Chapter 2 #3
Elizabeth cast her thoughts back to the first time she had met Mr. Darcy.
Mama’s exhortations about poor Mr. Collins’s demise being Jane’s good fortune had been loud and lengthy.
Papa had more than once tried to explain that they must first complete an exhaustive search for blood relations to replace Mr. Collins, and that Jane was not in line to inherit, even were no Bennet men to be located.
Unfortunately, Papa had not accompanied them to the assembly that night, and Mama would not be gainsaid.
Instead, she had happily crowed to all her friends that Jane’s first-born son would be the heir of Longbourn.
Certainly, her mother’s vulgar glee must be one reason Mr. Darcy viewed them all with such contempt.
There—I have done it again. Elizabeth stood still and took a deep breath.
She had been wrong about Mr. Darcy many times over—and here was another example.
If Mama’s uninformed insistence had mortified her, she could not blame him for being shocked by such behavior.
She huffed, frustrated with her own blindness, and decided that she had a great deal to think about—which required a rather longer walk than a stroll near the house.
By the time Elizabeth stopped analyzing all her previous interactions with Mr. Darcy and decided he might not have been watching her with disdain all these weeks, she was nearly at Netherfield’s boundary.
She could see the great house from the top of the next rise if she wished—but she did not.
Elizabeth had not meant to walk so far. Vowing not to allow herself to become so distracted in future, she turned back towards home.
She took a few steps but stopped to sneeze. She removed her handkerchief to dab at her nose. Truly, it would serve her right if she caught a cold. As she folded her handkerchief and tucked it away, there was a clomping of hooves on her right.
Two men on horseback emerged from a wider side path.
They were dressed as gentlemen, and as she did not recognize them, she suspected they were friends of the Bingleys and had attended the ball.
The men appeared startled by her presence but made no effort to remove themselves, and Elizabeth’s sense of foreboding increased.
They were between her and the path back to Longbourn.
Foolish, she chided herself. Foolish, foolish girl.
Mrs. Hill would be gone all day. Why had she told no one else that she was leaving the house?
“Can you believe our luck, my friend?”
The man who had spoken had very light hair and pale blue eyes. She glanced at the other man who also had light hair, though his was more like the color of honey. His eyes were darker, too, a less remarkable brown.
The first man spoke again. “We were just on our way to your home to call on your father, Miss Elizabeth.”
He was lying. It could not be more than eight o’clock. No one paid calls at this hour. And how did he know her name?
The second man said nothing, but he swung a leg over his horse and dismounted.
There was a small thump as his boots met the ground.
Why? They were not acquainted. Elizabeth bent her knees slightly, preparing to flee into the woods where the horses would have a difficult time following.
These men would be faster and stronger. She would have to be more cunning.
“I am afraid we have not been introduced, sirs. Why do you not call on my father later in the day?” she asked, taking a slow step back. “I am sure he should be pleased to receive you, although it is not quite the done thing to visit immediately following a ball.”
“Yes,” said the blue-eyed man, watching her from atop his mount.
Elizabeth shivered as though a pail of cold water had been poured down her back. It took a great deal to frighten her, but she would have to be very dim indeed not to be frightened now. These men had no intention of making a polite call at Longbourn.
He spoke slowly as the other man approached her.
“I admit we thought we should have to come another day to Longbourn, but we will be departing the area shortly.” He paused.
Her attention remained on the man approaching.
“We heard you were a great walker, but we did not expect to find you so far from home and so early, too. We are very pleasantly surprised.”
Elizabeth tensed and sprang away just as the darker man reached for her. She dashed into the woods she had played in as a child and heard cursing behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that only one man was following and heard the other galloping away.
She leapt over a muddy inlet and flew into bramble, where the trees grew thicker. She ran faster, nimbly weaving between them, clambering over the uneven ground without faltering—she knew every undulation.
There was a path that went the long way around—if her other pursuer had taken it, she would have to hurry.
He would not be able to ride his horse the entire way, but he could ride far enough and then intercept her on foot.
She was heading for the stream—it was a large, deep one, a tributary to the river—and planned to throw herself in, hoping that swimming with the current would carry her away faster than they could follow through the untamed blackberry bushes along the bank.
It emptied into a large but shallow pool behind Longbourn.
She could climb out there. It was not a good plan, but she had no time to devise another.
Her dress would be ruined, and the water would be very cold, but better to suffer an illness than acquiesce to anything these men intended to inflict upon her.
Loud footsteps sounded behind her and she ran faster, holding one end of her skirt in a clenched fist to prevent it from catching on anything.
She ducked under a fallen tree and reached an opening.
From here she would need to traverse twenty feet of clearing to the bank, where the brush would again offer some safety. There was no other way.
She plunged ahead.
That brief vacillation was her undoing. The blue-eyed man burst through the trees and into the clearing from her right side, not five feet in front of her. “Come now, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, panting, though he wore a chilling little smirk. “Let us not waste any more time.”
Elizabeth darted to his left, hoping it was his weaker side, but he simply spun and caught her around the waist as she passed.
She kicked and arched her back and tried to swing her arms, but he quickly pinned them to her sides.
She screamed with everything she had, only to find herself flat on her back with the man sitting on her stomach and the end of a flask shoved in her mouth.
“There now, Miss Elizabeth,” said the cool, quiet voice of the man with the brown eyes who had joined his friend. She spluttered, but he pinched her nose and shoved her jaw up—she had no choice but to swallow if she wanted to breathe. “Take your medicine, my girl.”
Elizabeth tasted something bitter in the wine and wrenched her face to the side. Some of the drink spilled down her face and neck. She gasped, trying to pull in more air while also trying to wriggle free. She drew a deep breath to scream again.
One gloved hand struck her, hard, across the cheek.
She struggled more desperately and received another, harder blow.
She lay still, dazed, looking up into a pair of watery blue eyes.
He had a small brown freckle exactly at the outside corner of his right eye.
More of the wine was forced down her throat, and she was unable to protest.
“Just a little something to help you sleep,” the man said comfortingly, and she was made to drink again. She blinked up at him, not in the least tired. The left side of her head felt as though a hot poker was being held against her scalp, and she fought not to cry out.
The brown-eyed man stepped out of her vision and reappeared with a rope.
“This meeting truly could not have been more fortunate,” he told the man with the blue eyes who was holding her down.
“The house will be late rising, but the Darcy carriage was being prepared to depart. If we hurry, we should be able to place her in the boot.”
“They will discover her,” said the man straddling her. She squirmed, and he leaned one hand on her shoulder, pinning her to the ground.
The brown-eyed man shook his head. “Not until they arrive in London, which is exactly what we want.” He kneeled, taking Elizabeth’s hands and binding them before moving to her ankles.
He paused, pulled his hands away. “Easier if she can walk. Get up.” He yanked her up by the rope binding her hands.
She broke away to run but was easily caught.
The blue-eyed man tossed her over his shoulder, one arm tight around the back of her knees.
Elizabeth bent her arms and swung at his head with her elbow.
He grunted and bent over as she flung herself away from him, but he pushed her a little as she fell, and she hit the ground hard.
She tried to catch her breath as the man swore.
Two brown eyes stared down at her impassively.
“Are you finished?” he asked. His voice was very deep. “You will only hurt yourself more, and I would be happy to bind your feet as well.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She was beginning to feel a little dizzy. She could not say whether that was from the repeated blows or what they had forced her to drink.
Desperate now, she willed herself to make one more attempt to fight—she had seen her father force a servant to purge himself when he had taken too much .
. . something. Her hands were bound before her and despite the pain and the filth on her hands, she jammed her fingers to the back of her throat.
She gagged, and some of the wine came back out. Her head swam.