Chapter Six #2
"We shall enquire when we find shelter," said Darcy. "And there you may pen a letter berating them for their lateness." The rain outside seemed to grow louder.
Darcy lowered his voice. "Miss Elizabeth, whatever else you may think of me, I hope you believe I would not place you in danger."
Then another gust of wind struck the carriage and she shuddered so violently that the decision was made for both of them. "Very well," she said, through gritted teeth. "But if Mr Frost returns and finds me gone, he will be alarmed."
"We shall leave a note."
Burke produced paper, pencil and an oilskin pouch from somewhere within his coat. Elizabeth stared at him. "You are very prepared, Mr Burke."
"A necessity, miss." Burke glanced briefly at Darcy. "I serve a gentleman who likes everything arranged just so."
She wrote the note with fingers so stiff that Darcy had to restrain himself from taking the pencil from her hand.
When it was done, Burke ran out and fixed it inside the carriage where it would be found and then went back to help the coachman and Thomas, a footman, to secure what little luggage could be moved quickly.
Darcy settled across from her as the carriage began to move.
She was wrapped in dry blankets that Burke had produced from somewhere.
He wanted to ask her if she was well, to see if there was anything she needed, to take her hands between his own and rub some warmth between them.
Instead he said nothing, because every word he had ever addressed to Elizabeth Bennet seemed to emerge wrong.
For several minutes there was only the sound of rain, wheels and Elizabeth’s unsteady breathing.
At last she said, "You are going to London?"
"Yes."
"Could you take me to my uncle’s residence in Cheapside?"
Darcy frowned. "I do not see that will be possible, Miss Elizabeth."
"Of course, it would not be. I could not put the great Mr Darcy’s schedule in peril!"
Burke let out a cough that sounded very close to a laugh and Darcy shot him a warning look.
Elizabeth pulled the rug closer around her shoulders, though some colour had begun to return to her face. "I am sorry. That was ungrateful. You have rescued me and I am behaving badly."
"You are cold and distressed."
"I am neither distressed nor cold."
Her teeth chattered at precisely that moment.
Darcy raised an eyebrow.
Elizabeth looked away. "I am a little cold."
"A little."
"A moderate amount."
"You have been sitting in a broken carriage in the rain for half a day," said Darcy. "I believe a little ill humour may be excused."
She looked faintly surprised by this. "Then why can you not take me to my aunt's?"
"Because I very much doubt any of us shall reach London tonight."
Elizabeth's mouth opened as if she planned to argue the point. But before she could respond, Burke leaned forward.
"I think what my master means, miss, is that our chances of reaching London in this weather are somewhere between poor and not a snowball’s chance in hell."
Darcy nodded gravely. "The roads were already difficult before the storm worsened."
"If this weather has done what I suspect it has," Burke continued, peering out at the darkness beyond the window,"I should not care to place any wagers on the condition of the roads ahead."
Elizabeth stared at them both. "You think it is that bad?"
Another violent gust rattled the windows as though to prove his point and Burke gave a small nod. "Exactly so. What we need at present, miss, is to get you somewhere warm, dry, with something hot to eat."
Darcy nodded. He had intended to say precisely the same thing. The fact that Burke had managed to say it in a manner that did not immediately offend Miss Bennet was deeply vexing.
Elizabeth slipped into a fitful sleep, but the road grew worse as they continued.
Twice the carriage slowed almost to a halt while the horses struggled through deep mud.
Once Burke climbed out to help the coachman and Thomas lead them around a flooded hollow while Darcy remained inside with Elizabeth.
After what felt like an hour, though Darcy suspected it was more like fifteen minutes, the carriage stopped again. Burke opened the door and peered out.
Darcy leaned forward. "What is it?"
The coachman’s voice came back grim through the rain. "Bridge is out, sir."
Darcy swore under his breath and opened the door.
He stepped down into mud that reached above his ankle and followed Burke and the coachman a short distance ahead.
The bridge, if it could still be called such, had been half torn away by the swollen stream below.
Water rushed over the remaining planks. No horse could cross it safely and no driver with sense would attempt it.
Burke stood with his hands on his hips. "Well. That’s inconvenient."
Darcy gave him a flat look. "Thank you."
"Always glad to assist, sir."
Burke remained standing at the edge of the ruined bridge, peering through the rain. After a moment he pointed into the darkness. "There."
Darcy followed the direction of his hand and, after a few seconds, caught sight of a faint yellow glow through the storm. It appeared and vanished behind the curtain of rain before emerging again.
"The Golden Goose," said the coachman. "There's a track just before the bridge. Easy enough to miss in weather like this."
Darcy glanced back towards the carriage. "Can we reach it?"
"Aye, sir. It'll be rough going, but we'll reach it quick enough."
"Then let us do so without further delay."
The carriage was turned with considerable difficulty and guided back along the road until they found the narrow lane.
It wound between overgrown hedgerows before dipping into a shallow hollow sheltered by trees.
The inn sat low and sturdy against the storm, warm light glowing from its windows and smoke curling steadily from its chimney.
Darcy had never in his life been so pleased by the sight of a building.
The track down to it was little better than mud. Twice the wheels slipped and once the horses struggled badly enough that Burke climbed down to help the coachman. Inside the carriage Elizabeth remained wrapped in blankets, her head resting against the corner of the squabs.
Darcy told himself it was good that she was sleeping.
After all, she had spent hours alone in a broken carriage and had been visibly exhausted when they found her.
But the nearer they drew to the inn, the more uneasy he became.
She had not stirred once. Not even when the carriage lurched violently through a rut.
By the time the inn yard came into view, an uneasy feeling had settled somewhere deep in Darcy's stomach. The carriage rolled to a halt and he put a hand on her shoulder. She was freezing, despite the blankets. "Miss Elizabeth?"
There was no response. Darcy leaned forward and shook her less gently. "Miss Elizabeth!"
She remained motionless and for the first time since he was a child he felt profound fear.
He threw himself across the carriage and crouched beside her.
In the dim lantern light her face appeared alarmingly pale.
A damp curl had fallen across her cheek but she made no attempt to brush it away.
He grasped her hand and attempted to warm it between his own.
"Burke."
His valet appeared immediately at the door. "What is it?"
"She will not wake," he said in a small voice that did not feel like his own.
Burke's expression changed at once. He climbed into the carriage and bent over her, pressing two fingers against her wrist. For several seconds neither man spoke. Then Burke let out a slow breath.
"Her pulse is there."
Darcy realised he had been holding his own breath.
"But she's cold, sir. Far too cold. We need to get her inside. Now."
Darcy did not wait for further instruction.
He slipped an arm beneath Elizabeth's shoulders and another beneath her knees and lifted her from the seat. She did not stir. Her head fell heavily against his shoulder and remained there. The distance between the carriage and the inn door was perhaps fifteen yards. It felt like miles.
Rain lashed against his face and soaked through his coat, but he scarcely noticed.
Elizabeth remained motionless in his arms, her skin frighteningly cold against his neck.
By the time he reached the door, every last shred of composure had deserted him.
He kicked it open so violently that it slammed back against the wall.
The noise silenced the room at once and every head turned towards him.
Darcy scarcely saw them. "Help me!" The words rang through the taproom, but no one moved.
"Help me," he shouted again, louder this time. "For the love of God, somebody help me!"