Chapter 12 The Uncomfortable Truth
Six days prior
To escape the colonel’s looming presence, Elizabeth and Ellie skipped out of the house and into the garden.
The paths were dry, though the grass was still wet from the rain, but the mud did not deter them at all.
They played on the swing before they ventured farther afield.
A dog came running and wagged his tail upon espying the duo.
A high-pitched sound ripped the air. It was probably the hunter’s owner who was whistling, calling his dog back to its duty.
The dog turned abruptly and set off in the direction it had come from.
Ellie ran after it, calling for him to stop, and Elizabeth had no choice but to follow in a most unladylike fashion.
Ellie came to an abrupt halt in front of an octagon-shaped structure with a stained-glass dome roof.
It was the Darcy family mausoleum. The dog had disappeared, and her daughter’s head swirled bewildered in every cardinal direction to discover its whereabouts.
Elizabeth had never ventured into this part of the park before—a densely wooded area with little to recommend it.
She would have thought, given the deference with which Mr Darcy had mentioned his ancestors’ memories, that the mausoleum would be well kept, but it was not.
Weeds had taken over the building; only the dome and the door with its marbled columns were still visible under the heavy ivy curtain.
It was not part of the immaculate formal garden but was situated in a free-growing wilderness.
On closer inspection, moss covered the walls under the ivy.
Probably a result of decades of neglect. How strange.
A clattering noise came from inside the building, startling Elizabeth, who for a second pictured one of her husband’s ancestors must have risen from their grave. What a ridiculous notion! Elizabeth chuckled and tried to calm her racing heart.
“Doggy!” Ellie cried and ran to the door.
The sound resembled the flapping of a caged bird, like the cockatoo Lady Catherine kept in her parlour, rather than a dog. It was not impossible that a bird might have been trapped inside the mausoleum whilst Mr Wickham plundered Mrs Darcy’s final resting place.
“Let us investigate,” Elizabeth suggested to her daughter, who clapped her hands in glee.
She tried the door with the intention of saving the bird from certain death and discovered it was unlocked.
The narrow room was lined with tombs on both sides, and the marble covers enclosing each were elaborately engraved in gold letters. At the opposite end, there was a cast-iron table with two chairs. A vase on the table held fresh flowers; the mausoleum was not as abandoned as it seemed from without.
There was no trapped bird to be seen, but the faint clattering sound was more prominent inside the building.
It is the ivy branches blowing in the wind, Elizabeth thought as a sickeningly sweet smell pervaded the air.
The cloth tasted of rum; Elizabeth barely registered that it was pressed over her mouth before blackness enveloped her.
Ellie!
#
Elizabeth forced her eyes open only to find herself engulfed in pitch blackness, whilst waves of nausea churned in her stomach.
A familiar warm form lay beside her legs.
She caressed her daughter’s curly hair before trying to sit up, but her head cracked against a stony surface.
Rubbing her sore forehead, she bent to the side and hauled her daughter up into the crook of her arm.
Ellie was sleeping deeply and did not stir despite being jostled about.
It must be the middle of the night, though something was off.
A form lay shaking on her other side. It might be a dog that was panting in short swift gasps, reminding her of her aunt Phillips’s pug, Prince.
He sometimes trembled when he was cold or scared, but the form beside her was not a small lap dog, nor a medium-sized hunter—it was monstrous, which could only mean one thing.
Mr Darcy had mastiffs patrolling the grounds of Pemberley, but they were never allowed inside.
Yet, she could find no other plausible explanation for the creature beside her, and she dared not touch it in case it bit her hand.
The giant dogs were not kept as pets like her aunt’s beloved Prince but were guard dogs, trained to attack interlopers.
What a lion was to a cat, the mastiff was to a dog, and Elizabeth moved as far away as her cramped situation allowed.
A sweet smell spread in the air, and Elizabeth could see a sliver of light before darkness enveloped her again.
The next time she came to, her bed was still cold, but it was not motionless. It rocked and swayed, making a loud rattling noise that was difficult to overlook when one was trying to sleep. It was also smaller than she remembered; it felt like the walls were closing in on her from all angles.
Her chest was warmed by her sleeping daughter, but the rest of her was cold.
The cover must have fallen off the bed, but Elizabeth could not muster the strength to retrieve it.
What was that noise? It sounded like carriage wheels on gravel, and she chuckled at the image of a carriage driving through her bedroom before she fell asleep once again.
#
Willow Cottage, Matlock
“What do you think of Willow Cottage?”
The colonel handed his dumbstruck wife out of the carriage.
The house was in a sorry state and much smaller than he remembered from his youth. It was odd how everything shrunk as one grew older.
He walked around the small building, wading knee-high through weeds and bushes before he tentatively opened the door. Judging by the mould growing visibly on the walls, the roof was leaking. It was uninhabitable and unsavable.
“We shall have to tear it down and rebuild,” he determined.
He did not miss his wife’s grateful sigh. She was too spoilt to imagine living in such cramped conditions, no matter what renovations could be made.
“I am so relieved. I do not need a house as grand as Pemberley, but it would be nice to have a guest room and a decent nursery.”
“You will have that and much more, dear Georgiana. Why not duplicate Pemberley here on Matlock land?”
The colonel spread his arms wide and was discouraged by the disbelief discernible on his wife’s countenance. He was compelled to put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.
“We need not remove from Pemberley any time soon, my dear. I am in charge of your brother’s responsibilities for as long as he is away, and the building itself will take a long time to erect.”
“Georgiana!” The colonel cried as his wife crumpled to the ground.
When he was absolutely certain she was out, he worked as quickly as possible, unloading the carriage of its stowaway passengers.
The child was obviously dead because her head dangled awkwardly as he carried her into the cottage.
He could not bring himself to lay her on the floor but put her on the only cot on offer.
The other two he dumped on the floor after dragging them over roots and stones to get them inside.
Considerable efforts were required to haul his cousin out of the compartment he had jostled him into at the back of the carriage. At the end of it, the exertion made sweat trickle down his back.
He regarded the results of his efforts. One looked dead, the other one was questionable.
To be certain, he gave both of them an extra dose of the ether.
It would be best to smack them over the head with something heavy.
He looked around the sparsely furnished cottage.
A rotten wooden chair was not much of a weapon, and Georgiana might come to at any minute.
He had not given her much as he needed her to provide him with an heir.
The chances that he would inherit Pemberley should Georgiana perish were slim to none as a distant Darcy relative was living in Somersby, and the calamity in the library had not been forgotten by his austere cousin. Did he have time to search for a rock?
It did not matter much. Hampered at both ends, there was no escape for either of them should they awaken against all the odds.
The interloper would perish sooner or later.
He did not mind if it was later; she deserved it for usurping his birthright.
Well, not exactly his birthright but his due nevertheless.
The insignificant chit had bewitched his cousin so completely that he had forgotten his duty to his family.
It was an unhealthy love, he reckoned. Darcy should thank him for saving him from himself.
He had singlehandedly managed to secure the bloodlines of Pemberley; his ancestors would be proud of what he had accomplished.
A rustling of fabric jolted the colonel out of his reveries.
He had better hurry before Georgiana revived.
He had not given her much, just enough to knock her out for a short while.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the carriage, where he sat her beside him, holding her upright with an arm around her waist, and gave the horses free rein.
The thoroughbreds of Pemberley did not disappoint, forging out of the forest and down the road at a staggering speed.
Georgiana groaned; it was not long before her eyes blinked against the bright sun.
“You fainted, my dear. I immediately put you in the carriage and set out for the comforts of Pemberley. We shall be there in about half an hour. Should we summon the doctor when we arrive? I know it is common when you are enceinte, so you should not be too concerned. I am exhilarated, Georgiana, and so soon after we married!”
The colonel forced his face into a happy expression.
“I do not know much about the signs, but I think fainting might be one,” Georgiana acknowledged. “I suppose I can ask Elizabeth when she returns.”
The colonel smiled and urged the horses onwards. Their journey passed quickly. His wife was tucked into her bed with the colonel and housekeeper exchanging knowing looks ere long.
#
Elizabeth felt the cloth cover her mouth and nose. The sickening sweet smell of rum had notified her of its reappearance. She held her breath while it was applied and exhaled hard to remove it when the hand holding it let it go. The cloth floated soundlessly to the dirt floor.
She squinted at the light and saw pale, polished hessian boots move over to the person lying next to her, kicking him in his ribs.
The figure heaved slightly from the impact but rolled back into position without any response.
He was fortunate to be on his back, while Elizabeth lay on her stomach with her head wrenched to the side.
Well, not too fortunate; he looked more dead than alive.
The boots moved. Elizabeth hastened to close her eyes lest he was of a mind to cover her face with another freshly dunked cloth.
After what felt like an eternity, the boots retreated and the door closed behind them. Immediately thereafter, the clopping sound of hoofs moving away reverberated through the ground. Elizabeth kept completely still, waiting a few minutes before she deemed it safe to open her eyes.
She was lying on the floor of a small and abandoned cottage with thick layers of dust coating every surface.
She wanted to see who lay beside her. Turning, Elizabeth looked straight into Mr Darcy’s ashen countenance.
A similar cloth to the one on the floor was still tucked around his nose and mouth.
Her hands were bound behind her back, and her ankles were tied tightly together, but she managed to wriggle closer in a most unladylike fashion—a strange thought to be having when propriety should be the least of her concerns.
She supposed it was so rooted in her that it had become a part of her very being.
She inched closer and bit into the cloth covering her estranged husband’s face whilst holding her breath. The cloth was tucked firmly around his head, but she managed to tug it away while her own head swam with dizziness.
Mr Darcy did not awaken; neither did his hue revert back to its natural colour.
It still sported an odd grey tint, and his features were at ease.
Perhaps too much so? Elizabeth observed his chest to see whether there was any movement.
His position was awkward, on his back with his hands tied under him.
His chest appeared to rise and fall ever so slightly, but it might be her mind playing tricks on her.
Elizabeth inched closer, lifting her body with the sheer strength in her back and putting her cheek to his face. It was difficult to tell, but she might feel a faint warmth coming from his mouth.
Elizabeth used to assert the direction of the wind by licking her finger before holding it up in the air because it was much easier to feel a slight breeze on a wet digit.
Her hands were tied but her mouth was not.
Elizabeth let her tongue slide over her dry and chapped lips and rose to hover over Mr Darcy’s mouth.
There was definitely a slight breath emanating from him.
It was to be hoped he would revive once the effects of whatever the colonel had given them had worn off.
The nausea reappeared after her exertions.
Elizabeth lay back on the floor and dozed off.
When she awoke, the room was dark; night-time must have come upon them, and her stomach rumbled in dissatisfaction at the lack of sustenance.
The cold was seeping into her bones. A little more rest and all would be well.