Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
D arcy could not allow himself to revel too much in Elizabeth’s nearness, though the feel of her body pressed against his and the sweet scent of her hair were sensations impossible to ignore. Had she been about to kiss him? Or let him kiss her? It was too glorious!
But that was not why they were here, riding wildly up the gravel drive towards the daunting stone facade of Rosings Park. They had to find Anne before she hurt someone. How they would capture her and what they would do with her after they did were questions yet to be answered.
It was not an easy thing for Darcy to let go of the tight-fisted control he had always cherished, to dive headlong into a situation without at least some sort of a strategy, but this instance called for immediate action. There would have been time for him to devise a plan on his ride to Kent, but without understanding all the factors at play, to do so was impossible.
What if Lady Catherine was involved? What if Anne wanted him dead so badly that she attacked him as soon as she recognised him? What if he had to fend off both of them? Could he protect himself if it meant causing his aunt or his cousin real bodily harm? Could he bring himself to kill in his own defence? Especially, to kill a lady?
There were too many unanswered questions to create a plan. But, he reasoned, with Elizabeth at his side, he could do anything.
Tethering the hired horse to a nearby tree, the pair entered the great house and headed straight for the drawing room. As usual, Lady Catherine was holding court in the large parlour, though her only courtier was Anne’s companion, Mrs Jenkinson.
“Miss Bennet, what do you do here?” Lady Catherine rose from her gilded velvet chair. “How dare you barge into my home without an invitation, not even allowing my butler to announce you! And who is this ruffian at your side? Servants come through the kitchens, as you well know!”
“Aunt Catherine,” Darcy uttered in measured tones, doffing his floppy felt hat to reveal more of his face.
Her shock was more than satisfactory. Whether it was his complete metamorphosis into a common man, his short hair, or his being here at all that astonished her most, he could not say. Perhaps she had still been hoping he would wash up on the banks of the Thames one day soon.
“Darcy!” she finally huffed. “Where have you been? We have been worried sick over you. Why would you run off like that and leave us no word that you were safe—or even alive?”
As she spoke, she strode towards Darcy, arms outstretched as if she would embrace him. He caught her wrists with both hands and glared down at her. He had never seen such an outward display of emotion from her and noticed her eyes were glassy.
“I was so worried when those men came here. I knew the charges to be a scandalous falsehood, but still! To think of my nephew spending even a minute within the walls of that horrid prison. And then you ran away! Poor Fitzwilliam has been beside himself with worry. He finally went to London to search for you.”
“Where is Anne?”
“Anne?”
“Yes, Anne,” Darcy barked. “You know how dangerous she is, you know what she has done, and yet you insisted on keeping her here, where she could lash out at anyone!”
Lady Catherine’s expression grew cold and her posture rigid. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“I spoke to Seymour. I know about her illness, about her propensity for violence, her thirst for blood , as he called it. You cannot protect her. She must be put away where she cannot hurt anyone else!”
“She cannot hurt anyone else! I have seen to that. That is why I commissioned Mr Seymour—to make sure she would not be able to act on those instincts. Anne is harmless as long as she takes her draughts.” Her proud stance only grew more haughty as she spoke, a pretence of control if Darcy had ever seen one.
“I think we both know she has not been taking her medication,” Darcy intimated through gritted teeth. “What else would explain her newfound vitality? Or that scar on your Chippendale table?”
Lady Catherine’s eyes shot daggers at Elizabeth.
“ She told you about that, I am sure. Miss Bennet has been maligning my daughter so that you will choose her over your own cousin, to whom you have been promised since birth! If you had done your duty to your family?—”
“Do not speak of this. It might very well be your absurd insistence on such a match that put my life in danger in the first place!” In calmer tones, he said, “Tell me where Anne is.”
“I do not know,” she replied with arrogant contempt. “She has not been down today.”
“I left her in her rooms an hour ago, Mr Darcy,” came a small voice from several feet behind his aunt. Mrs Jenkinson was pointing towards the doorway that led to the family wing. “Please. You must take her away from here. I fear she is planning something dreadful.”
The trembling in the woman’s voice was enough to spur Darcy to movement. He looked over at Elizabeth, who had been taking in the whole scene with wide eyes, and silently made known to her that it was time for them to face the dragon.
His heart swelled as he watched her grasp Mrs Jenkinson’s hands, imparting courage to the old woman before scurrying after him into the corridor and up the stairs. She was so good.
And she was his.
It was eerily quiet in the wide hall, the padding of their own footsteps on the long, plush Persian rug the only noise about. Darcy reached Anne’s door first, then turned to wait for Elizabeth.
She took his hand when she caught up and pulled him down to whisper in his ear. “Shall we open the door and use the element of surprise? Or shall I knock and act as if I am here to visit?”
Darcy loved that she told him her ideas, and he loved even more that she sought his opinion.
“Have you ever visited her in her chambers before?” She shook her head. “Then, element of surprise it is.”
Darcy grasped the handle, turned it slowly, silently, then flung the door wide. The room was empty. He dashed through the lavish sitting room to her bedchamber, hunting every corner. She was not there. When he returned to Elizabeth, she was standing at Anne’s vanity, grazing her fingers over the pots and bottles of lotions and beauty oils.
“Look at this,” she said, holding the small green receptacle to the light. He strode to her, only too happy to sidle up next to her as she uncapped the bottle and put it to her nose. Sniffing, she drew back with a grimace. “Laudanum.”
Among other things, Darcy thought, remembering the way Mr Seymour spoke of the blend of tranquillisers he had prescribed for his cousin.
Glancing at the table, he was able to see at least two more identical bottles, all full. Before he could examine the contents further, however, Elizabeth gasped at his elbow.
“It is Miss de Bourgh! That is her carriage!” Elizabeth exclaimed, pointing to the portion of the path visible from the window.
Following the direction of her finger, Darcy espied his cousin driving down the gravel lane in her phaeton. She was heading straight for the parsonage.