“She was not in the prisoner’s room,” said Lady Ashcombe.
Matlock’s face revealed nothing, but the tense set of his shoulders relaxed.
“Then who sent the note? We will have to question all the servants. Gather all of them in the Great Hallway and we will question them one by one.”
Darcy was still buoyant with relief and triumph. Elizabeth was not going to be accused of treason. And she had not been killed by de Riquer.
Then reality hit him, and he came down to earth with a thump.
If Elizabeth was not there, where was she, then?
The search for her had only just begun.
He needed a moment to himself.
“If you will excuse me, I need to change out of these clothes. I have been wearing them since yesterday. I will join you shortly.”
***
AS ELIZABETH STAREDinto the mists, she did not know what terrified her more: being transported by de Riquer’s spell or having the spell fail, leaving her to face the Council.
When the spell failed, she knew the answer to that question. She would rather trust her fate to de Riquer than be caught here.
“Why is it not working?” She was on edge.
“Patience, my dear lady. The mirror is unfamiliar with your magic. It needs to taste it first.”
Elizabeth reached a hand tentatively into the mirror, schooling herself not to draw back as the mist swallowed up her hand. At first nothing happened, then it began to circle around her hand slowly, gradually coalescing into tiny strands that brushed against her, light and delicate as cobwebs. The magic of the mirror prickled on her skin, potent and alien. It was old, old magic, from times long past. She accepted it, relishing its strangeness.
“Good. I knew you would not disappoint me.” The French mage sounded pleased. “Now you can guide it to your destination.À bientôt, Mrs. Darcy.”
Elizabeth had no time to respond. An elemental whirlwind picked her up and spun her round. She was lifted and suspended in the air, the breath knocked out of her. The wind buffeted her, turning her in one direction then the other, and she was afraid she was going to be sick. She could not breathe.
She had made a terrible mistake. She should not have trusted de Riquer. He had tricked her.
The wind suddenly dropped. Elizabeth slammed to the ground with a jolt. She could breathe now, but a thick milky fog surrounded her, gluing her in place. She tried to move, but it hemmed her in. She was held captive.
Was this what they had done to Bingley and the Waltons? Were they hemmed in like her, unable to see beyond this limited world of white? She lashed out. She would not allow the fog to destroy her. She would fight her way out. She kicked against the fog, pounded at it with her fists, jammed at it with her elbows.
Struggling got her nowhere. She was pinned in place, all her movements frozen. She could not even open her eyes.
Think of the fog as an Illusion.It was not real. There was a real world out there, she just had to find it. She pictured her bedchamber. The escritoire by the window, with Oakham Mount visible in the distance. The book on the table by her bed. The bed she was still sharing with Jane, with its quilted flowery squares.
As abruptly as it had appeared, the fog cleared and revealed her location. She landed with a thud on the bed, her head reeling.
“À bientôt, Mrs. Darcy. We will meet again soon.” The ghostly voice was warm and reassuring.
He had not tricked her after all. She was safe.
***
JANE SCREAMED AS ELIZABETHmaterialized on the bed in front of her.
Elizabeth panicked. She threw herself at her sister and covered her mouth.
“Hush, Jane. Everyone will come running. No one must know how I came here. I am going to hide in the wardrobe, and you must tell them you saw a mouse under the bed.”
Jane nodded. There was a knock at the door, and a footman barged in, along with Mr. Bingley, who had been waiting outside for the door to open.
