Chapter Thirty #2
Stanton allowed the pistol’s barrel to drop, and he laid it down beside the machine, which he now turned over.
He peered at the bottom for some time, seeming to look for something, and at last nodded.
“Yes, the symbol is there; this is authentic. This is the device we have been looking for. I apologise, Darcy. One never knows whom to trust in these dark times.” His eyes, however, remained hard.
“Then, sir, let us return to Meryton. I imagine you will wish to be on your way back to London as soon as possible.” Darcy moved to climb back into the cart, but Stanton stopped him with a bark, and when Darcy looked up at his companion, the man had reclaimed his pistol and was levelling it once more at his heart.
The panic rose in his breast again, and that familiar pressure began to build behind his eyes.
This would be no good time for another megrim, and he had none of his peppermint and lavender balm, nor his willow bark tea; perhaps with calm enough breathing he might stave off the headache.
He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, willing the tension in his head to abate.
“Come now, Stanton, let us talk like reasonable men.”
The pistol did not waver. “I said one never knows whom to trust, and I do not know whether I may trust you. How do I know that you will not hurry back to your comrades and send them after me the moment I depart? Or that they are not lying in wait even now at the inn, waiting for just one word from you to attack? Your loyalties are suspect, and I would not have this device returned to the wrong hands. I have gone to too much trouble to procure this fabulous machine, and I must keep it safe from other hands. We must, after all, hold England’s needs above our own.
” He seemed to sneer these last words. “There shall be no assault on my person in Meryton; my man has retrieved my carriage by now, and will meet me at the next village over—Oakham, is it? Nobbs is loyal, Darcy. He is the one person I can trust completely.”
As he spoke, Stanton reached into a bag tossed onto the pile of blankets and hay at the back of the cart and pulled out a length of rope.
Darcy could feel his pulse begin to pound and, despite the cold, felt perspiration to break out across his forehead.
Did Stanton mean to strangle him here in this cold and forsaken spot in the woods?
Was the man such a cold-blooded killer as that?
Bright spots appeared in his line of vision, and he could feel the blood begin to pulse in his temples.
Breathe... he told himself, breathe.... But his throat closed up, and the air refused to enter his lungs.
As the world began to tilt under his feet, he fought the impulse of panic.
Fainting would be of no help. Shouting would bring him no assistance. Logic might.
He forced his lungs to take in air as he struggled again to regulate his breath, even under the crush of the impending megrim.
His eyes were fixed upon the rope, thick and heavy as it was, almost unbreakable.
Then the breath rushed into his body. Perhaps he need not panic after all, for the rope was too thick for a garotte; perhaps Stanton only meant to secure him.
“I say, Stanton, what is this? Do you mean to strangle me here? You would never escape, for Washburn at the inn knows we are together, and will set up a hue and cry once I am found missing. You might be a baron, but even peers face the gallows for murder.” The words felt strange in his mouth, and his voice was unfamiliar in his ears, but Stanton did not seem to notice.
“Fear not. I have no intention of killing you. Well, not now and not by my hand. As an artist yourself, you must appreciate what care I must take with my fingers. If I could not draw, I should have no more guise under which to travel the country. I also should not wish to have wasted the time and expertise of Yarrow, who saved your neck the last time I decided to try your mettle. Recall, this is all for the protection of our great country; I shall ensure that this machine makes it into the right hands. Now, back into the cabin.”
With no choice, Darcy obeyed and returned to the dismal hut, carrying the rope in his shaking hands even as he felt his head throb with every step.
“Good, now sit down on the cot there. I am not so cruel. Tie this rope around your feet. Make it secure.” Stanton held the pistol firm; at this close distance, he could not miss and the damage from the blunderbuss would be considerable and undoubtedly fatal. Darcy bound his own feet.
“Now make a loop—a simple slip knot will do. Slide your hands through it... and there!” With a single motion, he reached out and tightened the knot around Darcy’s wrists.
It would not hold for long, but now that Darcy was partially incapacitated, strengthening and adding to the knots was an easy matter, more so, for Stanton no longer needed his pistol.
“What do you mean by ‘last time you decided to test my mettle?’” His throat was tightening up again and his head began to pound, but he strove to remain calm.
Even if Stanton wished to leave him here to die, the baron could not know that Bennet and the entire Gloucestershire militia would be searching for him in this very spot within minutes of the lord’s departure.
He sought a steady rhythm for his breath and was relieved that his body cooperated, even as the throbbing in his head began to ease.
Breathe... breathe... If he focused on his breath, the headache subsided ever so slightly.
“Oh, that.” Stanton had now resumed his calm and serene manner.
“A trifle. You did not think that your adventure that brought you to my house was an accident, did you? No, no, no! Those ruffians were in my employ, and very well trained they were too, to injure so grievously without killing you. They received an extra coin each for their care.”
Panic turned to anger, and Darcy wrenched himself from Stanton’s grip.
The baron resumed his attention to the rope at Darcy’s wrists, but did not see the ill-tied knot at his feet begin to loosen.
“You planned that? You organised and plotted that attack? I counted you a friend! And had they failed, and I had died?”
“That would have been disappointing. I spent so much time in the planning of it. But I would have found another. It is all in the interests of the country, and the end must justify the means. Now calm yourself, man. You’ll have plenty of time here to consider the necessity of my actions.
I needed you and your skills. I knew from.
.. well, from one who knew you as a lad, that you are intelligent and mechanically minded, with a careful hand and an eye for detail.
You were exactly the man I thought I needed to get a set of diagrams of this machine.
That did not work out, but I have the machine itself, which is better still.
Oh yes, and I arranged for your friend Bingley to take Netherfield, so close to Longbourn and the Bennets.
Your friend is innocent of these matters—a word in the ear of his solicitor and another in that of his man of business, and the deal was all but sealed. Now, how is that knot?”
Darcy wriggled and wrenched himself as he tried to shift, but Stanton had secured him firmly. “Curse you,” he spat out. This was no time for rational discussion.
“Keep still. It will be easier on your wrists. John, likewise, knows nothing of my business, other than that I required of him frequent reports as to your recovery from those sadly necessary injuries. I had another to send me the information I really needed, one happily situated within the militia here. Oh, you did not realise who he was? He was one of those ruffians!”
Darcy’s mind immediately turned to the officer he had seen in Meryton who seemed so familiar.
Was he one of Hasting’s men, or one of Forster’s?
He could not recall that, but he could see the man’s face as clearly as if he were in front of him.
He must have remembered him from that fateful night in Mayfair, although how he had seen him in the dark and through his panic he could not say.
Still, he knew in his bones that one of those men was this soldier.
His face must have betrayed his realisation.
“Ah, yes. You know now who he is. As I said, I had you watched as you watched the Bennets. Did you think I would leave you to your business without any assurance that you were acting appropriately? My man—for he is my trusted ally—is the one who gave me reason to suspect that your loyalties might have shifted. But I shall give you the benefit of the doubt and let you live.” He stood back and surveyed the fruits of his efforts as Darcy struggled upon the bed, his hands bound before him, his ankles tied together.
“No, your life is yours, for now. I merely need time to depart unhindered. For King and Country and all that! But I do expect you not to mention this to anybody and swear whoever comes for you to secrecy. I will have my means of ensuring your cooperation, so do not think to betray me. Next time, my ruffians might not be so careful. All in service of England, wot? Adieu.” And with that, he closed the door and left Darcy alone in the freezing and dark cabin, waiting for anyone who might come to rescue him before he succumbed to the cold.
***
THE WAIT WAS MERCIFULLY short. No sooner had the sounds of the wagon’s wheels crunching through the snow faded from his hearing than Darcy managed to loosen the ropes that bound his ankles sufficiently to shuffle across to the door.
His hand were still bound in front of him, and he knew he dared not try this narrow gait in the snow, but from the doorway to the cottage, he might call out to rescuers and he might be seen.