“If you wish,” said her brother, “but I would rather sit by the fire.”He smiled at Jane, and she beamed back at him.
Elizabeth sucked in a breath.
Everyone continued on as she knew they would, oblivious to her standing still as a statue beside the pianoforte, watching their movements as if she knew where they would step before they did.Because she did.
Elizabeth could only withstand the horror of knowing what was to come for another ten minutes before she claimed a headache and excused herself for the night.Jane offered to go up with her, but Elizabeth refused.She wished to be alone.She had to think; she had to make a plan.
The dream hadnotbeen a metaphor for her lost hopes.Netherfield would burn tonight.
As she walked to her room, Elizabeth made note of all the ways one could leave the house.There was the front door, of course, a set of French doors in the library, and another in the music room leading to a low terrace.There was a side door down a small corridor not far from the dining room.Below stairs, there was the servants’ entrance and another to the kitchens.She was aware of no others, though that did not mean there were none.
On the floor her chamber was on, there were two wings, though that was a generous term for the small halls leading to six chambers on either side.To the right of the stairs was the guest wing where she and Jane had linked chambers, and Mr.Darcy had a room across the hall and closer to the stairs.To the left of the main staircase was the family wing.Miss Bingley had the first chamber—tantamount to the room next to Mr.Darcy’s, and her sister was across the hall.Elizabeth was not sure which rooms Mr.Bingley and Mr.Hurst were in, but logic would put Mr.Hurst next to his wife.
As she turned into the guest wing, she calculated how long it would take her to reach each room.She reckoned she could make it to each door within a minute if all she had to do was pound on the door, but if the person within did not wake immediately, it could take considerably longer.What if they slept with the door locked?She imagined most of them did.Netherfield was a new house after all.It was filled with unfamiliar servants and guests.She was certain Mr.Darcy would lock his door—the Bingleys were not his family and Caroline Bingley was a determined woman.
Elizabeth’s head began to ache with all the plans she was making.If only there was some sort of alarm bell in place!She could ring it like a servants’ bell and the entire house would wake.The servants!Many of them would be sleeping on the upper levels.They would be the most difficult to reach in a fire.Elizabeth replayed the dream in her mind, trying desperately to remember where the fire had started, but she could not recall.
She remembered being in the drawing room after dinner, going up to bed rather late with the other ladies, and then waking sometime late in the night.There was a mad rush for everyone to get outside.She saw Mrs.Hurst and Miss Bingley huddled together beneath a blanket.Mr.Bingley was there, tending to Miss Bennet and covered in soot.Where was Mr.Hurst?
She squeezed her eyes tightly, forcing herself to look around in her memory.There!He sat on the ground beneath a tree, covered in soot like his brother.
Perhaps the men had helped get everyone out?
She looked up in the dream and watched the house.All of Netherfield was alight.There was no room untouched, no window flames did not pour out of.It was impossible to see where it had begun or see what would still be standing in the morning.She continued to look around.One more familiar face was yet unaccounted for.Where was Mr.Darcy?
She looked about in her mind and saw the servants, the housekeeper and butler, but no Mr.Darcy.The stable was a good distance from the house, but the grooms had brought out all the horses and released them into the pasture that stretched all the way to Longbourn’s border.Perhaps he was seeing to the animals?She knew he was particularly fond of his horse, a dappled grey gelding.
Elizabeth thought she might snap from the energy thrumming through her body as she paced the length of her chamber.She could find Mr.Darcy nowhere in her memory, and the fire raged out of control in her dream.There was only one thing she could do.She must stay awake and make sure everyone made it out of the house safely.If she could stop the fire before it spread, that would be even better.
Chapter 11
Heroes and Heroines
Darcymadehiswayup to bed at a quarter to two in the morning.He and Bingley had stayed up playing billiards, then drinking brandy in the library.He did not want to face his bed, though he did not like to admit it.Shewould be there when he slept, and he did not wish to dream of her.Except that he desperately wished to dream of her.Even more than that, he wished she was not only in his dreams but in his bed, in his house, in his life.
He knew it could not be, but it did not stop him from longing for her—unsuitable temptress that she was.
It was likely the influence of the brandy, but he walked past his own room and stopped in front of Miss Elizabeth’s.There was no light shining beneath the door, and he could discern no sounds within.She would be sleeping of course.She had excused herself hours ago, and her sister had followed shortly after.He raised his hand and rested his fingertips gently on the door.He closed his eyes and sighed, then dropped his hand and made his way to his bed.
Elizabeth had the strangest sensation she was not alone.She stood at the open window, leaning slightly over the balustrade surrounding the tiny balcony.She looked around the grounds but saw no movement besides the gentle sway of a tree in the wind.Her fire was dying down and there was not much light to see by.She lit a candle and then the lamp beside the bed.Jane had dozed off in Elizabeth’s bed, and she decided to let her sister sleep.Jane had been ill, after all.
Elizabeth had decided to be as prepared as possible.She had removed her fine evening gown and dressed in her sturdiest walking gown.Her pelisse was near the door, ready to be thrown on at a moment’s notice.Jane had found her earlier as she packed her trunk.When her sister had looked at her with suspicion and some alarm, she had simply asked Jane, “Do you trust me?”
“Always.”
Elizabeth had nodded, her throat tight.“Put on your sturdiest gown.Pack everything else in your trunk and have your cloak ready.Netherfield will catch fire tonight.”
Jane’s eyes had widened and filled with tears.
“I know it is overwhelming, Jane, but we must keep our heads.Have everything prepared in the event we are able to save anything.When the fire starts, run to the family wing and wake the Bingleys and the Hursts.Then go downstairs.Do you remember the way to the servants’ quarters?”
“Yes.”Jane’s voice had shaken, but her expression was determined.
“Wake Mrs.Nicholls and then get out of the house.Better yet ask Mr.Bingley to assist you.He will ensure you make it outside.Tell Miss Bingley to run to the stables.The grooms will know what to do.Have you got that?”
“Yes.Wake the family, send Caroline to the stables, wake the servants downstairs, and go outside.”
“That is exactly right.”Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand and resumed her packing.
