Page 29 of Searching for Elizabeth
Did he regularly subdue and tie up people? He seemed way too competent as he bound her ankles together, then her two wrists; he finally made a gag and tied it on as well.
Picking her up as if she was a toy, Mr. Wickham carried her to the chair by the table. He eagerly turned to her food stores, and Lizzy felt silly that the sight of him stealing all of her precious food seemed even worse than him invading her house and tying her up. She wondered what he meant to do with her….
If he kidnapped her, he could likely get William to pay a ransom. On the other hand, would Mr. Wickham know that? Lizzy had, just a few days ago, thought quite well of Mr. Wickham and thought ill of William, so it seemed impossible that he would know of their betrothal and unlikely that he would know of even their mutual regard.
Mr. Wickham was packing all of the food into a bag, and Lizzy thought fast. If he meant to take her, and that seemed likely, she should try to leave clues. She was able to stand, barely, and she deliberately knocked hard against the table. The teacup and many of the papers fell to the floor, as she had hoped, and although the cup broke, she was very happy that the tea and dregs had spilled out onto one of the pieces of paper. She quickly pretended to fall down, herself, and she was able to grab one piece of paper in her left hand—she had a crazy notion that she could rip up pieces of paper and leave them as a trail to be followed—and then she managed to begin to write on the paper messed with tea leaves. She only wrote the “W” before Mr. Wickham scooped her back off the floor, slapped her hardacross the face, and cursed her out using words she had never heard before. She kept her eyes down, as if she were cowed, and she concentrated on keeping the fisted paper hidden.
A few moments later, Mr. Wickham had swung the bag onto his back, grabbed her even more roughly than before, and strode out of the cottage. She recognized the horse he approached; it was one of the Gouldings’ horses, a mare named Lindy. She supposed that her kidnapper had stolen it.
Lizzy was so busy attempting to tear the paper with one hand while keeping the paper hidden in her other hand, she barely noticed Mr. Wickham's actions. Somehow he was up on Lindy’s back, and she was positioned in front of him, her head and arms hanging down on one side and her legs hanging down the other. Still holding her with a vise-like arm, Mr. Wickham nudged the horse into motion.
Finally, Lizzy managed to drop a fragment of paper. She could not see it on the way down, and she worried that it might be too tiny to even be visible. She worked hard to shred another teeny bit of paper and dropped it, too.
Mr. Wickham had set a rather slow pace and guided the horse to what looked to be a deer trail.
Elizabeth’s life narrowed down to ripping paper and dropping bits in what she hoped would be a trail for William. But she knew how unlikely it was that the tiny shreds of paper would remain visible by the time anyone realized that she had been kidnapped. William would not arrive at the cottage for hours; she supposed he would ride off to organize search parties, and he would lead an entire army of men and horses to the cottage to begin the search. Inevitably, the tiny bits of paper she had dropped would be churned into the mud by countless hooves….
But worrying about things she could not control was not helpful. She redirected her mind to the task at hand.
Finally, of course, she ran out of paper. Lizzy tried to think what to do. She saw that they had turned onto a wider trail, and she also realized that the “vise” that pinned her to Mr. Wickham’s body had loosened. She thought she could try to wrench herself off the horse, and then yell so that the horse would rush off, carrying Mr. Wickham away. If she was able to get free of Mr. Wickham’s hold (unlikely), if she did not harm herself badly as she fell (even more unlikely), if Mr. Wickham was a terrible horseman and could not easily turn the steed back to collect her (very unlikely)...then maybe she could at least be where searchers might find her?
As unlikely as success was, she felt strongly that had to try something.
She wrenched herself free of Mr. Wickham shockingly easily. As she fell, she yelled, “Home, Lindy!”
Landing on the ground felt awful, and she could not breathe for several seconds. She saw that Lindy had startled and bucked and then raced away at top speed.
She also saw that Mr. Wickham had been unseated as well. He began to curse her again. It was a constant stream of names, vows that he would harm her, explicit descriptions of the harm he planned, and words she did not know and did not wish to know.
For several moments, she lay in the trail, panting, wondering if there was anything further she could do to better her chances of survival. She thrashed about as much as possible, wondering if stirred-up dirt would be a clue for would-be rescuers.
Of course, Mr. Wickham was able to catch his breath, too. He walked stiffly over to her and then grabbed a hunk of her hair in one hand—her bun seemed to be long gone—and her upper arm in the other hand, and he began to drag her away from the trail. Her feet were touching the ground, and she was glad to see that they made a kind of drag mark. But it would be better to stay closer to the trial, she knew. She tried to let her body sag more, picturing herself being an enormous and heavy bag full of skillets and pots and pans and kettles.
Mr. Wickham started breathing harder, but he still managed to keep up the cursing. Finally, he dropped her to the ground, and again she fell hard, this time on one elbow.
Mr. Wickham was panting quite a bit. Elizabeth allowed herself to rest for just a moment before she gathered up all of her strength, and then in one movement, she pulled up both of her legs toward her chest and then she kicked out to Mr. Wickham’s torso.
She connected with him, and finally the curse words were interrupted by a mighty grunt. Mr. Wickham started to fall, scrabbled for his footing, and then fell harder. He screamed a bit….
She heard an ugly thunking-squishing sound. It sounded like a pumpkin or melon being dropped onto the ground. Lizzy closed her eyes, wondering if a body falling on a rock would make such a sound. Perhaps a head hitting the rock?
Mr. Wickham was surely very badly injured, because he had not said a word since that scream.
He could be dead.
Remembering the sound, Lizzy thought it was very likely that he was, in fact, dead. She shuddered.
No matter what, she still had to try to get back to the trail. She could try to untie the petticoat bindings, or she could try to roll herself along the ground. She breathed deeply, resting her bruised body, and then she continued to try.
Chapter 24: Darcy
—late morning—
Fitzwilliam Darcy pushed down the panic he felt, seeing Elizabeth’s cottage door standing open. Whatever the situation, he was determined to think clearly, act swiftly, and secure her safety and happiness.
Hecarefully surveyed the forest surroundings.Seeingno movement andhearingnothing other than a few rustlings that indicated very small animals, he carefully entered the cottage.
His heart hammered in his chest, but he breathed deeply, willing himself to look for clues as to what had occurred.Elizabeth’s trunk was open, and a petticoat with a ragged, ripped hem had been tossed onto her cot. One chair was overturned, and a book and broken cup lay on the floor. The little food cupboard looked almost bare. Worst of all, perhaps, was the fact that there were papers strewn about. His eyes flit over the papers and realized that all of the sheets he could see were blank. It did not seem to be her poetry or other writings that had been so carelessly handled.
