Darcy Meets Elizabeth In Kentucky Read online

  DARCY MEETS ELIZABETH

  IN KENTUCKY

  A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATION

  BY GLENNA MASON

  Dedications

  Dedicated to my readers who love Pride and Prejudice as I do.

  Dedicated to my friends and family, who support me in my third and last career—writing novels. I do so enjoy creating entertaining characters, vividly presented settings and the interactions and dialogues of plots with their thrilling rising actions and then their enticing denouements.

  Also by Glenna Mason

  Pride and Prejudice Variations:

  Mr. Darcy and the Lady with the Fine Eyes

  Mr. Darcy’s Foreboding

  The Pleasure of Mr. Darcy’s Love

  &

  Mystery/Romance:

  In the Rafters

  Cover Art

  The cover art for this novel is a painting by my mother, Gerry Pope.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Back-lit by brightening dawn, Elizabeth Bennet entered the broad doors of the horse barn to the usual singsong of “Hello, ma’am’s.” Waving, she continued to the tack room, her calf-high English leather riding boots squishing in newly laid sawdust.

  Leather, manure and hay spiced the morning air with its pungent, spiraling aroma of horse-world perfume. The small, yet orderly cosmos of a thoroughbred horse farm made Elizabeth smile as bales of hay sailed down from the lofts, thumping into stalls. Even Tom, the barn cat, was at his usual post on the tack room steps.

  The creak of the old tack room door encouraged Elizabeth to stare into the shadows. “I know you are in here, Sam,” she said. “I'm an expert in the ways of detection you know.” She clapped her hands at the cat. “Now scat on up to the house for a real breakfast and give these mice down here a respite.” Sam scurried past her boot, as per their early morning ritual. “Oh, and take Tom with you,” she called.

  Running her hands over the handsome leather bridles and saddles, Elizabeth breathed deeply of their scent. “Hmmm. Time to get to work,” she said. Slinging a bridle over her shoulder and hanging a saddle and blanket over the opposite arm, Elizabeth headed for a stall at the rear of the barn.

  “I'm ready to take Gypsy out, boys. You can clean her stall now,” Elizabeth shouted to the stable lads. “Did Dr. Bingley give everyone a clean bill of health today?” she asked, referring to the stable’s veterinarian, who also happened to be her brother-in-law.

  “Yes'm,” said the nearest lad, lifting his head. Elizabeth recognized Jake. He continued, “Doc says everyone's hunky dory.” She expected nothing less.

  Elizabeth glanced at her watch: seven-thirty. “I’ve gotten started late today.” Then she remembered that it was Saturday. “Good. I’m fine. My class doesn’t start ‘til eleven.”

  Elizabeth never accepted anything pre-ten o’clock on her schedule. She was not sure whether it was this time frame or the actual subject matter—Mystery in Literature was her specialty—that always maxed out her Eastern Kentucky University classes. It never occurred to her that her passion for mysteries might be the reason her students enjoyed the lessons. She could be a little dense sometimes. An embodiment of the absentminded professor? Perhaps!

  It didn’t really matter, because, even though Elizabeth was stretched to the limit, supervising her father’s horse breeding enterprise and teaching a full load at the local university, she delighted in sharing her love of horses and mystery with others. Elizabeth realized that she would be hard pressed to give anyone an answer as to what she cared for more: horses or whodunits. She hoped she’d never have to.

  Elizabeth slid the bit into Gypsy's mouth and adjusted the bridle, while Sylvester blanketed and saddled the mare. Then Elizabeth flung her leg over the horse's backside and adjusted the stirrups to fit her just right.

  “Bye, gentlemen,” she said, as she headed out the front of the barn toward the outlying fields. Her day had begun.

  Along with mysteries, the wonderful world of horses had always been Elizabeth's footbridge to a life of pure joy. She had been an enthusiastic rider since a young age, and so, when not in the window seat reading a mystery, Elizabeth was usually discovered in the fields, jumping fences and galloping at top speed, or in the barn mucking stalls and currying the horses with the stable lads.

  As she trotted across the field among the foals, Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to her nephew, Lydia’s four year old, Tommy George. He and they were equally vivacious and carefree.

  Elizabeth figured her nieces and nephew were as close as she'd ever come to motherhood herself. Although beautiful, Elizabeth, now thirty, had never found the man she wanted to spend her life with. She was pretty much no longer looking; she was satisfied with her life.

  Or was she? Truth be told, Elizabeth sometimes felt a yearning for a love of her own. Yet she never met men. Well, except those youngsters in her college classes. They hardly counted. Of course almost every semester one or two of them developed a crush on her—their flamboyant professor. But not only was it poor form to date one's students, it also did not appeal. Perhaps five years ago, but not now. She wanted a man, not a college kid.

  “Oh, Gypsy, why don't we ever meet any male types?” Elizabeth asked, as they trotted in the pasture adjacent to the barn.

  As if she understood, Gypsy shook her head, the bridle jangling. “Yes, I know, Gyp. There are precious few running around out here in the fields.” Elizabeth laughed, albeit mirthlessly.

  “And out in the fields is where we usually are, Gypsy.” Elizabeth frowned at the thought of her loveless life. Patting the mare's neck, Elizabeth said, “I guess I wouldn’t eschew a little love in my life, if Prince Charming would ride over the horizon on a handsome charger.”

  Elizabeth laughed again. “Apparently I'm not willing to go to much effort to meet him otherwise,” she berated herself. “He'd have to be a rider anyway, so why shouldn’t he ride out of the distance right into my arms? How about that, Gyp—a love for both of us in one strong gallop?”

  Pushing aside thoughts of romance, Elizabeth clicked her tongue. Attune to the signal, Gypsy began to sprint across the meadow. The two charged off together, soul mates in motion, to check the horses in the outlying fields, as well as the fences and gates of the property. Gypsy and Elizabeth did not personally bother to open gates. Exceedingly familiar with the fields, the two preferred to jump obstacles in their way.

  Gypsy and Elizabeth were of one spirit about it. Elizabeth often thought that soaring through the air was like flying on Pegasus' wings—fleet, fantastical, almost mystical—and yet so strangely earth-centered too. It was an experience impossible to adequately describe in mere words. In fact Elizabeth could think of no poet who had even tried.

  After about an hour the horse and rider approached a fence along the perimeter of the Bennet property line on the side which abutted Stantonfield, Sir William Lucas's renowned breeding farm. At that point, the two farms were separated by a small lane-like access road.

  Even though Elizabeth’s mind had wandered a bit today, it didn’t take much for her to spy something awry in her peripheral vision. It was just a suggestion, but worth a closer look.

  “Giddy-up, Gypsy. Let's check over this way.”

  Spurred by Elizabeth's tightened legs, Gypsy soon reached the white-board fences that formed the boundary of the Bennet property, ready to leap over if necessary.

  “Oh, how unfortunate!” Elizabeth exclaimed. Elizabeth noticed the gate across the lane, which led into Stantonfield's pastures for its most valuable brood mares and their foals, had not only been left unlatched, but also slightly ajar.

  “Someone's in for it,” Elizabeth said, “especially if one of those multi-million dollar bro
od mares wandered over this way and out the gate with one of the multi-million dollar foals.”

  Turning around and retreating just far enough to get Gypsy up to a gallop, Elizabeth guided her mare over the fence into the lane.

  Elizabeth bent over and secured the gate.

  “Let's trot up and down the lane a little way, girl, just to be sure no one is loose.”

  After a quick ride in both directions, Elizabeth felt more confident and commented with relief to Gypsy, “Looks like nothing is amiss, Gypsy. The mares are most likely on the far side of the field near the creek and never even knew about their potential for a little getaway.”

  Elizabeth knew that Field Thirteen was where Sir William kept his most prized mares, all multi-million dollar stakes winners in their own right, who had been mated with big money, big name stallions to foal potential future stakes winners.

  “Whew!” Elizabeth sighed in relief. “That could have been a disaster! And—” What she was about to say made her stop for a moment. She continued speaking to her horse, but in a voice filled with apprehension, “—and so unlike Clancey to be so careless. He is Stantonfield's best lad.”

  Elizabeth patted Gypsy, herself a multi-stakes winner. “There’s no harm done. We'll not tell anyone, sweetheart,” Elizabeth said, even though something nagged at her. She loved mysteries. She fancied that one day she might find herself plopped into the middle of some intrigue or the other, but she also knew that she was often a little too quick to read mystery into situations that in the end turned out to be careless mistakes or ordinary mishaps. Yet as she started to turn her horse around, Elizabeth decided that she needed to ponder this particular conundrum more thoroughly. Clancey, being so absent-minded that he left a gate unlatched, just didn't compute.

  “Let's head back, Gypsy,” Elizabeth said, as she maneuvered the horse back down the lane. Elizabeth decided that she could check the lane a little more thoroughly, if she followed it all the way to the house and then cut across the front yard to the barn, instead of traversing fields that she had already assayed this morning anyway.

  “We both deserve a treat, and I know just where a couple of nice apples can be found,” Elizabeth told Gypsy, remembering the supply in one of the cribs at the barn.

  Loping along at a slow canter, Gypsy suddenly started. Simultaneously Elizabeth heard some sort of low moan in the field the two had just secured: Number Thirteen.

  Elizabeth's first thought was, “Oh, no, an animal in distress. Not a foal, I hope.” Her quick mind wondered if that was why the gate had been left unlatched. Perhaps Clancey had been forced to run for help and had been uncharacteristically careless in his haste. Gypsy whinnied nervously.

  Elizabeth noticed what she thought was a slight movement at the top of a nearby rise. It was difficult to be sure something was amiss. The bluegrass was too plush and tall. Elizabeth’s heart pounded with anticipation, but she checked herself once again. She must keep her head in case one of Sir William's horses was injured. She would need to get help quickly. She certainly shouldn’t be thinking of clues at a moment like this.

  In order to reach the Lucas field, Elizabeth had a choice, jump the fence or backtrack to the gate. Elizabeth elected for the side of caution; she backtracked. “No use jumping Sir William's fences, Gypsy,” she said. “It would be just our luck to rip a rail off in a wild goose chase.” Gypsy dipped her head as if she were in agreement. Elizabeth always conversed with Gypsy nonstop on their rides and she had come to assume that the horse understood her perfectly.

  Finally in the Lucas field, the horse and rider cantered toward the suspicious knoll and the subtle movement.

  “Help,” a weak voice croaked, when they approached.

  Elizabeth dismounted quickly, almost flinging herself from Gypsy's back, for there, prostrate on the ground, lay Clancey, Sir William's most valued employee.

  Elizabeth was horrified to see his face streaked with blood.

  “Clancey, what happened?” Elizabeth asked, dismayed by his desperate appearance. Clancey was severely injured with a nasty gash on his balding head.

  Clancey didn't answer right away. He was obviously dazed. Blood seeped from the wound. Elizabeth assisted Clancey to a sitting position. She pulled the bandana from her hair and began to dab the blood from Clancey's face. Then she folded it into a makeshift tourniquet and wound it around Clancey's head to staunch the bleeding.

  Elizabeth knew she had to make a quick decision. She patted her shirt pocket. She didn’t have her cell-phone—again—had no idea where it was. She couldn’t call anyone for help. Elizabeth tried to remember. Putting her limited knowledge as a daughter, granddaughter and sister of doctors to work, she searched her memory for the answer. Was it safe to move Clancey with a head injury?

  Clancey moaned. There was her answer. Elizabeth decided that she didn’t dare leave him here, while she rode for help. Her mind whirled. She had no idea how he came to be in such a state. Had a horse kicked him? Or had some person or persons unknown come into the field he protected? Clancey was apparently too weak to stand an inquisition at this time. He could explain his wound later. Her job now was to get him better medical assistance than she could provide out here in the field. And horses—eight of them—roamed the field. And worse still, a perpetrator could be hiding nearby. No, Elizabeth could not leave Clancey out here alone.

  Clancey was a small man; he'd been a training jockey before he became Sir William's valued employee. Elizabeth, though not much larger, was strong. She felt fairly confident that she could assist him into the saddle, if she could just get him to his feet. He needed a doctor and soon.

  “Clancey, we need to get you to Dr. Jane's. I'm going to help you stand now. Okay?”

  Clancey's nod was barely perceptible, but it was affirmation enough for Elizabeth. She positioned herself behind Clancey and practically catapulted him to his feet.

  “Thank goodness the horse industry attracts small, light framed men,” Elizabeth said, gathering Gypsy close. Clasping the saddle with little strength, but with determination and skill, Clancey, helped by a substantial push from Elizabeth, hoisted himself onto the saddle. Elizabeth let out a relieved “Whew!” and then bounded effortlessly up behind Clancey, grasping the reins around him to steady his sagging body.

  Dr. Jane Bennet Bingley, sister to Elizabeth and wife to the Bennet Farm's veterinarian, Dr. Charles Bingley, lived at Netherfield, on the far side of the Bennet property, several fields and multiple fences away. Elizabeth, realizing that jumping those fences might be next to impossible for Gypsy with two riders on her back, elected to take the longer route to Jane's. She headed down the lane to Pope Road, so they could then trot beside the paved street to Jane's drive.

  “Please, Jane, be at home. Don't leave for rounds before I get there.” Clancey appeared almost comatose by now.

  Glancing at her watch, Elizabeth noticed that it was nine-thirty, but since it was Saturday, she had hope that her sister would be at home.

  It wasn't too long until Elizabeth saw Jane’s rambling brick ranch in the distance. She was relieved. Jane would know what to do!

  Jane had saved the family tradition of medicine. She had become the physician Dr. Tom had so longed for and, even with five daughters, just barely managed to achieve; after all, Elizabeth had chosen English, Mary photography, Kitty accounting and Lydia marriage.

  Feeling like a Dick Francis hero, Elizabeth cantered right up on Jane's Netherfield porch.

  Clancey was breathing shallowly by now and leaning heavily against Elizabeth's chest.

  Strawberry blond curls materialized immediately from around the corner of the house, followed closely by a flaxen mop—Libby Bell and Millie Kay, Jane's daughters, five and four respectively. Giggles exploded as the two saw Gypsy restlessly clip clopping on the floor of their front porch.

  “Aunt Lizzy! Gypsy! Clancey!” they shrieked. Apparently unaware that Clancey was injured, the trills and high C's of the two sisters filled the air.

 
“Girls, is Mommy home? Get her quickly for me! Hurry! Clancey's injured!”

  Jane, having heard hoof beats on her porch, thrust the front door open. Seeing Clancey’s head wound, Jane cautiously slipped him from the horse and onto a piece of wicker porch furniture.

  “Hurry, Elizabeth. Dial 911 immediately for an ambulance. Clancey is seriously injured; he needs to be in a hospital,” Jane said.

  “Clancey looks like he plunged over a cliff on his head,” Jane said, when Elizabeth returned to the porch. “Where was he? Did a horse kick him? It looks like it,” Jane continued in a staccato fashion.

  Now that Elizabeth was back, Jane rushed into the house for water and bandages. The girls had taken charge of the high strung Gypsy, and, being superb horsewomen already, were riding her quite skillfully around the front yard.

  “Watch the flower gardens or you may not survive to ride in the Olympics someday,” Elizabeth advised the trio, as they got dangerously close to Jane's prize roses.

  Returning to cleanse and bandage the wound, Jane began, “Where was Clancey? I need some idea of what caused these injuries.”

  “In the middle of Field Thirteen,” Elizabeth said. “He may have been kicked, although I doubt it. Clancey knows those mares like he would his own children.” With a sudden inspiration, Elizabeth said, “There was a large creek stone with blood on it beside his head.”

  “In Field Thirteen! Impossible! Sir William does not allow a pebble in that field, much less something large enough to make that gash,” Jane retorted, pointing to the severe head wound.

  “Nevertheless—” Elizabeth commenced and then halted, when the ambulance careened into the driveway, sirens blaring.

  “Wow!” Elizabeth thought. “Ambulances are really quick when heading to a doctor's house.”

  *****

  Riding in the back of the ambulance with Clancey, Elizabeth suddenly remembered her class. “Oh, good heavens” she shouted, startling the medic.

  As soon as Clancey was wheeled inside the emergency room entrance, Elizabeth found a pay phone in the lobby. She called the university to cancel her class. Elizabeth knew that very few students would show up anyway, since today was the first day of Spring Break for all those students who didn’t take Saturday classes. Elizabeth felt bad for her students who had remained behind. They would no doubt have mixed emotions, glad there was no class, but mad they had stayed another day, in order not to miss a class that had now been canceled.