Some Particular Evil

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

M r Darcy’s journey from the stable to the cottage was not nearly fast enough. Elizabeth had been waiting more than half an hour by the time he arrived, at which point she quickly set herself to the task of making him as unrecognisable as possible. Elizabeth handed him a beetroot Molly had cut in half and instructed him to hold the cut end against one eye. Then she sat Darcy down upon a well-worn three-legged stool before the hearth and asked for the razor Mr Barnes had given him.

“What are you going to do with it?” Mr Darcy reared his head back as Elizabeth approached with the straight razor.

“Your hair is too distinctive, Mr Darcy. I shall be as sorry to see it go as you, but go it must,” she told him.

He grabbed her wrist as she attempted to bring the blade closer. “It is your hair or your life, sir. Which would you rather keep?” Elizabeth was not sure if it was her reasoning or her firm tone that caused him to relent, but he released her arm and allowed her to finish her work. He closed his eyes as she moved closer, and she could see his body relax when her hand lit upon his forehead to steady him. The feel of his warm skin against hers sent an unexpected sensation through her; her stomach tightened and instantly she was back in the study, in his arms and lingering in a dream state kiss. Shaking herself from that memory, her hand slipped, and she nicked him right above where he had been holding the beetroot. Darcy flinched, and she inhaled sharply, apologised, and finished up as quickly as possible.

Elizabeth resisted the pleasure she experienced at the feel of his silky hair between her fingers as she manoeuvred the blade against his scalp. As painful as it was, she threw each lock into the fire as she went, doing her best to erase all evidence of his ever having been in the Scarletts’ cottage.

The last thing she wished to do was endanger Molly and Jem. They had become friends over the course of her visit in Kent, and she had been glad to have little Samuel’s slight cold as an excuse to visit more often. So, it was not just the coincidence of Jem’s stature that made her think of applying to them for assistance, but the honest and kind hearts she knew they possessed. However, now that she had forced them to harbour a known target and a potentially wanted man in their home, she worried they might face consequences she had not considered in her panicked planning.

“While you are at it,” Mr Darcy had told her as she sprinkled his hair over the flames, “you should burn that shawl. If anyone sees you with it, they might suspect you had been at Rosings.” Elizabeth had not thought of that. It was a shame that such a beautiful piece of art must be consigned to fire, but she could not argue with his reasoning.

“And I do not expect I would be able to return it without someone noticing,” she agreed and laid it into the flames with the last of Darcy’s curls. Darcy sidled up next to her, and they watched as the silken fabric was consumed.

“Miss Bennet, that is uncanny. I almost did not recognise him!” Molly had commented upon entering the room shortly thereafter, graciously omitting any complaint she might have had about the pungent odour of burning hair. Elizabeth agreed; the transformation was remarkable. But, somehow, not…complete.

“ Almost is the word. Despite his change of clothing and hairstyle, he is still clearly Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth told her. The two women cocked their heads to the right in unison as they examined him, and she could detect Mr Darcy’s discomfort at being thus inspected. After more than a moment of cataloguing his every feature in an attempt to find what it was that exposed him for being himself, Mr Darcy sniffed. Rather than squirming as Elizabeth expected anyone might do upon such minute examination, he squared his shoulders and tilted his face up, perfecting his posture. “That is it!”

“ What is it?” Darcy asked disdainfully.

As Elizabeth was trying to assemble the words to communicate to him his need to present himself with less haughtiness, Jem arrived and took the burden from her completely.She caught the man by the hand and stood him directly in front of Mr Darcy. Though dressed alike, the contrast was almost humorous—one man the picture of conceit and self-assurance, the other the epitome of humility and hard work. Darcy stood with his head erect, almost literally looking down his nose at those in the room with him, while Jem’s shoulders sat low, his head bent forwards a bit. He stood with one knee bent, as if to make himself appear shorter and thus less intimidating. It was perfect.

“Mr Darcy, if you are to be convincing, you must present yourself with less importance,” she instructed.

“Less importance than what?” he retorted.

“Less importance than you assign yourself,” she said with an impish grin, teasing him while meaning every word. “Here. You see how Jem stands. Relax your shoulders. Bend your knees. Perhaps you could put your hands in your pockets. And for heaven’s sake, stop staring down your nose at everyone!”

He sniffed, wrinkling his brows at her as if refuting her accusation as utter nonsense. Still, he attempted to do as she said, however unwilling, and began to look the lowly ruffian she attempted to make him out to be.

Elizabeth smiled over at Jem in victory, but her face fell when she noted his worried expression. “What is it?”

“It is just that they’re already looking for Mr Darcy. The colonel came through the stables asking if I’d seen anyone out there and if any of the horses was missing. Course, I told him I had not,” Jem answered. “Then he asked why I was saddling up the old parson’s nag. I told him she needed some exercise, and that I’d rather be out with this nag than at home with that one." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards Molly, clearly proud of his joke. Elizabeth laughed and so did Molly; she did not know a more devoted husband than Jem, nor a milder, more loving wife than Molly. Perhaps that was why she found their company so refreshing.

“That was perfect, Jem, thank you. And you are sure the horse knows what to do?” she asked.

“No one knows the way back from the village better than Ophelia,” he answered, assuring her that the horse, as old as she was, would be able to get Mr Darcy to Hunsford Village and make it back without being missed. They had told her about the former vicar’s habit of regularly drinking himself into a stupor at the inn and falling asleep on his horse on the way home, and how the faithful beast had always made her way to the stables, even depositing her charge onto the softest bed of straw when she did not feel like just letting him sleep it off in the saddle. They had laughed about it then, how such a man could possibly have got away with such habits in the employ of Lady Catherine, but now they were blessing the memory of the reprobate rector.

By now, the beetroot had done its job, staining the skin around Mr Darcy’s left eye a purplish red that bespoke a days-old injury. The blood which dribbled from the nick she had inflicted had dried and added nicely to the effect. She sat a floppy toque atop his bald head, adjusted it to one side a little, then stood back to survey her handiwork. Even she was impressed.

The great Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley looked like a regular rowdy. He would certainly not stick out in the London slums she meant to send him to.

“I still do not see the need for such measures. Can I not simply go to Darcy House? Or straight to Bow Street and hire the Runners to find out who is behind all this?”

“First of all, those killers would know exactly where to find you if you went to your home—they have your direction in writing. And second, what if the warrant for your arrest is genuine, and they only used it as part of their ruse to find and trap you? What if you really are wanted for treason? Then you would have Runners and assassins after you.”

Elizabeth had thought long and hard about this while waiting for Jem to send Darcy from the stables. How would two random scoundrels know anything about Darcy’s time in Hertfordshire? Dates, facts, names, and all without ceremony. No, it was very possible that the warrant was authentic, and the two pretenders simply saw it as a convenient way to get Mr Darcy alone. Perhaps it was unlikely, but she did not wish him to take any unnecessary risks. She could see the wheels turning in Mr Darcy’s mind as he took in her logic. “Until we know better, it is safer to have you completely out of sight in the absolute last place anyone would look for you.”

“Surely, you do not intend for me to hole up in Grey’s Inn Road. Would not that be a case of jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire?”

Elizabeth was not familiar with the area Mr Darcy referenced but understood by his tone that it must be among the least reputable, and possibly most dangerous, parts of town.

“It need not be quite so bad as that, but, sir, you cannot expect to stay in Mayfair and remain undetected. Jem tells me the coach will leave in half an hour, and I must have your promise that you will not go anywhere near Berkeley Square.”

Mr Darcy paused a moment, searched her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“I shall tell you what,” he finally said in lower tones, grasping Elizabeth’s two hands gently in his. "We shall go as far into London as the coach will take us and settle for that. I do not wish to put you in any more jeopardy than you are already in for my sake.”

“We, sir?” Elizabeth blinked up at him. She did not know whether it was from the intimacy of Mr Darcy’s tone or the shock in her own voice, but Jem and Molly chose that moment to fetch more water, thus leaving them alone in the cottage.

An expectant smile overtook his face, leaving Elizabeth speechless, not only because of how it contrasted with the roughness of his disguise, but because she was not sure she had ever seen the phenomenon before. His hands still held her own. His grasp tightened, and he pulled her closer.

“Come with me,” he entreated. “I can write to my solicitor tomorrow and have a special licence by the end of the day.” Her astonishment must have been written on her countenance, for he quickly added, “Elizabeth, you must know how ardently I love you. You are so good, so modest—I see my struggles have been obvious to you; otherwise, you would not be at all surprised to receive my proposal. You have been so patient as I have worked through this turmoil in my heart and mind. Now, allow me to assure you that I have put aside every doubt regarding my family’s reception of our unequal alliance, society’s disappointment in my choice, your family’s low connexions, your lack of fortune and accomplishments, all of it! How could any objection stand when held up against your beauty, your wit, your intrinsic worth? Please relieve both our suffering and agree to be my wife.”