Some Particular Evil

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

E lizabeth was out of breath when she reached the thatched-roof cottage where Jem, Molly, and Samuel Scarlett resided. It was little more than one large room divided down the middle with a partial wall housing a hearth, which shared its heat between the larger living space and the more hidden sleeping space behind it. She banged on the splintering door, which she had noted upon her first visit should have been replaced years before. A wide-eyed Molly Scarlett opened to her, curtseyed, and bid her enter without a word.

“Miss Bennet, what on earth is the matter?” Jem asked, immediately rising from his seat to attend her.

“I apologise for importuning you this way, but there is no time to lose. Mr Darcy is in grave danger, and you may be the only one who can help him. Have you a spare change of clothing?”

Jem looked at his wife, who nodded. He motioned for her to fetch the items. When she returned with the bundle, she apologised, “I have got breeches, a waistcoat, and a jacket, but I have only just laundered his shirts. They’re all on the line, too wet yet to wear.”

“Whatever you have will be appreciated. Jem, I am afraid I must ask another, more troublesome favour,” Elizabeth implored him. She was relieved to have his rapt attention and further assured of his willingness to assist by the short nods he gave as she laid out his part in her plan. “Mr Darcy is in the third stall on the left as you come in from the paddock. I need you to bring him these clothes and have him change into them. I am afraid he shall need a hat, as well. After he has changed, he is to walk here as if he were you. And—this is very important—you must stay out of sight, inside the stables. Stay there for half an hour, then come back here. That way, if anyone sees a man walking to the cottage twice, there will be enough time in between to claim you had to come home to fetch something.”

The three then agreed to send Samuel, who had been playing in the garden, off to see a neighbour. The less he knew of the situation, the better. It was decided that Jem would drop the boy there on his way to the great house.

Grasping the bundle of clothes and tucking them under his arm, Jem stole out the door without a backwards glance. Elizabeth watched him go, hopeful that her scheme would work, thankful for the willing cooperation of her kind friends, and not at all certain where to go from here.

Darcy was yet again cursing the turn the day had taken when he heard the gate latch rattle on the stall in which he was hiding. A man with a familiar colloquial accent whispered his name as he swung the door shut behind him.

“Mr Darcy,” the voice said, “it is Jem.”

Finally! It felt like hours since she had left him buried in hay and horse manure. He began to raise himself from his grimy grave, brushing the dirty vegetation from his fine suit of clothes as well as he could. The servant reached him in two strides and bent to assist him to his feet. Darcy took the man’s proffered hand and began to stand. Before he was fully upright, Jem shoved a wad of clothes into his hand and instructed him to change as quickly as possible. Darcy looked at the items in his hand—thick, inky breeches stained with heaven-knows-what, a mustard-coloured vest, and a scratchy brown jacket with moth-eaten lapels.

Grand , he thought.

“Thank you, Jem,” Darcy told him, hoping that his complete lack of gratitude was not evident.

“Anything for Miss Bennet, sir,” he told him, giving Darcy the distinct impression that, if not for Elizabeth, the man might very well not have bothered himself. Not that Jem was not gracious and undeservedly concerned for Darcy’s safety at this moment, but it was clear that the stable hand’s efforts in his behalf this night were more due to his esteem for Elizabeth than any deference for Darcy. This rankled a bit; did the man not know who made sure his wages were paid?

Darcy swallowed his irritation and set to divesting himself of his brocade waistcoat and linen cravat. Donning the leather vest he was given, he made sure to transfer the contents of his own pockets to the new ones. Glancing at his watch before dropping it into the waistcoat pocket, he noted that it had somehow only been just over half an hour since he had left his bedchamber. Why had his delicious dream in the study seemed to last only seconds while his misery in the muck felt like an eternity?

The irony of his almost forgetting the gravity of his current death-dealing situation compared to the injustice of having held Elizabeth in his arms without even remembering it was not lost on him. His affection for her, his obsession with how to reconcile making her his wife with his obligations in society and to his family—he must bring it to its conclusion. If he had to flee to London tonight, she must go with him. That she loved him as much as he did her was now clear; was she not risking her own safety to ensure his?

Perhaps she was not expecting to be rewarded with a proposal for such a natural display of affection towards the man she loved and respected, but he could not withhold his hand after this, no matter how superior his station was in comparison to hers. Yes, such a connexion would be a degradation; he certainly could not congratulate himself on the hope of relations whose position in life was so decidedly beneath his own. But his ardent admiration and affection could no longer be repressed. And he could not in honour disappoint what he knew to be her own exalted expectations; she deserved to have her longing to become the next Mrs Darcy come to fruition.

With this determination, and the relief it gave him, he hurried to wrestle his Hessians from his feet to change his trousers. As he was beginning to unbutton his front fall, Jem cleared his throat. Darcy looked up, his lips in a grim line, and raised his eyebrows in irritated expectation.

“Might you wish to keep your breeches on under mine? They’re quite roomy and that way, you’ll have two pair for wherever you’re heading.”

Examining the stiff leather garment, Darcy noted that he was right. They were riding breeches; of course they would be roomier than the doeskin breeches he had on, which were tailored to fit like a second skin. His reasoning was sound, as well; it would be of benefit to have more than one set of clothing when he arrived at— where exactly am I supposed to be heading?

Wherever it was, Jem was beginning to be impatient for him to be on his way. A servant, rushing him along! Darcy swallowed his bile, reasoning that Elizabeth must have instructed him to do so. All the better, for until Darcy joined her, he would not have answers to his pressing questions:

Where was he going? And would she go with him?