Chapter 30 #2
Darcy’s expression hardened. “No, but her father intends to force her to do so.”
Bates straightened, his only reaction to this shocking news was a slight widening of his eyes.
“We are going to retrieve her,” Darcy said.
The valet nodded once and began to start placing clothing on the bed with remarkable speed.
“You will escort Lady Anne and Miss Darcy to a coaching inn,” Darcy continued. “Remain with them until I arrive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Darcy watched him for a moment with faint amusement at his valet’s orderliness.
Darcy suspected that if the King himself were announced at the door—or the world were ending—Bates would receive the news with the same calm nod and reply, “Very good, sir,” before continuing to fold cravats with exacting care.
Under other circumstances the thought might have diverted him more, but tonight, it merely steadied him. If Bates could behave as though the world were not collapsing around them, then Darcy supposed he could attempt to do the same—at least until Elizabeth was safe.
A knock sounded at the door, but it opened almost immediately. Richard strode in, not having waited to be admitted.
“My trunk is ready, Bates,” he said. “Can you ensure it makes it into the carriage with Darcy’s things?”
Bates simply nodded, and Darcy gaped at his cousin. “You are already packed?”
Richard shrugged. “One of the advantages of growing up with very little personal belongings as the spare younger son of an earl.”
Darcy grimaced. “I can well believe it.”
“And there were several campaigns where we had to abandon camp quickly,” Richard added casually. “Unless I wished to march to safety without a clean set of breeches, I learned how to gather what was needed in a timely fashion.”
“I see.”
There was a moment of silence, then Richard said, “So, are we going?”
Darcy shook his head out of the fog. “Yes—yes, of course.”
They descended the stairs together and stepped out into the cold night air. Bingley had been as good as his word—the carriage already stood before Netherfield’s entrance, the horses stamping impatiently as though they too sensed the urgency of the errand.
“Godspeed,” Bingley said quietly as Darcy climbed inside. “Get your Miss Elizabeth to safety.”
Darcy clasped his friend’s hand firmly.
“Take care of Miss Bennet.”
“I intend to marry her tomorrow,” Bingley replied with a determined nod. “Which seems the most effective way to accomplish that.”
Richard laughed softly as he settled opposite Darcy. “An admirable strategy.”
The door shut. The coachman cracked his whip, and the carriage lurched forward into the night.
For several minutes neither man spoke.
Darcy stared out into the darkness as hedgerows and fields rushed past, his mind racing through a thousand possibilities—all of them terrible.
What if we are already too late?
What if Elizabeth has already been taken away?
What if—
Richard suddenly leaned forward.
“Stop.”
Darcy blinked.
“What?”
“You are borrowing trouble,” Richard said calmly. “And doing it very poorly.”
Darcy exhaled sharply. “I cannot help it.”
“I know.” Richard leaned back against the cushions. “But panic will not help Elizabeth.”
Darcy nodded once. “You are right.”
They rode in silence for another mile before Richard spoke again.
“When we approach Longbourn, we should slow the carriage and extinguish the lanterns.”
Darcy’s mind immediately followed the thought. “Yes, we ought to see what the situation is before announcing ourselves.”
“The first thing we should check is to see if their carriage is there. If it is gone, they may have already taken her.”
Darcy felt his stomach drop.
Richard saw the look and raised a hand. “Do not assume the worst.”
Darcy forced himself to breathe.
“If the carriage is present,” Richard continued, “then Mr. Bennet will have not yet moved her.”
“And if it is gone?”
Richard’s expression hardened. “Then we follow.”
Darcy nodded grimly. The carriage rolled steadily onward, the wheels crunching softly along the frozen road. At last, the dark outline of Longbourn’s lane appeared ahead.
Richard leaned forward and rapped sharply on the roof. “Extinguish the lamps,” he called quietly.
The carriage slowed. Moments later the lanterns went dark, leaving them nearly invisible in the moonlit road. As they crept towards the gate, Darcy’s pulse hammered in his ears. They came to a stop just behind the hedgerows, where nothing could be seen from the front door of Longbourn.
“This is as close as we can take it,” Richard said, “without drawing any attention.”
They swiftly descended from the carriage. “Wait here,” Darcy told the coachman.
“Follow my lead,” Richard said, stooping down slightly and taking soft steps on the gravel.
Darcy copied his cousin’s movements, and the two made their way down the long drive. He leaned forward slightly, peering through the window into the moonlit fields, his breath tight in his chest.
“There,” Richard murmured quietly.
Darcy followed his gaze.
Beyond the hedgerow and across the yard, the faint outline of a carriage could be seen near the stables. The long shape was unmistakable even in the dim light.
Darcy let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding, the knot loosening slightly in his chest. “Then she must still be here.”
They continued on foot, and the house rose before them in quiet darkness, its windows black against the night.
Darcy led the way around the side of the house until they stood beneath Elizabeth’s window.
For a moment he simply looked up at it, then he stooped and picked up a few small pebbles from the frozen ground.
Richard watched with mild amusement as Darcy tossed one lightly upward. It tapped faintly against the glass.
Nothing.
Darcy tried again.
Tap.
Tap.
Still nothing.
He felt suddenly absurd—like a lovestruck hero from some sentimental romance novel attempting to summon his lady from her chamber window.
Richard folded his arms. “If her sister answers, I shall endeavor to look surprised.”
Darcy ignored him and threw one last pebble.
The window remained dark and silent.
Darcy’s jaw tightened.
“Either she sleeps very soundly,” Richard said, “or she is not able to answer.”
“I do not like the second possibility,” growled Darcy.
“Come,” Richard said quietly. “Let us try another entrance.”
They circled toward the back of the house where the kitchens lay. A faint smell of banked embers lingered in the cold air, but the servants’ door stood firmly shut.
Darcy tried the handle.
Locked.
Richard tried it as well, testing the hinges.
“Secure,” he murmured.
Darcy stepped back and looked at the dark house.
“What now?” Richard asked.
Darcy ran a hand through his hair.
“I wish I had a ladder.”
Richard gave a quiet laugh.
“I imagine lowering an unconscious young lady down a ladder would be difficult,” he said mildly. “Particularly given your well-documented aversion to heights.”
Darcy shot him a look.
Richard shrugged. “You nearly fainted on the battlements at Dover when we toured it with your father as boys.”
“I did not faint.”
“You sat down very suddenly.”
Darcy turned away. “Let us try the front door.”
“I think that may be the only option left to us. That, or break a window.”
“No,” Darcy shook his head. “I think I would like to see what Mr. Bennet has to say for himself.”
They went back around to the front of the house and climbed the steps. Darcy lifted the heavy brass knocker and struck it hard against the wood.
The sound echoed through the quiet house.
He knocked again.
And again.
Soon the knocking turned into pounding.
“Mr. Bennet!” Darcy called sharply. “Open this door!”
Silence.
Darcy struck the door again, harder this time.
“Mr. Bennet!”
At last footsteps sounded within.
The lock turned.
The door opened a narrow distance—and Mr. Bennet stood in the threshold.
His eyes widened at the sight of them. “Mr. Darcy,” he said.
Darcy did not bother with pleasantries. “I have come for Elizabeth.”
For a brief moment neither man moved, then Mr. Bennet’s expression hardened. Without a word he slammed the door shut, and the bolt slid into place.
Darcy stared at the closed door for a fraction of a second. Then fury surged through him.
“The wedding is off,” Mr. Bennet’s voice called from inside. “You may go home.”
Darcy raised his fist and pounded on the door.
“Open this door!”
No answer.
Darcy stepped back, his heart hammering. Richard watched him carefully.
“Well?” the colonel asked quietly.
Darcy’s jaw tightened.
Then he stepped forward and threw his shoulder against the door. It shuddered beneath the impact, but it held.
Darcy stepped back, breathing hard.
Richard caught his arm. “Not the panels,” he said quickly under his breath. “The lock.”
Darcy glanced at him.
“The frame will give before the wood,” Richard continued, already studying the door with a soldier’s quick assessment. “Just beside the latch. Shoulder, not your foot. Hard and low.”
Darcy nodded once.
He took two steps back.
For the briefest instant, a strange thought flashed through his mind—that he had been raised from boyhood to respect doors, property, and propriety. Breaking into a gentleman’s house in the middle of the night would have horrified every tutor he had ever possessed.
But Elizabeth is inside.
Drugged.
Helpless.
That settled the matter.
Darcy set his shoulder against the wood just beside the lock and drove forward with all his strength. The door crashed inward against the frame with a sharp crack, but still did not open.
Richard nodded approvingly. “Again.”
Darcy stepped back and struck it a second time, his shoulder slamming into the wood as Richard’s booted foot drove forward beside him with equal force.
This time the wood around the latch splintered, the frame groaning under the strain as the lock began to tear loose from the jamb.
Inside the house, a voice shouted.
Darcy did not pause.
He drew back once more and hurled his weight forward.
The latch tore free from the wood with a violent splintering sound, and the door burst inward, slamming against the wall.
For a moment the two men stood in the shattered doorway, breathing hard, then Darcy stepped inside.
The front hall lay dimly lit by a single candle that had been left burning on a table. Mr. Bennet stood several paces away, his face pale and furious.
“What the devil do you think you are doing?” he demanded.
Darcy barely spared him a glance. He strode forward towards the staircase.
“I have come for Elizabeth, and you cannot stop me.”