CHAPTER 13
“Miss Elizabeth, but I find myself in urgent need of the chamber pot.”
Elizabeth blinked, then nodded at once, feeling an instant blush on her cheeks. She put her head down, unable to look the man in the eyes and said, “Oh. Of course, Mr. Darcy.”
She searched beneath the bed and, after some difficulty, managed to draw it out. Her fingers were still not entirely free, and the awkwardness of the task did little to improve her composure.
“Might I trouble you to set it in the corner there?” Darcy asked, inclining his head toward the farthest corner of the room.
“Certainly.” She placed it where he indicated, trying not to think of the indelicacy of the entire ordeal.
Darcy rose and crossed toward the door. Elizabeth watched him with some confusion. “What are you doing?”
He struck the door firmly with his knee, “Hello! Is anyone there?”
Footsteps sounded in the passage. A moment later, a rough voice answered from the other side, “What d'ye want?”
“Sir, I have need to relieve myself,” said Darcy in a raised voice.
There was a brief silence. Then the man gave an ugly laugh, “Ye've got yer lassy to see to that, ain't ye?”
The footsteps retreated before Darcy could answer. And, for several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Elizabeth stared at the closed door, scarcely knowing whether to be horrified or amused. Beside her, Darcy remained perfectly still, his jaw tightening as the silence stretched.
At last, Elizabeth looked toward him, “I believe,” she said carefully, “that was intended as an insult.”
“I had reached much the same conclusion,” he replied with a frown.
Despite herself, she felt the corner of her mouth lift.
Darcy noticed, looking and sounding more sternly than ever. “Miss Elizabeth.”
She replied quickly, avoiding his eyes. “I beg your pardon.”
Darcy looked mortified, and somewhat upset, as he accused her.“You are laughing.”
Elizabeth, for her part, raised her cuffed wrists to her mouth, attempting to hide any form of a smile, “I am not.”
He stared at her with keen eyes, and an altogether serious demeanor, “You most certainly are.”
She replied again, trying to quell the ridiculousness she found in the situation before her, “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I am attempting to be sympathetic.”
Darcy gave her a scowl, “Your sympathy is remarkably cheerful.”
That did it. Elizabeth turned away, pressing her lips together in a vain effort to suppress her laughter. Meanwhile, he exhaled loudly, likely in disgust, staring up towards the ceiling, to look anywhere but in her direction.
Finally, after a few moments, Elizabeth let out a long breath and resigned herself to the inevitable. "What is it you require, Mr. Darcy?"
His face had gone quite crimson at her question, and Elizabeth strove to keep her own countenance composed.
It was, after all, a natural enough necessity, however uncomfortable the circumstance.
His mouth had set into a hard, mortified line, and she did not doubt he felt the indignity of it as keenly as she did herself, perhaps more so.
Still, she meant to help him however she could.
At last, evidently unable to delay further, he spoke. "Miss Elizabeth, I mean to walk to the corner. Might you draw down my trousers from behind, then turn away until I have finished? Afterward, I would ask your assistance in setting them right again."
"Of course, Mr. Darcy," she said, striving for an even tone, though privately she could think of nowhere on earth she would rather not be at that moment.
He could not help but notice the deep colour flooding her neck and cheeks, her mortification at the office plain enough for either of them to see.
I must free his hands, she thought. We cannot go on managing like this.
He crossed to the corner with as much dignity as he could summon, though inwardly he felt he had walked the length of every embarrassment a gentleman might know. He had certainly never before had occasion to ask a lady for such assistance.
Her heart raced, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and awkwardness. "How am I to help, sir?"
"Take hold at the waist, and draw down," he said quickly, adding, "You may fix your eyes upon the ceiling, madam."
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling at once, before recollecting she must first locate the waist of his trousers. Once her bound hands had found their place, she raised her eyes again and pulled, continuing until he said, "That will do, stop there."
She turned at once and returned to the bed, fixing her attention upon the opposite wall, humming quietly to herself, rather too loudly, perhaps, in an effort to drown out what followed, and waited for his further word.
After what felt a very long interval, he cleared his throat and called her back to assist with his trousers. She approached with her eyes still lifted to the ceiling until she stood behind him.
His shirt, mercifully, hung long enough to preserve what modesty remained to either of them. She set her bound wrists at the waistband and drew it upward, no small labour, working as she was against both gravity and his own frame, until at last the task was done.
"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. That will be all."
She turned and made her way back to the bed, resuming her place, while he returned to his own spot next to her, facing the wall, his eyes fixed determinedly upon anything but her.
Elizabeth took up his cuffs once more, and felt him flinch at her touch. She said nothing, only continued her work, her pulse still racing, the awkwardness in the room thick enough, she thought, to cut with a knife.
"Thank you… you were very kind," he said at last, after a long silence.
"Think nothing of it, sir." Though she suspected he could think of little else.
***
Quiet settled over them again as each worked through the discomfort of having relied upon the other for so intimate a necessity. Elizabeth found some relief in returning her attention to the cuffs, tugging as best her fingers allowed.
At last she felt a section give. "Oh! There it is!" She worked the loosened portion further, until it came free entirely. "Very nearly there, Mr. Darcy!"
"You are quite remarkable. Well done indeed." His words sounded something near admiration. He then added, "I have been turning over a plan of escape, and with our hands free, I believe we might attempt it."
"Do you think we ought, Mr. Darcy? These men seem dangerous enough. What if you should come to harm?" She asked, feeling a growing sense of insecurity.
He turned his head over his shoulder, not quite able to see her face, before saying, "Even should they receive their money, I cannot say what they mean to do with us afterward. I think it far more dangerous to remain than to attempt our escape."
Not long after, the final knot gave way, and he drew his wrists apart, free at last of his bonds. “Oh! You’re free at last!”
He turned to her at once, their earlier discomfort forgotten. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. You are quite extraordinary." He rubbed at his wrists and rolled his shoulders to ease them.
"Now, madam, allow me to return the favour." He took her hands in his and freed her bindings with far greater ease than she had managed his own.
Still sitting on the bed, now facing one another, Elizabeth naturally grabbed hold of her wrists as Darcy had done earlier, "Thank you, sir."
"The pleasure is entirely mine." He offered her a ghost of a smile.
Next, as he had done when they entered the room, Darcy rose from the bed to take stock of their surroundings.
A small window, boarded from without, offered no real hope of escape, its dimensions far too narrow in any case.
He examined the walls in turn before coming at last to the door, testing the latch carefully and finding it, as expected, firmly locked.
Returning to the foot of the bed, he said, "Our only way out lies through that door."
She asked with a degree of uncertainty, "How do you propose we manage it, sir?"
"I have been considering what we know of their habits. We are likely to be moved again shortly after sundown, and if they find us still bound when they come, we shall be exactly where we began. We must act today, when they come to fetch us,” he replied, sounding confident.
"But two men always come at night. How are we to overcome them both, unarmed as we are, and you scarcely able to stand from your own hunger?"
"We require a diversion." He said it simply, as though the answer were obvious, though she could see the calculation working behind his eyes even as he spoke.
"I do not disagree, but what manner of diversion can we possibly contrive, confined as we are to so small a space, with nothing between us but a bed and four bare walls?"
"I believe I must appear to have lost consciousness." He held her gaze steadily as he said it, watching for her reaction. "If I feign a faint, you might call for help, tell them I have collapsed, and draw at least one of them into the room."
"And if only one comes? What becomes of the second, standing watch beyond the door?"
"Then we deal with one man rather than two, which I count a considerable improvement upon our present odds. Should the second come after, we shall have the advantage of surprise, at the least, and whatever weapon we manage to contrive besides."
"You make it sound a simple thing, sir, when I cannot think it simple at all."
"I do not think it simple. I think it dangerous, and uncertain, and very possibly the worst decision either of us has made since this whole business began.
" He paused, and something in his face eased, just slightly.
"But I have turned it over a dozen ways since morning, Miss Elizabeth, and I can contrive no better one.
If you can, I beg you will tell me now, and I will hear it gladly. "
She considered a long moment, searching for some alternative he might have overlooked, and found none. "I have nothing better to offer, Mr. Darcy. Only my fear that we shall be caught before we've properly begun."
"That fear I share entirely, I promise you.
But I would rather fail attempting our freedom than sit idle awaiting whatever Wickham has planned for us.
" His tone left little room for argument, though something in his eyes seemed almost to ask her forgiveness for the flatness of it. "Are you with me in this?"
"I am." She said it more firmly than she felt it, and drew what courage she could from the saying.
"Good." A small, tight breath escaped him, as though he had been holding it since he first proposed the scheme. "Miss Elizabeth, off the bed, if you please."
She looked entirely confused. "I beg your pardon?"
"Off the bed, please." He was already moving as he said it, urgency overtaking his usual careful manners. "We shall need a weapon, and if we move the mattress aside, we may find something useful among the slats beneath."
"What manner of weapon do you propose we find in a bed frame, sir?"
"I could not say with certainty until we look. A loose slat, properly wielded, will serve well enough against an unarmed man taken by surprise. It need not be elegant, Elizabeth, only sufficient."
She obeyed at once, her heart hammering now with something closer to purpose than fear, and together they eased the mattress aside as quietly as their combined strength and the awkwardness of their bound hands would allow.
He had, she noted, addressed her by her Christian name, evidently too absorbed in their scheme to remark upon it himself. She saw no reason to correct him.
With the mattress cleared, they found a row of sturdy wooden slats beneath. He tested several, attempting to work them loose, but found each firmly nailed to the frame.
This did not deter him. Taking hold of one slat, he began working it side to side with his full weight, and after some five minutes of steady effort, felt the nails begin to give, until at last it came free. He moved to a second, further along, and repeated the labour until it, too, came loose.
With both slats secured, he directed Elizabeth to help him return the mattress to its place. "There, we have our weapons. Now let us consider our next steps, Miss Elizabeth."