The sound of their footsteps seemed amplified in the close space, each creak and scuff magnified by the stillness. Darcy’s senses sharpened; he listened for any rustle, any breath not their own.
Elizabeth stopped suddenly, tilting her head as though to catch some faint sound. He saw her lips part, the flicker of her eyes towards him—
And then, her gaze shot wide.
Before Darcy could speak, her grip on his hand tightened painfully, and she drew in a breath that broke into a scream—high, sharp, and cut short in the same instant that the candlelight shattered into black.
Something struck the side of his head, hard enough to send pain blooming white behind his eyes. The world pitched; the floor came up to meet him, cold stone against his cheek.
For a heartbeat—or an eternity—there was nothing but darkness and the distant echo of that scream.
And then there was nothing at all.
The first sensation that returned to him was cold—the chill of stone beneath his temple, sinking into bone and muscle. Then came the throb, deep and insistent, at the side of his skull. He drew a breath that rasped in his throat, the air thick with dust and the faint acrid tang of old mortar.
Light flared against his closed eyes.
“Darcy? Darcy!” The voice was urgent, almost sharp with alarm. A hand gripped his shoulder and shook.
He forced his eyes open. The dim, wavering glow of a candle wavered above him, resolving into Bingley’s anxious face.
“Good heavens, man, what happened? Can you sit up?”
Darcy pushed himself to his elbows, the world tilting before settling into uneasy focus. The narrow walls of the hidden corridor loomed around them, shadows crowding close. The air was colder now, the faint glow ahead gone entirely.
He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “Elizabeth—”
Bingley’s brow furrowed. “She is not here?”
Darcy’s pulse spiked, cutting through the haze. “No. She was—she was with me. We saw a light ahead. Then—” He touched the tender spot at his temple, finding a sticky warmth there. “Someone struck me. I heard her scream.”
Bingley swore softly under his breath and offered a hand to haul him fully upright. “We thought you were in the library with Bennet. When you were not, we split up. Bennet and I took different wings of the family quarters—Darcy, I had no notion you had found a way into the oldpassages.”
Darcy steadied himself against the wall, willing the last of the vertigo to pass. “The panel at the end of the servants’ hall. She found scraping on the stone—fresh marks. We followed it through to here.” His voice roughened. “She was holding my hand.”
Bingley glanced down the corridor towards the darkness where the glow had been. “Then she cannot be far. But she might not be alone.”
The meaning of that settled heavily between them.
Darcy set his jaw. “We need more light. And men.”
Bingley’s expression hardened into a seriousness Darcy rarely saw in him. “Agreed. The entrance we came through is still open—I shall send for Hill to bring lanterns, and have the footmen join us.”
Darcy’s instincts were pulling him forward—towards the place where the right-hand passage stretched into shadow—but he knew the folly of going alone, half-blinded and unsteady. Whoever had struck him had moved with precision and speed; to follow without light was to walk willingly into the same fate.
Bingley gripped his arm briefly. “Darcy, I swear, we will find her.”
Darcy met his friend’sgaze. “We must.”
Bingley disappeared back through the panel, the faint sound of his boots on stone fading into the hum of voices from the kitchen beyond.
Darcy leaned back against the wall, forcing his breath to steady. The emptiness of the corridor pressed in on him, the silence broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere far off.
She had been here. Moments ago, her hand in his, her voice filling the dark—and now nothing but cold air and the echo of her fear.
His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but he ignored it, fixing his eyes on the blackness ahead. Whatever lay beyond, whoever had taken her, they could not have gone far. And Darcy would follow, lantern or no, until he found her.
When Bingley returned, it was with two footmen bearing lamps and Mr. Bennet close behind, his expression grim.
