I caught his arm, pulling him up. “Come to shore. There is nothing more to do.”
The water trembled as Fènnù swept over us. She crossed the center of the lake, her wingstrokes slow as a dirge. She turned at the far shore and crossed a second time, then a third. A mournful call sounded, then she drove upward and away, rising toward the farthest hills.
Mr. Darcy was staring at me with mad eyes, water streaming from his soaked hair. “The waters of Pemberley are a curse. They took my mother. They take my wyfe.”
“Come back,” I said. “I implore you.”
I reached for him, but he pushed me away, then turned to the depths of the lake and cried, “Here lies Elizabeth, my Juliet, and her brilliance makes this tomb a brave arena full of wit. My love, my wyfe, why art thou sunk so far? Shall I believe that red and greedy dragon binds thee here in dark to be his paramour?” He waded deeper. “For fear of that I stay with thee, and never from his grasping lair, depart again. Here, here, will I drown my bitter loss.”
I was struggling to catch him, and finally I caught his sleeve. “Mr. Darcy. Stop.” He strode on, pulling me behind him. My toes scrambled on the slippery rocks as the water reached my chin, then the bottom fell away and my full head ducked, my soaked clothes dragging me down. I floundered, fighting panic, unsure even where the surface was. I had never been in water deeper than my shoulders.
A pair of hands seized my waist. Desperate, I grabbed around Mr. Darcy’s neck and hung, coughing, while he waded into shallower water. Then, gently but insistently, he pushed me to arm’s length.
“You cannot do this,” I gasped. My body was shuddering uncontrollably. “You have a sister to protect. Do not abandon her. There is nothing worse than being abandoned.” He watched me steadily, then backed toward the depths. Icried, “Your mother’s wyvern promised I would save a third life today. Do you not see? It is you I am to save!”
He stopped, his eyes amazed.
Water sloshed as Mr. Knightley splashed up beside me. His arm steadied mine, and when the heat of his fingers sent a tremor through my frame, he pulled me against his side. It was like leaning against a gloriously warm stove.
He extended his hand to Mr. Darcy. “The lady is cold. We should accompany her to shore. Please.”
Mr. Knightley waited, his offered hand steady, neither demanding nor conceding. Mr. Darcy’s wondering, pained gaze found me again, then he gripped Mr. Knightley’s hand, and we waded back.
Ashore, the soldiers shed their coats and waistcoats, toweling the cold water off us. They wrapped me in layer after layer. Under it all, I hugged my gloved hands, counting by touch the soggy lines of lace.
Mr. Knightley, his wet coat discarded, approached Mr. Darcy. Wordlessly, he offered the sheathed dagger.
Mr. Darcy drew the black blade, weighed it once in his palm, then turned and threw it—a tremendous, violent, savage throw. The dagger spun, glinting and soaring through the air before it plunked into the water, distant and deep.
49
HANDSOME AND WELL
EMMA
“Miss Woodhouse?”Lucy’s voice said softly from the guest room door.
I smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Lucy. Has there been a letter?” My reply from Hartfield was overdue.
Nine weeks had passed since that terrible loss on the lake. I was still a guest at Pemberley. I was afraid to leave—worried by Mr. Darcy’s plunges into despair and trapped by my own hidden dependence.
“No letter, madam,” she answered. “It is nothing like that. I was only dusting Mrs. Darcy’s things, and…” Her words hitched, then she burst into sobs. I held her, awkward at first while the miasma gleamed in the corners, but Lucy was just a child who needed care, so it retreated.
“Harriet will visit soon,” I told her when she quieted. “Would you join us? She was cross with me last time, so I am a little nervous about it.”
She sniffed. “Did you do something wrong?”
“Not that I intended,” I said, honestly. “But I am still learning to be a good sister.”
We went down and found Harriet arriving, but with Mr. Knightley as well, and my pulse fluttered. After the tragedy, he had postponed his travel to the occupied south, but he had not been to Pemberley for weeks.
When we were seated, I asked Harriet, “Are you established in Lambton?”
“Quite established. I have a pretty room all to myself, and nicer than my old room at Mrs. Goddard’s. Mr. Knightley negotiated a stay of six months.” He had assisted her, as a lady could not sign a contract of lease. “Then, if this mad war is done, I should like to teach at the Martin school. It would be exciting to live in London.”
She sparkled with enthusiasm, so I gave her fingers a pat. “I am happy for you.”
I had been visiting the Lambton school twice a week, accompanying Nessy to her classes. Nessy always dashed ahead the instant the coach door opened, so I would enter afterward and watch from the back, admiring Harriet’s competent demeanor and trying not to see the chalk on her sleeves.
