and shoulder! The lessons from her twin Henry and cousin James Darcy had not been in vain. She knew how to hold her own in a fight!
Wickham was completely taken surprise by Isabella's deft movements and hidden strength. His slowness in response was further compounded by his state of being inebriated. The impact of the blow had caused him to stumble, and he quickly found himself falling backwards onto the straw mattress. Isabella seized the advantage of his temporarily defenseless posture; she grabbed a lighter object nearby - a metal spittoon - and clobbered him on the head several times. She had wanted to take the key away from him to escape the room, but she could not reach his pocket. She realized that he was trying to make a grab for her - blindly and vainly - and she stepped quickly out of his reach.
Isabella was not foolish enough to think that she could fight with her uncle after the element of surprise was gone. Nature had tipped the scale in Wickham's favour: he might be her senior by some thirty years, but he was a man and a well-trained soldier. She decided to move towards the door.
Realizing at once that she meant to escape, Wickham half-crawled and half stumbled to put himself between her and the door.
Suddenly, he laughed - a loud, cruel, but dangerous sound. "The only two ways out of here, my dear niece, are the locked door and that window!"
As he raised himself slowly from the floor, he continued to laugh. He dangled the key enticingly in the air, and declared with a smirk, "Feisty hellion! You are the image of your demure mother Jane, but you are more like your Aunt Elizabeth! It is too bad that I am your uncle . . . and the considerable size of your dowry is a crucial matter as well . . . Otherwise, it would be an exceedingly interesting experience to tame you myself! I shall have to entrust such a task to my son - if and when that idiot comes back here!"
With such a bold declaration, Wickham turned the lock, slipped out of the room, and slammed the bolt back in place before she could lunge after him.
Isabella stood rooted to the spot. Uncle Wickham's final comments and leering looks had sent chills of apprehension down her spine.
Uncle Wickham seemed to teeter on the brink of madness - what if Freddie did not come back as promised? What if Mr. Wickham became so inebriated that he no longer had any scruples about being her uncle by marriage? The way he had leered at her was greatly more offensive than the looks she had to endure from her encounters with Lord Braunfield - and she had been quite certain what was on that particular young gentleman's mind!
Greater peril was fast descending upon her! She had to make the fateful decision now - should she wait for Freddie to return with a phalanx of rescuers or should she take her own fate in her own hands?
If ever she needed her wits, she certainly did so now!
Coxwell delivered the urgent message from Master Alexander to the Bingleys as quickly as he could. Upon his arrival, the valet found that bright lights were blazing throughout the immense townhouse, and the entire household was still up and about - keeping an alert vigil.
Mrs. Darcy was the first to speak as soon as the valet related the message. "It is very wretched business," she exclaimed. "Such scant bits of information - we know not who the culprits are or how many of them!"
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Bingley. "We only know that William - Lord Braunfield - is not involved."
"We must take immediate action to save Isabella," said Mr. Darcy decisively. "Come, Bingley!"
Mr. Bingley in total agreement. "Yes, Darcy! Let us not tarry for a moment longer. You and I must set off for the old Gardiner warehouse immediately! Your son and Freddie Wickham might be walking into a lion's den!" Turning to the Gardiners, he added, "Philip, if we may trouble you? Captain Greenwood has promised to pay a visit - he may well be on his way here, or he may be at his office at Whitehall Place. . ."
The younger Gardiner, like his own father, was a quick-minded and capable man, and he knew Mr. Bingley's mind instantly. "I shall report this latest piece of intelligence to the police. My father should stay here and wait for Captain Greenwood. Either way, we shall be able to inform the police as quickly as it is feasible. After my errand, I shall go to the warehouse myself."
"Good! Very good," nodded the Gardiners in unison.
"Thank you, Philip," added Mr. Darcy as he regarded the younger man with fatherly affection.
"If only Henry were home," lamented Mrs. Bingley, "and our dear Anthony as well."
"They should be home by early morning," reassured Mr. Bingley as he bestowed a gentle kiss upon her elegant brow, "as the messenger that I sent must have reached Greenwich by now. Everything shall be fine, my dearest Jane! Trust me!"
Mr. Darcy, likewise, kissed his wife discreetly on her brow before he took leave. She grasped his strong hands tightly for a moment longer, envisioning the perils which he and Mr. Bingley might face, and mouthed the words, "I love you, Will."
He smiled at her, loving and reassuringly. The intensity of his gaze betrayed his equally intense emotions, and he took his leave in silence. There was no need for words between them. His darling wife wanted him to return to her - with their son and Isabella - as safely and quickly as possible.
He had yet to fail her.
George Wickham sat down wearily upon the chair in the outer room, and drained the rest of the French cognac down his throat. He had brought the bottle upstairs with him to toast his son, but fate had taken such a strange twist since!
Freddie, thought Wickham in a fury, his unworthy and cowardly son! Where was he now? Why did he climb out of the window? What lunacy! Yet, he had the premonition that his idiot son would return soon. He would be ready for him then, muttered Wickham to himself.
Wickham took out his pistol - a prized Spanish-made firearm that he had kept for many years. It was one of the very few sentimental items he had held onto, although he had been tempted many times over the years to pawn the pistol to pay for some pressing debts. The antique pistol had been a gift from his godfather Mr. George Darcy. Wickham had always admired the expert craftsmanship of the pistol as well as the exquisite silver plating and artistic cravings on its handle. He had begged for it, and Mr. Darcy eventually presented it to him - with the cautionary remark that for someone destined for the Church, a pistol should only be an object d'art, belonging only in a display case and certainly not in a holster on one's belt!
Well, thought Wickham, this old firearm would be put to good use tonight! With the attentiveness of a lover, he began to dismantle the pistol - to clean and oil it properly, and to make it ready for use.
"Freddie, my boy," Wickham declared loudly to the empty room, "when you return, your old Papa will have to hold this trusty pistol at your head - to ensure that you carry out your assigned duty properly!"
He laughed bitterly and deliriously. Yes, he had sired an imbecile! Who in his right mind would have run away from such a pleasurable task with the golden beauty in the next room?
He gave the pistol a final polish, clicked the hammer back before he pulled the trigger. The chamber was empty, but the hammer fired home with a satisfying click. He would not point a loaded pistol at his own son's head, of course, but he longed to test his prized pistol. It had been a long while since he lasted fired it for amusement. It was an antique flint type, and in his inebriated state, he was not overly careful whilst he loaded it. Sounds of heavy footsteps upon the stair further distracted him, as he poured a great deal more gun powder into the slot.
Two men came dashing up the stairs: a formidable figure of impressive height and physique led the way, followed closely by the lithe figure of Freddie Wickham.
"Good heaven!" exclaimed Mr. Wickham involuntarily. "Darcy!"
In reality, it was Darcy the son, but for a fleeting moment, George Wickham had believed that it was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy himself was had led the charge up the stairs. The sun-bronzed face had the same determined look, the same stern eyes, and the same countenance of an avenging angel demanding justice!
"Release Isabella at once!" said Alexander Darcy in a steely tone. He was not a man who would brook any nonsense.
Wickham's current of mind, however, was beyond normal rationality. He had been under duress, and the shock of finding his latest scheme going awry had somewhat pushed him over the edge of Reason.
He toyed with his pistol lazily, as he leaned back against his chair.
"Why should I? What claims do you have upon my son's wife?"
"Wife?" exclaimed Alexander in utter shock. He turned to look at his cousin Freddie, and found the latter shaking his head in vehement protest.
"Yes," declared Wickham with false bravado, "Isabella was alone in a locked room with my son - a beautiful woman with a young buck in the prime of his life - well, there is no need to elaborate, is that? It will be merely a matter of formalities to make her Mrs. Frederick Wickham - in name as she is already so in deed!"
"Isabella's virtue is pure and unblemished," shouted Freddie in protest. "I swear it! Oh, release her now, Father! Let us not jump into the abyss! We may yet plead for mercy!"
"Imbecile! I am trying to salvage the situation for us!" cried Wickham as he leapt to his feet, placing himself determinedly in front of the locked door. He waved his pistol rather wildly, and shouted, "Whoever dares to take another step shall have a bullet put through his heart! I have a reputation as a sharpshooter, as you well know!"
"Wickham!" called another deep voice. Mr. Darcy, older but no less formidable than his son Alexander, came briskly into the room. He was followed closely by Mr. Bingley.
Philip Gardiner was only a few paces behind them, and announced loudly to all present, "Captain Greenwood of the Metropolitan Police should arrive here shortly."
"Give it up, Wickham," said Mr. Darcy as the situation became clear to all the rescuers. If they had laboured under any uncertainty of why Freddie Wickham should know of Isabella's whereabouts when he came to Alexander for his assistance, they needed no further explanations now.
"Wickham! Release my daughter immediately!" demanded Mr. Bingley.
"My brother Bingley!" laughed Wickham in delirium. "You should allow me to read my list of demands. You are always too agreeable for your own good! Why, you may even give up your estate at Maywood in exchange for your fair daughter's safe return!"
"Release Isabella now," repeated Mr. Bingley commandingly as he took another bold step to confront Wickham. Jovial and exceedingly agreeable he might be, he had certainly learned a few valuable lessons from Mr. Darcy these three decades of close friendship.
"Do not add blackmail to your sundry list of crimes, Wickham! This time, I shall not let you escape so easily!" said Mr. Darcy with an edge of menace in his voice as he walked closer to Wickham as well. He was instinctively protective of Mr. Bingley, and he was quite alarmed by the wild looks that came into Wickham's eyes.
Suddenly, Wickham turned his attention entirely upon Mr. Darcy. The venom of his frustration and self-loathing turned very quickly into blind hatred.
"You!" Wickham shouted, glowering at Mr. Darcy as the intensity of his emotions boiled over. He raised his pistol, and cocked its hammer back! "Fitzwilliam Darcy! If I must go to the devil, I shall take you with me!"
"How dare you, Wickham?" said Philip Gardiner heatedly. "Infernal ingrate! You dare to strike at the very man to whom you and your family owed so much throughout these years?"
Everyone else in the room stood rooted to the spot, utterly shocked.
George Wickham was a mad and deathly dangerous man! He was aiming his pistol directly at Mr. Darcy's heart!
Alexander Darcy stood closer to Wickham than to his own father. He saw the madness in his uncle's eyes, and did not doubt that the man had every intention to pull the trigger.
In a mere heartbeat, Alexander made up his mind. If he rushed over to shield his father with his own body, he would likely succeed. However, such action would not prevent Wickham from taking a better aim, or perhaps, shoot at someone else! The only course of action was to throw himself directly into harm's way!
Alexander took a leaping dive towards George Wickham, and wedging a powerful shoulder directly into the older man's chest as he made a grab for the pistol. The sheer force of his tackle caused the pair of them to fall backwards in a desperate struggle . . .
Wickham had pulled the trigger the moment he realized that his nephew was determined to meet him with an unflinchingly direct assault. The sharp ring of the pistol being fired as well as the foul smell of burnt gun powder filled the small room entirely.
The shriek that followed was fearfully loud. Someone had been shot!
Alexander had knocked his head against the locked door during the ensuring struggle, and was feeling a bit dazed when he felt eager and strong hands lifting him to his feet.
It took him a long moment to realize what had transpired. He had been staring directly into the barrel of the pistol when he heard the click of the trigger being pulled. The sequence of events that followed seemed to be agonizingly slow in his mind's eye even though they had happened in quick succession. He felt that his own life had hung in the balance in that fateful moment, but he managed to grip his uncle's hands, and forced the pistol to jerk backwards in a powerful movement. As the hammer clicked and misfired, the bullet itself was jammed in the chamber - causing a violent burst of gunpowder to explode directly upon Wickham's face instead!
As Alexander regained his balance, he found George Wickham on the ground - in a crumpled heap, screaming in abject misery whilst his bloodied hands clutched at his own face. His main concern, however, was not with the injured man. He looked immediately to the direction of his beloved father, and was greatly relieved to find him unharmed. Fortunately, no one else was shot either!
Freddie had placed himself in front of Mr. Darcy the same moment Alexander was lunging at Wickham. Such a courageous act was entirely unexpected, and certainly astounded everyone, including Freddie himself!
Mr. Darcy was the first one to regain his composure. He grasped his nephew firmly by the shoulder, and said gratefully, "Thank you, Freddie, for shielding me! It was very selfless of you!"
"At the most crucial moment, Freddie, you have cast your lot on the side of angels!" remarked Philip Gardiner with a laugh of immense relief. He glanced at Mr. Darcy, and added, "It seems that your abiding faith in the potential of this new generation has proved you right, Darcy."
The urgency of Wickham's cries prevented further conversation. They all rushed over to see about the injured man. The severity of his pain seemed to have pierced through his temporary madness - the man was begging for mercy in between his loud moans and sobs.
"Forgive me! Oh, Mr. Darcy! I beg of you! Please!"
"He is very badly hurt," remarked Mr. Bingley.
"Should I send for a doctor?" inquired Philip Gardiner. "Dr. Dewhurst - our own family physician - is not so far away. His clinic is located at his residence."
"Going back and forth for a doctor takes too long," observed Mr. Darcy. The ensuring shrieks of pain from Wickham made up his mind for him. "Philip, if I may trouble you to take Wickham directly to Dr. Dewhurst? Freddie can go along with you. When Captain Greenwood arrives here with your father, I shall direct him to Dr. Dewhurst's clinic to take custody of Wickham."
Alexander Darcy, on the other hand, was too agitated in his concern for his beloved Isabella to worry about Mr. Wickham.
"The key! Give me the key!" he cried as he fumbled through the injured man's pockets.
"Here!" said Mr. Bingley as he waved the precious key in his hand.
In unison, Alexander and Mr. Bingley turned towards the locked door. Mr. Bingley's hand trembled so nervously that he found the mere turning of a key too daunting. Alexander unlocked the bolt for him instead. He swung the door open, and did not lose another second to rush in.
"Isabella!"