“Quite so, Mr Timmins, quite so,” replied the elderly lady. “It has been the perfect adventure.”
Darcy made no response. He did not consider almost dying to be any shade of adventurous, and he was too pained to make head or tail of Timmins’s strange suggestion. Having assumed Elizabeth had sought out some alternative company, a change of scene, or perhaps a different book, he had expected to be directed to another parlour, not the kitchen.
“Through there, down to the end and left,” Timmins said, pointing to a door as he hobbled past it back to his counter. Thither Darcy would have gone, were it not for an unheralded wave of lightheadedness that left him doubting he could walk more than two steps without falling. He clutched discreetly at the back of the nearest chair to steady himself.
“Are you quite well, Mr Darcy?” Mrs Ormerod enquired. “You look uncommonly pale.”
“Of course he is not well, dear,” her husband answered. “Even my old eyes can see that. There is no need to embarrass him by drawing attention to it.” To Darcy he said, “Pay her no mind, young man. You have been standing for longer than my hip will allow me.”
“Or my leg me,” said Carver. “It says much of our little company that a man whose head is only just still attached to his body is the halest among us.”
“Happen she went to Spencer’s Cross with Stratton.”
Darcy looked sharply at the man sitting before the hearth, but he said no more and did not turn around.
“Aye, Mr Latimer, you might be right,” agreed Timmins. “I know he meant to try and walk there this afternoon. Perhaps Mrs Darcy accompanied him.”
Darcy stared hard at the floor, his throat announcing every breath as it hee-hawed in and out of him. Elizabeth had attempted the walk to the village again. After giving her word that she would not. Without so much as a note explaining where she had gone. In the sole company of a man whom she had known for less than a week. What was she thinking?
Latimer turned his head slightly to speak over his shoulder and down his nose. “Funny thing that, Mr Darcy. You not knowing whereyour wifeis.”
“There they are, coming along the road now,” Timmins announced, nodding at a window to the front of the property. Through it, Elizabeth could clearly be seen walking ahead of Stratton, holding her skirts above the ankle as she every now and then broke into a run before being forced to walk again where the snow was deepest. Darcy needed to see no more. With more vigour than he truthfully had the strength for, but animated with outrage, he strode to the front door and wrenched it open.
The air was bitterly cold, and it instantly clasped its icy talons about his throat. In his pique, all the carefulness he had adopted to minimise his discomfort was forgotten. Every furious step sent shards of pain lancing from his chest to his chin until he could scarcely order his thoughts. He struck hisboot on something hidden beneath the snow, instinctively took a jarring step to avoid falling, and fell to his knees anyway when a jolt of agony overtook him, making his vision swim.
“Oh my goodness! Darcy!” Elizabeth was on her knees beside him. “Can you hear me? Are you well?”
He gritted his teeth savagely and forced himself to answer in the affirmative with their agreed hand gesture.
Elizabeth hooked her hands under his arm and began to tug him up out of the snow. “What are you doing out here?”
Leaning more heavily on her than he liked, he pushed himself to his feet. “Looking for you.”
“Looking for…Are you out of your wits?”
“Mr Darcy, I presume?” At Stratton’s arrival on the scene, Darcy instinctively jerked his arm tightly to his side, tugging Elizabeth closer with it. He made no attempt to conceal the resentful curl of his lip, even when, from the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth frown at him.
“Yes, this is he,” she answered in his stead. “Pray excuse him, sir. He cannot speak”—she peered closer still—“and he is not well.”
“I am well enough,” Darcy mouthed in retort. “Do not apologise to this man for me.”
Elizabeth recoiled, snatching her hands from his arm, her frown changed from one of concern to one of confusion and displeasure.
“Everything well out here? Uncle Timmins sent me to see if I can help any?” came an insouciant interruption from John, who was trotting towards them from the inn.
Darcy could scarcely contain his pique, for had the boy made more effort to help half an hour ago, he might not have ended up on his knees in the snow. “Not now,” he mouthed angrily.
“Yes, thank you, John. You could take this indoors for me,” Elizabeth said, retrieving a basket from the snow and handing it to him. He took it with another of his shrugs and went away.A boy of few words and even fewer manners, Darcy reflected with disgust.
Turning to the other gentleman, Elizabeth said, “I thank you for your kindness this afternoon, sir. Pray, do not let me keep you from your wife a moment longer.”
Stratton looked uneasily between her and Darcy, apparently unsure whether or not to leave. Darcy helped him shed his ambivalence by mouthing, severely, “Good day, sir.”
“Good day, then,” Stratton said with a conspiratorial look to Elizabeth that did nothing to soften Darcy’s opinion of him. “Do be sure to let me know if there is any way in which Mrs Stratton or I can be of assistance.”
Elizabeth assured him she would and remained silent as he walked away. The moment they both disappeared inside, Darcy turned, his lips already forming around his first question, but Elizabeth took full advantage of his muteness and spoke over him.
“What do you mean, being so uncivil to poor Mr Stratton?”
