“Will they not wonder what happened to you?” she whispered.
“I sent word that I was called to Newcastle unexpectedly. My parents are used to my position interfering with family obligations.”
She blurted out, “Would you tell me about Fitzwilliam’s life? Surprisingly, I know little of his childhood.”
“My cousin was groomed from an early age to be the Master of Pemberley.…” Elizabeth listened for three quarters of an hour as Darcy’s cousin lovingly shared anecdote after anecdote about a young Darcy and the mischief the two of them often found themselves a part of.“Unfortunately, much of that carefree youthfulness left him at sixteen. My aunt, Lady Anne, never recovered from giving birth to Georgiana, and when the girl was but age four, their mother passed. Darcy felt the loss deeply. He promised his mother on her deathbed to protect Georgiana. Filled with guilt, Lady Anne begged Darcy’s forgiveness for allowing the curse to continue—for
“I am sure, Colonel, that my husband explained how we were caught in a compromising situation.” Elizabeth blushed with her own admission.
“Mrs. Darcy, you fool only yourself if you believe that your situation would have forced my cousin to do something he did not want to do. He could easily have thrown enough money at it to make it go away—money enough for dowries for you and all your sisters, for example. And although Darcy is the most honorable of men, you were not ruined in the worst sense. In the country, rumors might persist, but censure is not so daunting. There was something more, and Darcy knew it.”
“Would you not consider, Colonel, the possibility that Mr. Darcy married me simply to protect me from a danger he had brought into my life?”
“I have no doubt, Elizabeth, that Darcy pondered that fact when he first considered your union, but he could have protected you by simply withdrawing from you, taking Wickham’s interest with him. Darcy married you because he saw hope for his life in your eyes. With you, he knew some sort of unvarying viability.” Damon took her hand in his before adding,“You should have seen Darcy’s hot-blooded reaction when my father questioned his motivation for marrying you, my dear.Truthfully, Darcy’s reaction delighted my parents and me.We had watched him become more
His honesty disturbed her, and Elizabeth stood upon this proclamation. “You have provided me much food for thought. If you will excuse me, Sir, I will prepare for sleep.” She leaned in, as if to make a private remark to her husband.“I will make you a proper pallet in front of the fire if you give me a few extra minutes.”
“With pleasure, my dear,” he said loudly enough to maintain the illusion.
Thirty minutes later, the colonel slipped into their room. Elizabeth had dressed modestly for the night and burrowed under the blankets. Only the fire from the fireplace provided light. Damon chuckled when he saw how she had used the furniture to build a wall between them—to maintain privacy. He undressed down to his breeches before wrapping himself in the blankets and cushions she had placed in the makeshift bed.“We will leave early tomorrow. I told Peter to have the carriage ready by seven.” He spoke to the darkness surrounding them, but the colonel knew she did not sleep.
Elizabeth pushed herself up on one arm. “Colonel, will we get there in time to help Fitzwilliam?”
It was the words he knew they had shoved to the backs of their minds since the moment they decided to follow Darcy to Northumberland. “I certainly hope so, Elizabeth, for I fear Darcy’s recklessness could have dire consequences otherwise.” He heard a quick intake of breath, as his prediction became a reality for her. Trying to change the serious atmosphere, he teased, “Mrs. Darcy, are there any more like you in Hertfordshire?”
Elizabeth relaxed back into the bed, recognizing the ploy.“Your cousin thinks I am unique—more adventurous than proper young ladies of the ton.”
“Then I dare say, Mrs. Darcy, my cousin took the best of the litter.” With that, he pulled the blankets around his ears and pretended to drift off to sleep. Elizabeth Darcy was a mystery; for once, he actually envied his cousin’s life.
Four hours north of where they slept, Darcy settled onto a lumpy mattress in an attic room of a cheap country inn. He had ridden across back roads most of the day, angling his way from the westernmost part of Derbyshire towards the Lake District and then still farther north and east.As he tried to force sleep to come to his exhausted frame, he pictured the face of Elizabeth that day in the snowstorm when he told her he loved her. Because I did not get the chance to tell my husband I am completely and hopelessly in love with him. “Ah, Elizabeth,” he whispered while trying to maintain the picture in his head.Within a few days, she would be free of him forever.
CHAPTER 24
The second evening on the road, Elizabeth realized early in the day that it was New Year’s Eve. Since her marriage to Darcy, she had developed an idealized concept of what ringing in the New Year with her husband would be like. She marked it as a new beginning for their shared life. Darcy had admitted his love for her, and Elizabeth believed the date would change things for the better, making them truly husband and wife. Instead, she found herself in a country inn, trying to make conversation with her husband’s cousin, and despite her gratitude to the man for his help, he simply was not Darcy. She feigned a headache from the exhausting ride and retired early, but when the colonel finally joined her in their shared room, he could not help but hear the muffled sobs that broke the silence. Elizabeth cried for the loss of a great love, and the colonel wondered if he would ever know such torment and such pleasure.
For three days, Elizabeth taught Damon Fitzwilliam everything she knew about George Wickham and how to vanquish vampires. At each of the stops, they took on weapons and supplies as they found them. Silver and iron, and staves of ash and white thorn were bundled into blankets and tied securely to the Darcy carriage. In small villages, they bought several crucifixes, cloves of garlic, bags of salt, and wooden stakes. Even buying several bags of millet seemed prudent at one such stop. By silent agreement, they prepared for war, knowing that if Darcy failed, only they stood between Wickham and a continuation of evil.
They expected to be in the area described in Bramwell’s report by late the next afternoon or early evening, depending on the weather. It was significantly colder than in Derbyshire, but to their surprise, they met no snow or rain. The colonel and Peter kept a
“A stake through the heart, a coin in the mouth, decapitate with an ax, boil the head in vinegar, chain to the grave with wild roses, bury at a crossroads—my God, the list goes on and on. How will we ever know what to do?!”The colonel began to feel the frustration she had known weeks earlier.
“We will listen to our intuition. Actually, I have a theory about all this. It depends on when the person died.What I mean is, different generations placed their beliefs in different symbols; that is why so much is unknown about how to do this. Besides, it is not as if there exists a vampire hunter instruction book!”
The colonel laughed at her assertion.“Do you suppose there be a market for one? We might be able to author such a tome after this.” He settled back into the cushions of the carriage.“Maybe it is the nationality difference of which you speak, rather than a generational one,” he mused.“It seems that many of the items have some relationship to purifying wounds or curing illnesses.”
Elizabeth weighed what the man said. Over the past few days, she had developed a real respect for her husband’s cousin. If she had met the colonel first, she might have set her sights on him. Shorter than Darcy, but not by much, the colonel was well made. Long, dark lashes capped dark brown eyes, which matched his head of thick brown curly hair. He possessed a compelling, almost sensual, masculinity. She appreciated his logic and his amiability and his arresting wit. Damon Fitzwilliam was not as intense in his interactions as her husband, but he was attractive, although for her, Darcy spoke of manliness and charisma and love. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. They avoided speaking of the possibility of Darcy’s already being in Stanwick. Meticulously, the colonel silently estimated how long it would take Darcy to reach
“One of the things of which I am relatively sure is that Wickham does not believe in the Trinity. I have witnessed how he retreats from symbols of Christianity, but they do not destroy him. Fitzwilliam threw holy water on him in the confrontation over Georgiana, but all it got him was a scream, the smell of burning skin, and a momentary withdrawal on Wickham’s part. I had more success with the name reversal in London than my husband did with his attempts at Ramsgate.The crucifix will work on my sister, but not on Wickham.”
“Is Wickham that close to the Devil to be immune to symbols of God?”
“Wickham is closer to his own gods. Mrs. Annesley discovered the god Cernunnos, a classic stag-horned god of Celtic origin.The crown everyone describes as a mark on Wickham’s hand resembles the ram-horned serpent of the Meigle stone in Perthshire, which everyone identifies as Cernunnos. Some believe Cernunnos is the figure encountered in the tale of King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake. Even Shakespeare mentions Cernunnos as Herne the Hunter. Anyway, the ash stakes should be effective in that realm.”
The colonel looked out the carriage window, noting that Peter had turned off the main road and was headed towards the inn they had discussed earlier. “What will you do if we find that Darcy did not survive?” The words hung in the air, a curtain of doubt between them.
“I will try to recover both my husband’s and my sister’s bodies and put them at rest.Then I will return to Longbourn.”
“You will not go back to Pemberley?” He turned his head to look closely at her.
“Pemberley belongs to Georgiana,” she argued.
Colonel Fitzwilliam returned his gaze to the window. “Darcy would provide for you. I am sure he would want you to be a part of his sister’s life.”
“Georgiana has you, Sir. She does not need me. I barely scratched the surface in making my way there. In fact, the staff members probably find me most scandalous.”
The colonel chuckled at her assertion. “Perhaps. If…if my cousin cannot be saved, as Georgiana’s only other guardian, I would be grateful if you would return to Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy. Your intuition is good, and I am sure my young cousin could learn much from you.”
Elizabeth was silent, but she was touched by the sentiment. Aloud, she said,“Let us not face that decision until it is necessary, Sir.”
Darcy scouted the area after his arrival at the local inn. It would be dark soon, and he needed to become familiar with the lay of the land before it was too black to see the details of the buildings. A several-hours’ ride northeast of Chillingham, the village of Stanwick was little more than a turning-off point for Edinburgh.
Wickham’s residence could be accessed only by one of two ways: through the churchyard and cemetery and then down a treacherously steep hill and through a wooded field or the direct route of over a drawbridge, across an open courtyard, and through the front door of the moderate-sized house. Darcy could not get close enough to see into the house, but some carefully placed questions told him that the few steps led to an unadorned open hall, evidently used as the center of activity for Wickford Manor. A few of the more adventurous youths gladly told him how the pantry in the kitchen was totally bare and the well was only for show, because no water was ever seen within it. From the road, Darcy could see that the garden and the lawn, although naturally dormant in winter, still showed signs of neglect and overgrowth.
Thinking the churchyard a better choice for his approach, he tried to appear casual as he strolled through the graveyard, pausing periodically to read epitaphs: Make WisdomYour Provision for the Journey fromYouth to Old Age and Ye Shall Know the Truth and True Nobility Is Exempt from Fear were mixed with The Music of My Life, Matthew Horace and Charles McDane, Loving Father and Behold the Child, Mary Adams. Circling the perimeter of the cemetery, he stumbled across the Winchcombe headstones of Mairte Rosin and Domhnall Neill. He suspected them to be those of Wickham’s parents, because they were the last ones before one exited the rear of the neighborhood’s churchyard. He would not find Wickham’s grave here. The great evil associated with George Wickham prohibited his inclusion in consecrated land. More than likely, Wickham’s house was designed to embrace his own grave.
Then his eyes fell upon the dual crypts dominating the center of the site. Without reading the engraving, Darcy knew to whom they belonged.These two faced in towards the center of the cemetery, as if they stood staring into each other’s eyes for eternity. Darcy could see them in his mind’s eye—Lady Ellender D’Arcy and Lord Arawn Benning, circling each other on the dance floor… preparing to rush into each other’s arms in a moment of passion… arguing heatedly over some domestic matter.
Slowly and methodically, Darcy made his way around different mounds until he stood reverently before the locked gate of the memorial to the woman who had begun this madness with her beauty: Ellender D’Arcy Benning. “Would you do it all again?” Darcy murmured, but he knew the answer—she would. Ellender D’Arcy did what she did for the love of a man, the one person who completed her—the way Elizabeth completed him. Darcy had no doubts that he would risk it all for his Elizabeth. He turned to stare at the other crypt, the one belonging to Elizabeth’s ancestor. The irony of how Fate brought him to this moment and to loving Elizabeth could not ignored.
Sighing, Darcy strode away from the all-too-raw memories of his wife. He worked his way down the well-worn path leading
Finally satisfying his need for information, he retreated to the inn.Tonight, while the village slept, he would return to find Wickham and to finish their battle, one way or the other.
Near midnight, dressed all in black except for a loose-fitting shirt he had bought in the village store, Darcy made his way through the graveyard once more. Instead of hiding behind headstones and staying in the shadows of the hedgerow, he strode proudly through the center of the land of the dead, crossing the point where the crypts might touch. He carried a silver sword and wore the iron crucifix, but his true weapon, he told himself, was his determination. He had come to end the plague on his family, and, one way or the other, Darcy would know peace at last. Two hundred years of demonic hatred and fear would end with this confrontation.
Edging his way down the steep slope, his boots loosened pebbles, which cascaded in a rain of dirt down to the bottom. He cared not whether someone might hear. The living were safe in their beds, and Darcy was sure Wickham knew that eventually he would come.
