Chapter Six
Darcy had intended to leave Netherfield two days earlier, but he had failed spectacularly.
First, Bingley had required his opinion on a matter concerning a dispute over repairs to one of the tenant cottages.
Bingley was amiable to the point of danger in business matters and had a tendency to agree with the last person who spoke to him, which meant that Darcy could not in good conscience abandon him.
Then Miss Bingley had insisted upon a farewell dinner.
As far as Darcy could tell, Miss Bingley had mistaken the occasion for a siege and intended to keep him at Netherfield through a combination of rich food and persistence.
By the time he finally escaped Netherfield, he was in a temper that was not improved by a steady drizzle that quickly developed into driving rain.
Water lashed against the windows of the carriage and turned the road into a grey, shifting blur.
Despite the robustness of his carriage and experience of his men, the horses made poor progress through the mud and the wheels dragged heavily through every rut.
Darcy sat stiffly against the squabs, his greatcoat buttoned to the throat and his arms crossed, attempting not to think of Elizabeth Bennet.
He was failing entirely and he glared at the smudged grey landscape outside the carriage window.
Opposite him sat Burke, who had been his valet for so long that he occasionally forgot the distinction between servant and officious older brother. It was an arrangement Darcy generally tolerated until moments such as the present.
"You're going to wear a hole in that glove, sir."
Darcy glanced down at his hand and discovered he had indeed been twisting the leather at the thumb.
"I was unaware that it concerned you."
"I am the one who will have to take them for mending," said Burke. Then, after a pause, "sir" as if it were an afterthought.
Darcy turned his attention back to the rain streaking across the carriage window. "I’m sorry, Burke, my mood is a little black at the moment."
That earned him a long look. Burke was a former army captain and he was capable of a piercing stare that would put fear into the heart of any enemy soldier.
He pursed his lips and let out a low whistle.
"Indeed? Most gentlemen would improve after leaving a house they have spent the last several weeks trying to escape. "
"I was not trying to escape."
"No?" Burke settled more comfortably against the squabs. "Then I apologise. It looked very like it. You have been like a bear with a sore head since the lady arrived and worse still since she left."
Darcy fixed him with a look that would have silenced most men.
Burke, having long since become immune to such things, merely raised an eyebrow.
"The weather is poor, that is all," said Darcy at last. "And I had hoped to make better time."
"Yes, sir," said Burke gravely. "That must be it."
Darcy looked out of the window again. The rain was growing worse and the countryside beyond the glass was almost impossible to make out. They had passed very few travellers in the last hour and it was unlikely they would make it much further today.
"We should have changed horses at the last village," said Burke unhelpfully.
Darcy clenched his jaw. "The next coaching inn cannot be far."
Burke leaned slightly to peer past him through the rain. "No. But the road between here and there is making a fair attempt to become a river."
The carriage rocked hard to one side and then corrected itself. One of the horses whinnied sharply. Darcy reached for the strap above the door just as the coachman called back something unintelligible through the wind.
Burke opened the small front window and shouted, "What was that?"
The answer came back broken by rain.
Burke closed the panel and looked at Darcy. "Carriage ahead, sir."
Darcy frowned. "On the road?"
"Off it, by the looks of things."
A minute later the vehicle came into view.
It sat at an awkward angle beside the road, half in a ditch, the body tilted and one wheel sunk deep into mud.
There were no horses in sight. At first Darcy saw only the broken wheel and splattered paintwork.
There must have been an accident earlier in the day and the carriage was awaiting recovery.
Then the curtain inside moved. Good God, could someone be within?
"Stop," he ordered, banging on the roof.
The carriage drew up with difficulty. Darcy was out almost before it had fully halted, his boots sinking into the mud as the rain struck him full in the face. Burke followed at once, far more sensibly taking a lantern from a hook inside before he climbed down.
"There’s someone here," Darcy shouted into the wind.
"Aye, sir. Best see if they’re alive or hurt. It’s a filthy night!"
"There’s definitely someone inside," said Burke, holding the lantern higher and squinting through the glass.
Darcy rapped sharply against the carriage door. There was no answer at first. He tried the handle and found it bolted from within. "Hello?" he called. "Is anyone there?"
For a moment there was only the sound of the storm. Rain drummed against the roof of the stranded carriage and ran in sheets down the windows. Then, from somewhere within, came a faint voice.
The reply was quiet and somewhat unsteady. "Yes." It was a distinctly feminine voice.
Darcy started. A woman alone in a broken carriage and by the looks of it alone. Who would ever leave a woman unprotected in such conditions? "Are you injured?"
There was a long pause. He pressed his ear against the carriage, straining to listen for any noise.
Finally there was a weak voice. "I... I do not think so."
The reply was faint and unsteady. Darcy frowned slightly. There was something familiar about the voice, though he could not immediately place it. Before he could consider the matter further there came the scrape of a bolt and the door opened a few inches.
The occupant peered cautiously out into the rain. Darcy stopped dead, his heart leaping into his throat. Miss Elizabeth Bennet stared back at him blinking as the wind and rain began blowing into the carriage.
For a second neither of them spoke. Her face was pale with cold and exhaustion and several damp curls had escaped her coiffure. She was wrapped in blankets almost to her chin and shivering visibly.
"Mr Darcy?"
"Miss Elizabeth."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Of course."
Darcy had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Instead he took hold of the door and opened it fully.
When he continued staring at her, Miss Bennet closed her eyes briefly and leaned her head back against the squabs.
"Where is your driver? Your companion? You are all alone?"
"Mrs Frost was injured when the carriage left the road," she said. "She is expecting a child… I sent her and Mr Frost—our coachman—to Barley Cross to seek help."
Her voice was noticeably weaker than it had been a moment before.
Darcy looked around the empty carriage. "You have been here alone ever since?"
She nodded.
"How long?"
"I do not know precisely." She frowned slightly. "Several hours, I think."
"He stared at her, "Several hours?"
"It was not my intention," she snapped before visibly sagging.
Darcy glanced around the carriage. The blankets looked damp and Miss Bennet was shivering so violently that the whole seat seemed to tremble with her.
Darcy turned and saw his valet's expression had become serious.
"We need to get her warm."
"Can you stand?" he asked.
Miss Bennet frowned and blinked at him, her usually quick tongue slow to form the words. "I… I believe so."
She gathered the blankets around herself and attempted to rise. The moment she put her feet beneath her, she swayed alarmingly and would almost certainly have ended up back on the floor of the carriage had Darcy not caught her.
For a second she looked up at him in confusion. Then she said, with great dignity, "I think the floor moved."
Darcy slipped an arm around her waist to steady her. Even through the layers of damp wool he could feel her trembling. Before Elizabeth could gather sufficient strength to object, Darcy bent and lifted her into his arms.
"Mr Darcy!"
The protest was considerably weakened by a violent shiver.
"You are in no condition to walk."
"I absolutely am."
"You are not."
"I am," she mumbled petulantly.
Darcy looked down at her.
Miss Bennet glared up at him. But after a moment she sighed, "Perhaps not."
"An encouraging improvement in your self-awareness."
Ahead of them Burke had already reached the carriage and thrown open the door. "About time," he muttered. "At this rate the pair of you would still be standing in the rain arguing come Christmas."
"I shall wait for Mr Frost," she said once settled inside.
"You will do no such thing."
Her eyes flashed, and despite everything, despite the rain and the cold and the fear that had lodged somewhere beneath his ribs at the sight of her alone in that carriage, Darcy felt that familiar pull towards her.
Even half-frozen and wrapped like a parcel, she looked like an avenging angel, ready to argue him into the ground.
"Mr Frost will return with help," she said and he will be worried if I am not here.
"Perhaps. But he has not returned yet and you are shivering so hard you can barely speak."
Burke came up beside Darcy, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. "Begging your pardon, miss, but the gentleman is right."
Elizabeth looked at him properly for the first time. Burke gave a brief bow. "Burke, miss. Mr Darcy’s valet and general factotum. And I’d say you’ve maybe an hour before the cold has you properly ill. Less, if this wind and rain keeps on."
Darcy expected Elizabeth to object to this assessment, largely because it came from someone connected with him, but she only glanced between them and then out into the road where the rain had turned the world almost black. "I cannot leave without knowing whether Mrs Frost is safe."