Page 19 of Lord Lonbourn's Daughter
Chapter 8 Keep Calm
Darcy set out for Ramsgate on a sunny May morning. He was no longer concerned about her happiness, but he could not deny himself a visit. And if his sister happened to prefer to accompany him to Pemberley, he would not mind. He would write a letter of apology to the Earl of Longbourn, and that would be the end of it.
Next Season, she would marry, and… He could not bear the thought and focused his efforts on his riding. He pressed the flanks of Swiftsilver, who responded by gliding seamlessly from a trot to a full gallop. The horse thrived when he could stretch his legs. As did his owner. The ride demanded his full attention, leaving little room for thoughts of vivacious brunettes who did not reciprocate his feelings but thoroughly despised him.
He took a long rest at midday for the benefit of his horse, but the steed was exhausted. He had to rent another one and paid handsomely for Swiftsilver’s upkeep until he could collect him on his way north. He felt bad for pushing the animal so hard; even though he had responded willingly, Darcy should know better.
After wearing out two more steeds, he arrived in Ramsgate late in the evening to find the house unnervingly quiet. The girlsmust be out walking or paying a call. He could not imagine that no sound would emanate from within if Lady Lydia were present.
No groom approached to collect his horse. He must have a word with Mrs Long. The old woman he had hired as a housekeeper came highly recommended but boasted the most sour-looking expression he had ever encountered. He had thought her disposition perfect for reining in the exuberant Longbourn girls. If he was to be fair, only one of them was forward; he should not apply the plural form.
He led his horse into an empty box—there were plenty to choose from as they were all unoccupied—which confirmed that he had arrived at an inopportune moment when the girls were out. He gave his borrowed steed a thorough rub down and fed him before he entered the quiet house.
Where was everybody? He had not hired a butler, but the housekeeper or a footman should have heard him tramping up the stairs. A quick glance into the parlour revealed it to be empty—not a surprise as the girls were obviously out and the room faced full west, making the heat unbearable and the air stale.
Darcy continued searching the house, though he would not shout to draw attention to his arrival; such coarse behaviour was beneath him.
The entire ground floor was empty—as empty as the first floor. There were only the servants’ quarters in the attic and the cellar left. He surmised there must be someone in the kitchen, and he rang the bell, but no footsteps could be heard. He would have to go down there. The maid must be hard of hearing as he had pulled hard on the bell pull. Quite possibly blind as well.
There was nothing to be done but to lower himself and go down to a place he had not frequented since his childhood days at Pemberley. Then, his penchant for biscuits had overruled any loss of dignity he might have felt. His temper was mounting. Heads would roll because this was unacceptable!
Darcy halted at the bottom of the stairs. Uncertain in which direction to turn, there were no sounds to guide him. In addition, the candles had burnt down, and no one had seen fit to replace them; the hall was pitch black. A sense of foreboding settled. Something was definitely wrong in this house.Dear Lord, let Georgianabe well. He heard a distant scratch. It was weak but it was the only clue so far that there was a single soul in the building.
Treading carefully and feeling his way with his hands, he discovered a door. He found the latch and stepped into what turned out to be the kitchen. It smelt like rotten food, but at least the windows let in some light. As his eyes adjusted to the daylight, he heard moaning and scraping from what looked like a storage room. He opened the door to a most disturbing sight.
Thoughts of the dreadful events that had stirred the entirety of London into a panic December last flooded his mind.
Within the span of twelve days, two separate households on the fringes of Wapping and Shadwell near the New London Dock had been clubbed to death. Seven people had died, including an infant. The Ratcliffe Highway murders…
No, he must not let his thoughts wander down that dangerous path. After the Portuguese and the Irish had been wrongfully blamed, John Williams had been caught. He shook the morose thoughts from his mind. He needed to keep calm; panic would not rescue Georgiana.
“Bloody hell, what happened here?” he cried at the sight before him.
Unintelligible sounds erupted; the servants sitting cramped together on the storage room floor were all tied up with gags round their mouths. He untied the housekeeper first, then Mrs Hill. Neither jumped to their feet as he had expected but rose with great difficulty.
“Good God, how long have you all been here?”
“For the better part of two days. I beg your pardon, Mr Darcy, but my throat is dry. We need water,” Mrs Hill entreated him.
“If you untie the rest, I shall fetch you fresh water.”
He who had almost been too proud to venture below stairs was happy to carry a bucket of water from the kitchen.
“Where is Georgiana?”
His previous policy of no shouting was forgotten with the arrival of gut-wrenching dread.
“The girls have left.”
Mrs Long confirmed his greatest fear, and all sorts of horrible conjectures appeared before his inner eye.
“Left? With whom? All three?”
“We received a letter from the Earl of Longbourn, ordering the girls to return to London immediately. We agreed that Mrs Younge should chaperone them to the appointed inn while I oversaw the packing,” Mrs Hill explained. “The girls departed before we were robbed and were left as you found us.”
Relief washed over him for a mere moment before he remembered that neither Georgiana nor Lord Longbourn’s daughters had returned before he left.
“Did they leave in my carriage?”
