11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Heroes and Heroines
D arcy made his way up to bed at a quarter to two in the morning. He and Bingley had stayed up playing billiards, then drinking brandy in the library. He did not want to face his bed, though he did not like to admit it. She would be there when he slept, and he did not wish to dream of her. Except that he desperately wished to dream of her. Even more than that, he wished she was not only in his dreams but in his bed, in his house, in his life.
He knew it could not be, but it did not stop him from longing for her—unsuitable temptress that she was.
It was likely the influence of the brandy, but he walked past his own room and stopped in front of Miss Elizabeth’s. There was no light shining beneath the door, and he could discern no sounds within. She would be sleeping of course. She had excused herself hours ago, and her sister had followed shortly after. He raised his hand and rested his fingertips gently on the door. He closed his eyes and sighed, then dropped his hand and made his way to his bed.
Elizabeth had the strangest sensation she was not alone. She stood at the open window, leaning slightly over the balustrade surrounding the tiny balcony. She looked around the grounds but saw no movement besides the gentle sway of a tree in the wind. Her fire was dying down and there was not much light to see by. She lit a candle and then the lamp beside the bed. Jane had dozed off in Elizabeth’s bed, and she decided to let her sister sleep. Jane had been ill, after all.
Elizabeth had decided to be as prepared as possible. She had removed her fine evening gown and dressed in her sturdiest walking gown. Her pelisse was near the door, ready to be thrown on at a moment’s notice. Jane had found her earlier as she packed her trunk. When her sister had looked at her with suspicion and some alarm, she had simply asked Jane, “Do you trust me?”
“Always.”
Elizabeth had nodded, her throat tight. “Put on your sturdiest gown. Pack everything else in your trunk and have your cloak ready. Netherfield will catch fire tonight.”
Jane’s eyes had widened and filled with tears.
“I know it is overwhelming, Jane, but we must keep our heads. Have everything prepared in the event we are able to save anything. When the fire starts, run to the family wing and wake the Bingleys and the Hursts. Then go downstairs. Do you remember the way to the servants’ quarters?”
“Yes.” Jane’s voice had shaken, but her expression was determined.
“Wake Mrs. Nicholls and then get out of the house. Better yet ask Mr. Bingley to assist you. He will ensure you make it outside. Tell Miss Bingley to run to the stables. The grooms will know what to do. Have you got that?”
“Yes. Wake the family, send Caroline to the stables, wake the servants downstairs, and go outside.”
“That is exactly right.” Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand and resumed her packing.
“What will you do?”
“I will wake Mr. Darcy across the hall and request his help in waking the servants upstairs. I will stop at the nursery on my way.”
Jane’s hands flew to her face. “Peter! Is he in the old nursery?”
“I would imagine he is, but if not, Mr. Darcy knows the way. He and I will go upstairs, you and Mr. Bingley will go down. I will meet you at the old oak near the drive. You remember the one?”
“Yes, of course.” Jane headed to her own room to change and stopped at the door. “Be careful, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth had nodded and promised her sister.
Now, with the clock striking two in the morning, she began to wonder if it would happen at all. She knew it was possible she was mistaken, but everything in her told her it would happen tonight. Her entire body felt agitated and tight like a string on a violin. Her mind ran over her plan repeatedly, ensuring her she would get everyone out in time. She also hoped she could contain the fire, but how would she do so and get everyone out if she didn’t even know where the fire would begin? She could easily find herself trapped by the flames and unable to help at all if she was not careful.
She thought it likely the fire would start in the kitchen, as many fires did. But it could just as easily come from another part of the house. She went to the window again and leaned out, taking a deep breath. She had been doing so regularly for the past few hours, thinking she might smell something from the far side of the house more easily that way. She felt more than a little silly, sniffing like a dog in the middle of the night. She shook her head at herself and looked down before she turned back inside.
What was that? She leaned back into the curtains and watched for the movement she thought she had seen. There! At the edge of the garden, something was moving. Something large, like a man. Elizabeth sank further into the draperies, her heart pounding in her ears. What was going on? It could be as innocent as a servant sneaking back into the house after he had snuck out of it. Or it could be something more sinister…
Keeping her eyes on the moving shadow, Elizabeth whispered, “Jane.” Her sister had always awakened at the slightest sound. She turned her head and said again, “Jane. Wake up.”
Jane’s head came off the pillow and she looked around in confusion. “Lizzy?”
“Shhh. Do not make a sound. Quietly come to me at the window.” It was a mark of the trust between them that Jane did not question anything her sister said but simply did as she was asked. She tucked herself beside Elizabeth, careful to keep out of the moonlight.
“What are you watching?”
“There is someone in the garden. There, along the nearest row of hedges.”
Jane followed her sister’s gaze and gasped. “What do you think he is doing? Could it be a servant?”
“I thought the same at first, but if he is trying to sneak back in the house, why has he not done so yet? He is moving too slowly and he stops frequently. It looks like he is watching the house, does it not?”
Jane had the eyes of a falcon. She watched the man for a moment before answering her sister. “It looks like he is focused on the study windows. They are on the main floor beneath the family wing.”
“You are right. Do you suppose he is hoping to break in?”
“If so, what is he waiting for? Is there a servant about downstairs, perhaps?”
“There could be.” Elizabeth’s eyes suddenly widened as she turned to face her sister. “Jane, what if someone is already inside and he is watching for his friend?”
Jane gasped. “He could be working with one of the servants.”
“Or it could be two burglars and one came in while the other waited outside.”
“But why wait outside? It is not as if anyone is going to come in that way. If he is watching for danger, it would be wiser to watch the corridor.”
Elizabeth managed a faint smile at her sister. “There you go being logical again.” She sighed. “I think it is likely he is working with a servant in the house, if he is in fact a burglar. Or he could be a sweetheart of one of the maids, and he is waiting for her to sneak out.”
“But why wait on this side of the house? Why not nearer the servants’ quarters?”
“They would be more likely to be seen there. There are over forty servants at Netherfield and nearly all of them sleep in rooms along the back of the house. Whereas the front of the house is only the two of us and the Hursts.”
“And we are less likely to recognize the servant if we do see her. Clever girl,” said Jane quietly.
Elizabeth only laughed under her breath. Few knew of Jane’s love for a good intrigue. Her mind truly was remarkably logical, and when they had made up stories as children, Elizabeth’s would always be filled with adventure and embellished with dramatic acts and outrageous feelings. Jane’s would be mysterious and methodical, always ending with all misunderstandings cleared up and the good brought out in each character.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I believe you are right, Jane. He is likely meeting a sweetheart, and my imagination has run away with me.”
Jane rubbed Elizabeth’s back in slow circles. “You are tired, and you have had a great deal on your mind. It will be good to go home tomorrow.”
“Yes, it will be.”
They were about to pull back from the window when a figure dashed from the house toward the man waiting in the garden.
“That is no maid,” said Jane.
“It most certainly is not!” A tall, lanky man with a large sack in his hand was running across the lawn for the safety of the hedges and looking over his shoulder as he went.
“Is someone chasing him?” asked Jane.
Elizabeth peered around the window but saw no one. “I do not see anyone.” She squinted her eyes and leaned further out the window. “Oh no. Jane, is that fire?”
Jane leaned over the balustrade and looked towards the study windows where the man had run from. There was a bright yellow glow. She turned to face her sister. “It is. What do we do? Do you think it could be contained?”
“It is only the study now. I think it might. But we cannot take any chances. Can you wake Mr. Bingley? I will wake Mr. Darcy. They may be able to put the fire out before there is too much damage.” Elizabeth briefly considered putting it out herself, but she was not foolish enough to try it in a gown. She had been near a pile of burning brush as a child and a tiny spark had caught at the edge of her gown. Her skirt had gone up in seconds and if it had not been for the quick actions of the gardener tending the fire, she would have gone up with it. He had smothered the flames and given her a lesson in the flammability of fabric. Then he had made her promise to never go near a fire in a gown. Breeches were best suited for such activities, and boots were even better.
“What do I say? That there is a fire in the study?” Jane looked at her imploringly. “How will I tell him I know?”
“Tell him you have a very keen sense of smell, and it seems to be coming from the study. I doubt he will ask you for details, Jane.”
Jane took off for the door as Elizabeth leaned out further to see if the fire had spread. The study was growing steadily brighter, but none of the windows around it were glowing. They might be able to save the house yet. Elizabeth raced into the hall and called to Jane who was a few steps in front of her. “Go ahead as planned, Jane. It is better to be safe.”
Jane nodded and hurried down the hall, stopping to pound on Caroline’s door and then Louisa’s across from it. Elizabeth took a deep breath and stepped up to Mr. Darcy’s door. She raised her hand to wrap sharply on the wood. She listened, but there was no response. She knocked again.
“Mr. Darcy? You must wake!” She pressed her ear to the door, but there was no sound. She reached for the handle, praying it was not locked, and felt it turn in her hand. Saying a quick prayer of thanks, she rushed into the room and to the foot of the bed. He was snoring terribly—something she was not pleased to hear—but she pushed it from her mind.
“Mr. Darcy!” He did not move but his snores did change pitch. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she reached out and grabbed his foot, giving it a hard shake. “Mr. Darcy! You must wake!”
“What do you think you are doing?”
Elizabeth turned to see an indignant man a little older than Mr. Darcy, standing in a nightshirt and banyan, glaring at her.
“Are you Mr. Darcy’s valet?”
“I am,” he answered, his voice full of importance.
“Help me wake him. There is a fire!”
The mans’ attitude instantly changed, and he practically leapt to the bed and shook Mr. Darcy’s shoulder. “Sir, you must wake. Fire!” he cried in Darcy’s ear.
Suddenly, Darcy sprang up in bed and the counterpane fell away from his bare chest. Elizabeth averted her eyes but did not leave the room.
This was no time to be missish. “Mr. Darcy, there is a fire in Mr. Bingley’s study. It had not spread when I came to wake you, but it may have by now. Jane has woken the Bingleys and gone down to the servants’ quarters below stairs. I would like your assistance in waking the servants above stairs.”
“I will go,” said the valet.
He started to run from the room when Darcy said, “Bates, wait! I will go with Miss Bennet upstairs. Go to the study and see what can be done about the fire. You may be the only one prepared to organize.”
The valet nodded solemnly and ran for the door.
“Miss Bennet, if you would be so kind as to wait for me outside the door, I will be with you in a moment.”
“Of course.” She hurried out—glad it was too dark to see her blush. A minute later, Darcy joined her in a loose shirt, breeches, and a pair of old boots hastily thrown on and not properly secured.
“We must go to the nursery first,” said Elizabeth as they rushed down the corridor.
Darcy looked at her in what she thought might be approval. “Of course, it is this way.”
They hurried up the stairs and down a narrow corridor. “I will get Peter. His nurse sleeps in the room with him, but the younger nurse is there.” He pointed to a door and Elizabeth nodded.
“I will wake her.” She tried to rush into the nurse’s room, but it was locked. She pounded loudly on the door. “Wake up! There is a fire! Wake up!”
A disheveled young woman in a sleep cap opened the door and blinked at her. “What?”
Elizabeth recognized her from the garden the day she had played with Peter. “There is a fire. You must get Master Peter out of the house. Are there any other children on this floor?”
The maid shook her head. “No, he is the only child in the house that I know of.”
“Good. Get him out. I will wake the other servants.”
Elizabeth started to turn away when the maid called, “Wait, Sally can help you.”
Another maid peered out from behind the door and Elizabeth grabbed her hand. “Let us hurry.”
She looked into the nursery and saw Darcy helping an old lady out of bed. He looked up and met her eyes. “She cannot walk on her own. She has been ill.” Elizabeth suddenly remembered Peter saying his nurse was sick and sleeping much of the time.
“Can you carry her out?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She would have to wake the servants without Mr. Darcy. She turned to go, but his voice stopped her. “Elizabeth.”
She turned back to him, her face expectant.
“Be careful. And hurry.”
She nodded, then sprinted off after the maid who was already running up the narrow stairs to the servants’ quarters.
The two of them began pounding on doors and yelling at the top of their lungs. “Fire! Everyone out! Fire!”
Doors along the corridor began opening, and people in various states of dress tumbled out of the rooms.
“Grab your blankets if you can,” cried Elizabeth. “And your cloaks!”
Some of the servants raced to the stairs with nothing but a nightcap and nightrail on while others left their rooms with arms full of personal belongings. While yet more ran out of their rooms, only to dash back inside for something they forgot.
“Hurry!” cried Sally. “You must hurry!”
Elizabeth went down the corridor, quickly peeking into each room to ensure no one was asleep. Though how anyone could sleep through this noise, she did not know. When it looked like everyone was awake and making their way out, Elizabeth waved to Sally and ran back to the stairs. She needed to make sure little Peter had made it out.
The nursery was empty when she skidded to a stop just inside the door, so she ran for the stairs. As she came closer to the ground floor, the noise became louder. There were voices yelling and the sound of footsteps running, and behind it all, the eerie crackle of fire. Her eyes burned as soon as she stepped out of the servant stairs.
“This way, Miss!” called one of the servants who had been running behind her. She followed the young maid to the side door and burst into the fresh air, relief flooding her body.
The house was not engulfed entirely, and everyone was awake and making their way outside. She turned to the oak tree where she had promised to meet Jane, blindly stumbling towards what looked like her sister’s form. She was still trembling from all the excitement, and she could feel her body ready to collapse from the strain.
“Lizzy! You are safe!” Jane threw her arms about her sister. “You were gone so long! I was beginning to worry about you.”
Elizabeth smiled at her tiredly. “Did everyone get out of the family wing? Did you send Miss Bingley to the stables?”
“Yes, Caroline ran directly to the stables. She is very attached to her mare, I believe. The groom turned them out immediately. Mr. Bingley ran down to assist in managing the fire. They have not contained it fully, but it is not as bad as it could be.” She nodded to where the house burned, but the flames were significantly smaller than what Elizabeth had seen in her dreams.
“Thank heavens,” she whispered.
“I believe they should thank you, sister,” said Jane quietly.
Elizabeth only smiled at her wearily and looked around. Mrs. Hurst sat beneath the tree, clutching young Peter tightly in her lap. The boy looked bewildered by the gesture but did not seem to mind. Miss Bingley sat next to her sister, looking at the house in shock. The elderly nurse was against the tree trunk with a blanket tucked around her.
“Where are Mr. Hurst and Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth. “Are they helping contain the fire?”
A flash of fear shot through her. She had not forgotten that in her dream she had not seen Mr. Darcy outside the house. Jane did not answer her, and Elizabeth tore her eyes from the house to look at her sister.
“Jane?”
“Mr. Hurst was not in his room. They believe he had fallen asleep in the library, so Mr. Darcy went to get him.”
Elizabeth’s eyes went wide. “The library is next to the study.”
“I know.”
“The study is on fire!”
Jane only looked at her with understanding eyes. Elizabeth knew she was not being logical at the moment, but she could not stand by and do nothing. She ran towards the house, ignoring Jane’s shouts behind her. The entire neighborhood seemed to have appeared suddenly. She saw servants from Lucas Lodge working alongside those of Netherfield as well as men from Longbourn. Seeing a familiar face, she ran over to a servant bringing furniture out of the house near the flames. “John! Have you seen Mr. Darcy or Mr. Hurst? Jane said Mr. Darcy has been looking for Mr. Hurst whom they thought was sleeping in the library.”
“I have not seen them, Miss Lizzy. Best check with Bates there. He’s in charge.”
Elizabeth nodded and headed towards Bates, Darcy’s valet—now covered in soot and barking orders.
“Bates, have you seen Mr. Darcy? Or Mr. Hurst?”
Bates turned to her impatiently, then his expression turned to pity. Elizabeth could only imagine how unkempt she looked. She had not slept at all, and she had been running through Netherfield like a woman possessed. She did not wish to think about her wild expression—her demeanor did not convey calm or presence of mind at the moment.
“I saw Mr. Darcy go in, but I have not—” he suddenly stopped speaking and stared over her head. He nodded in the direction of something behind her, and she turned to see what it was.
There was Darcy, strong shoulders, straight back, now covered in black smudges, and staggering out of the house with Mr. Hurst at his side. Mr. Darcy’s arm was around the shorter man’s shoulders, and he was forced to walk at an odd angle in order to help him. Mr. Hurst appeared to barely be awake. His feet stumbled and tangled, and he leaned most of his weight on Darcy. Elizabeth raced to them, not thinking twice before ducking beneath Mr. Hurst’s other arm to help support his weight.
“Miss Elizabeth! That is not necessary. Return to your sister. This is unseemly,” cried Darcy. His usual haughty tone was less impressive when his voice rasped from the smoke, but Elizabeth refrained from telling him so.
“There is a fire, Mr. Darcy. This is hardly the time to be concerned with propriety.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then abruptly closed it. They slowly made their way to the oak tree where the others were gathered. Bingley had returned and sat with his arm around Louisa as she wept quietly. Elizabeth immediately realized that the woman probably thought her husband was dead and called out to her.
“Mrs. Hurst!”
“Bingley, some assistance.” Darcy’s voice rang out at the same time and he glared at Elizabeth—as if he was upset others would know he had not single-handedly carried the large man out of the burning house. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and ignored him. Bingley took Elizabeth’s place while Jane quickly pulled her sister aside.
“Are you well, Lizzy?”
“As well as can be expected, Jane.” Then she promptly sank to the grass.
The rest of the night was a blur. The fire was fought until it eventually subsided, sometime just before sunrise. Darcy and Bingley joined the bucket line, passing water for what seemed like days. Neighboring servants came and helped remove the furniture from the rooms nearest the study in the event the fire spread—which it did. There was a small room next to the study that was completely consumed, along with a parlor across the corridor, but miraculously, the library on the other side was safe. The wall between the two rooms was thick and made of brick, a fortification a previous owner had made to protect his precious books. It worked to stave off the fire even though there was still significant smoke damage.
Mr. Bennet came to Netherfield and brought the carriage. Unsurprisingly, he offered Longbourn as a refuge to the residents of Netherfield. Surprisingly, they accepted. Sir William Lucas offered the same, and the Hursts agreed to go to Lucas Lodge with their son and his nurses while the Bingley siblings and Mr. Darcy would go to Longbourn. Hurst had breathed in more smoke than anyone else, and the doctor decreed he should not leave his bed for at least a week.
Mr. Darcy had watched Elizabeth throughout the night, considering, wondering. How had she known to wake him? He had not smelled smoke. His valet told him that the fire had barely gotten started when she woke him. She would have had to have been in the study herself to see it so soon.
Or she had known it was coming.
His dark eyes followed her as she helped settle Mrs. Hurst and her son into the carriage, then did the same for Miss Bingley into the Bennet carriage. The other ladies were in nightrails and dressing gowns. Mrs. Hurst had a shawl thrown over her shoulders. Both she and Miss Bingley had their hair in long plaits down their backs. Their feet were bare, and they bore all the signs of a person suddenly thrust from bed.
But Miss Elizabeth’s hair was tucked into what had been a neat knot. She wore a sturdy walking dress and half boots, as did her sister. The longer he watched the Bennet sisters, the more convinced he became that something was not as it seemed. Miss Elizabeth knew something. What, he could not say, but she had not been taken unawares by the fire. He wanted to know why.