Chapter 55
Redbourn Heath, before dawn
Darcy judged that less than an hour of night remained. The darkness had thinned, and the air lay cooler against his skin. Dawn would come soon enough.
He had not slept. Pain had seen to that.
His ribs pulled tight with every breath; his left eye throbbed. Dried blood stiffened the corner of his mouth. Wickham had struck like a coward and persisted without skill, spending his strength upon spite.
His wrists had fared worse. The rope had bitten through skin during the night, and each small movement drew fire along his hands. He flexed his fingers once, slowly, and felt two answer with pins and cold. Useful still. Not lost.
Wickham entered, an old grain sack in hand. He hauled Darcy upright by the front of his coat and forced him onto a stool.
Darcy’s knees failed before pride could forbid it. Pain tore across his side; he locked his teeth until it passed.
The rough cloth came down over Darcy’s head; dust and stale grain caught in his throat.
“That should remind you who holds the upper hand, your Highness.”
Something heavy scraped across the floorboards. “You understand the value of time, Mr Darcy,” Kerr said. “And yet you squander it.”
“You will write the letter again,” Wickham said. “Proper authority. Whatever damned words the bank requires.”
Darcy turned his face towards him beneath the sack but gave no answer.
“Perhaps he finds silence noble,” Wickham said. “He always did mistake arrogance for dignity.”
Darcy kept his counsel—not from pride, but from calculation. Speech cost breath. Breath stirred his ribs. His silence had become the only economy left to him.
“Very well,” Kerr said. “If pain cannot persuade him, perhaps another inducement will.”
The sound of boots passed behind him. A door opened.
“Miss Bennet,” Kerr said, his tone suddenly bright. “Your champion grows less talkative by the hour. Perhaps you will draw from him what we cannot.”
Darcy strained once more against the bindings, but they held. Pain leapt from wrist to shoulder.
“Look at him, Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham said. “Your gallant reduced to silence.”
Darcy turned towards the voice. “Do not—”
“Miss Bennet,” Kerr said, interrupting. “Do you see? Even now, he would command you.”
“Release him.” Her voice came through the cloth, clear and unwavering.
“In time,” Wickham said lightly. “When he has said what must be said.”
Darcy drew one long breath. His ribs resisted it. He took the pain, held it, and made his voice steady.
“Enough. I yield. Release Miss Bennet, and I will tell you what the bank requires.”
“There, Wickham. Every man bends, if one knows the hinge.”
“Another letter will not suffice,” Darcy said. “There is an instruction the banker must receive.”
Kerr’s boots crossed the boards. Wickham came with him; Darcy heard the leather creak at his right shoulder.
“Closer,” Darcy said.
Cloth brushed his thigh.
Darcy set his feet beneath him and drove upward.
“Run!” he shouted, hurling his bound weight into the two men.
* * *
Elizabeth gathered her skirts and ran.
She flew through the open door, rounded the rear of the cottage, and plunged among the trees. The ground was uneven and slick. Branches tore at her sleeves. The low mist blurred the path. Behind her, a man shouted.
She stumbled on a root, caught herself on her palms, and ran on. She flinched as a stone bit her foot. Ahead, she caught the faint line of a path and veered towards it.
A branch snapped behind her—then another. A voice rose from the edge of the wood, light and lilting.
“E-liz-a-beth.”
Wickham.
“You cannot have gone far.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth and flattened herself behind an oak.
The mist had begun to pale.
Boots pounded nearer, crushing bracken and breaking twigs.
She darted from the tree and plunged into a hollow where water ran shallow over stone. Her feet slipped and splashed; she caught at a bramble to steady herself. Thorns scored her palm.
“No!”
She stopped.
“No, damn you—!”
Mr Darcy?
Silence followed. She turned back.
He had given her this chance. She could not forsake him.
A shadow broke from the mist ahead. She slowed, straining to see. Another shape moved to her right.
She turned—and struck hard against a man’s chest.
“Steady now.”
She hit out at him—arm, chest, face—but he caught her wrists and turned her hard, pinning her back against his chest. “Unhand me!”
She stamped on his boot.
“Let me go—”
“Miss Bennet. I come with the colonel.”
Mr Darcy’s cousin? Thank God. She ceased struggling. “Where is he?”
“At the cottage.” He released her wrists but kept one hand beneath her arm.
She caught at his sleeve.
“Wait,” she whispered urgently. “Mr Darcy is—”
“The colonel knows,” the soldier said. “Can you stand?”
She tried. Her legs gave beneath her.
He caught her before she fell, then lifted her clean from the ground, one arm beneath her knees and the other about her shoulders. The wool of his coat brushed her cheek; she caught the scent of horse and sweat.
“Sergeant Villiers, miss,” he said quietly. “I’ll take you to your father.”
* * *
The sack ripped free as his shoulders struck, coarse fabric scraping his jaw. Light cut through the gloom. Darcy blinked against it.
Kerr lay a few paces away, coat torn, hair fallen loose. Beyond him, the door stood open. Wickham had gone.
Kerr seized the broken leg of the stool and came to his feet.
“You ruined me, Darcy. Do you even know it?”
Darcy steadied his breath. “You ruined yourself. Ramsgate was your own doing.”
Kerr’s laugh came rough and thin. “Ramsgate? You think this began at Ramsgate?”
“And you trusted Wickham? Of all men?”
Kerr’s teeth flashed. “He was useful.”
“Useful men rarely serve clean causes.”
“Clean?” Kerr tightened his grip upon the broken wood. “I should have been an earl’s nephew. Like you.”
Darcy moved as Kerr swung. The chair leg struck his shoulder. He staggered, grunting, then straightened again.
“Your father gave you his name,” Kerr said. “Mine was taken before I was out of leading strings.”
“Miss Bennet bore no part of that.”
“Her father did.”
Kerr lunged, swinging the wood. It glanced off Darcy’s arm, the jagged wood tearing his sleeve and skin beneath. He hissed through his teeth.
A shadow crossed the window. Darcy knew the profile before it vanished.
The window burst inward.
Darcy dropped, rolling before thought could form.
Kerr jerked back. “What—”
Steel hissed through the room. Kerr’s body jerked.
Warm blood struck Darcy’s cheek.