Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
elizabeth
I don’t recommend dying.
It hurts, for one thing, rather a lot. I woke up in my bed at the rectory in Kent, the echo of that bright pain pulsing through my head, and my heart was beating very, very fast.
I sat up straight, gasping, touching my temple.
Then, I broke down in panicked sobs, which went on for nearly a quarter hour.
Finally, I got out of bed.
I had not been here and had not lived this life for some time, so it was all very strange and yet familiar in a way that tugged on me with a flat feeling. It was hard to confront the fact that no matter how far we’d gone, no matter what we’d done, no matter anything, we were still tied here, to this, to reliving the same day.
I dressed and made my way out to the breakfast parlor.
“Mrs. Collins and her sister have gone into town this morning to do some shopping for ribbons for their bonnets,” said Mr. Collins, stirring his cup of morning tea.
“Yes, of course,” I said faintly.
I tucked into breakfast with some gusto, I must say. Dying had really taken a bit out of me. I had quite an appetite.
I wondered what had become of my husband. Had he been shot, too?
If so, would he have awakened in his bed at Rosings?
If he were not dead, it might take him ages and ages to make his way all the way back here, and I should not have any way to get in touch with him. I could leave, I supposed, try to make my way to…
Well, perhaps Newhaven? I could wait there?
No, no, it would make better sense to stay put, I told myself.
I thought of going up to Rosings and bursting in on their breakfast. I imagined how Lady Catherine would take that.
Not well, likely.
No, if Will was coming, he’d come when he always did, which was during my morning walk. I could simply be patient and wait for him. He would likely arrive, I thought. There was no reason to worry until he did not.
So, I waited.
And at the appointed time, I went out for my walk.
But Will did not come.
I walked and walked and assumed that Colonel Fitzwilliam would arrive as usual and we would have our talk about rich men not being able to marry where they chose and all of that.
But he did not either.
No, of course! If Will were missing, which he must be, or he would have come to me, then the colonel would be out looking for him.
I should go back to the rectory, and doubtless, someone would come to inquire if we had seen Mr. Darcy.
Except, no one did.
I began to question that, as I wondered if they would be very worried about Mr. Darcy. He was a grown man with a lot of money and could do as he pleased. If he was missing, people might be likely to be annoyed with him for disappearing but not worried over his safety.
I didn’t know.
But we were all to go to tea at Rosings that day, so I decided we would get the right of it then, when we arrived.
We all trooped up the steps outside Rosings toward the front door.
The door opened, but it wasn’t a servant there, or at least it wasn’t anyone in a servant’s uniform, and then I stopped looking at whatever the person was wearing and noticed that they were holding a gun.
Bang .
I gasped.
Maria Lucas’s throat exploded in gore.
Bang .
Pain exploded into my—
fitzwilliam
They dragged me off of her body and tied me up and threw me in a stall in the stable.
I listened as they talked in French over what they would do.
I was to be hung.
Well.
I decided that was likely more convenient, in the end, to be killed as well, because I would wake up in Rosings.
I hoped.
We had not drowned in the sea, after all, not given up and allowed ourselves to breathe in water, because we had not been certain what would happen. I had survived after one death, yes, but did that mean I would survive endless deaths?
I did not care, however, because if she was dead, I wanted to be dead.
They might as well kill me, if she was gone.
I tried not to think of the idea that perhaps the demon watch gave us both one survival chance, and then we really died. Which would mean she was alive and after they hung me, I was dead.
I tried not to, but of course, I did.
So, when they came for me, to string me up, I decided I might as well fight.
Not that it mattered much, for there were a number of them, and they easily subdued me. All that it meant was that my last few moments there, alive, in the south of France, were considerably less pleasant than they would have been if I hadn’t struggled.
Also, in regards to dying, I highly recommend a bullet to the hangman’s noose.
The bullet is quicker.
I can’t say which hurts worse—they may hurt about the same.
But the prolonged element of dangling there, being unable to draw breath, the world fading out, and one’s lungs burning until—