Darcy's Trial

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘That’s enough for today, my beauty. But don’t worry, I’ll be back, and like any spirited filly you’ll be tamed in the end and learn to enjoy being ridden. You’re mine now, my lovely. Not Darcy’s, mine.’

  Still dazed, Elizabeth retreated to the mattress, and a few moments later she heard the bolt slide and they were gone.

  Chapter 27

  On being left alone, Elizabeth’s first impulse was to wipe away every possible imprint of Kaye’s disgusting attentions. Looking for a suitable cloth, she noticed McGill’s handkerchief, which she had torn from her mouth as soon as her hands were released, and deposited it in a corner. Her mouth retained the foul smell, which she removed by swilling clean water and spitting it into the chamber pot. She then lifted her petticoat, and tore a strip of clean cotton from the bottom. After moistening this improvised cloth from the water jug, she carefully pressed it against her face where Kaye had struck her, and symbolically wiped the memory of his fingers from her wrists and arms.

  The next task was to rebutton her muslin dress, which had been pulled down as far as her waist. Still trembling from their assault, Elizabeth got slowly to her feet, stepped off the mattress, and fell back with a cry of surprise as her stockinged foot trod on something hard and skidded across the floor. Her elbow hit the floorboards with a crunch, followed by her head, which mercifully came down on the edge of the mattress. Looking up, she realised she had slipped on her own necklace. It was the last straw. Seated back on the floor, rubbing her bruised elbow, she gave way to her despair and cried like a child, whimpering: ‘Help me. Somebody please help me.’ The sharp pain in her elbow subsided gradually, and she was left crouched on the edge of the mattress, crying out in the sure knowledge that nobody would hear and nobody would come to help her.

  Eventually she crawled over to the necklace and, noticing that its clasp was broken, placed it out of harm’s way in the corner next to the mattress. Carefully checking for further obstacles, she found her hair combs in the corner near the door, one unharmed, the other mangled by a stamping foot. After thinking for a few moments she placed them both beside the necklace, leaving her hair hanging loose. For one thing, the combs were now tainted with Kaye’s touch; for another, they might have some potential as weapons, even though their spikes were flimsy and blunt.

  There was a noise at the door, and Elizabeth sat up sharply. She had intended to lie down for a few minutes to recover her strength, and must have fallen asleep. McGill appeared in the doorway, and with a lurching feeling in her stomach she looked behind him, expecting to see Sir Arthur Kaye readying himself for another assault. There was an anguished squeal, and Helena’s maid Agnes came stumbling into the room, catapulted by a man she had never seen before, stocky and tough-looking, with a puffy and curiously innocent face.

  ‘Billy, check the chamber pot and the water,’ McGill said, keeping his eyes fixed on Elizabeth. He remained on guard at the doorway as the newcomer entered and searched for these objects—a task that seemed to stretch the limits of his intelligence. Eventually the chamber pot was located, sniffed, and removed for emptying, and the water jug replenished from the kitchen. While these activities slowly progressed, Elizabeth went to stand beside Agnes, hoping in this way to comfort her. She longed to discover why Agnes had been brought to the cottage, and what had happened at the Court, but with McGill watching and listening she had no intention of giving anything away.

  On his final visit to the cell, Billy brought a tray bearing two hunks of bread, two apples, and a pie with burned edges. He left without comment, having displayed no curiosity over her presence. Elizabeth was left with the impression that he acted only on McGill’s instructions; left to his own devices, she imagined, he would remain rooted to the spot like a cart with no horse. McGill, by contrast, was still watching her closely, and acknowledged her with a slight bow as once again he took his leave.

  ‘Madam, why are you …’ Agnes began, but Elizabeth held up a hand to silence her as she listened carefully at the door. She thought she heard the wheels of a carriage, but decided to wait a while longer and pointed to the tray of food, whispering: ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Yes, several hours ago.’

  ‘I have no way of knowing the time here.’ Elizabeth broke the pie in half and took a small bite, tasting cold overdone pastry with a lamb, carrot and onion filling. Although not fresh, it seemed edible enough, and she took another bite.

  ‘Late afternoon,’ Agnes said. She leaned forward. ‘I think they’ve gone.’

  Elizabeth took a swig from the water jug and offered it to Agnes, who shook her head. ‘What happened, Agnes? How did they bring you here?’

  ‘The master turned up unexpected, like. It was midday, and he came with Mr Pritchett, and demanded to see Miss Helena immediately. She was in her room, and feeling in low spirits.’ Agnes reddened. ‘On account of your leaving, madam, for she always enjoyed your company.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. Go on.’

  ‘He asked her about the people you’d visited, madam. She didn’t want to talk about it, and he got angrier and angrier. He accused her of helping the other side. I don’t know what he meant, but Miss Helena started crying and said it wasn’t true, and that you were a good friend to her. Then he asked who else she’d told about these visits, and she said nobody at all. But Mr Pritchett said she might have told me, and that Abel, Mr Harte, had taken you in the curricle and knew where you’d gone. Then the master shouted at Miss Helena again and said that she must stay in her room, under the supervision of Mr Baines and Mrs Partridge, and must not leave on any account until he returned after the trial. Meanwhile Abel was to be dismissed, and I was to be taken away to a cottage where they had a job for me to do …’ She stopped in embarrassment.

  Elizabeth paused to think about this, while continuing to munch automatically on a crust of bread. She had noticed before Agnes’s competence as a ladies maid, but never paid her close attention. Now she saw a girl almost her own height, but thinner, with straight mousey hair cut fairly short, and a plain but expressive face with intelligent blue eyes—now observing Elizabeth anxiously as she awaited her response.

  ‘Were you expecting to be assigned a job here?’ Elizabeth asked.

  The girl shook her head. ‘It means they are going to dismiss you,’ she said, her eyes moistening. ‘After …’

  ‘After mistreating you?’ Elizabeth waited for her nod. ‘And how do you know this, Agnes?’

  ‘It’s happened to several of the girls. I know I shouldn’t say, ma’am …’

  ‘You can say it to me.’ Elizabeth leaned across and took Agnes’s hand. ‘Listen, we are both prisoners here. You don’t need to call me madam and act as my maid. We are two women held captive by some evil men, and I will do all in my power to prevent you from coming to harm. For now there isn’t much we can do except eat, rest, and keep our strength up. But depend on it, I mean for us to escape.’ She flashed Agnes a smile. ‘Although at present I have no idea how.’

  Chapter 28

  As the hours dragged by, Elizabeth resumed her pacing of the room, while Agnes, who had been working since daybreak, took the opportunity to lie down on the mattress. With nothing else to do it was tempting to eat, and Elizabeth took a few more nibbles at the pie, but its taste made her queasy and she took a draught of water to wash out her mouth before eating a little bread and half an apple. By now Agnes was asleep, but as darkness was falling the maid awoke with her appetite restored, and munched steadily through the rest of the pie.

  By late evening they were in pitch darkness, and Elizabeth ceased her pacing for fear of bumping into a wall. Having placed the water jug and chamber pot in different corners, she explored the room by touch to make sure she could find them, and told Agnes to do the same, in case she needed to get up in the night. The mattress, fortunately, was just wide enough to hold them both if they cuddled up close. They decided to sleep fully clothed, since the temperature had dropped. Before long Agnes was asleep again, and Elizabet
h was left alone with her thoughts.

  The day was a Tuesday, and Darcy’s trial was scheduled for Thursday and likely to last two days at most. By the end of the week his fate would be decided, and she, Elizabeth, was no longer in a position to do anything about it. If fate favoured him with a lenient judge and jury, he might be imprisoned for a few months; this was now the best she could hope for. Otherwise the sentence would be deportation or death.

  Meanwhile, while achieving precisely nothing of any use to Darcy, she had placed herself in the power of Sir Arthur Kaye, a man who evidently had tastes similar to those of his father, accompanied by a personality that she judged if anything more perverse. From the information she had gathered, Sir Osborne was boorish rather than cruel: he pursued his various lusts with no thought for the feelings of others, but did not take active pleasure in hurting them; this was an incidental side-effect. Arthur in comparison was hardly a boor: he did not relish hunting, fighting, and gambling, nor was he equipped to succeed in these masculine pursuits. She sensed that his vanity and sarcasm concealed an emotional misfit, a boy who had grown up in his father’s shadow and secretly saw himself as a weakling and a failure. According to Helena he had achieved little success in society; at balls she had overheard complaints from girls who had been obliged to dance with him after failing to take evasive action quickly enough. Perhaps like his father he had encountered the fair sex through assignations with servants or harlots, but she thought it unlikely that he had ever enjoyed a flirtation or any kind of friendship with a young woman from his own class.

  But now she, Elizabeth, had presented Arthur Kaye with a new opportunity. From their first meeting at the theatre, she had obviously caught his fancy, and his excitement on having her in his power had been intense. His promise to return after dealing with Darcy rang true. Nobody knew where she was, and he could keep her hidden for as long as he wished. Perhaps he really believed that in time she might welcome his attentions, and that with Darcy out of the way she would consent to marry him. He was after all a baronet, a man with wealth and influential connections. It would not be the first time that such a man had secured a woman as his wife by forcibly seducing her. Many men—although happily not her father—would consider it her duty to marry him under these circumstances.

  Contemplating such a future, Elizabeth could form only one definite resolution: she would never give him the satisfaction of keeping her as his wife. First she would try to escape. If this proved impossible she would try to kill him. Failing this, she would find a way of killing herself, if necessary by starvation.

  With these morbid fantasies spinning in her head Elizabeth must have dropped off, for she awoke to find herself alone in the bed, and frantic rustling noises coming from the other side of the room. She sat up and struggled to see in the dim moonlight. ‘Agnes, are you all right?’

  There was a gush like water from a blocked tap and the room filled with a stench of diarrhea.

  ‘Sorry madam,’ Agnes cried. ‘I couldn’t help it …’

  ‘Are you feeling poorly?’

  ‘I’m all churned up inside. I think it was the pie.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. I feel a bit sick myself, although I only nibbled it. Can you feel a cloth next to the pot?’

  There was a pause. ‘Yes, found it.’

  ‘It’s Mr McGill’s handkerchief, which he kindly gave me this afternoon. I thought we might use it to wipe ourselves.’

  Agnes smothered a giggle. ‘If you say so, ma’am.’

  She crawled back into the bed, seemingly recovered, and Elizabeth tried to ignore the smell and go back to sleep.

  At dawn Elizabeth rose and carefully used the chamber pot herself, afterwards moistening another fragment of her ripped petticoat from the water jug, and wiping her hands and face. Given their dire circumstances, it surprised her that Agnes was sleeping so soundly; it occurred to her that perhaps servants were perpetually tired, and would catch up whenever an opportunity arose.

  Going back to her pacing, she replayed in her head the arguments she had had with Darcy in London, over what she had seen as his misplaced paternalistic concern over her welfare. Bridget too had warned her of the risks she was running; her uncle and aunt likewise; and yet she had ignored them all and followed her own path. How differently she saw things now! She realized, too late, that she had always lived under the protection of others, in a world where there were small vexations but no dangers; and that such an upbringing had given her an illusion of invulnerability. Now alone and far from home, harsh reality had finally caught up with her. She was like a plump and tasty fish swimming innocently in a sea full of sharks.

  She tried to throw off these humiliating thoughts, and became aware again of the various aches in her body. Her face still smarted from Arthur Kaye’s vicious slap, and must have swollen and bruised. Exploring her upper lip with her tongue, she could feel a ridge of dried blood where it had been crushed against her teeth. Her elbow still hurt from her fall after treading on the necklace. Curiously she looked around, and saw the necklace, now useless with its damaged clasp, still safely out of the way in a corner by the bed. She continued to pace, now frowning in concentration.

  ‘Agnes, wake up!’ Elizabeth shook the girl gently. ‘We need to make a plan for when the men return.’

  Agnes sat up suddenly with a bewildered expression. ‘Sorry ma’am, I forgot where I was.’

  ‘Lucky you. I’ve left you a scrap of bread and we still have clean water.’

  Agnes tried to get to her feet, but Elizabeth held out a hand to restrain her. ‘Listen carefully. I want you to keep to the edges of the room, and avoid walking in the middle.’

  Agnes frowned. ‘Why, ma‘am?’

  ‘Because I have laid a trap.’ Elizabeth pointed at a spot some two paces away. ‘Can you see the beads? Luckily they’re almost transparent, and hard to see in this dim light. I took them from my necklace. I think it’s best to concentrate them in a smallish area, perhaps a foot square. I’m hoping that if McGill treads on that spot he will take an almighty tumble, allowing us a few seconds to make an escape.’

  Agnes bit her lip, considering this. ‘But begging your pardon, madam, why should he come so far into the room? Wouldn’t it be better to lay the trap nearer the door?’

  ‘The trouble is that if he fell there, he would block the doorway. Even if we managed to jump over him, we would be unable to pull the door shut and bolt him in. Our chances of escape would then be slight. But your point is valid. He is unlikely to move into the danger area unless we find some way of enticing him there.’

  Agnes shook her head. ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘We would need to attract his attention by some sort of distraction in the far corner, under the window. With luck he would stride across the room to deal with it, so stepping into the area where I have laid my ambush.’ Elizabeth twisted round and pointed to the small pane that was the room’s only source of light. ‘Agnes, if I stood in the corner, do you think you could climb on to my hands and reach the window?’

  Slowly another hour passed, perhaps two. Would the men ever come, or did they plan to leave their prisoners all day without fresh food and water? At last she heard voices outside, and they took their positions, Agnes beside the mattress, Elizabeth under the window.

  On hearing the bolt, Agnes cried out, as planned: ‘Be quick madam! They’re coming!’ Violently the door was thrust inwards, and McGill stepped through, to see Elizabeth apparently climbing a blanket that hung down from the window. Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, then stood on tip-toe and pretended to climb higher; in fact the blanket was looped insecurely through the window latch, and would fall down if required to take her weight.

  Elizabeth knew that if McGill stopped to think, he would see there was no danger of her escaping. She hoped that in the heat of the moment, instinct would pre-empt reason—and to her relief it did. With a cry of anger McGill ran straight across the room towards her, and with miraculous neatness h
is feet flew into the air, and his head landed with a fearful crack on the hard oak floor. In a flash Elizabeth picked up the chamber pot, ran carefully around the edge of the room to avoid falling victim to her own trap, and gave McGill the benefit of Agnes’s diarrhea, full in the face. Almost too stunned to retaliate, and now blinded by the foul mess in his eyes, McGill’s hands reached for her in vain as she danced to one side; she then closed as he tried to sit up, and brought the chamber pot with all her force down on the crown of his head. He fell back again, and Elizabeth released the pot and followed Agnes out of the door, only to discover that the maid had run straight into the arms of McGill’s assistant Billy, who had been waiting outside near the cottage door.

  ‘Oh Billy, you must come quickly!’ Elizabeth cried, pointing into the cell. ‘Mr McGill has fallen and hurt himself, and asks for your help straight away!’

  She had planned this communication carefully, to make it clear that these were McGill’s instructions, and as she had hoped, Billy’s response was automatically to obey. Pushing Agnes to one side, he ran clumsily into the room, only to slip on a displaced bead and fall on top of McGill, who was making another effort to get up. Quickly Elizabeth grabbed the door handle and tried to pull it shut, but one of Billy’s legs trailed with the ankle still blocking the doorway. Now desperate, Elizabeth stamped ruthlessly on the offending ankle, causing Billy to grunt and move it a little way into the room, whereupon with a fierce kick she managed to remove it altogether from her path and slam the door shut. By now McGill was on his feet, yelling at Billy to get out of his way, but to no avail, for with a howl of triumph Elizabeth drew the bolt and the tables were turned.