Chapter 28 #2
Her father had liked Darcy. They had played chess together, debated books together, shared quiet laughter over Lydia’s absurdities.
Why now? Why today, the day before the wedding? What has changed?
Inside the study, Mr. Bennet exhaled slowly. “Elizabeth cannot remain in Meryton. She must leave, go someplace far away, where Darcy cannot find her.”
“But… but how shall we persuade her to go?”
“We shall not persuade her.”
A chill ran down Elizabeth’s spine at her father’s words.
“We will wait until she is asleep,” Mr. Bennet said. “Then we will take her away.”
“Take her… away?”
“Yes, tonight. While she sleeps.”
Elizabeth’s fingers dug into the wall.
“You mean, we will kidnap her?” Mary sounded uncertain. “But… how will we explain it?”
“I will tell them she begged me to allow her to leave. Said she could not face Mr. Darcy. Said she did not truly love him.”
“Where will she go?”
There was a long pause, then Mr. Bennet said, “I have not yet figured that out.”
Mary was silent for a moment, then she said, almost eagerly, “We could take her to Surrey. To Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. Darcy would not think to look for her there. Her vision swam.
“But Mr. Darcy might find her there…” Mary added, a note of doubt creeping in. “What if he remembers the connection and thinks to search for her.”
“He could do nothing if she were already married to someone else.”
“Married?”
“A soldier, perhaps,” Mr. Bennet continued slowly. “Or some tenant farmer.”
Mary latched onto the idea. “Yes, that would work. Mr. Collins could read the banns and perform the ceremony. Oh… but what if she protests? Refuses to say her vows?”
“He is foolish enough to accept whatever explanation we provide. We could simply say that she is merely having a fit of nerves, just like her mother’s. He will believe that easily enough.”
Mary seemed to warm to the scheme. “And a tenant farmer—”
“Would gladly accept her one thousand pounds of dowry upon your mother’s death,” Mr. Bennet finished. “I think this will work, Mary. Elizabeth simply cannot marry Fitzwilliam Darcy. I will not allow it. I would rather her hate me forever than be connected to that family.”
Elizabeth gasped. The sound escaped before she could stop it.
Inside the study, Mary’s voice sharpened instantly. “Did you hear that?”
Elizabeth did not wait to hear more. She slipped silently from the water closet and fled up the staircase, her legs trembling beneath her. Her heart hammered wildly as she reached her room and shut the door behind her.
For several moments she could do nothing but lean against it, shaking.
Her father.
Her own father.
He meant to steal her away in the night… to force her into a marriage with a stranger… to destroy everything.
Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face as tears began to spill down her cheeks.
Why?
The question pounded through her mind.
Why would he do this?
Why now?
Darcy.
The thought of him sent a fresh wave of panic through her chest.
He would come tomorrow expecting everything to be well.
Expecting her.
Elizabeth paced the room, her mind racing in frantic circles.
Could she run away first?
Could she warn him somehow?
If only there were some way—some magical contrivance that allowed one to speak across distance—to tell him what was happening.
Then he could come tonight. He could appear beneath her window with a ladder like the hero in a novel. She could climb down, make her escape…
Elizabeth pressed her hands to her temples.
Her thoughts were spiraling wildly now.
She needed to think. She needed a plan, and she needed it quickly.
As she paced the room in frantic circles, she looked up and saw herself in the small looking glass on her dressing table.
Only then did she see her face for the first time, and the sight made her catch her breath.
Mary’s handprint stood out vividly against her cheek—angry red beneath the pale winter light. Already the skin had begun to swell, the outline of fingers faint but unmistakable. A small cut at the corner of her lip had dried into a thin, dark line.
Elizabeth lifted her fingers cautiously to the spot and winced.
The physical pain seemed almost unreal compared to the turmoil in her mind.
She turned slowly toward the washstand beside her bed. The porcelain basin still held a small quantity of water left from her morning toilette. It had grown cool in the chill air of the room.
Elizabeth poured it fresh from the pitcher and dipped a cloth into the basin.
The frigid water stung her fingers, and she wrung the cloth out and pressed it gently to her cheek. The cold eased the burning of the skin almost immediately, dulling the sharpness of the swelling.
But it did nothing—nothing at all—to quiet the dread that had settled like a stone in her chest.
Elizabeth sank down onto the edge of the bed, the cloth still held to her face.
And then, quite without warning, the tears came.
They slipped down silently at first, then faster, until her shoulders shook with the effort of holding in the sobs.
Her father.
Her own father had spoken of carrying her away in the night as though she were a parcel to be delivered elsewhere.
A forced marriage. A stranger. The destruction of everything she and Darcy had built together.
“There must be a way,” she whispered hoarsely to the empty room.
But no answer came.
The house outside her chamber seemed quiet—too quiet.
Time passed, though Elizabeth could not have said how much.
At length a knock sounded at her door.
Elizabeth hastily wiped her eyes and lifted the cloth to her cheek once again. “Come in.”
The door opened and Kitty entered carefully, balancing a small tray. “I brought you some tea,” she said, stepping inside. “I heard what happened with Mary.”
Elizabeth blinked in surprise.
Kitty set the tray upon the small table near the bed. “There are biscuits too,” she added, with an earnest little nod. “You know how Mama always says tea cures nearly everything.”
Elizabeth felt a sudden rush of affection. “Thank you, Kitty,” she said softly. “That is very kind of you.”
She lowered the cloth from her face, and Kitty gasped, horrified. “Oh! Lizzy—your cheek! And your wedding day is tomorrow!”
Elizabeth attempted a small smile. “It looks worse than it feels, I promise.”
Kitty frowned sympathetically but said nothing more as Elizabeth poured the tea. She added a little sugar, then reached for one of the biscuits.
The first sip tasted… odd.
Elizabeth paused. There was a faint bitterness beneath the sweetness. But then she remembered that her lip had bled a little after Mary’s slap.
It must be the dried blood mixing with the tea.
She took another sip, and Kitty began to ramble, as was her wont each time a room fell silent.
“I suppose it will be very strange with you and Jane gone,” she said, wandering about the room restlessly. “And Mary leaving in January besides. It will only be Lydia and me then.”
Elizabeth nodded absently, sipping again. Her thoughts were still tangled with the horror she had overheard.
“And Lydia insists that Captain Carter is the handsomest officer,” Kitty continued irritably. “But Maria Lucas says that Lieutenant Sanderson—”
Elizabeth’s hand stilled halfway to her lips.
Something felt… strange.
A faint heaviness crept into her limbs.
Kitty finished her rambling and glanced toward the door.
“I must go,” she said. “Lydia is impatient to leave for Lucas Lodge and gossip about the officers, and I hope she has not gone without me.”
Elizabeth blinked.
“Gone?”
“Yes. Papa told me to bring you tea first, just as we were about to leave to call on Maria. Lydia was quite cross about the delay.”
Elizabeth froze.
“What did you say?”
Kitty shrugged. “It was odd Papa gave the order, I suppose. But when he explained what happened with Mary, I did not think anything of it.”
The cup trembled in Elizabeth’s hand.
The bitterness in the tea.
The heaviness spreading through her body.
The spinning in her head.
Her father.
Dread flooded her veins like ice.
The tea.
The tea had been drugged.
Elizabeth set the cup down abruptly, her heart pounding.
The medicine must already be working. The room tilted slightly as she stood.
Her mind raced desperately for some escape.
Then—suddenly—the Lucases.
Charlotte.
The thought struck like lightning.
Elizabeth turned to Kitty, forcing her voice to remain calm.
“Kitty… before you go, would you do something for me?”
“What is it?”
“I wish to write Charlotte a small note,” Elizabeth said lightly. “A farewell, as it were. Mama would never permit me to leave the house the day before the wedding.”
Kitty looked puzzled. “But will you not see her tomorrow at the wedding breakfast?”
“Yes, but there will be so many people about. I wish to make my farewells to my friend with a little more privacy.”
“I suppose.”
“Since you are going to Lucas Lodge, could you take it to her for me?”
Kitty shrugged. “Very well.”
“Go fetch your cloak and boots,” Elizabeth urged. “I will write it now.”
Kitty left, and Elizabeth rushed to the writing desk, her fingers trembling so badly she could scarcely hold the pen.
The words came hurriedly, blotting the page.
Charlotte—
I have been drugged. My father and Mary mean to prevent the wedding. They will take me away tonight while I sleep. Please go to Netherfield at once and tell Mr. Darcy what has happened so that he may come for me. I do not know where they intend to send me—perhaps Surrey—to Mr. Collins.
Pray for me.
—E. Bennet
The ink blurred as her vision swam.
Her head spun now, the drug pressing heavier upon her mind.
Elizabeth forced herself to finish the letter and seal it.
The room lurched as she rose.
“Kitty!” she called weakly.
Footsteps approached.
Elizabeth stumbled to the door and leaned heavily against the frame.
Kitty appeared, cloak already thrown over her shoulders.
“Here,” Elizabeth said, pressing the letter into her hand.
“You must give this directly to Charlotte. The moment you see her.”
Kitty frowned. “Why—?”
“She must read it at once.”
“But—”
Elizabeth’s legs trembled violently. “For once in your life,” she snapped suddenly, her voice sharp with desperation, “just do as you are told.”
Kitty stared, startled, a small look of hurt flashing across her face at her elder sister’s unusual sharpness. “I will,” she said quickly.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Elizabeth nodded weakly. “Go. Thank you.”
Kitty hurried away, going down the stairs at a rapid pace. Elizabeth managed to close the door before the strength left her completely.
She staggered toward the bed, her vision darkening.
The drug was taking hold swiftly now.
Her last conscious thought was a desperate prayer.
Please, God… let Darcy come.
The darkness closed over her.
And everything went black.