Armed Robbery

by Iris Lim

  Mr. Philips nodded. It relieved me to find all other members of the party doing so as well.

  “Very well, neighbor.” He grabbed my arm. “Let us act quickly.”

  • • •

  I hadn’t given the action much thought before I kissed her.

  I could hardly be expected to think now that she kissed me back.

  For a few, long heart-stopping moments, I relished the feeling of her body pressed against mine, her lips yielding to mine. Gone were the quick sparks of our first kiss – a kiss bestowed merely to fool our captors the previous evening. The kisses we shared now were gentle, intimate, and hopeful.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she called gently when we pulled apart at last. I regarded her with hooded eyes. The sunset radiance, peeking through the windows, crowned her with warmth and serenity.

  “Please – call me Fitzwilliam.” My voice shook as much as hers did. There was a shift in that moment – a page turned in the novel of our dreams.

  Even my bruises could not holler louder than my fast-beating heart.

  “Elizabeth –”

  The door flung open just before I drew closer to her once more. I dragged myself back against the wall. The wallpaper did little to soothe the aching in my head.

  “Liar!”

  It was the burly one – all strength and ignorance. He dashed towards us the very moment he entered.

  Then he dove for Elizabeth.

  “No!” I cried – lunging forward incrementally. My limbs burnt with their injuries.

  “Send ‘em away, you say.” The muscled man pulled Elizabeth taut against him. My heart, eyes, and body throbbed. Her body, so substantial against my own but minutes earlier, looked flimsy and pale. “Liar!”

  Elizabeth whimpered. I begged.

  “Yer note, madam,” the robber hissed on, “was a lie!”

  I recalled my admiration upon the evidence of her wisdom. Not all regard for her mind, it seemed, was equal to mine.

  “I said nothing!” Elizabeth cried, her hands grappling vainly against the arm around her neck.

  “There’s more of ‘em! More at the door!” The burglar sneered against the side of her face. I recoiled for her. “Why’re they here!”

  “I don’t know!” Elizabeth denied. I persisted in moving forward on my knees.

  “You called ‘em! Arnold ses.” There was a crack in his voice – a vulnerability. I waited until I was closer. “Yer liars – all liars.”

  I purposefully ignored the tears streaming down Elizabeth’s face. It was too much, too keen.

  “Arnold shouldnda waited.” His every threat was accompanied by a tighter grip. I heard Elizabeth gasping for air.

  “You are hurting her!” I cried. His blood-streaked eyes glare at me. I pulled back my shoulders, affecting a stance of neutrality.

  Elizabeth coughed. Her cries were interspersed with the word ‘Bo.’

  Bo – yes, of course it is.

  “Bo, listen.” I attempted my negotiation slowly. Elizabeth’s breath evened, thank goodness, though she remained in his grip. “I know your aims, and I am the only person in the universe able to provide what you desire. Allow me to speak – and I shall deliver.”

  His eyes bore hesitation.

  I expressed every ounce of sincerity I could muster.

  “Them jewels,” he growled.

  “Yes, the family jewels – all of them.” My mind, unaccustomed to deceit, warred with itself regarding the necessity of it now. I knelt tall, straight against the floor. “Release her now.”

  Bo paused, in evident contemplation. I held my breath discreetly.

  “All ‘em jewels, now,” he countered, brawny arm against Elizabeth’s frail neck.

  “Yes – everything,” I forced the bluff with every inch of my being.

  “She stays ‘ere.” Bo relaxed his grip. Elizabeth toppled forward until she hit the floor.

  “She won’t come with us – yes.” I assisted her to a seat, eyes trained on Bo still.

  The large man crossed his arms. “Where’re they?”

  “Upstairs.” I mapped out Netherfield in my brain. I knew just the room to take him.

  Bo narrowed his eyes. Elizabeth gripped my arm. It took every fiber of my being to remain stoically turned away.

  “We git it an’ go.” Bo was making sure of his gamble.

  I was certain I had no choice but to make mine.

  “Yes, we go now,” I assured. It comforted me that he held no apparent weapon.

  Bo nodded slowly. His tattered clothes displayed scars and bald spots in parts of his body that could have been harmed only through the most violent of fights.

  I made sure to swallow invisibly.

  “We go now?” He demanded and asked all at once.

  “Yes, now.” I struggled to my feet – succeeding only after Bo assisted with a yank of his own. My soles, long asleep, strived hard to maintain my upright pose. “Thank you.”

  Bo nodded then, placated by my offer.

  “Go. Now.” He did not waste time before pulling me out the door.

  My last look towards the interior of our recent prison was at Elizabeth – wordlessly pleading with her to leave while she could.

  • • •

  “No,” I muttered when my face hit the hard floor.

  “No,” I cried when I saw him take Mr. Darcy.

  “No!” I screamed on deaf ears, when the door had slammed shut already.

  Tears flowed unchecked on my face. Every inch of my body ached – with fear, with anger, with pain. The skin on my neck stung. My eyes stung more.

  “Mr. Darcy,” I whimpered, hand clutched to my aching chest.

  The blur of events ever since Bo’s entrance slowly clarified themselves in my mind. His offense on my body, Mr. Darcy’s pleas, the threats, then the promises – every recollection struck fear into my heart.

  Had Mr. Darcy volunteered himself to walk straight into the lions’ den? Were the mentioned jewels real – or a dangerous fabrication?

  My mind raced as my limbs scrambled. I smoothed out my skirt quickly, only noticing for a moment how irretrievably disheveled my gown proved to be. I limped towards the coffee table and gulped down the cool water inside the lone pot. I searched my body and surroundings for any means of defense, any loose chair leg that could prove a worthy weapon.

  When I found none, I raced for the door.

  I had visited Netherfield enough times, under current residence or otherwise, to map out the fastest path to the front door with ease. I muttered prayers for deliverance, prayers to the God of Daniel and his friends. My feet, sore from inactivity, struggled to maintain even steps.

  At last, ten heartbeats and two dozen steps later, I stood at the hallway that led directly to the door. I heard sounds emanate through the barrier. They were human sounds. They were cries and complaints.

  Had the town mob come to do good just this once?

  My eyes catalogued the path to elusive liberty. I knew from overheard conversation that the servants exits had all been barred and said servants dismissed. With such new employs, I hadn’t expected further loyalty. There was one route left – and no soul to assist me.

  “Bo!” Arnold, posed precipitously by the solitary passage, peeked occasionally through the glass. He glared towards the room I had just fled at regular intervals, each attempt with a stormier look than the last.

  To escape was to face him – and I was far from ideally armed.

  “Bo!” The leader called again. Shuffling echoes were all that the hallway supplied. I watched with bated breath as a debate played out clearly on Arnold’s face. I dearly wished that he would leave his post, but he concluded all on his own that he would remain where he was.

  I nearly cursed under my breath.

  A few more seconds of quiet observation yielded the fact that our lead captor passed his weight from one leg to the other quite often. With every shift, he moved his hips in upward and downward motion, as if needing a visit to the privy.

>   It took me one short moment to realize he did in fact need just that.

  The sound of more footsteps, grunts, and groans ricocheted down the length of the house. I shuddered, fearfully remembering every second of borrowed time I breathed had been bought at a price.

  Was Mr. Darcy all right? Did Bo hurt him?

  Mr. Darcy was strong – but our captor had proven stronger once.

  My eyes watered at the possibility of another attack overcoming him again.

  “Damn it!” Arnold’s cry echoed loudly down the hall before he marched away towards the back of the house.

  The doorway, framed in sunset hues, lay entirely unguarded.

  I gathered my skirts and ran, slippers soft on the wooden floor. My heart pounded nearly as quickly as it did when Mr. Darcy kissed me. I shoved the memory aside, unwilling to be distracted.

  Three steps until the door, I believed I heard Charlotte’s voice.

  Two steps until the door, I believed I heard the sound of steadily, flowing liquid.

  One step until the door, I heard – indubitably – a sharp cry from the highest floor of the house. The voice was Mr. Darcy’s.

  The door handle lay foolishly untouched.

  I turned and dashed for the nearest staircase.

  Chapter Seven

  The staircase steps fell beneath my feet like cascading water. I could not run fast enough, climb fast enough.

  Mr. Darcy was in dire danger in an attempt to save me. By heart or by conscience, I could not allow it.

  “Mr. Bingley!” I cried when my sore feet landed upon the higher floor at last. My hands clutched the balustrade as I panted my fears away. I would save him as he had saved me. We would escape – together. “Mr. Bingley!”

  My legs carried me, with miraculous strength, down the hall and past every room that held captives. Their moans through the doors did not deter me. Jane’s whimper, when I passed our previous room, nearly stayed me.

  But, still – I battled on.

  “Mr. Darcy.” The crack in my voice followed closely after the crack in my will. How could I pretend he was anyone but himself when only he alone could have offered himself so gallantly for my deliverance? What sort of man but the very best kind would aid, with such great magnanimity, a woman who’d trapped him into marriage?

  I disregarded my tears when more groans reached my ears. There would be time to cry, later. There would be time to mourn the despondency of our encounters. Now, at this very moment, my duty was to prevent having further reasons to grieve.

  “Mr. Darcy,” I whispered hoarsely as I ran towards the source of the sounds.

  Darcy and his captor – all two hundred pounds of Bo – struggled in the very last room in the hallway. I threw the door open, unable to wait. The sight that greeted me corresponded fully with the noises I had heard.

  “Elizabeth.” The man who had asked for my hand, who had born each blow from Arnold, who had tricked his current aggressor into allowing me freedom – was pressed against Bo, knife against his neck. His voice was tight, as certainly as his breathing must be. “Eliza – ah!”

  The knife drew blood, red slowly dripping on to Bo’s hairy arm. My eyes overflowed.

  “Where are ‘em jewels!” Bo demanded, furious. Mr. Darcy choked again.

  “Let him go!” I cried – loudly and desperately.

  “Not until ‘e –”

  His words stopped when my teeth sank into the flesh of his upper arm.

  “You sickening bitch!” He hollered, tumbling back with a hand to his wound.

  “Mr. Darcy.” I dove to catch him. My lips and hands trembled as I pressed my handkerchief to his bleeding neck. “Mr. Darcy, are you –”

  “Move.” The master of Pemberley shoved me aside – and barreled straight into the abdomen of a charging Bo.

  • • •

  “No – please, stop!”

  Elizabeth’s shrieks persisted. I struggled to maintain focus.

  “Bo! Stop!”

  Her cry was warning enough for me to evade his latest punch. Carefully, despite the numbness in my legs, I twisted low until I grasped his waist as tightly as I could. In one motion, I shoved him back with all my strength.

  The sound of his shoulder cracking on the floor was beyond satisfactory.

  “Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth stood and rushed towards me. Her hand returned to the bleeding spot on my neck. I was lucky the knife had not been sharper. “Oh, Fitzwilliam.”

  I enjoyed her ministrations in the following moments. Our aggressor was overcome. The windows in this room had not been barred.

  Suddenly, hope re-emerged.

  “Elizabeth, come.” I grasped her wrist gently, ready to barge with her through the glass panes – the vertical distance be damned.

  We would face those consequences later.

  “Well, well, well.” The three small words, evil and arrogant, evoked fear I’d rather not admit to possessing. We both froze in our tracks.

  “Arnold, wait.” Slowly, I drew Elizabeth close and turned our bodies until we faced the lead attacker – and his leveled pistol.

  I swallowed the blood in my mouth.

  “Arnold –”

  “Leaving us so soon, Mr. Bingley?” He cocked his brown curls to one side. His hand, unfortunately, remained steady. “Or, should I say – Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire?”

  My throat tightened. Elizabeth’s grip around my chest did as well.

  “I fear our stances are uneven.” Every word drew pain through my ribs and blood from my gums. “May I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?”

  Arnold’s laugh sounded as if it were a bark. He shifted his fingers on the grip of his pistol, nearly setting off the trigger. My chest ached more. Elizabeth pulled tight beside me.

  “I doubt ye woulda knowned me anyways,” Arnold sneered – and stepped closer.

  I pulled both of us further away, the back of my mind already cataloguing how many steps we still might take between our current position and the foolish, rotting wall.

  “Who are you?” I pressed.

  Elizabeth did not hide her face, as I’d fully expected her to do. Instead, she stared him down as fiercely as I tried to.

  Together, we stood, united in dwindling hope.

  “Who are you?” I repeated, patience thin.

  “Ye don’t know me, sir.” Arnold waved his pistol. “But ye know me uncle, I reckon.”

  “And who is he?”

  “Miles Wickham, late steward of Pemberley. My cousin couldn’ta steered me wrong.”

  With that proclamation, he barreled forward – tightening his grip on his weapon until he –

  A loud, single gunshot reverberated through the air. Elizabeth crouched into me – I down towards the floor. The smell of gunpowder and muscle and blood mixed in the air. I closed my eyes, anxious to will away any pain, hoping that I had at least shielded my fiancée from the brunt of it all.

  “Are you alright, sir? Madam?”

  The voice was not Arnold’s. It was not Bo’s.

  I lifted my face gradually, taking care to keep my arms around Elizabeth.

  The bloody aftermath, scattered generously around the mostly empty room, compelled me to trace back the source of our salvation.

  I stared openly at the pistol in the youngest robber’s shaking hands.

  “You shot him.” I did not ask.

  “Yes, sir.” There was sorrow in the boy’s tone, confusion and regret.

  “Did he wrong you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did he harm you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Is there a reason beyond human kindness that compelled you to save us the way you did?” I narrowed my eyes at him. He had always looked innocuous, from the moment of the first attack. Still, I did not trust a man with a weapon as deadly as his.

  He shivered where he stood, a skinny silhouette against the afternoon sun. I watched him lower his hands until the pistol swung unused by his side.

  “King.” Eli
zabeth, surprising me, stepped out of the confines of my embrace. “Thank you for saving us. Was there – a particular reason?”

  I watched the wordless exchange with fascination, my legs beginning to give way. I reached out to support myself with the window sill.

  “The town mob is here.” The young man’s voice was weak and small when he spoke. He opened his palm, letting his weapon drop to the floor with a thud. He met Elizabeth’s eyes, not mine. “I need – amnesty.”

  “You have it,” I said quickly. The boy looked at me gratefully; Elizabeth flew to my side.

  I welcomed her happily, arms open wide.

  The young robber, now ally, used his feet to push the bodies of his former conspirators aside.

  Relief mingled with pride, hope with exhaustion.

  I barely heard the rising voices before the world turned black.

  Chapter Eight

  “What a day that was!” I did not care that I spoke too loudly given our destitute circumstances. Relief was all I felt – and it was all I was about to express. The authorities may poke at the aftermath all they wish. I was perfectly content sprawled where I was in the sitting room where it had all begun.

  “Charles, you scourge us by speaking so happily,” Caroline complained – glaring at me across the arm of her chair. She sat straight as a queen, regal despite the dust over her entire person. The way I sat, limbs spread all over my armchair, spoke of the difference in our temperaments more than words could.

  My family was safe. Jane was safe. I was safe, and Darcy was said to be recovering from his dead faint by the minute.

  “Congratulate me, Caroline.” I smiled at my sister despite it all. “I am to be married!”

  “Married!”

  “My beloved Jane has agreed to grant me her hand in marriage. I shall purchase a special license as soon as it is possible.”

  “Has she entrapped you! Are you insane!” Caroline’s voice and face were regal no longer.

  “I am madly in love, of course.” I felt the sentiments I professed in every inch of my being. “There is no one dearer or kinder or prettier to me in the entire world.”