Chasing Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  While discouragement and condescension daunted some, it had never worked on Elizabeth. Aided by her father’s library and the skillful use of leading questions posed to the right people at the right time, she had become adept at finding answers and solutions on her own.

  Why, then, should she not do the same with Mr. Darcy? Then, she would know once and for all if he was as trustworthy as her instincts were inclined to believe him. If Mr. Darcy’s life was in danger, it was Elizabeth’s moral responsibility to help him. If she was wrong, then she must strive to improve her character assessments lest she be misled again.

  Whichever the answer, Elizabeth would find out that night. Mr. Darcy had spent the afternoon out — inquiring around Meryton as he had said, Elizabeth supposed. But he had returned later in the afternoon. He had returned her bonnet. Actually, Wilson had returned it, but she had sat reading to Jane by the window, and she had seen Mr. Darcy by the stables, holding her bonnet by its ribbons. She had hoped he would bring it to her.

  Between Mr. Darcy’s avoidance of her and his delay in departing for London, she suspected he had a matter to attend to before he could leave. Elizabeth determined to find out. She had little else to do.

  Whatever the difficulty Mr. Darcy found himself in, it would not be a simple matter. If pride prevented him from allowing another to help him, well, then, he would simply have to overcome his fault.

  With the assistance of Emily, the chambermaid, and Netherfield’s many windows, Elizabeth kept watch, her dark riding coat and gloves draped over a chair beside the door. She was ready. If Mr. Darcy made a move, she would follow him.

  She received her dinner in her room, not wishing to assault Jane’s nostrils with smells that made her groan nor divert her own attention away from her vigil between the window and the door. “Is Mr. Darcy dining in his room as well?” Elizabeth asked the maid.

  “He is, Miss. I will deliver his tray next.” Bobbing a curtsy, the girl left to attend to her duties.

  Elizabeth waited until the maid left, then peeked down the hall in the direction of Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber. The maid knocked on his door, a footman holding a platter with a big silver lid behind her. Elizabeth strained her ears to hear Mr. Darcy’s voice, but his room was too far down the hall.

  Easing her door closed quietly (for Mr. Darcy would surely alter his plans if he knew she meant to follow him, and so it befell her to give him no indication of her intention), Elizabeth leaned against the barrier with her ear pressed against the smooth oak. Mr. Darcy had not escaped her, nor would she allow him to when every creak and thud set her nerves on edge.

  She was too agitated to eat much, but she did her best. She would need the nourishment before the night was done. She hoped. Surely, Mr. Darcy meant to do something. She would if she were in his place.

  Doubts began to chip away at Elizabeth’s certainty, so much so, she thought she imagined the sound of a foot dragging over carpet. Tiptoeing to the door, Elizabeth tried to listen over the thrumming of her pulse. She dared not open the door until she could do so without being seen.

  Step. Drag. Step. Drag. Mr. Darcy’s valet, Wilson. Try as she might, she could not hear Mr. Darcy’s steps, but then again, she had not really expected to hear them as it would defeat his purpose of sneaking out … and, once again, she was certain that was precisely what he meant to do.

  Which gave her all the more reason to follow him.

  Biding her time, Elizabeth counted. How many seconds would it take Mr. Darcy and Wilson to get down the stairs and out of the door? How long should she count? Mr. Darcy walked with a long, easy stride, but Wilson had a decided limp — not a usual choice for a gentleman’s valet. She wondered how Mr. Darcy came to employ him.

  Wilson’s rigid posture suggested he had once been in the military. If that were the case, a man discharged from his duties due to an injury was fortunate to find steady employment in the respected position of a gentleman’s valet. Had Mr. Darcy taken him on as a favor to another? Or was he really so kind?

  How many seconds had gone by? Elizabeth gasped. Drat! She had lost count.

  Frustrated, she reached for the door. It jumped back at her, smacking her against the forehead and sending Elizabeth reeling backward.

  “Miss, he is gone! You had better hurry!” Emily whispered urgently, her eyes doubling in size when she saw Elizabeth rubbing her head. “Oh, Miss, that was you I ran the door against? I am so sorry.” She rushed to Elizabeth’s side, poking the tender bump.

  Slapping her hand down, Elizabeth said, “Stop that! It hurts. Please hold me steady while I put on my coat. I am wobbly.”

  “Oh, Miss, I am sorry. Here, I am ready. I will go with you. I would never forgive myself if anything untoward happened to you after I had caused your injury. Is your vision blurred? Can you see well enough? I will be your eyes in the dark—”

  “Hush, Emily. It is only a trifling bump. Let us go before they slip away from us. Only, promise you will be quiet.” Elizabeth grabbed Emily’s hand, tugging her as they sprinted down the stairs. Turning the corner and staying in the shadows, Elizabeth pulled Emily toward the kitchen at the back of the house. There was less of a chance of being seen escaping through the kitchen door leading outside than through the front door where any number of servants might observe them.

  The kitchen also had the advantage of being closer to the stables. Not that Elizabeth could sneak Tempest out now that she had Emily with her. They would simply have to do their best to keep up on foot. If Mr. Darcy went too far, they would have no choice but to return to Netherfield. However, if he only went so far as Meryton, then they could follow him without being seen. The shops would be closed, and most families would be gathered around the fire in their parlors.

  The cold night air stirred the loose ringlets around Elizabeth’s face and sent a shiver through her to her fingertips. She would be plenty warm soon enough, she thought with growing delight as she wondered what Miss Bingley would think of this sort of exercise. No doubt, she would not approve … which made Elizabeth all the more excited to begin the chase.

  “Come!” she whispered, catching a glimpse of Mr. Darcy and Wilson’s retreating backs in the darkness. With an unknown shooter on the loose, they would stay as close as they could to the gentlemen. “Keep your head low,” she whispered to Emily, just in case. Standing out in the open as they now were, Elizabeth suffered another onslaught of doubts. How wise was it to tramp about in the dark when she had so nearly been shot earlier? Her hands trembled, and her breath quickened at the memory.

  She looked at Mr. Darcy. He was not afraid, and atop a horse, he offered a much easier target. Surely, he would not take such a risk if he believed his life still endangered. Perhaps he had already found the shooter and chased him off?

  Strange, the men did not ride to the main road but chose to cut over the field that led to Lucas Lodge. If that was their destination, Elizabeth and Emily would have no trouble following them. But why would Mr. Darcy go there?

  Elizabeth recalled his questions about the Lucases at the assembly. And while her fancy had temporarily led her to believe him a spy, now that she had her senses about her, she could not fathom how that would lead him to Sir William. Sir William did not have the duplicitous temperament necessary to involve himself in a plot which would draw the notice of a British agent. Nor, Elizabeth had to admit, did he possess the intelligence to design a plan worth the government’s attention.

  Neither could she imagine how anyone else in the family could have involved themselves in a dishonest or traitorous design. John Lucas lacked the initiative to do anything at all, much less engage himself in a scheme in which a great deal would be demanded of him. George Lucas was too busy with his family and his horses. Also, he lacked malice. While he complained about taxes (as many did), he would never risk losing the very estate he sought to help his father protect.

  No, Mr. Darcy’s business at Lucas Lodge had to stem from another source. The horses? The new trainer?

  Th
e new trainer! That must be it. Had she not noticed George’s mixture of pride and concern that morning when he had told her of the racehorse trainer? Perhaps Mr. Darcy had lost a great deal of money at a race. Perhaps he was friends with Mr. Robson. Or enemies. The hole in Mr. Darcy’s hat suggested an enemy, but Elizabeth did not know enough about Mr. Robson to decide if he had put it there.

  “They are slowing down, Miss,” gasped Emily between breaths.

  Mr. Darcy and Wilson were barely visible ahead of them.

  “Please, may we slow down, too?” she added.

  “Let us get a bit closer. Stay down,” Elizabeth replied, slowing her pace when it became apparent Emily would complain more unless she did. They were too close to risk exposing themselves with the moonlight or her maid’s grievances.

  The men had dismounted their horses, leaving them tied up at a thicket a short distance from the stables.

  Mr. Darcy said something to Wilson, but Elizabeth was not close enough to hear. She watched the valet limp away from Mr. Darcy, passing the outdoor paddock and skirting around the stables in the shadows.

  Whatever their business was, they did not wish to be seen. Truth be told, neither did she.

  As for Mr. Darcy, he peeked into the open door of the building, then prowled past the lit aperture to look through a window. Had she not been watching him from the start, she would not have noticed him dressed as he was in black from top to bottom. Had she not known better, she would have thought him a spy. But that was preposterous. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

  “Stay with the horses,” she instructed Emily. Creeping forward with her eyes fixed on Mr. Darcy, she heard someone approaching before she saw who it was. She spun around, looking for a hiding place and seeing only fence posts.

  It was George. The lantern he carried illuminated the scowl he wore as he juggled a stack of linens in his arms.

  Mr. Darcy leaped forward, reaching for the pile before they fell to the ground. “Good evening, Mr. Lucas,” he said.

  Elizabeth released her breath, relieved Mr. Darcy had not kept himself concealed from George. She would have doubted his intentions had he tried. (And this from a lady ducking behind the paddock’s fence post.)

  “Mr. Darcy, what brings you here at this time of night? I hope all is well at Netherfield Park?” George looked around.

  Before Mr. Darcy could reply, a large figure loomed in the entrance of the stables — a man Elizabeth had never seen before. It had to be Robert Robson. He held Mr. Bingley’s stable boy by the scruff of the neck. “This boy does not belong here. What are you about, Sir? I will not allow for any of your neighbor’s spies to creep around while I am here.” He shoved the boy forward so that he landed in a heap at Mr. Darcy’s feet.

  Elizabeth’s dislike of the trainer was immediate.

  Mr. Darcy helped the stable boy to his feet, dusting him gently and placing one hand protectively on the boy’s shoulder.

  George said, “He is harmless, Robson. He is Joe’s little brother, Jim. He only came to help with the foaling.”

  The boy straightened his coat and rubbed his ear gingerly, wisely keeping behind Mr. Darcy. “Blimey, you has a rough grip, sir.”

  “See I am never put upon to use it against you again, lad.”

  “I only wanted to see the new foal. That’s all. I didn’t mean no harm.”

  Mr. Robson stepped toward the boy, which promptly sent Jim scurrying away into the darkness.

  “Curiosity is not a crime,” Mr. Darcy commented, stepping in the trainer’s path and making it clear that Mr. Robson would have to get past him first if he wished to pursue the boy.

  Elizabeth huffed her agreement, then promptly covered her mouth with her hand lest she reveal her presence and add to the famous trainer’s consternation.

  Mr. Robson turned his ire on Mr. Darcy. “And who is this, then, Mr. Lucas? I told you before I signed on to work with your father, that I will not have strangers — especially gentlemen — snooping about while I am trying to work. They steal my methods for their own gain and cause more trouble than they are worth. We had an agreement.”

  What a horrible, disagreeable man. First, he threatened and scared Jim. And now, he cast doubt over George’s word and Mr. Darcy’s honor. As gruff and unpleasant as Mr. Robson was, Elizabeth could easily imagine him firing at Mr. Darcy. That explained Mr. Darcy’s sneaking of earlier. He had wished to speak to George without the wary trainer present. It made perfect sense. It also meant Mr. Robson was a threat.

  How could Mr. Darcy extricate himself without raising further suspicion from the trainer, endangering both himself and George?

  Elizabeth had an idea. With one flick of the loose clasp, she flung her brooch toward the stable door where she had spoken with George that same morning.

  Bolstering her courage, she straightened her shoulders and charged out from behind the post. “Mr. Darcy, I told you it was by the main entrance, not along the side of the building.” She propped her fists on her hips and huffed for good measure.

  All three men gawked open-mouthed at her.

  Taking advantage of their shock, she continued, “Must I again explain how precious my brooch is to me?” Rolling her eyes, she turned to George, explaining as quickly as she could form the words, “It went missing today, and I have searched all over Netherfield. The only other place I might have lost it was here, and seeing how I would have no peace until it was restored to me, Mr. Darcy was kind enough to offer to fetch it.”

  “At this hour?” George asked, looking between her and Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you have me wait and risk never finding it again? I could not sleep knowing my beloved token from my dearest uncle might be trampled by a horse.”

  “But it is dark. How did you plan to find it?”

  She shrugged. “Your lantern will do nicely.”

  Mr. Darcy crossed his arms and glared at her.

  As if he had been doing any better! At least, she had given Mr. Robson a valid reason for them being there — far more than Mr. Darcy had done.

  Arching her neck away from him to address George, she said, “You told me you had a mare about to foal. I knew you or Mercer would be awake tending to her. Mr. Darcy was merely looking for you so that he might request the use of a lantern if the moonlight did not suffice. I do not see why you are in such an upheaval. You know how dear my brooch is to me.”

  “I know how impatient you are when an idea takes root in your head,” George countered.

  She was in no position to defend herself on that point, so she merely said, “Then, you had better let us look for my brooch so we can be on our way. My maid is waiting by the horses. I do not want to make her wait long.”

  Lantern light cast altering shadows over Mr. Darcy’s face. Was he gnashing his teeth or trying not to grin?

  “I will look where you indicated,” he said, turning and inspecting the ground by the door with George following him with the lantern.

  Mr. Robson grabbed the linens and grumbled all the way inside the stables. Good riddance. Elizabeth was content he seemed to accept her excuse for their presence.

  It was not difficult to find the brooch. The light glistened on the aventurine.

  Picking it up, Mr. Darcy said, “Here it is. Let us not disturb Mr. Lucas and Mr. Robson any more.”

  Elizabeth cheered. “Oh, wonderful! It was here all along! I knew it! You cannot imagine how relieved I am.”

  She did not pause long enough to take the brooch Mr. Darcy held out to her. Her aim was to leave before the murderous Mr. Robson made another appearance. With a quick curtsy and “Good evening,” to George, she spun on her foot and took off across the yard to Emily and the horses.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at Mr. Darcy’s nearness, but she kept walking.

  “That was a very foolish thing you did,” he scolded.

  Her irritation flamed. “No less foolish than you prowling around the stables at night.”
She kept going. Emily was in view, as was Wilson.

  Mr. Darcy took her hand, spinning her around to face him. For a moment, he looked as if he would grab her by the shoulders and shake her, but instead, he released her hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “It could have been dangerous.”

  “More so than our ride this morning? Mr. Darcy, I just extracted you from a compromising situation. I think the trainer was the man who tried to shoot you. The least you can do is say thank you.”

  “Thank you,” he seethed through his clenched jaw. His arms tightened around him.

  Gratitude was gratitude, even if it sounded painful to give. Elizabeth ran with it. “I am happy to help, and as you have witnessed for yourself, I can be of greater assistance if you would only let me. I know the people around here much better than you do, and I have their confidence. A couple of questions to the right person, at the proper time, and whatever you are involved in can be cleared. Besides, if Mr. Robson is a criminal, I do not want him near my friends.”

  “I do not wish for your help.”

  Stupid pride. Elizabeth had little patience for it. “Why? Because I am a young lady? Do you believe me incapable?” She mirrored his rigid posture.

  “That is not it at all.”

  “What is it, then? Pride?”

  “No!”

  Elizabeth stepped closer to him, dropping her voice. “Then pray enlighten me, Mr. Darcy, for I refuse to remain under your protection when I am capable of defending myself. I am not the sort to back down when I see someone in danger.”

  She saw his nostrils flare and felt the hard stare in his eyes. Undaunted, Elizabeth returned Mr. Darcy’s glare.

  He held his ground. Leaning forward, he enunciated, “You refuse? Are you so obstinate and headstrong you would endanger your life—”

  “So, I am in danger, then? Thank you for clarifying the matter, Mr. Darcy. Now, you see, you owe me an explanation. You cannot deny me.”

  Closing the distance so that he loomed in her view, Mr. Darcy seethed, “Then, you will have to accustom yourself to feeling disappointment, Miss Elizabeth, for there is no circumstance which could convince me to confide in you.”