Chapter Fifteen #2
She looked about, but the scrubby brambles around the hut offered little in the way of makeshift weapons. Dipping down, she hoisted a fist-sized rock, the largest she saw.
“Please.” The man’s reedy voice cracked. “I am in need of assistance.”
The pain in his voice as much as the cultured accent drawing her, Elizabeth inched forward until she could peer inside.
A man sprawled within, propped against the back wall and wrapped in a greatcoat of the finest wool.
What she could see of his trousers, coat, and waistcoat, spoke of superior quality as well, the latter two thickly embroidered.
He had no hat or gloves, but his boots, even inside the dingy hut, gleamed, polished and nearly new.
Thick blond curls topped his head and the face beneath them proved handsome enough to be so even though his skin stood shockingly white except for the dark rings beneath his eyes. A sheen of sweat coated his brow.
He raised an arm that trembled with the effort. “Please. I am so parched.”
“I do not have anything with me.” Elizabeth looked about, but saw nothing with the man, either. Only the clothing he wore. “What has happened to you? How do you come to be here?”
He rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. “I was abducted. I escaped on the roadway, but they shot me as I fled.” He gestured limply to his leg. “I made my way here.”
A closer look revealed something white, likely a handkerchief, bound his left leg where it protruded from his greatcoat.
“How awful.” Realizing she still held the rock, she dipped to set it on the ground.
How could there be so many criminals bent on abducting wealthy gentlemen?
Elizabeth hadn’t realized it was so dangerous to be a man of means.
Surely, something should be done to root out the ne'er-do-wells responsible for such affronts. “I will fetch help.”
The man’s eyes flew open. “No. You cannot bring anyone. You cannot trust anyone. They will be searching for me.”
“Surely the local apothecary can be tr—”
“No,” the man before her gasped out. “They will be watching. They will not give up. Not for the sum they believe I—” He broke off with a grimace. “Believe I am worth.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, uncertain if the man was cautious or paranoid.
“I am afraid that if you must rely on me alone, it might be hours before I can return.” She would be under enough suspicion when she finally got back to Longbourn this morning without attempting to depart again with immediacy.
It might not even be possible for her to slip out again today.
“I would rather await one so lovely as you for hours than risk being found by those who did this.” Though stiff with pain, his smile revealed even white teeth.
He could not be in too dire a state, if he would still seek to flatter. “I will return as swiftly as I can, Mister…” She trailed off, awaiting a name.
His gaze narrowed.
Elizabeth offered, “I am Miss Bennet.”
He pressed his lips into a hard line. He looked her up and down, radiating suspicion.
Exasperated by his mistrust when he so obviously required aid, she said, “I must have something to call you, sir. What about initials?”
He shook his head. “Mine are distinct.”
She raised her gaze heavenward for a moment, seeking fortitude against mistrustful men.
He had been assaulted and shot, and might even be delirious, what with the perspiration gleaming on his brow, and he would begrudge her even his initials?
“Perhaps simply the first initial of your given name? I can hardly hunt down your identity based upon that.”
“The first initial of my Christian name?” He thought a moment longer, then nodded. “I imagine F is near enough.”
Did that mean his name began with an F, like Fitzwilliam, or a letter near to F in the alphabet?
Deciding she did not care, Elizabeth nodded. “Well then, Mr. F., I will return as soon as I may.”
He dipped his head. “Thank you, Miss Bennet.”
It seemed unfair he’d given nothing but the letter F in exchange for her surname. Still, Elizabeth nodded, turning away. She made all haste to Longbourn, though she now held no hope of not being missed.
Quicker even than her feet, her thoughts skittered over what she might say if pressed.
Finally, she reached the house and stepped into the scullery, then halted, blinking in the dimmer light.
Two of the younger kitchen maids worked at a large basin to one side of the door, scrubbing, and across from Elizabeth stood—
“Where have you been?” Mary demanded. “You are even later than yesterday. Everyone has eaten and Mama is looking for you.”
“I found an injured creature,” Elizabeth said, attempting not to lie outright. If her mother already sought her, and had already condemned her, should she not take some victuals and a blanket and return now?
“An injured creature?” Mary repeated slowly.
“Yes. He has been shot.”
Where they scrubbed, the maids exchanged a look.
“He?” Mary peered at Elizabeth. “He who?”
“I am calling him Mr. F.”
“Mr. F? Not a fox?” Mary lamented. “I know you and Jane have soft hearts for foxes, but they are hunted for a reason.”
“Well, Mr. Fox has been hunted, and he has been shot, so now I will exercise my soft heart on his behalf.” Stepping around Mary, Elizabeth went into the kitchen.
Relief filled her at the absence of their housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, the only one aside from Mrs. Bennet who might attempt to stop Elizabeth from taking food.
She strode across the room to the wet larder.
“What are you doing?” Mary asked, scrambling after her.
“Looking for food for Mr. Fox.”
“Mama is not going to like this.”
“Which is why I must return to him now before she forbids me.” Elizabeth took out a hunk of cheese, weighing it in her hand. How much did a grown man eat in a day?
“You mean to go back out now?”
Selecting a few more items, Elizabeth turned to her sister. “I do.”
“But you have not heard why Mama is looking for you.”
Elizabeth halted. “Not because I was not at breakfast?” Again.
Mary shook her head. “Papa had news.”
Could Mr. Bennet have heard of the second attempt on Mr. Darcy already? “What news?”
Mary smiled, obviously pleased to know more than Elizabeth.
“He said he recently received a letter, and that his first inclination was to wait a fortnight to answer it, for he thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring well-thought through attention, but that the attempt to abduct Mr. Darcy in the very light of day in the middle of Meryton reminded him of his own mortality, and so he replied with alacrity. His correspondent proved equally quick.” Mary’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“What correspondent?” Elizabeth asked, for her sister had yet to impart any actual news. Certainly, none that would see their mother looking for Elizabeth.
“This morning at breakfast, while you were out nursing some horrible fox, Papa informed us that our cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when Papa is dead, may turn us all out of this house as soon as he pleases, will arrive here this very afternoon.”
Elizabeth stared at her. “Mr. Collins is coming here? Why?”
“Mama said to count the silver, no doubt, but she has us all scurrying about to make ready.” Mary lifted her chin. “I was sent to find you. You are shirking.”
A maid skirted them, squeezing between Mary and the large kitchen table, and reminding Elizabeth of all the ears about them. “Then I best be quick.”
“You are still going back out?”
“I am.” Elizabeth went to the table and took up a loaf left over from breakfast.
Mary appeared at her elbow, her eyes once again thin with suspicion. “Foxes do not eat bread.”
“I do, and I missed breakfast.” With a grin, Elizabeth also hoisted a pot of undoubtedly cold tea, then hastened back in the direction of the scullery.
She dared not go any deeper into the house, but she could secure a blanket from the stable.
Not so fine as that to which Mr. Fox was undoubtedly accustomed, but he would appreciate the extra warmth.
“I am going to tell Mama why you are not helping.”
Not troubling to look back into the bright, hectic kitchen, Elizabeth called, “I assumed you would,” and slipped through the scullery and away.