Chapter Nine
What Lizzy Saw
Elizabeth stared at Mr. Darcy in the flickering light of her lamp.
He blinked at the sudden light and gaped slack-jawed at her.
What was he doing here? Was he one of them?
Was he really one of Papa’s confederates in whatever plot he was embroiled in after all, and not seeking to expose him as she first thought?
She ought to have known that someone like the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley would not otherwise have dealings with a family of such low connections as the Bennets.
He had not been visiting Papa because of a growing friendship, but because they were working together.
Somehow this seemed even worse than her previous supposition that he was seeking her friendship as a way of getting to learn Papa’s secrets.
This was not the first time she wondered whether he had been paying attention to her because he required her quiet and benign cooperation.
Oh, which of the two alternatives was worse?
She recalled Mr. Wickham’s words of warning, his admonition that Darcy thought only of himself and treated those he deemed his lessers with casual disregard.
Mr. Wickham had gone on for a while about Mr. Darcy, telling tales of his arrogance as a child and his haughty disdain of the estate steward’s young son.
Then had come the pity-inducing story of how Mr. Darcy had deprived Wickham of the living promised to him by Darcy’s own father, leaving the young man instead to make his own way in the world.
The picture Mr. Wickham had painted of Mr. Darcy was a dark one indeed.
Could it all be true? She had, at first, not wished to believe this of the man she was growing to admire, but some part of her still chafed at Darcy’s insult and she grasped at any reason to dislike him, to prove to herself that her initial instinct had been the correct one.
He could be charming when he desired, she understood, but why should he desire it now? What was he hoping to achieve?
His megrim must have been feigned, a ruse to gain him entry to the house after dark, when he might perpetrate some nefarious plan!
How they had all fallen for it, taking pity on an incapacitated gentleman, when really he was fooling them all!
She narrowed her eyes and clenched her teeth. The scoundrel!
And yet... something in there did not hold true.
He had seemed in genuine enough distress, although a spy must be a fine actor.
And if he were truly colluding with Papa, he would not need such a contrivance; Papa would simply invite him, or spirit him up to the tower room along with the others.
Furthermore, as she glared at him, she saw he had no lamp with which to explore, and his expression was far too stunned for one accustomed to clandestine activities.
She pulled at the sash holding her robe closed, all too aware that she was clad only in her night clothing and that her hair was loose down her back, rather than pulled into a neat plait or chignon.
This was no time to be missish. Summoning her sternest expression and coolest voice, she repeated her challenge:
“What are you doing here?”
This time he was able to formulate a response.
“I awoke and heard a noise...” She levelled her eyes at him.
“That is, I was looking for something to read and...” His eyes were wide and the expression of disbelief upon his face almost convincing.
“I came in here and...” He shook his head and raised a hand to brush his dishevelled hair from his face, then grimaced at the pain the motion seemed to have caused.
At last he took a deep breath and burst out, “There is a secret staircase in your walls, leading into this room, and three men emerged, then escaped into the night.”
Now it was Lizzy’s turn to be stunned. If he were so shocked, if he were telling her this, he could not at all be one of Papa’s collaborators. Nor could he be a professional spy, like the one she had overheard in the carriage. Could he? Besides which...
“What? Another staircase?” the words escaped her before she could think to hold them back.
He blinked again, but this time his expression was of surprise.
“Another one? You mean to say that there is more than one hidden staircase?” And then, after a moment he added, his voice more even, “Why were you more alarmed at the presence of another hidden stairwell than at the presence of three strangers in your walls? What do you know about them?”
Now it was her turn to search for words.
“I do not completely trust you, Mr. Darcy, but these days I find I trust no one. I believe we need to have a candid conversation. We could use the sitting room, but even now I fear being overheard. I may be mad to suggest this, but I beg your indulgence and your discretion. Please follow me.”
Whatever was she thinking to do this? She had been so careful earlier to have both Mr. Darcy’s footman and a maid in his room whilst she was tending to his megrim, but now she was considering something so very much more scandalous.
She claimed she did not trust him, and she had tried very much not to like him, but despite both her efforts and Mr. Wickham’s words, she felt that this man was no threat to her, whatever danger he may be to her reputation were they to be found together alone at this hour of night.
With a fortifying breath, she led him from the library and into the drawing room, where she turned to face him again.
“Please close your eyes, sir. I would keep as much of this secret as possible.” He obliged by both squeezing his eyes shut and turning around.
She found the knob on the side of the fireplace that matched the one in her room above and waited for the panel in the wall beside it to open. “You may look again.”
“Most interesting,” was all he said, and he followed her up the narrow curving stairwell until she reached the landing by her chambers. With a push of a lever, the panel opened, and she led this most unexpected guest into her private bedroom.
She set the lamp upon a small table near the fireplace, and drew up two chairs, offering one to her guest. He seemed surprised by his surroundings, although he kept his movements calm, allowing only his eyes to rove around the space.
“Your bedchamber, Miss Elizabeth? I understand now why you asked for my discretion.” He nodded, which she took as an acceptance of that charge.
“I would have imagined you to reside in the main wing of the house with your family.” He left unsaid the question of her choice, but she chose to answer it, regardless.
“I had to plead for months to be allowed this room. Mama was set against it, but after I discovered the stairs...”
“So you have known about these for a long time.” He bestowed upon her one of his private smiles, and she knew he understood her.
“Yes, and I was certain Papa did not know. But the other stairs, the ones leading to the library, those I knew nothing about!”
He made a steeple with his two index fingers upon which to balance his chin, but he recoiled the moment he did so.
“It does still trouble you. You shoulder, that is. Am I to believe that your headache has passed?”
He rubbed his brow with his good arm and nodded. “I thank you, yes. I feel tired, but the crippling pain has receded. Your compresses and the balm with the herbs seem to have been most effective. When I awoke I was very much improved.”
He did not mention his shoulder; it must be bothering him still, but he was too stoic to confess it.
Perhaps when he returned to his room, she would suggest that John massage some of the headache balm into the joint to ease it.
Instead he asked, “Do the other stairs have an entrance into this room as well?”
Lizzy shrugged. “I cannot say. I had never thought to search for a second secret stairwell. I was so amazed as a child that Papa had not discovered mine by the fireplace, but if he knew about the other stairs, he would have thought the same thing: that there was only one secret entrance, and that he knew about it.” She let her eyes move across the room, looking up towards the ceiling, then down to the floor, wishing she could see through into the room below, and through the thick stone walls that lurked beneath the modern panels.
“Where would the door be, do you think, if it opened into here?”
Mr. Darcy rose from his chair and paced to the far end of the room.
“The library door opens into the hallway, below that one,” he indicated the main door to her chamber, and the passageway beyond that connected this wing with the main body of the house.
“The door was in the wall connected to this tower, approximately here,” he took several careful steps, stopping now and then to think.
“If the curvature is the same as the stairs we just now ascended,” he walked forward several more paces, “and if I am correct in my memories and my calculation—” Pace.
Pace. “—the doorway would be approximately here.” He stopped just a few feet from the edge of her bed.
“But that cannot be so,” Lizzy pursed her lips. “For if the stairs were to continue in a similar manner, they would pass right through the window, and that cannot be. What if the angle were steeper, or in the opposite direction?”
They explored the room for some time, trying to discern where the stairs might let out into the space, but no tapping on panels revealed any hollow sounds or indications that there was a doorway.
“Could it pass this room completely?” Lizzy asked at last. “For if there were a door, would I not have heard the men passing up and down in the night?”
Darcy agreed. “It is possible. The only certain way to know is to take that other stairwell, but I do not fancy meeting somebody half way up or down.”
“No indeed,” she sighed.