Chapter 9 #4
“We saw the broken bushes. We saw the bits of cloth you left in the brambles,” the male voice sang. “And Darcy’s coachman is very distinctive.”
Elizabeth remained still—she dared not move. She took a tiny breath.
“I heard someone tell you to run up the stairs,” the man continued, and she heard him shake another trunk. “We are not paid until you are . . .” He sounded amused. “Well, best not to discuss that, I suppose.”
Another movement and this one was close—Elizabeth heard the tapping of a foot and a deep sigh of irritation. It was a heavy tapping. Probably a boot. “Miss Elizabeth,” he crooned.
Something was dropped to the floor near her, and she flinched. Another trunk, probably.
“I need that money,” he said harshly, apparently to himself this time. “Where the devil is she?”
Elizabeth knew that if he continued much longer, she would be discovered. She would not, she told herself sternly, go quietly.
The lid shook.
This was it. Elizabeth raised her knees as far as she was able and prepared to kick.
There was a bit more shaking before one end of her trunk was lifted, then dropped. Her head snapped back but was cushioned by the fabrics that half-filled the box. A string of curses was uttered near her ear.
The lid did not open.
There was more noise drifting up from the lower floors, and the movements stopped. She let herself relax just a bit when suddenly the trunk tumbled on its side.
Heavy footsteps headed away from her now, and there was a pounding sound as the person left the attic in haste.
Whoever it was must have given her trunk a sound shove.
Thankfully, her right arm was beneath her.
She had been too shocked to make a sound, but now she pushed against the lid. It held fast.
She tried to quell the panic that threatened to overtake her.
The lock was broken, she told herself firmly, and a good thing it was.
The man searching the attic might have found her otherwise.
Her shivering increased, and she covered herself with the clothing as best she could so that she would warm.
She took deep, regular breaths, forced herself to regain her composure, and considered her predicament.
Mr. Slipworth knew she had hidden upstairs.
When it was safe, he would come find her. She would simply have to wait.
Darcy and Fitz rode hard towards London until the light faded and they were required to slow their progress. The days were short in December, and it was getting much colder, too. They were likely in for another frigid January.
To get his mind off the cold, Darcy tried to compose his proposal, ideally in a manner that would not insult his intended. You have already done that, he reminded himself wryly, and he would not wish to traverse that path again.
It had made him ill to know that Elizabeth had heard his insulting words.
In his arrogance, he had become truly blind to the characters of those around him.
He had been surprised to discover both Sir William and Colonel Forster were keenly observant men, because he had not expected them to be.
He had been fortunate that for whatever reason, Sir William had decided he liked Darcy.
Colonel Forster, though, had not been impressed with him.
Darcy had also been astonished by Mr. Bennet’s hesitation to give his consent when he asked for Elizabeth’s hand.
Not only was Elizabeth’s reputation in peril, but the reputation of all her sisters was at stake.
Marry she must, Mr. Bennet had agreed, but he had not been certain Darcy was the best choice of groom.
Darcy was tired of being humbled. No one liked it, and he less than most. He did not intend to propose in such a way that Elizabeth would hesitate as her father had. His battered sense of self-worth could not bend that far. If she refused him, it would break. He was certain of it.
“Rider,” Richard called, and motioned ahead.
Darcy nodded and moved his mount to one side of the road. They were not so far from London now. There would be more travelers, even after dark, so he was not unsettled to see a figure riding in their direction.
Not until he began to feel that the figure was familiar.
He recognized the lines of the horse first, then the unique white blaze with five points that stretched from the mare’s forehead to her nose.
The horse was Duchess, the fastest mount in his stable.
And if Duchess was being ridden after dark, it had to be Anders on her back.
Fear made him shiver as though he was riding through a snowstorm.
Darcy commanded his own mount into a gallop, closing the gap between them. “Anders,” he said breathlessly as he pulled alongside his coachman. “What has happened?”
Fitz came to a halt behind him. “Darcy, what in the blazes . . .” He fell silent when he saw Anders.
“The house has been breached, Mr. Darcy,” Anders explained, his breath escaping in frozen puffs of air. “We caught two men. Mr. Slipworth sent Miss Elizabeth upstairs to hide, but he cannot find her, sir. He sent me to intercept you both.”
Darcy was flying down the road almost before Anders had finished speaking. The bitter air bit at his cheeks and made his eyes tear. He had left her alone in that house. Fitz was right, he should have stayed. Damn it all, would he never learn?
It was only when he was forced to slow his mount as he entered town that Darcy remembered: Elizabeth was very good at hiding.
She had said hide-and-go-seek was a favorite game in the Bennet household, and she had quite effectively wedged herself atop the bookshelves in the upstairs library to avoid detection by the maids.
He took a deep breath and released it slowly.
Elizabeth would not have allowed herself to be removed from the house without making a great deal of fuss.
He refused to consider a scenario where she had been unable to protest.
She was still in the house. He repeated it like a prayer. Elizabeth is still in the house. But where? Where would she hide?
When he arrived home, Anders and Fitz were still somewhere behind him. He tossed the reins to a stable boy and went inside directly.
Slipworth was waiting for him by the back door nearest the mews.
“There are two men being held in the cellar,” he told Darcy.
“We captured the first one on the guest floor. The other managed to evade us at first. Anders saw him leaving. He followed the man to Piccadilly, and a good thing too—he was very good at blending into the crowd. Anders had him brought back here before leaving to find you.”
“Who is watching them?”
“Anders’s cousins,” Slipworth informed him. “They helped apprehend him. Strapping fellows.”
Darcy had hired these particular cousins before.
They were former sailors, and he knew them to be honest and efficient.
He would have liked to employ them permanently, but they did not wish to belong to any great house.
They made themselves available because Anders was family and he had asked it of them. Darcy could only be grateful.
“Walk with me,” Darcy ordered Slipworth, and the valet fell in step. They climbed to Darcy’s chambers. The instant the door closed behind them, Darcy asked, “Where were you when you met Miss Elizabeth?”
“We were on the servants’ staircase, sir, nearest her room. She fled up the stairs. I have completely searched the floor above and all the servants’ rooms. The staff is still downstairs, so we have time if you would like to start over.”
Where would Elizabeth hide? She had mentioned hiding in trunks as a girl.
“Slipworth,” Darcy asked, “have you searched the attic?”
Slipworth’s face paled. “No, sir,” he said, closing his eyes. “It did not even occur to me. There is naught up there but locked trunks, and the door is so difficult to open.”
Darcy knew a frightened Elizabeth would be able to push her way inside, but had she? With an assurance he did not feel, he said, “Ask my cousin to wait here for me.”
Slipworth lit a lamp for Darcy, who made quick time up the servants’ stairs.
He located the door to the attic, shoving it open with a shoulder and stooping to enter.
He was careful as he walked up the steps, for he could fit only half his foot upon each tread.
When he reached the top, he could not stand straight—the ceiling was at most six feet from the floor and perhaps a little less.
He held the lamp up high, the flames throwing eerie shadows along the floor and walls.
He gazed at the wooden boxes lining the back wall, and then at the trunks, which were strewn about.
“Miss Elizabeth?” he called, keeping his voice low. “Are you here?”
There was no answer, and he was just about to raise his voice and try again when he heard something.
“AHH-SHOOOO!”
He tipped his head to one side.
“AHH-SHOOOO!”
The stifled sound was coming from inside a trunk, one lying on its side up against the wall and separate from the others. Darcy strode over to it.
“Elizabeth?” he asked from only an inch away.
“Mr. Darcy?” came the muffled question, then a sniffle and a plaintive explanation. “The lock is stuck.”
The release of tension was exquisite; Darcy had to quash a powerful desire to laugh. Instead, he brought the light close to examine the lock. The brass was sound, but the trunk was old. He gave it a little tug just in case, but it held fast.
“I will have you out of there shortly,” he assured her. “Please await my word. I should not like you to be injured.”
Darcy removed the knife he kept in his boot when he traveled and, after a few minutes, was able to separate the top half of the lock from the splintering wood. He slid the blade back into place.
Elizabeth rolled out of the box and onto the open lid. She sat up, the sleeve from one of his old shirts draped over her face.