As though in slow motion she saw the highwayman turn toward her and lift his pistol, aiming it directly at her head. A near paralysis held her in its grip, and with horror, but somehow no surprise, she realized that he was going to shoot her. He wanted no jewels from her; the entire robbery had been a charade to hide its true purpose. He was not going to say another word, not even to explain. He would just pull the trigger, blasting her into oblivion. She stared down the barrel, wondering if she would be able to see the bullet come out. Perhaps events were now moving so slowly that she would be able to watch it move toward her, feel the first crushing impact.
She saw the hand lift almost imperceptibly, then heard the crack. She felt nothing, no pain, and she watched unbelievably as the pistol dropped, the man reeled back, doubling up, then crumpled to the dusty lane. It was another stunned moment before Elizabeth realized the shot had come, not from the highwayman, but from the thick forest to the side.
Elizabeth was distantly aware of the babble from the carriage, the thumps and cries as Charlotte and Mr. Collins fought to open the door. She made no move to assist them, however; she felt that even to bend a finger would have been beyond her power. She ignored the fallen highwayman, who lay frozen, and stood staring in the direction from which the shot had come.
At nearly the same instant, the carriage door swung wide, permitting Mr. Collins to jump out, and the greenery at the side of the road was parted to reveal the debonair figure of a gentleman, fashionably turned out from the top boots, intricately tied cravat and dark blue waistcoat to the many-caped, drab greatcoat.
Mr. Darcy leaped lightly over the ditch and strode to Elizabeth's side. His fingers gripped her chin, forcing it up so that he could look directly into her face.
"Are you hurt?" he asked in a low voice. His fingers squeezed her chin so tightly that it nearly hurt, and she thought that his calm voice and bearing did not reflect how he truly felt. For once Darcy's reserve seemed shaken.
She numbly shook her head. "No. I don't feel anything."
Charlotte and Mr. Collins were upon them then, with Maria giving tiny cries of alarm and Mr. Collins muttering animadversions on his own inadequacy.
Darcy didn't look away from Elizabeth's face. "I was afraid his pistol would go off," he remarked, as though he were commenting on the weather.
"I don't think it did," Elizabeth said with mild surprise. She suddenly found herself, absurdly, smiling. "No, I don't believe it did." She laughed, the sound loosing her paralysis. "I believe I must thank you for your most timely efforts, Mr. Darcy."
He looked at her without a word.
She tore her gaze from his to smile reassuringly at Charlotte. "I'm all right, Charlotte, thanks to Mr. Darcy."
"That man was going to shoot you!" Charlotte said in shock. "I believed the other to be a mistake, but this! I saw him! Lizzy, why? I don't understand!"
Nor did Elizabeth, but Charlotte's words recalled her to the necessity of observing reactions. Surely if the perpetrator were either her dear friend or Mr. Collins, some disappointment at the failed attempt would show on their faces. Darcy, she saw with a glance, seemed to have much the same idea, since he was closely regarding Mr. Collins, who stood awkwardly to one side.
Charlotte held out her hand to her husband, and he clasped it in a compulsive grip, relief flooding his face. The words poured out of Mr. Collins, "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop him, Elizabeth. I should have been prepared, but I didn't take the other incident seriously, and I never dreamed we'd be held up so close to Rosings. Although, of course, he wasn't a highwayman. There's no excuse for my failing to protect you. I'm your cousin."
The uneasiness between them seemed, for once, to be the furthest matter from Mr. Collins' mind. Elizabeth was willing to swear that his relief and contrition were genuine.
"There is no need to lay blame," Elizabeth said. "I should have stayed at the cottage, but I, too, never dreamed. However, thanks to Mr. Darcy, our lack of forethought was not fatal for me."
Mr. Collins gave Darcy a slightly sulky look, as though he resented his more heroic role in the affair, but civility compelled him to thrust out his hand and say, "Mr. Darcy, I must thank you on my cousin's behalf."
Darcy's brows rose and he said dryly, "I don't believe it is necessary, as she has quite adequately thanked me herself." They shook hands.
Elizabeth had already turned to see Maria coming slowly forward, her delicate face pinched and frightened. "Lizzy," she said tentatively, meeting the girl's eyes. "Lizzy, I thought he'd shot you!" She began to cry and flung herself into Elizabeth's arms. "Oh, Lizzy, I was so scared!" She abruptly pulled back to arm's length to stare wide-eyed at Maria. "You are not hurt, are you? You're certain?"
"Quite certain," Elizabeth said with amusement. She hugged Maria again. "You needn't cry. Everything's fine now."
"But somebody's trying to kill you!" Maria cried. It was obvious that the previous attempts on Elizabeth's life had not truly registered on her, either.
"You mean somebody was," Darcy reminded her pointedly. "I very much fear I may have put an end to this particular malefactor." He sounded not at all perturbed at the possibility.
Elizabeth turned slowly to look, for the first time, at the pathetic black heap in the lane. Somehow she had known from the moment the man fell that he was dead. Fearfully she whispered, "Perhaps he is someone I know."
"That would solve our problem," Darcy said bracingly, "but I think it doubtful. It is far more likely this is hired help. But we shall see." He knelt beside the figure, and with an abrupt motion, yanked off the mask.
Elizabeth reluctantly searched the man's face for some sign of familiarity. His mouth hung open, and spit ran from one corner of it. Stubble disguised the shape of his jaw and cheeks, and the broad, flat face was half pressed into the dirt where he had fallen, but the glazed brown eyes, wide and staring, belonged to no one Elizabeth had ever seen.
She made a choked sound and shook her head the smallest bit.
"Damn," Darcy said, dropping the cloth back over the features, which were already freezing in death. "I hoped to just wound him. We might then have persuaded him to tell us who is behind this." He shrugged. "It seemed more imperative to prevent him from pulling that trigger."
"I appreciate your priorities," Elizabeth agreed dryly.
"Do you think he is the same man who shot you?"
Elizabeth stared down at the crumpled figure. "I can't be certain," she said slowly, "but it might have been. That man I saw so briefly, but...he did have brown hair, I'm sure, and...and was built much the same, I think."
"Then I think we can assume they are one and the same," Darcy said, rising to his feet and brushing his hands fastidiously together.
Elizabeth felt a flush mantling her cheeks as she looked across the dead body at her feet to Darcy. "I do thank you...Mr. Darcy," she said awkwardly. "And that you should help me after I assured you so repulsively that I was capable of protecting myself. You have every right to think me a complete fool." She paused, as the very odd fact of his presence suddenly surfaced in her mind. "How did you chance to be here?" she asked. "Did you follow us? Oh! It must have been you that we noticed several times on the road behind us. But why?"
Darcy looked almost embarrassed. “I was seeing Colonel Fitzwilliam off to London when I overheard Anne mentioning the dinner party to her companion, and that you insisted on not withdrawing."
He shrugged. "It seemed to me to be a likely time for an attack. Lonely country road, evening approaching. I'd have simply offered my escort, but that might have prevented the attempt, and I was hoping to apprehend the man." His mouth twisted as he added, "The spot was chosen particularly well, however; the woods are very thick at this point, and I was so slow in beating my way through that I very nearly failed to catch up in time."
His words had apparently been slow to register in Mr. Collins' mind, because, although the victor had been standing silent, he suddenly burst out indignantly, "Are you telling us th
at you were setting a trap? With my wife and cousin as bait? Not to mention myself! Why, we might have all been killed!"
"Do you have a more useful suggestion?" inquired Darcy politely. "Do we hire a bodyguard to protect Miss Bennet day and night for the rest of her life? I feel sure she would rapidly tire of having one hang about. Besides, bullets so easily penetrate such protection."
Mr. Collins changed tack, complaining peevishly, "And was it necessary for you to beat your way through the woods? Surely it would have been less risky for you to have galloped to our rescue on the road. The impending arrival of another horseman would surely have scared that fellow off."
"Certainly," Darcy agreed. "After shooting Miss Bennet. That takes so little time, you see."
There was a short silence, as all present recollected the moment when the pistol had been leveled at Elizabeth's head. Several pairs of eyes turned to peer surreptitiously at the recumbent form of the mysterious attacker.
The moment was not allowed to become prolonged, however, as Darcy somewhat impatiently remarked, "It will be completely dark very soon. I suggest you be on your way. I'm sure the other guests will be anxious for your arrival, so dinner doesn't get held back."
"But what about him?" Elizabeth asked. "We can't just throw a body in the ditch!"
"I'll take care of him," Darcy said brusquely. "You can't arrive at a house party with a body lashed on the back of your carriage. You would be a very unpopular guest. My horse is tied up in the woods. I'll throw the body over his own horse—" he nodded toward the big animal, still waiting "—and take it to the constable in the nearest village. I think, as far as the local authorities are concerned, that we can pass it off as a highwayman who threatened to abduct Miss Bennet?" He glanced about for agreement. "Very well. Miss Lucas, let me help you up."
He gave Maria a hand into the carriage, then Charlotte after her, while Elizabeth still stood rooted in place.
Finally she protested, "But where are you going tonight? Are you not coming with us to Rosings? I'm sure your aunt requires your presence."
There was little doubt that Lady Catherine would eagerly welcome the addition of such an eligible bachelor as her nephew. The story of tonight's doings would set all the ladies fluttering, in any case, and to have the hero of the story among them would be all that was required to make the party an enviable success.
But Darcy was shaking his head. "No, I have engagements in town, and won't return until late." He nodded at the body. "This will surely be at least a temporary setback in someone's plans. I feel sure you will be safe for the remainder of the week." Just before he assisted her, too, into the carriage, Darcy gave Elizabeth a last penetrating look. "Miss Bennet, use this time to think! Everyone's luck runs out eventually. Yours has stood by you very well thus far."
As she sank back against the leather squabs, heard the crack of the whip and the creak of the harness, felt the coach lurch and sway as it again began its slow journey, Elizabeth carried the vivid picture in her head of Darcy's face: the harsh, angular lines barely visible, the dark brown eyes nearly black in the failing light, and yet some intensity leaping out at her, compelling her, giving her strength.
Elizabeth sighed and allowed her eyelids to close, shutting out the sight of her companions, all staring at her as though they had found a stranger in their midst.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Elizabeth awoke the following morning, she lay staring up at the silk canopy, which stretched over the enormous four-poster. She was not anxious to rise and make her way to the breakfast room, where she would immediately become the continuing object of speculation.
She groaned and rolled over to bury her face in the cloyingly soft pillow. How was she to bear two more days of this? She had never dreamed that others would see Mr. Darcy's rescue as tantamount to a declaration. Did they think he should have ridden by, ignoring her predicament, so as not to compromise himself? Of course, they had guessed that he had followed her, but Elizabeth could only be thankful they didn't know why.
Although most knew of her gunshot wound, general opinion seemed to be that Elizabeth had simply been unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time...three times. No one had even imagined the truth.
But what was the truth? she wondered. She was now certain that neither Charlotte or Mr. Collins was guilty, and that both would be horrified if they knew she had even suspected them.
So whom did that leave? Sir William? Colonel Fitzwilliam? Both men had been an unlikely suspect from the outset, and this incident eliminated them as surely as it had Charlotte and Mr. Collins. Whoever had planned this ambush had known Elizabeth would drive into it, and when.
A thought, so obvious, brought Elizabeth upright in bed. She had threatened Maria not to further risk her reputation, or she would be obligated to tell Charlotte. Was this motive? When Elizabeth came to think the matter through, Maria did give every indication of a girl in love with someone she knew her family would not like. There was her sulkiness, the refusal to encourage any of the eligible suitors who flocked around her in town, the girlish giggles with Anne, the obvious unhappiness. Yet how could it be? She was always properly chaperoned, usually by Charlotte and Elizabeth, sometimes by Lady Catherine, who violently discourage ineligible gentlemen. If this unknown man had confidence that he could win Maria's hand, or persuade her to elope with him, he must have cause, which meant clandestine meetings.
Elizabeth's brow furrowed, but then cleared without delay. The answer leaped into her mind so quickly that she could only believe suspicions had already been gathering there. Of course, it had to be those morning walks that Maria so anticipated, and from which she often returned home in almost frantically high spirits, which generally plummeted before the first social occasion of the day. It was Mrs. Jenkinson, Miss de Bourgh’s companion, who accompanied the girls, but she was older and easily eluded. The girls could easily have had romantic meetings in secret.
Elizabeth's first impulse was to leap out of bed and march into Maria's room to confront her. Common sense came to her rescue, however; Maria was certain to deny that she was meeting anyone, and if she fancied herself in love, would refuse to admit that she and her lover were planning a murder.
No, the wiser course for Elizabeth to pursue would be to wait and then surreptitiously follow Maria and Anne on their walk. She would confront the man, for her own satisfaction, then set the constable on him. Whether they were able to prove his culpability or not, he would know his chances of marrying Maria had been destroyed, and Elizabeth would find out the truth once and for all.
Having such a sensible plan was an immediate comfort to Elizabeth, and she was able to rise from the ridiculously soft bed in a more carefree frame of mind.
She succeeded in enduring the next two days, primarily by clinging to Charlotte, who was less inclined to find a dangerous adventure something to envy. But with the moment of truth at hand, Elizabeth found herself feeling somewhat apprehensive. She could not allow herself to be such a coward, however, as to withdraw from the chase. Who would take her place? What if she set the constable on the trail of some perfectly innocuous young gentleman who had foolishly allowed himself to be persuaded into secret meetings? No, Elizabeth must meet the man herself, face-to-face.
It was no surprise to anyone when a letter from Anne arrived the next morning, requesting the pleasure of Maria's companionship for a late-morning stroll around Rosings. It even seemed to Elizabeth, although she knew she might well be oversensitive, that Maria had a significant look in her eyes before making her excuses and departing.
Elizabeth waited only until they had started across the drive before calling for her maid, gathering her bonnet from the chair in the drawing room where she had bundled it, and setting out.
At last, she arrived at Rosings Park. Neither girl glanced over her shoulder, or evinced the slightest interest in passersby, so Elizabeth had no difficulty keeping them in sight.
Rosings was a peaceful place to stroll, particular
ly at this early hour of the morning. With hardly anyone around, a tall, dark, plainly dressed gentleman loitering near some pine trees drew the eye. Elizabeth would have expected Mrs. Jenkinson to be hovering over her charges, darting suspicious looks at the intruder among them. Instead, the man might as well have been a tree for all the attention he drew. He was clearly a familiar figure. This was not the first time Mr. Denny had waited here for Maria Lucas.
Elizabeth watched as Anne and the Mrs. Jenkinson turned to begin a slow walk about the perimeter of the house, while Maria moved with eager steps toward Denny, whose face lit up at the sight of his beloved. Elizabeth felt cold inside. She had guessed that she might find Denny at the end of this walk, but had prayed it might not be so.
When Charlotte had told her about how he had smiled affectionately at Maria on the evening of the Netherfield ball, something in Elizabeth had stirred. Perhaps it was regret; she wanted him, for Maria's sake, to be more worthy than he was. At the same time she had known, remembering his swarthy face, that he was far different from the callow youth she had hoped Maria was innocently meeting; Denny was a man who might dare much. Elizabeth thought it was quite possible that he was capable of arranging a murder.
Elizabeth turned to her maid. "Wait here," she said fiercely. "I'm going to speak to them."
She wasted no time in intercepting Anne and sending her home with sharp words ringing in her ears.
"I know very well what your role in this whole affair has been, and so will your mother very shortly. I hold you responsible for encouraging Maria. She would never have dared act so on her own. Nor would she have had the opportunity. And you," she added, turning a blistering look on Mrs. Jenkinson, "have been negligent as well. Lady Catherine trusted you to have more sense than two foolish girls."
There was great indignation when Anne departed, followed by her humiliated companion. Elizabeth advanced with militant strides toward the illicit pair, who remained entirely unconscious of her approach, so absorbed in each other were they.
Darcy's Kiss Page 6
