Page 32 of Losing Lizzy
“May I be of assistance, sir?” The innkeeper rushed forward to greet him.
“Do you have horses to let?” he asked.
The innkeeper frowned. “I fear not, sir.”
It was Darcy’s turn to scowl. Another disappointment. “Very well,” he said with a calmness he did not feel. “Might you answer a question then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am seeking a man of about my age traveling with a small female child of three years. Have you seen him?”
The innkeeper opened his mouth to respond, but Jasper appeared at Darcy’s side. He said softly, “You should come, sir. Mr. Farrin says he requires your attendance immediately.”
Darcy eyed his long-time servant and asked the question resting upon his lips without saying a word.
“Yes, sir.” Jasper responded.
Leaving the innkeeper to his duties, Darcy followed Jasper out into the inn yard where Mr. Farrin conversed with a groom. Farrin made the introductions. “Mr. Darcy, this is Mr. French. He believes he has seen Mr. Townsend and the child.”
“Aye, sir.” The groom cleared his throat in importance. “Perhaps two hours past, a man rides in on a horse, with a child up before him on his lap. The wee lass be cryin’ and sayin’ she wanted her mama and her Uncle Elbert.”
“Albert,” Darcy corrected, his heart racing in anticipation. “Did Mr. Townsend say where he meant to take the child?”
Darcy expected to hear the words “Rochester” or “Higham” or something indicating Lady Catherine’s estate; however, Mr. French uttered, “Queenborough. Said he was to show the child the well. I’s didn’t think of what he say until later, after he rode away once he watered his horse.”
“Queenborough?” Darcy questioned. “The town or the former castle?”
“Could be the town, for there be lots of wells there, but I be thinkin’ of the collapsed well the Royal Navy deepened back in the late 1700s. Likely not, but that be me first thoughts.”
“Dear God!” Darcy felt as if someone had struck him hard, knocking the breath from his chest. “Jasper. Farrin,” he called as he raced toward the carriage. “The Isles of Sheppey! I should have started there!”
* **
It was late morning when Mr. Sheffield’s coach had entered the gates of Rosings Park. Sheffield had napped on and off all afternoon; however, Elizabeth had not complained, for she knew him not fully recovered from the ague, which had brought him low for nearly a sennight. She was blessed: The dear man had shored up his energies for this journey, for he, like Mr. Darcy, had promised to protect her. Moreover, conversation was not required between them. Although she was more social than he, her mind was so full of what was happening with Mr. Darcy and Lizzy, she had had no reason to give voice to her fears again. Albert Sheffield not only understood her angst; he shared it.
They made good speed along the lane, and she turned her head to glance out the carriage window just as Charlotte Collins stepped from Hunsford Cottage. Her long-time friend raised her hand to shade her eyes to study their coach.
Elizabeth pulled herself up straight. “Might as well begin here,” she growled. “Good a place as any.” She pounded on the roof of the coach to signal for the driver to halt.
She was already unlatching the door before Sheffield could drag himself from his sleep. “What is amiss?” he mumbled.
Elizabeth ignored him and jumped down awkwardly without the steps being set to storm across the lane toward where recognition brought a smile to Charlotte’s countenance. Her friend was striding toward Elizabeth with her arms open. “It is you! I thought never to see you again.” Charlotte caught Elizabeth in a natural embrace, before Elizabeth could stop her. Her friend hummed with pleasure, and so would have Elizabeth if it had been any other day and any other circumstance. She had truly missed Charlotte as much as she had missed her family in Hertfordshire. However, when her friend pulled back to look upon Elizabeth’s features, Charlotte’s expression changed. “Not that I regret seeing you; yet, why are you in Kent?”
Elizabeth ignored both Charlotte’s question and her welcome; instead, she broke away to continue her charge uponthe cottage. “Where is he?” she demanded. “Where is my cousin?”
Charlotte appeared puzzled, but she gestured toward the neatly-tended cottage. “I believe my husband is in his garden.”
Elizabeth did not wait for her friend. She hiked her skirts and scrambled through the gate and around the house. As Charlotte had predicted, Mr. Collins was bent over his vegetables. So angry she could barely see, Elizabeth rushed at the man—shoving him to the ground, then kicking him. “You contemptible creature! I should order you whipped!” She kicked him again. “Better yet, I should take up the whip myself!”
It was then Mr. Sheffield caught her up in his embrace, locking her arms at her side, although she continued to fight him. She was so full of anguish that Elizabeth simply wanted someone to be punished for her trials.
“Elizabeth!” Charlotte demanded. “What mean you by this madness?” Her friend knelt beside Mr. Collins. “What offense has my husband executed against you?”
“You do not know, do you?” Elizabeth accused while she squirmed to be free of Sheffield’s hold. “You do not know what crimes your husband has committed?”
“Know? Know what?” Charlotte stood to look between Mr. Collins and Elizabeth.
Mr. Collins struggled to his feet. “I have done nothing to deserve such treatment, but what must one expect from the Bennets. Two daughters who have known such shame no decent man will approach the other three!”
