The knife—Kendall had died of a knife wound. Parrish must have been involved in Randolph’s ritual. “You killed Mr. Kendall?”
“Does anyone else in this house have the guts?”
“Why?”
“The greedy bastard was trying to blackmail me. I told him to go to hell. Then I sent him there.”
Still gripping the knife in his right hand, Parrish brought his left forward. He grasped his own wedding ring between thumb and forefinger, and twisted it round. “Caroline, help Mrs. Darcy find a seat while I decide what to do with her.”
Caroline rose easily from the bed, in full possession of her physical faculties. She grabbed Elizabeth with surprising strength, forced her into a chair, and held her arms immobile.
“Mrs. Parrish—Caroline? How can you help him do this?”
Mrs. Parrish either couldn’t hear her or ignored her.
“Caroline belongs to me.” Parrish cackled again. “Her wedding vows included a promise to obey—didn’t yours? Tsk! Terrible oversight on your husband’s part. I’ll have to give him the name of my jeweler.”
His gaze never leaving Elizabeth, Parrish crossed to a chest of drawers and removed a fistful of neckcloths. Pressing his knife to the base of Elizabeth’s throat, he instructed Caroline to bind her ankles and wrists to the chair. Elizabeth breathed shallowly through her nose, afraid the slightest movement would cause the blade to pierce her.
When she was bound, he held the knife away a few inches and ordered Caroline to gag her with the last cravat. “I really quite liked you, Mrs. Darcy. You were the only person in this whole vapid house with sufficient wit to challenge me.” He tossed the blade in the air, spinning it end over end, then reached up and caught it squarely by its handle. “Don’t attempt anything stupid, and I might let you live.”
Her heart pounding so loud that it nearly drowned out his words, she nodded.
He snickered. “Why don’t I trust you?” He handed the blade to Caroline. “Slice her if she moves.”
He crossed to the armoire with rapid steps, withdrew a valise, and set it open on the bed. From various drawers he pulled clothing, money, documents—and a dagger with a jagged blade twice the size of the one Caroline held.
A knock at the door interrupted his packing. He gestured for Caroline to hold her knife against Elizabeth’s throat once more. Unreleased breath filled her lungs. Staring at the dagger Parrish gripped, she at once prayed it was Darcy who stood outside, and prayed it wasn’t.
Parrish approached the door. “Who’s there?”
“Mrs. Darcy’s maid, sir. By chance is she with Mrs. Parrish?”
He opened the door a crack. “Mrs. Darcy isn’t here. I haven’t seen her all morning.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry to disturb you.”
He shut the door without response.
Lucy! Elizabeth silently willed her faithful servant to get as far away from this chamber of horror as possible—yet to somehow know she needed help.
Pressed against the wall outside Parrish’s room, Darcy met Lucy’s gaze. She shook her head and shrugged—she had not been able to see inside.
Damn.
He jerked his head toward the stairs. As prearranged, the servant left to summon assistance.
Parrish’s lie that he hadn’t seen Elizabeth all morning further strengthened Darcy’s suspicions that she was in fact within. If this was what his wife meant by intuition, he was starting to put some stock in it. He only hoped the instinct that told him she yet lived was also accurate. He deeply regretted their quarrel, that their last moments together had been laced with tension and unhappiness. Dear God, if he could but hold Elizabeth safe in his arms once more, hear his name on her lips, he’d patiently listen to every far-fetched notion she cared to utter.
Cold terror clawed his chest. He had never feared for himself the way he now feared for her. Parrish was a violent man without conscience, and Elizabeth was within striking range. Common sense told him to wait for help, but he dared not allow another minute’s delay.
He cocked the pistol he had borrowed from Bingley’s desk. Bracing himself for whatever he might find on the other side, he swung wide the door and burst in.
“Mr. Darcy. I wondered when you might join us.”
Parrish calmly greeted Darcy’s dramatic entrance. Standing in the center of the chamber, he gestured with a wicked-looking dagger toward the side of the room. “As you can see, your wife has already made herself comfortable.”
Elizabeth was bound and gagged, and—Darcy’s jaw dropped—held at knifepoint by Caroline Parrish.
“Mrs. Parrish?” Darcy struggled to comprehend the scene. He could not believe Caroline would act in collusion with the ruffian.
“Put down that pistol before someone gets hurt. My wife is a most attentive hostess, I assure you.”
Darcy instead aimed the weapon at Parrish. “I know Caroline Bingley. She would not harm Elizabeth.”
“Caroline Bingley might not. But Caroline Parrish will if I ask her to. She’ll do anything I command. Imagine that—a wife who does her husband’s bidding! Perhaps yours would get into less trouble if she followed suit.”
Parrish was bluffing. Had to be. Darcy had known Caroline for more than a decade, and while she did not harbor any great affection for Elizabeth, physically harming another person was not in her nature. He held the pistol steady.
“Don’t believe me?” Parrish slowly brought his hands together and twisted his ring. “Caroline, run that blade down your own cheek.”
Caroline lifted the knife. In a motion too swift for Darcy to prevent, she scratched the side of her face. A thin ribbon of blood welled and dribbled down her cheek. She returned the blade to the base of Elizabeth’s throat.
“If a woman as vain as my wife will disfigure herself at my command, do you doubt what she’ll do to your precious Elizabeth?”
Darcy, nauseated by what he’d just witnessed, stared at Parrish. What kind of monster was he? And what sort of domination did he hold over Caroline? He looked at Parrish’s ring. He’d fingered it before issuing the vile order. Glancing back at Caroline, he noted that she still wore her own wedding ring. Was it possible that Elizabeth was right? Could the rings possess some mysterious power?
Parrish laughed, a malevolent, sickening sound. “Realization dawns on stuffy English intellect. Your wife caught on much faster than you. Now, speaking of the little lady—if you love her, put the pistol down.”
Slowly, Darcy set the pistol on the floor.
“Fool.”
Thirty-one
“How is such a man to be worked on?”
Elizabeth to Darcy, Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 46
Elizabeth ignored the lump in her throat, not daring to swallow it. The tip of Caroline’s knife pressed into her flesh. Perspiration trickled down her throat. Or was it blood?
Parrish kicked the pistol toward Caroline. “Here, darling—I think even you can figure out how to use this.” The weapon scudded across the floor, coming to rest near Elizabeth’s foot. Elizabeth, hoping to kick it under the bed, strained against the bond at her ankle, but it held fast. Caroline set her knife on the night table and picked up the gun.
“If either of them tries anything, shoot the other,” Parrish said.
Elizabeth hadn’t known such wickedness existed in the world. She dared not look at Darcy. He’d already relinquished his weapon because of her; she did not want him to see the terror she felt for him and herself. Nor did she want Parrish to know that in threatening him he’d found her greatest vulnerability.
Her mind raced, trying to devise a way to help her husband. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move . . . much. She tested her wrist constraints. The left secured her tightly to the chair arm, but she found the right just loose enough to allow slight movement. If she proceeded very slowly, so as not to draw Caroline’s notice, perhaps she could reach her pocket—and the housewife inside. What she hoped to accomplish with sewing notions she knew not, but attempting to reach
a pin or needle seemed more useful than doing nothing.
“Parrish, there is no reason anyone has to get hurt.” Darcy held his hands before him in a show of cooperation. “Let my wife go, and we can settle this like gentlemen.”
“Like gentlemen?” Parrish snorted. “And just what does that mean? Shall we repair to the drawing room for tea? I’ve endured enough foppish English manners. I’ve got you and your wife at gunpoint, man—let’s drop the phony civility.”
Darcy straightened and took a step toward Elizabeth’s side of the room. “All right, then. Tell me what it is you want.”
Elizabeth worked her fingers closer to her pocket. They reached its edge.
“First, I want you to stop moving toward your wife. Do you think I’m stupid? There—” With the dagger, he pointed to the other side of the room, near the sputtering fire. “I want you there.”
Darcy moved where he indicated. Just a couple feet from the flames, his form cast long shadows on the floor.
To keep both eyes on Darcy, Parrish now had to stand with his body turned away from Elizabeth. She dipped her fingers inside her pocket. They brushed something, but not the expected housewife—a chain . . . Professor Randolph’s watch. She nearly cried in frustration. Of what possible use was that watch right now? She pawed it until it slid into her palm. Perhaps she could move it out of her way and yet reach the housewife.
“Second,” Parrish continued, “I want money. Lots of it.”
“How much?”
“How much do you have?” Parrish ran a fingertip along the flat of the blade. He cocked his head as if an idea had just occurred to him. “More to the point, how much is your wife worth? She’ll be taking a little trip with me, you see, until a generous sum finds its way to us. I’d planned to just bring Caroline—we never had a proper honeymoon, you know. But adding Elizabeth could make things far more . . . exciting.”
Elizabeth fought down the bile that rose in her throat at Parrish’s indecent suggestion. Darcy made no reply, but she could see from the tightening of his jaw that Parrish had baited his anger.
“I can hardly wait to find out, Darcy—is your wife as spirited by night as she is by day?”
Darcy’s gaze flickered to Elizabeth. She could read in his expression that he wanted nothing more than to silence Parrish’s offensive utterances. His hands clenched into fists. But the villain’s order to Caroline prevented action—Darcy might risk harm to himself, but never to her.
Loud footsteps clattered in the hall, heading toward the chamber. Parrish looked at the door, then back at Darcy. “I won’t be outnumbered.” He leapt toward him, dagger poised.
Darcy sprang. But not forward—back, to the fireplace. He grabbed the poker and brought it up to block Parrish’s attack. Steel struck iron as he deflected the thrust.
Caroline pointed the pistol at Darcy. Elizabeth struggled against her bonds, but to no effect. Caroline wrapped both hands around the handle and moved her finger to the trigger.
At Darcy’s parry, Parrish retreated a step. He stood between Caroline and Darcy, blocking her aim. Darcy gripped the poker in his right hand like a fencing foil, his stance en garde. The two men circled. In another moment, Caroline would have a clear shot.
Elizabeth hurled her whole weight at Caroline, upsetting both chair and captor. She knocked Caroline to the ground and landed on top of her legs. The pistol flew out of Caroline’s grasp and skidded under the night table.
The fall knocked the wind out of Elizabeth. She labored for breath, helpless as a turtle on its back. Her right hand, yet grasping the watch, had slid from her pocket, but her bonds still held fast. She could do little against Caroline but try to maintain the pin, and nothing to help Darcy. From her present position she could barely see her husband and Parrish.
“Caroline, kindly kill Mrs. Darcy, will you?” Parrish lunged at Darcy, trying to stab him in the gut. Darcy parried the strike. The sound of clashing metal filled the air.
Caroline fought to free herself from Elizabeth’s weight. She kicked and twisted, trying to move out from beneath the chair. She stilled, however, when she caught sight of the watch in Elizabeth’s hand.
The watch! Perhaps it truly did hold power. If so, she could use it somehow. But did she dare? She didn’t want to harm Caroline, only to prevent her from acting on Parrish’s orders.
Caroline resumed her struggle. She stretched her arm toward the night table, attempting to reach the pistol. Her fingers brushed the handle.
The chamber door flew open. Bingley rushed in—accompanied by Professor Randolph. Randolph carried a forked wooden rod.
“Bingley!” Darcy cried. “Help Elizabeth!”
Parrish fingered one of the knots in the medallion at his neck, his other hand still brandishing his weapon. “No—help your sister! Mrs. Darcy is attacking her!”
Bingley stood rooted to the floor, frozen with indecision, his gaze ricocheting from Darcy and Parrish to the women. Elizabeth didn’t understand his hesitation. How could he possibly believe Parrish’s claim? Could he not see that Elizabeth was bound to the chair?
Caroline managed a tentative grasp on the pistol, clawing it into her hand. Randolph hurried forward.
“Mrs. Darcy, the amulet—my watch—touch it to her!”
Why? What would it do? She longed to ask but the gag still silenced her.
Parrish kept his eyes on Darcy as the two yet faced off. “Bingley, now Randolph’s trying to use his hocus-pocus on Caroline.”
Bingley grabbed Randolph, preventing him from getting any closer to where the two women lay sprawled.
Randolph struggled against Bingley. “Mrs. Darcy! The amulet!”
“Caroline, shut him up!” Parrish snarled.
From her angle, Elizabeth could scarcely see Randolph, could not look him in the eye to judge his motives. What harm would the amulet inflict on Caroline? On herself, for using it? She clutched it in her palm. Did she dare trust the supernaturalist? Why had he returned to Netherfield? Wasn’t he in league with Parrish?
Caroline had the pistol firmly in her grasp now. She twisted to take aim at the professor.
There was no more time to think. If Elizabeth was going to act, it had to be now. She pressed the amulet against Caroline’s leg. And prayed she was doing the right thing.
Caroline’s grip on the pistol relaxed. She lowered it to the floor.
Randolph fought to extricate himself, but Bingley’s grasp was strong. “The amulet has reduced the ring’s hold on her,” the professor said to Elizabeth. “Ask her to free you.”
With a howl of anger, Parrish suddenly abandoned his duel with Darcy and lunged at Randolph. Restrained by Bingley, the professor was helpless to defend himself. Just as Parrish was about to sink a fatal thrust, Darcy leapt for his legs. Parrish fell forward, the dagger still in his hand.
He rolled to his back and stabbed at Darcy. Darcy caught his wrist. Their arms shook with the strength of two matched forces in opposition. The blade inched closer to Darcy, coming but a hairsbreadth away from him.
Elizabeth stopped breathing. Her neck ached from the strain of watching from the poor angle, but she could not tear her gaze away.
Darcy never flinched. With slowness that seemed to last an eternity, he forced Parrish’s hand back until it rested on the floor.
Elizabeth choked down a sob of relief.
Darcy disarmed Parrish, checked him for other hidden weapons, and—at Randolph’s direction—removed both his wedding ring and the medallion he wore around his neck. With Bingley’s help, he tied the knave’s wrists to the bedpost. Parrish said nothing the whole time.
The moment Parrish was secured, Darcy hastened to Elizabeth. He tugged at her bonds until she was free and pulled her into his arms. “Elizabeth,” he whispered fiercely, the single word at once an endearment, an apology, a promise. She understood it was all he could say. As he had once told her, a man who had felt less might have said more.
Her own heart was just as full. She tried to res
pond but discovered the gag had left her mouth too dry to speak. She settled for simply resting her head in the crook of his neck.
Randolph, meanwhile, seized Caroline’s pistol and extricated Mrs. Parrish from Elizabeth’s chair. Blinking, Caroline observed the scene groggily, like someone awakening from a long sleep. She glanced, expressionless, from Elizabeth to Darcy to Randolph. Her countenance turned icy when her gaze lit upon Parrish.
“Charles,” she said wearily as she caught sight of her brother, “I don’t feel at all well.”
Elizabeth at last found her voice. “Professor Randolph, will Mrs. Parrish recover from her ordeal?”
“In good time,” Randolph said. “But first, there is something else I must do.”
Thirty-two
“Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving any one; and all that I can hope in this case, is that she is deceived herself.”
Jane to Elizabeth, Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 21
Randolph still held the oaken rod he’d carried into the chamber; Elizabeth now recognized it from the London museum exhibit. Though she and Darcy had viewed the display of mysterious articles only a few weeks earlier, that day now seemed half a lifetime ago.
Taking Caroline’s left hand, the supernaturalist touched the rod to her ring and uttered a command. The gem glowed momentarily, then dulled. “There,” he said. “The bond is broken.” He slid the ring from her finger and asked Darcy for Parrish’s companion ring. Darcy hesitated, regarding him warily, but surrendered it.
Randolph withdrew two small silver candles from his pockets. As the assembly watched in disbelieving silence, he placed them before the fire and lit them. “Ah-bro-GAH-tay.” He slipped Caroline’s ring over the wick of one candle. “Abrogate.” He dropped Parrish’s ring over the wick of the other. “Abrogate. As I will, so mote it be.”
He extracted a small leather pouch from one of his breast pockets, and a thin silver stylus from the other. The stylus he used to lift the rings off the candles and place them into the pouch. He then extinguished the candles with his thumb and index finger. “These rings will never again be used for ill purposes.”
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