Chapter 6
SIX
In response to her question, Mr Darcy pushed at the door. Now fitted into the doorframe and held firmly in place by the peg, it would not even budge. He stepped back and then gave it a shove with his shoulder, but it was immovable.
“Pray, sir, do not hurt yourself!” cried Elizabeth. “There must be another way.”
“Perhaps the hinges…” He patted and searched his coat pockets. “Blast! My penknife is in my greatcoat.”
Elizabeth spoke up. “The window. We might be able to open it.”
Mr Darcy stepped carefully around her and reached up to the window. He fiddled with the latch but it broke off in his hand. He felt around the frame. “I wonder, Miss Elizabeth, if I break one of the panes of glass, if you could get your hand out and see if the window will loosen from the outside.”
They quickly sorted through some small tools scattered on the workbench.
Mr Darcy chose a trowel. Using the handle, he carefully knocked the glass out of one of the small panes, making sure that no shards or sharp edges remained.
Elizabeth found the overturned terracotta pot she had used before and stepped on it, bracing her hands on the workbench, intending to push herself up and reach for the window as she had done earlier when she suddenly found herself in Mr Darcy’s arms, her feet dangling in mid-air.
Her right foot knocked a dubious-looking glass bottle off a nearby shelf, leaving a stain on her half-boots.
“You will never be able to reach the window without ruining your gown,” he said calmly, as if arguing about it would be a waste of time.
Elizabeth blushed fiercely but did not wish to give him the satisfaction of having provoked her.
“It is already ruined, as are my gloves, bonnet, spencer, and now my half-boots, but I thank you for your consideration.” He moved closer to the workbench and leant across it to so she could reach through the empty pane.
Her fingers worked their way to the outer window frame, but she could not touch the edge of it.
“A little closer if you please, sir.”
He tightened his hold on her.
Lord, this man was strong. And warm. She bit her lip. “I meant closer to the window.”
Lifting her high, he stepped as close as he could, his coat pressed against the dirty surface.
Elizabeth stretched her arm as far as she could through the empty windowpane.
She was able to work her entire hand through, but when she felt around the outer frame, she discovered nails.
“You might as well set me down. The window has been nailed shut from the outside. Let us see if we can loosen any of the planks on the walls.”
Darcy did as she asked, and the two of them began to examine the larger implements leaning against the walls. Elizabeth pulled a hoe with a narrow end out of an untidy pile in a corner. Turning to Mr Darcy, she held it up. “Might this work to pry one of the boards away?”
He straightened and faced her. Immediately his eyes widened in alarm. “Elizabeth!” Before she knew what was happening, she had been pulled rather violently into his arms as an alarming clatter sounded behind her.
Clasped tightly against his chest, Elizabeth raised her eyes to his face and saw shock there. Turning her head, she saw that a scythe had fallen, its sharp blade stuck deeply into the floor right where she had been standing.
“We must get out,” she gasped.
“We will.” Mr Darcy released her and took the hoe from her hands.
“There is a long, thin crack in the wall near those shelves,” she pointed out.
He hefted the hoe. “This will have to do. I do not see any sort of pry bar.”
Elizabeth snorted. “It is dark enough in here that we might be standing next to one and not notice it.”
He wedged the sharp end of the hoe into the largest crack he could find and pushed against the plank. The wood groaned and splintered; the crack opened wider. “I believe this will work, Miss Elizabeth. Just one more go should do it, and then I can kick it open.”
Instead of continuing, Mr Darcy set the hoe aside and took her hand. “Before we escape, before we are again constrained by the presence of others, if I may beg your forbearance for a little longer?”
Elizabeth looked at her gloved hand, which appeared very small against his large one, and then up at his face. His eyes were warm, softer than she had ever seen them. Astonished, she could only nod.
Darcy took a deep breath. This was important, and he could not fail.
“You have kindly apologised to me, yet it is I who owe the apology. I had not even taken the time to truly know you. I was a fool to assume that you were flirting with me, that you would fall into my arms even after the barrage of abuse I unleashed upon you. My proposal was even worse than that of Mr Collins. I have never been more ashamed of myself.”
He finally understood. Everything he had said in his tactless, callous proposal had struck directly at a vulnerable place for Elizabeth: her family’s antics, her pride, her self-doubt in her own beauty.
His insults had hit their mark with horrifying efficiency.
It was as if he had deliberately pressed a thumb into a deep bruise.
Her pert confidence, her sparkling and often distracting wit were perhaps in reality a wall of defence. Her loved ones had been disappointing her all her life; then outsiders arrived, and she became even more conscious of it.
“Miss Elizabeth, you have turned down two advantageous offers of marriage. What kind of marriage do you seek? What would make you happy?”
She blinked. “No one has ever asked me that,” she said slowly.
She looked up towards the window as if envisioning something.
“Jane and I always swore to each other that we would only accept a marriage based on deepest love. I still wish for that, but now I am old enough and have seen enough of the world to understand that love entails being treated with respect, understanding, and equality. I have seen what an unequal marriage does to a family. I want to give and receive companionship and caring. I want to honour and be honoured. I want a true partner in life, to plan and dream together; to succeed or fail together…”
Darcy spoke. “For better and for worse. That is what I want, most ardently. I have spent years looking for just such a partner, a companion in life. Then, when at last I found her, I destroyed any hope of connexion with my prideful attitude, my assumptions that I was every lady’s dream and that when I condescended to offer, no lady would refuse me.
It has been painful, but now I understand how important it is to please a woman worthy of being pleased.
“Miss Elizabeth, may we start over? May we truly become acquainted? May we pretend we did not meet last autumn and bring out the worst in each other?” He took her other hand and kissed the knuckles on both hands. “May I call on you when you return to London?”
Elizabeth stared at him, silent, her eyes boring into his, serious and questioning. Just as he was bracing himself for another refusal, she smiled. “Yes, let us try again. Let us see where it leads us.”
Darcy’s joy and relief were profound. He had not realised he was holding his breath until his lungs emptied themselves, and he drew in another deep breath and kissed her hands again. “When do you return, and where may I call?”
She gave him the date and the direction of her uncle’s house.
“Now let us get out of here.” Lifting the hoe, he shifted his stance slightly and braced his foot against…
“Mr Darcy, do not touch that bucket!” cried Elizabeth.
It was too late. The lid of the wooden bucket was knocked away, and cracks appeared in its sides.
The sulphurous brew quickly began to leak, running over Mr Darcy’s boots.
He shifted away but could not escape the foul mixture, only succeeding in bumping into a pair of clippers, which tore open the shoulder of his coat. The hoe clattered to the side.
“Good God!” he cried. “What is that?” The odour filled the already stale air of the shed. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and covered his mouth and nose. His eyes began to water.
Elizabeth also pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket, trying not to gag.
The door opened.