Chapter 1
Elizabeth Bennet was confused. She tried to think, tried to remember, but it felt as if she was battling a series of cobwebs that had somehow been layered over her brain.
She struggled to open her eyes, but her lids were as heavy as if they were made of lead.
She finally managed to pry them open, wondering if the simplest question—Where am I? —could easily be answered.
It could not. There was too much light, and her eyes slammed shut again, but the yellow-sprigged curtains she had glimpsed as the frame of that too-much-light were wholly unfamiliar.
Fighting the cobwebs with determination, Elizabeth tried to come up with her last memory.
Not the wonderful memories of walking with Darcy, talking with Darcy about Druids and The Two Noble Kinsmen, places he longed to take her and places she longed to see…
. Not the even more wonderful memories of his words as he made his second proposal, and the light in his eyes as she said “yes,” and not the best memories of all—Darcy’s kisses… .
But the Gardiners had returned her to Longbourn, and though they had already told her news to her family, through a letter, she had told them again in person.
They had not been at all excited for her, which was sad but perhaps not entirely unexpected…
. But what was the very last thing she remembered?
Eating dinner…drinking sherry…having a slight headache…
. Oh! She remembered Jane giving her a cup…
. Her beloved sister had come up with a new headache remedy…
. It had some nice, spicy flavours, but there was a bitter taste under them.
Elizabeth had made a face and tried to refuse the rest of the cup, saying that she did not feel poorly enough to drink it…
. Jane had been hurt, and she had said…something about she knew it was not delicious, but she had tried so hard to make it taste better…
. She had pressed the cup back into Elizabeth’s hands and said something about the very careful dosage… . She should drink more….
Elizabeth had drank more.
That was certainly her last memory: drinking a bitter medicine brought to her by a strangely tenacious Jane.
Then what? Why was she lying in a room with unfamiliar curtains?
Elizabeth prided herself on the fact that she had a certain amount of mettle, of physical strength but also strength of purpose. She used that now to force herself to boost her leaden eyelids, squint against the bright daylight, and turn her head—oh!
The world tilted, and nausea rose into her throat.
Elizabeth decided that being strong was well enough, but she must be steadfastly strong.
Something had happened to her—someone had done something to her—and she very much hoped that the someone was not Jane.
Surely another, more likely someone and something was possible.
She would figure it out. And she would fight it—fight whatever had happened, whatever someone had done—but she must be patient.
She must slowly orient herself, test her limbs.
She would eventually sit up, discover her location, find out what had happened—and why!
But she would be sensible as well as strong.
Thinking again of Darcy…. She realised that this day—whatever day it was—might be the day that he was due to come to Longbourn. And those unfamiliar curtains meant—that she was not there! What would he think? What would her family say to him? What and why and who?—the questions were endless.
But thinking of Darcy, picturing him standing in Longbourn, asking for her, Elizabeth felt as if her spine was replaced by steel.
Whatever had happened—whatever had been done to her—she would conquer this. She would find her way back to Darcy.