Similarly outfitted, Darcy rolled the map he had been inspecting with Mr. Steventon. “There is an exit to the wooded area behind the stables, one closer to White Peak, and one leading to the waterfall toward the turnpike road.”

“I am betting on the stables. Wickham needs a fast exit, and horses are the only solution in this weather.”

“Hurry, Edward. Elizabeth cannot leave this estate with that madman.”

Chapter 22

Elizabeth supported Lydia’s sagging body as they followed Wickham through the shadowy twists and turns. She would run for safety if she could simply make Lydia respond, but Elizabeth would not leave her younger sister behind. For some unexplained reason, Lydia was cowed by Wickham’s playacting. Elizabeth sometimes wondered how she and Lydia could be children of the same parents.

“Is this normal for Mr. Wickham?” she whispered close to Lydia’s ear. Lydia frowned for a moment and then nodded. “Does your husband make you call him by these silly names?”

Lydia shot a frightened glance at her husband, obviously praying he did not hear them. “You do not understand, Lizzy.” She hesitated, keeping her eyes locked on Wickham’s back. “He is not playacting. Mr. Wickham is each of those men, and you had best remember that.”


Darcy and Edward led a handful of Pemberley’s best men into the depths of the darkness. “My God,” Darcy moaned, “who would have thought?” He raised the lantern to get his bearings.“The corridors must follow the house—the T shape of the sleeping quarters. There is nothing behind us.We know from what Wickham said to Miss Darcy that some rooms provided him only a way of spying on us. Others have openings such as this one. Stay sharp—the man is dangerous—has killed three people already. I do not want Mrs. Darcy to be his next victim.”

“Slowly,” Edward cautioned. “Mr. Wickham knows these passages; we do not. Remain alert to all possibilities.”


Despite wanting to rush through the water-soaked enclosure, Darcy listened to his cousin’s advice and moved cautiously along behind Edward—his eyes and ears straining for a glimpse or a sound somewhere ahead of him.When they reached the intersecting halls, they spread out.

“Which way?” Lucas asked as he turned in circles.“Up or down?”

“God! I do not know!” Darcy ran a hand through his hair.

“Down,” Edward stated flatly.“Has to be down.” He led the way as the corridor took a sharp descent between the house’s flooring. “Be careful,” he called over his shoulder.“The steps are narrow and moldy. If your foot slips, you are dropping into the darkness.”

Darcy shadowed his cousin, unable to think for himself. Not since Elizabeth’s initial refusal had he felt such anguish—such disorientation. If he lost her now, he did not think he could survive. His eyes searched for any sign of her—and then he saw it.“Edward, look!” He pushed past his cousin to snatch up the scrap of material. “It is Elizabeth’s—from the lace on her wedding gown. See.”

“At least, we know we are going the right way. Stay close. It appears Mrs. Darcy is leaving us a trail.”

“Do you suppose?” Darcy gripped his cousin’s arm.

“Absolutely.” The colonel smiled. “You have always spoken highly of Mrs. Darcy’s intelligence—her good sense. Your wife leaves you a message, Darcy. Can you not join her in finding a way to defeat Wickham? Use your connection to the lady to find her. The two of you together can be a most powerful force.”

Darcy swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. Edward was right. He was not helping Elizabeth with his panic.


“’Tis as dark as a coffin,” Lucas said from somewhere behind them.

“But it is not our coffin,” Darcy growled, “not today, not ever. This is my house, and Mr. Wickham has taken my wife. If anyone is to die in this hole, it shall be he.” Darcy nodded to his cousin. “I am with you, Edward. No more fear of losing Elizabeth. Neither she nor I will allow our separation.”

“Then let us find your lady.” Edward lifted the lantern again to take the lead. The colonel thought of what Darcy had with Elizabeth, and he nearly moaned in despair. He had spent enough years alone and enough years establishing his own good name to consider finding a wife and happiness at last. Then the image of a slender, golden-haired beauty planted itself firmly in his memory. Come back to me.

“’Tis dangerous to spe’k when ye should be verra quiet.”Wickham pulled up short, and Elizabeth staggered to keep from slamming into his backside. He caught Lydia brusquely by the arm. “Dinnae James teach ye when ye ken and cannae spe’k?”

“It is my fault.” Elizabeth tried to insinuate herself between her sister and Mr. Wickham. “I am a bit confused and asked my sister what she knew of you.” She eased his grip from Lydia’s arm.

“Ye cannae conceive of such a mon? That be it, Lass?” He actually reached out gently to caress Elizabeth’s cheek.“Ye be the smart one; I remember.”Then he caught her chin and turned it brashly to him. “I believe ye be a passionate woman, Eliza: I see it in ye eyes, and I will revel in havin’ ye.” He smashed his mouth hard against hers, kissing Elizabeth roughly. As quickly as he took her mouth, Wickham released her.Turning his back on them again, he grabbed Lydia to his side.“Come along,” he said in the voice Elizabeth now recognized as James Withey.

Without another word, she fell into step behind the couple. Surreptitiously, she used the back of her hand to wipe away Wickham’s taste from her mouth. She wondered how she could ever have preferred George Wickham to Darcy. She now fully understood, along with her Aunt Gardiner, that Darcy’s real defect of character was his obstinacy. He had been accused of many faults at different times—she had been among his greatest critics—but obstinacy was his one true one.With Wickham and Lydia, Darcy had followed them purposely to town; he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research. He had frequently met with, reasoned with, persuaded, and finally bribed the man whom he always most wished to avoid and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce—the man who had invaded their home.

For herself, she was humbled; but she was proud of him—proud that in a cause of compassion and honor, Darcy had been able to get the better of himself. Now Wickham repaid her husband’s compassion by bringing death to Darcy’s doorstep. Somehow, she would stop him—she would free Darcy of George Wickham’s malice, and she would free Lydia of her husband’s libertine ways.


When the footman stepped on the flooring of the landing, no one at first knew what happened until it happened.The wooden planks gave way under the man’s weight, and he plunged into the dry well.

“Redman!” Darcy called as he peered into the blackness.“Redman, can you hear me?”

A groan and a muffled curse told him the man lived.

“Redman!”

“Here, Mr. Darcy,” a breath-deprived voice returned Darcy’s plea.

“Can you move?” Edward knelt beside Darcy, holding a lantern over the hole, trying to determine the situation. “Looks as if he is on that shelf.” He indicated a small ledge about ten to twelve feet below them.

A scratching sound followed by another curse answered the question. “It’s me leg, Colonel.”

“Great.” Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. “Now, what do we do? I am not even sure where we might be in the house.”

“We will have to send Lucas for help.” Edward assessed the situation quickly.

Darcy nodded his agreement, but before any of them could move, light bathed the space as a wall shifted, and Lord Stafford’s head appeared in the opening.

“Thank God!” The colonel exhaled the words. “Stafford, we need your help.”

Adam Lawrence squeezed through the opening, followed by two footmen. Immediately, he and the others stood beside Darcy and the colonel. “What happened?” He held the lantern aloft.

“Redman fell in,” Darcy informed him.“We need him out, and I need to find Elizabeth.”

“We have it,” Stafford took control. “Darcy, you and the colonel go after Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Wickham.” He motioned to one of the Pemberley staffers to go after a rope.“We can handle your man below.”

Edward grasped Stafford’s shoulder. “Thanks, Lawrence.” He took up the lantern. “Come along, Darcy.”

Darcy squeezed past the men. “Send one of the men to Lambton for the surgeon,” he spoke softly to Stafford.“We may need him for more than Redman.”

“I will see to it.”


Elizabeth dropped the last of her swatches when they entered the tunnel, leaving the house itself. The tunnel reminded her of a coal mine outside Scarborough she had seen as a child. The walls were shored up with large timbers, as was the ceiling, which was barely five feet high.They all walked hunched over as they made their way toward the outside. Elizabeth’s feet were as cold as she could ever remember their being—the dampness soaked her day slippers through. The melting snow trickled down the walls, heading toward an underground stream they crossed at the juncture of the house and the outside tunnel. As she blindly followed her sister, Elizabeth silently prayed Darcy would recognize the trail she had left behind. But the fact was that he had not caught up to them yet—and she was losing hope. Possibly, he had not even found Georgiana as yet. He might not know she was missing or where to find her and Wickham.

She had no idea how she might escape Mr.Wickham’s clutches on her own. Elizabeth supposed she might just run and pray the man would not shoot her from behind, but she could not assign good odds to the likelihood of the “others” not attacking. When she had left with her sister, Elizabeth assumed she could talk sense to George Wickham, and if nothing else, she could bribe her sister’s husband to go away and to leave Lydia behind. The scandal would not die easily, but somehow she would keep Lydia from her persecutory husband. However, Mr. Wickham’s counterfeit made that more difficult. She expected the man would claim some sort of lunacy as his defense if caught, so Elizabeth now needed a solid plan to protect those she loved.


“Which way?” Darcy and Edward found the antechamber and searched for the most likely way out.

Edward quietly examined the marks along the wall. “Wickham has come in and out of here quite often. Look at the muddy boot tracks.” He pointed to the dusty smears on the wooden flooring.“I suspect we will need to split up.You take the passage on the left. I will take the one on the right.” Darcy nodded his agreement. “Be careful, Darcy. We must be getting close.”

“You too, Cousin.” Darcy rolled his shoulders to release the tension. Taking the gun from his waist placket, he allowed the weapon to lead the way. They both recognized Wickham’s likely treachery, and they needed to be prepared.


Although the tunnel continued onward into the blackness, James shoved open a wooden door leading to the outside. The backside of it was covered with ivy and vines and made it easier to conceal. “Hurry!” he barked as he shoved Lydia into the open and reached for Elizabeth. “You, too, Mrs. Darcy,” he growled, throwing her forward. Elizabeth landed unceremoniously in a snow bank, which quickly soaked her gown and the blanket she clutched about her. She blinked several times—the late afternoon sun reflecting off the snow blinding her after being in the tunnels for so long.

“Get up!” he ordered as he tramped toward her. He jerked Elizabeth to her feet. “There!” he pointed to the nearby stables, thrusting her forward. He caught Lydia to him, dragging her beside him as he marched toward the structure. When she stumbled, he hissed at his wife, “Walk, bitch, or I will leave you here to freeze to death.” He pushed Elizabeth again when she stepped out of her slipper and paused to retrieve it.“Keep moving!” he propelled her forward with a powerful heave.


“Damn!” Darcy grumbled when the passage he had followed suddenly come to a dead end. He knocked the spider webs from his hair and shoulders before he began to retrace his steps to the open chamber where Wickham had spent his days and nights. He had come across the remains of a dog or a cat, the skeleton too decomposed to tell which, and of several birds. He imagined the darkened corridors held rats and mice. When he finished this death hunt, he would seal everything in—seal the latches and the spy holes. No one would use this space ever again.

If Darcy had had time, he would have reprimanded Mr. Steventon for not apprising him of the passageways. The man knew of the openings but had said nothing while they searched for their phantom. He wondered, as he worked his way through the closed passages, why his father had never made him aware of these sealed corridors. He knew his ancestors had built Pemberley upon the site of a ruined castle, something built in the time of William Peveril, but it had never occurred to him that secret channels paralleled the rooms of his everyday life. Likely, Mr. Wickham had become aware of the shrouded rooms through his father, who had once served as the steward for Darcy’s father.