Chapter 4
Elizabeth knew more than she had when she had fought so hard to wake up, but not nearly enough to make any sense of what had happened. Or even where she was.
She sat at the window with the yellow sprigged curtains and looked out upon miles of fields and forests. The landscape did not look familiar, but it did look similar to known landscapes, and she had the impression that she was either still somewhere in Hertfordshire or at least in a nearby county.
But her solid wood door was locked, and there were metal bars in her only window. There seemed no escape. She was imprisoned.
The most shocking thing was that she was fairly certain that she had been imprisoned by her own family! Likely by her own beloved Jane!
Now that she could think more clearly, Elizabeth was certain that Jane had dosed her with laudanum.
She had knowingly taken that medicine exactly one time, when she had sprained an ankle some years before.
The bitter taste underlying all the spices in the concoction Jane had given her was the same as the earlier medicine.
Moreover, the feelings of difficulty moving, seeing, and even thinking, upon waking up, were the reason she had decided not to take any more of the stuff.
The pain in her ankle had been vastly preferable.
Jane knew she detested laudanum. She knew Elizabeth would never willingly take it—and certainly not for a minor headache! And yet she had strongly urged her to drink all of her vile potion.
The reason for the situation remained unknown.
There was one little niggling idea that Elizabeth deliberately pushed away as impossible, but with no other theory occurring to her, the idea continued to rise and make itself known: she did not know Jane nearly as well as she had always thought.
After Darcy’s horrible proposal and her even more horrible rejection, Darcy had written a letter responding to the two main accusations Elizabeth had thrown at him.
He had explained fully about Wickham’s past deeds and true character, which had been shocking and upsetting; she had immediately believed this portion of the letter.
The second topic he had addressed was that he had advised Mr Bingley not to offer for her sister Jane, thereby utterly breaking Jane’s heart.
His explanation on this point would have been even more shocking and upsetting, if Elizabeth had believed it; Darcy wrote that the night when they all met, Jane had made it clear that she preferred Darcy over Mr Bingley.
What nonsense! she had angrily thought. But as he went on to explain how Jane reacted to his refusal of her advances, Elizabeth got chills up her spine. She began to recognise responses and wonder about motivations and….
For the most part, Elizabeth had been able to hang onto her own assumptions about Jane’s feelings, actions, and character.
But Elizabeth soon realised that she was unwilling to share everything with Jane, as she used to, so she had to admit that reading about Darcy’s observations of her dearest sister had impacted her… .
Once she was capable of moving more freely, Elizabeth had done the work of carefully searching her room.
There were a few simple items of furniture: a cot, a small table and a single chair, a chamber pot, and a low bench.
There were no metal tools—no candlestick, no fork or spoon, no hairpins, even.
The only items in her room that were familiar were stockings, dresses, and other garments packed in her own valise, along with her hairbrush and the volume of poetry she had been reading while on her recent trip with the Gardiners.
Since she had awakened, the only person Elizabeth had seen had been a tall, broad woman who was, perhaps, in her forties or fifties.
She had twice brought in simple food—tasty broth, hunks of bread, strong-tasting tea with no sugar or cream.
The woman paid no attention to Elizabeth’s questions and said not a word.
The first time the woman brought food, Elizabeth had not been capable of taking even a single step. The woman had barely glanced at her, only put a tray of food on the table, glanced into the still-empty chamber pot, tapped the door once, and left.
The second time the woman came, Elizabeth still attempted to talk to her, but she also stood.
As soon as the woman approached the table with her tray of food, Elizabeth darted to the door and attempted to open it.
It seemed as robustly locked as it had been when she was alone.
Elizabeth supposed that there might be another guard outside of the room, someone who locked them in together when the woman was inside, but opened the door when the woman tapped it—and so Elizabeth tapped the door once, just as the woman had done.
The door did not open, it did not unlock, and the woman, now carrying the used chamber pot, did not even say something to complain of Elizabeth’s attempts to leave.
She just stood there, blank-faced, with incurious eyes and slightly pursed lips.
Elizabeth moved away from the door, and the woman approached the door but did not tap it, nor try to push it. She did not leave.
Rather than stand there forever, Elizabeth decided to move further away from the door. The woman barely seemed to attend to her movement, but when Elizabeth was several yards away, she finally tapped four times, the door opened, and the woman stepped out of the room.
Elizabeth attempted to spring out towards the door, but it was closed and locked by the time she reached it, just as she had expected.
She tapped, then pounded and called through the door. There was no response.
Deciding that eating and drinking were more important than repeating actions that had not yet paid off, she sat down to do so. This bread was a bit stale compared to the first meal, but it was still better than no bread, and it did not seem at all stale when she used it to soak up broth.
As soon as she finished her meal and drank her tea, she realised that the woman had left with her used chamber pot, and she now had nowhere to….
Elizabeth beat at the door, called for help, asked for the chamber pot back, and finally, miserable and in need of relief, she returned to her bed.
After what seemed to be agonising hours—but was probably only minutes—the door finally opened, and the woman’s hand appeared with the emptied chamber pot, which was placed just outside of the door swing area.
The door immediately closed again, and Elizabeth felt grateful that she could relieve herself without making a mess in the only room to which she had access.
That relief made her realise that, for a quarter hour, she cared more about a chamber pot than reuniting with Darcy. Feeling a stab of impatience with herself and anger at whoever arranged this imprisonment—anger at Jane, most of all—she tried to make a plan to break out of her little prison.
In a flash, Elizabeth realised that her valise had some metal parts. There were two buckles, two hinges, and—she thought—a metal frame under the leather. The Bennets rarely travelled and had little money for extras, so the valise was old, and the leather was quite worn.
How could she use the metal, if she was able to free it from the leather?
Elizabeth’s inspection had revealed that some of the wood in the window frame was beginning to rot a bit.
She had not been able to scrabble away at the wood with her fingers, but she hoped that even small pieces of metal could be used to chip away some of it.
Considering the entire situation, Elizabeth made a plan.
She would use friction and her own urine, as much as possible, to break down the thread and worn leather that was attached to the metal parts of the valise.
She would use some of her precious broth and tea to better rot the wood around the window.
Finally, she would ask for water as well as tea, and if she was given some, she would use some of the water to soften the wood, as well.
She removed the extra clothes from the valise and tucked them under the threadbare quilt on the bed.
Then she took her chamber pot over to the bench on which the now-empty valise sat.
She used her fingers to explore all the leather parts that were touching the metal portions, and she decided on the best spots to try rubbing and soaking.
As she began the rather mindless and repetitive motions that she hoped would eventually help her break free of her little room, Elizabeth allowed her mind to spin to more pleasurable memories…
A day after they had become engaged, Darcy and Elizabeth had explored Pemberley’s maze for the first time. He challenged her to find the fountain at the centre, following her lead as if he was her loyal servant.“Which I am!” he had said, laughing, when she pointed out the comparison.
“No, you are Mr Darcy, master of Pemberley, half of Derbyshire, and other swaths of the kingdom, as well. You, my dearest intended, are a servant of no man.”
“Correct,” he said with precision. But then he grasped her wrist in a loose but implacable circle of his fingers, and he gently tugged her back to him. “However, I am the humble and loyal servant of precisely one woman.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught as he spun her to face him. Her breath stuttered again as he used one crooked finger to lift her chin, and it paused altogether when his lips brushed hers.
Her first kiss was as tender and gentle as she had imagined. And then, suddenly, it was not. It was fierce and wet and searing.
Elizabeth was happy to have such memories from the recent past to indulge in as she used friction and urine to weaken the leather strap in the not-so-pleasant present.