CHAPTER 10 #2
The old woman gave an irritated huff and withdrew. Elizabeth heard footsteps descend, then climb once more, though not to her own door, before descending again a little while later, and guessed a similar tray had been carried to Mr. Darcy.
She could not decide whether the man's words carried some darker meaning, whether he meant only her last meal that day, or something more final still.
The thought turned her stomach, and for a time she could not bring herself to eat.
But hunger overcame her scruples at last, and she rose to take up the tray.
Elizabeth began with the milk, which did much to ease her thirst, then turned by turns to the porridge and the coarse bread.
A poor man's meal, she thought, recognising it as the fare of the tenant families she knew well enough from home.
And yet that morning it seemed to her nothing short of a feast. Hunger still gnawed at her afterward, but far less sharply.
Having scraped the bowl entirely clean, she set the tray upon the floor and lay back down.
She woke with a start, wide-eyed, uncertain for a moment where she was or how she came to be there.
She could not have said how long she had lain staring at the ceiling before sleep overtook her, but she turned now toward the open door, its movement having roused her.
It took only an instant to recall that this was no nightmare from which she might wake in truth, she was living it still.
The woman returned to collect the tray and bring another glass of milk before the door was shut and locked once more. Elizabeth rose at once and drank the milk gratefully.
Elizabeth had no way of judging how long she had slept, nor what hour it now was, deprived as she was of any natural light, though she supposed it must be near dinnertime. She made use of the chamber pot before returning to the bed, where she sat with her head resting against the wall.
She let out a slow breath. What if Papa never finds me? What will become of me? What if they mean to kill Mr. Darcy?
As she reflected, Elizabeth found that she had no real notion what her captors intended for either of them.
She knew only that Mr. Darcy possessed a considerable fortune, while she possessed none at all.
It was he they had been pursuing; she had simply had the misfortune to be with him when they found him.
His wealth might yet purchase his release.
She had nothing with which to purchase her own.
The weight of her situation, and the smallness of her own means to alter it, settled over her like a physical thing.
She felt entirely helpless, and there was nothing so wretched as helplessness in the hands of dangerous men.
The hours passed slowly, her nerves fraying further with every possibility she turned over in her mind.
At length, heavy footsteps sounded on the stair, more than one set, and men's voices besides. A key turned in her lock, and the door swung open.
"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth." Wickham entered smiling, a sack dangling loose from one hand, swinging it slightly as though it weighed nothing at all to him.
"We are off on another little adventure.
" His gaze travelled over her, unhurried, from head to foot and slowly back again, before settling a moment too long upon her face, long enough that she felt it as a kind of touch, and had to resist the urge to draw her arms across herself.
"You are a pretty little thing, are you not. How do you come to know Darcy?"
"I scarcely know him at all." She kept her voice as level as she could manage, though her pulse beat hard enough that she wondered he could not hear it himself.
"We have met but twice, both times at an assembly.
" It was not, strictly, the whole truth, but it was not, strictly, false either, and she clung to that small technicality as though it might shield her from something.
"An assembly." He turned the word over as if tasting it, amused by something she could not see. "I see. How very interesting."
"Do you live in Meryton, sir?" She asked it only to fill the silence, to keep him talking rather than looking.
One part of Wickham’s lips ticked upwards. "I do, madam," he replied suspiciously, before asking, "Who is your father?"
Elizabeth responded in kind, "Thomas Bennet, of Longbourn."
"A Mr. Bennet then? Good." His smile did not change, but something behind his eyes seemed to sharpen, some private calculation completing itself. "Very good indeed."
He crossed to her without warning, drew her hands together with more force than the task required, and bound them once more with the leather cord, cinching it tighter than the guards had troubled to before settling the sack over her head, the darkness closing in around her all at once.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice sounding alarmed and yet smaller than she wished it to be, muffled now by the rough weave pressed against her lips.
"Have no fear, Miss Bennet. You will be well looked after, I assure you." The reassurance, offered so smoothly, chilled her rather more than any threat could have done.
"Will you not simply let me go?" she cried out, sounding like a beggar, she thought afterwards.
"I regret that is not possible, madam." He said it almost with regret, as though the matter genuinely troubled him, which frightened her more than open cruelty would have.
"We are after money. Mr. Darcy's money, and he appears to have taken rather a fancy to you.
I believe you may prove a useful means to that end. "
"A means to an end, sir? I assure you Mr. Darcy holds no fondness for me whatsoever. He despises me."
"Does he now?" Wickham gave a short laugh. "How very surprising." He pulled her arm, and said, "This way, if you please. There's a good girl."
She was guided through the door and along the hallway, then down the stairs, the passage dark enough that she supposed it must be night once more. Descending with a sack over her head proved a far more uncertain business than the ascent had been by daylight.
"Come along, Miss Elizabeth, we haven't all night." Wickham handled her without much gentleness as they reached the final step, then pushed her out through the main door and toward the waiting wagon, where Mr. Darcy already lay, sack over his head and hands bound once more.