by Robin Helm
“You are no coward, Miss Elizabeth.”
“But I am! And I have a wretched temper, too.” Without lifting her head from his lapel, she drew the square of paper from the neckline of her gown. “If you read this, you’ll know.”
Darcy took it, scarcely daring to breathe. The paper was warm and no wonder, considering its hiding place!
Should he open it now? Would this be fair to her? She had given it to Galahad, not to Darcy. Would his intense curiosity carry the day? Or would honour?
Reluctantly, Darcy set the note aside. “Perhaps in the morning I shall, with your permission. Would you like to make your bed here on the sofa? With the fire for company? I’ll build it up for you.”
He felt her head nod in agreement, and he released her.
Not until now did Darcy notice that the bed had a luxuriant feather mattress. The blankets and pillows were likewise of excellent quality. Someone had spent money here, but why?
From behind the sofa, Darcy covered Elizabeth and eased a pillow beneath her head. He heard her sigh. Then he came round to add wood to the fire. Immediately the flames blazed up, with the wood snapping and popping. He knew that his face would be clearly visible. Reluctantly, he turned to face her.
But Elizabeth said nothing. She had fallen back to sleep.
CHAPTER 10
Darcy awoke to an angry sunrise; a fiery line of red shone from beneath heavy clouds. The wind had dropped, which was a mercy, but he doubted the calm would last. It looked to be another stormy day. There was no sound from the bedchamber, which was probably just as well. To enquire about a trip to the privy would definitely be out of line.
As if anything about this situation could be otherwise!
Darcy rubbed a hand over his chin. A few more days without a razor and his stubble would become a full-fledged beard. Wouldn’t that be delightful?
He shrugged into his overcoat and let himself out of the house. This was an excellent time to survey the surrounding countryside. But the longer Darcy walked about, the more sobered he became. This house was indeed on an island; the lake was not natural but man-made. At the far side of the lake was the rowboat, and beyond the dock were outbuildings: stables, a boathouse, and housing for whatever servants could be coaxed to work in this bleak, forsaken place.
Even so, the air was fresh and invigorating. Darcy was feeling more like himself, which meant he could get to the bottom of this conundrum. Why had he and Elizabeth been brought here? And how would they escape?
As he’d noted before, the kitchen was not attached to the house. It looked to be empty. Even if he forced his way inside, he would find little in the way of help.
Back at the house Darcy launched a thorough search of the front room. In a corner he found a stack of wooden crates. These held loaves of bread, dried fruit, oats—presumably meant to be cooked—and several crocks of soup, larded beef, and a barrel of salt pork. There were bricks of cheddar cheese and butter, and also a wheel of Stilton. Was theirs to be a lengthy captivity?
The sideboard held a collection of china and flatware, including a full tea service. Beneath the dining table Darcy found wooden buckets for drawing water and also two portmanteaux. One of these was stuffed with his own clothes. The other he did not examine closely, as it held garments for a woman. This he placed in front of the bedchamber door for Elizabeth to discover.
He built up the fire, brought in water from the lake, and set a kettle to boil. Presently he heard the bedroom door come open and then close again. Darcy crossed to the windows and presented his back to the room.
A few minutes later the door opened again. “Good morning,” said Darcy quietly, without turning round. “I trust you slept well. Did you find the portmanteau?”
He heard an exasperated sigh. “I did, thank you. But I cannot wear any of the things in it; they are far too small. Moreover, all but one of the dresses are evening gowns.”
Was she now smiling? He longed to turn round to see, but this was not the moment for it. “Those are not your clothes?”
“Not a one.”
“Now that is odd. Mine belong to me, meaning that someone on the Rosings estate was in on the plot.”
“You live at Rosings?”
“After a manner of speaking, yes.” Darcy kept his gaze fixed on the view of the lake. “As the wind has died down, I was thinking we each could bathe in the lake—at opposite sides of the house, of course. You could wash your dress and hang it to dry.”
“And what do I wear in the meantime?”
Slowly Darcy drew a garment from his portmanteau and, edging backward to the dining table, placed it there. He heard Elizabeth advance into the room. “But—but this is a nightshirt! Your nightshirt.”
“I have several,” he said meekly. “They are all quite clean. You could wear it beneath your cloak while your dress dries. We are equipped with a towel horse.”
“It appears that I have no choice.” There was a pause. “Very well, Mr. Galahad,” she said more cheerfully, “the sun is now up. It is high time I learn your identity. Especially now that I am borrowing so personal a garment.”
“You won’t like it. My identity, I mean.”
“As if there is anything about this situation to like! Why could you not introduce yourself last night like a sensible man?”
“You’d been through enough of an ordeal without me adding to it.”
“Good gracious, are you some sort of monster?”
“That is for you to decide.” Slowly, reluctantly, Darcy turned to face her. This would be painful.
She gave a sharp intake of breath. “You!” she cried. “You are Galahad?”
“I did not mean to deceive you.”
“Did not mean to—Oh! This house, this imprisonment. This is your doing! You had me kidnapped. You brought me here!”
“I beg your pardon?” he said blankly. “Is that what you think?”
“What else am I to think? You brought me here so that I would be forced to marry you!”
“Oh, please. As if I wish to figure as the villainous bridegroom.”
“You arranged this! Yes, and why not? You have both the resources and the connections to do so!”
“I have,” he said grimly. “But why would I bring you two hundred miles to a love nest on the moor?”
“How should I know?”
“There are easier ways to compromise a woman’s reputation.”
“And I am sure you know them all.”
“Actually,” he said mildly, “I do not. Romance has never been very much in my line.”
“It certainly is now! You are detestable.”
“Yes, I know; you told me. The last man on earth et cetera.”
“Nothing shall induce me to marry you, Mr. Darcy, do you hear? Nothing!”
“I don’t wish you to marry me! Not if you are unwilling!”
“Nor would I want to marry a liar. Because that is exactly what you are. You lied to me last night.”
“I did not. It is not lying to conceal one’s face. Nor did I attempt to disguise my voice.”
“You convinced me that you—are noble and kind and trustworthy.”
“You needn’t fear. I have no desire to play the role of Petruchio. I—wrote you a letter. Not to persuade you in any way, but simply to explain about—Wickham and other things. I was on my way to deliver it when I was captured. Hate me if you will, but we do think alike in some ways.”
“Meaning that I too wrote a letter? I’m sure you found it vastly entertaining. How you must have laughed.”
“Actually, I did not open it. It was hardly fair, as you gave it not to me but to Galahad.”
“I trusted you!” she cried. “You lured me into behaving like a fool.”
“Nothing about last night was foolish,” he said firmly. “We are captives, and as such we are subject to a captive’s despair.”
“I am the one who is the captive. Imprisoned by you!”
“Which would explain why you have a pile of clothe
s that are too small to wear.”
“Evening gowns, Mr. Darcy. I see you thought to bring the playing cards.”
“I brought what?”
“An unopened pack of playing cards, right there under the table. Were you expecting me to amuse you with a game?”
The truth hit Darcy like a thunderclap.
“Playing cards?” he shouted. “Plague and the devil take it! I know where we are! And I know by whose design!”
Elizabeth recoiled. “W-what do you mean?”
“Why did I not think of it sooner? Confound it, this is Grimstone House,” he practically spat.
“What difference does that make?”
“Years ago, my Uncle Lewis won it in a card game, that’s what. My uncle, Lewis de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. “But—”
“The family thought it a very good joke. A hunting lodge on Dartmoor in the middle of a confounded lake—what good is that? He kept it and then willed it to his wife. She has been trying to sell it ever since.”
“This house belongs to—”
“—to my esteemed aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She did not mean to kidnap you, Elizabeth. She meant to kidnap Anne—which explains the wax candles and the feather mattress and the Pears soap and the vast quantity of food. And why you were continually dosed with laudanum so as to feel very little pain.”
“That was unsuccessful,” she said drily.
“Of course it was! My aunt is not as smart as she thinks. You are not the intended victim, I am. Lady Catherine brought me here so that I would be forced to marry Anne.”
“Be forced to—! But are you not engaged to her?”
“Who told you so? Wickham?” Darcy pressed a hand to his forehead. “Why would I propose to you if I were already engaged to Anne? No wonder you thought me a knave.”
“Lady Catherine could never be so—so shamelessly bold.”
“She has been after me to marry Anne for years. This is entirely her doing. Cast your mind back to the morning you were taken. Was there anything unusual about the rose garden, anything at all?
“I saw a flat basket with a red bow, lying on the ground,” said Elizabeth slowly. “And in the dirt, a pair of garden shears. And a note to cut only the pink buds.” She paused. “Upon my word, it was addressed to—to Anne.”
“Did you touch the basket?”
“Only to right it. That’s when the men seized me. But you cannot mean—”
“That must have been the signal; take the girl who carries the basket. Only it was supposed to be Anne.”
“Oh—dear.”
“Lady Catherine’s limed, all right. Caught in her own trap. Can you imagine her dismay when she realised that the wrong girl was taken?”
“But—oh, this is terrible. How can she be so ruthless?”
“Comfort yourself with the knowledge that my family is a good deal worse than yours could ever be. I can only hope that no child of mine will inherit Aunt Catherine’s Machiavellian tendencies.
“And you needn’t worry about being forced to marry me,” he added. “As you say, I have both connections and resources. We’ll think of something.”
Darcy hesitated, fearful to give voice to a truly painful idea. “For instance, what say you to marrying my cousin, instead?”
CHAPTER 11
Underlings, no matter how highly paid, were hopeless without direction. Had that top-lofty valet found the packet that Lady Catherine so obligingly pushed beneath Darcy’s mattress? With a page’s corner temptingly exposed? Of course not. If something needed doing, Lady Catherine must see to it herself. And so, with Colonel Fitzwilliam in tow, she marched up to Darcy’s rooms to launch a search.
“There simply must be a clue,” she said over her shoulder.
“Or a ransom note. One ought to have been delivered by now.” His tone was openly impertinent.
Lady Catherine gave an impatient huff. For all his charming insouciance, Colonel Fitzwilliam was surprisingly intractable. Why, he was almost as stubborn as Darcy!
At the landing she paused. “As I told you before, the notion of kidnapping has been manufactured for the benefit of the Collinses. It is meant to set their minds at ease, so to speak.”
“At ease, ma’am?”
Lady Catherine ignored his waspish tone. “Most unfortunately, Darcy harboured an even more nefarious design.”
“Ah yes, the elopement. Might I remind you, ma’am, of the report from Bromley? The delivery wagon was said to head due south. Gretna was not its object, nor was London. If you would but give me leave to follow, before the scent grows cold, I could well meet with success.”
By this Colonel Fitzwilliam meant that she should pay for his travelling expenses.
“It is the least that Miss Bennet’s father will expect of us,” he added.
“Which is why we are searching for additional clues. That valet of Darcy’s is useless.”
“Ma’am, Johnson has been frantic with worry. He turned Darcy’s rooms inside out.”
“Obviously he missed something. There must be clues. There always are.” Lady Catherine reached Darcy’s door, opened it, and went in. “You search over there by the bed. I’ll look through the dressing table.”
“Ma’am, Johnson is quite particular about—”
Lady Catherine ignored this and began opening drawers. Her nephew stood like stock, frowning. “Go on,” she urged. “There might be something beside the bed or even under it.”
Soon Johnson heard them and came in. He made a precise bow. “Might I be of assistance, ma’am?”
Lady Catherine gave a slight smile. “You have done your very best, I am sure. But I daresay there is evidence you have missed. We have come to find it.” She darted a quick glance toward the bed. Colonel Fitzwilliam was now on his knees beside it. Any minute now he would see the page and—
She opened another drawer and sorted through the contents. She must not smile or make a sound. It would never do to betray triumph.
Presently she heard, “I say, what’s all this?”
Lady Catherine turned to see her nephew holding the packet. “Found beneath the mattress, of all things. Johnson?”
“I-I—! Sir, that was not there earlier. I swear it wasn’t. We searched everything, Garson and I did. We even turned out the bedding.”
Lady Catherine had the grace to keep silent.
Colonel Fitzwilliam opened the packet and began rifling through its contents. “But—these are the papers for the Grimstone property. What in blue blazes are they doing here?”
“Gracious me,” said Lady Catherine. “Imagine that. Is anything missing?”
He shot her a look. “The key.”
“Oh my. I wonder what it means.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Do you mean to tell me that Darcy has gone to Grimstone House? Why would he go there?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam snapped the folder shut. “Perhaps on a repairing lease, ma’am?” He flung out of the room.
Lady Catherine turned. “That will be all, Johnson.” She hurried after her nephew. “Now, Hudson, you are not to do anything rash.”
“Rash? I’ll give you rash!” He was taking the stairs two at a time.
Good gracious, at this pace she would fall and break her neck—and then where would she be? Yet she could not allow him to leave the house without her. “For heaven’s sake, slow down. We must discuss what is to be done like rational people.”
She caught up with him in the entrance hall. “As if there was anything rational about this farce. Or your involvement in it.”
“My involvement?” she faltered. “What can you mean?”
He went into the drawing room; she hurried after. Deliberately he closed the door. “I don’t know what sort of rig you’re running,” he spat, “but I intend to find out. I’ll follow the trail, even if it means pawning everything I own.”
“How hasty you are, Hudson.”
“Do not call me by that name!”
<
br /> She brushed his objection aside. “I am coming with you. And so is Anne.”
“What the devil has Anne to do with any of this?”
To be married to Darcy—but she could hardly say so. In the heat of the moment, perhaps she had overreached a little. Lady Catherine ran a tongue over her lips. “As a chaperone for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of course. However, my presence will answer nicely.”
“After spending days in Darcy’s company, what good will a chaperone do her?”
“We must rely on her honour to resist Darcy’s advances. I’ll send word to have the travelling coach readied at once.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s lip curled. “The de Bourgh coach, ma’am? You’ll risk Sunday travel? Or shall we have the crest painted out?”
“Good heavens, as if Sunday travel matters at a time like this! We must rescue poor Miss Bennet. And Darcy as well. He must not be allowed to gratify his baser impulses.”
“If it is as you say, ma’am, he’ll not thank us for interfering.”
“These little affairs are always so unpleasant. What shall become of her, I wonder? Not that it matters. Ah well, such women eventually find husbands.”
CHAPTER 12
Elizabeth could not believe what she was hearing. Marry Colonel Fitzwilliam? After being told that he must marry an heiress? “I do not wish to marry anyone, thank you!”
“That is one of the things I like in you.”
“As if your opinion matters,” she grumbled.
But he was no longer attending. “The wind will be picking up soon, and with it comes the rain. We ought to bathe while we have the chance.”
She joined him at the window. “In that icy lake, do you mean? Out in the open, where I might be seen by anyone? I’d rather face lions.”
“I understand. And yet—”
“I am not a barbarian, Mr. Darcy.”
“I can heat water and bring it to your room, if you prefer. I just thought that after days in that wagon, you might like to wash thoroughly.”
Elizabeth pursed up her lips. He was in the right of it, of course. Oh, to scrub her skin until it was raw!
“We’ve plenty of towels,” he went on, “and, thanks to Anne, my aunt has provided expensive soap. I’ll take the side in front of the house. If our captors return, I’ll be the one who is seen and shot.”
