He could feel the tension in her body at Steamer’s taunts, but she pretended to be tired and stayed silent. Or she was silent from fear.
While the miles passed, Darcy wondered what Elizabeth was feeling. Did she feel the same hatred toward the men who had abducted and tormented them as he did? Was she gripped with terror at what would happen if they could not get away before they arrived at their smuggler’s stronghold on the river? Was she near to trembling at the idea that they would be murdered if they failed to escape, that no amount of money in the world would convince Markle to spare them?
Anticipation of what they had to do felt like it was bursting out of him. He clenched and unclenched his fingers for hours, bouncing his legs and shifting his arm to feel where the quill knife was hidden in his sleeve.
Darcy checked his watch, ignoring Steamer’s shout that he put it away, that it was a damned new moon and too dark to see anything.
I have to drive this tiny knife into that man.
When the time came, any hesitation on his part might cause Steamer to hurt Elizabeth or for her to fall from the carriage instead, or it might lead to them arriving in Dartford still in their captors’ grasp. And all of that meant Markle would kill them.
This entire carriage ride set his teeth on edge. What might go wrong? Simply everything. He continually thought about how to both protect Elizabeth and throw Steamer from the carriage. The wait to get nearer to Dartford felt interminable. He was tense with nerves at the waiting and at not being able to speak to Elizabeth. They exchanged a few glances during the ride, but she seemed to be turned entirely inward.
He supposed that was good, given that she was supposed to be inebriated from laudanum.
With his heart racing, Darcy looked at his watch again. They had been on the road over two hours. Steamer did not yell at him this time. His eyes were closed, but he was likely not asleep in the jolting carriage, but perhaps lulled enough to give Elizabeth more time.
Darcy closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, and then he coughed.
Elizabeth’s eyes flew to his, an expression of anxiety on her countenance. There was a moment of suspense where he wondered if she would act after all. Then she reached for the strap on the door’s window and unhooked the frog holding it in place.
Rather than lower it carefully, she let the strap run through her hand and quickly brought the glass all the way down. The road noise increased and the wind rushed in, and Steamer cried, “Raise that side-glass!”
“I am very hot,” she said weakly, resting her hand on the window frame and then putting her chin on her hand, facing out into the night.
“That is enough,” he said after a moment. “Raise it up now.”
She shook her head, still looking out.
Steamer reached for the strap that raised and lowered the side-glass, but Darcy called out, “Leave her be. You would not want her to be sick in the carriage.”
“She had better not, or she will get her brains knocked out!”
While they talked, Elizabeth reached the hand that had been resting on the window frame down the outside of the carriage. She was reaching for the door handle and within seconds he would have to act. Darcy shifted in his seat and, pretending to fidget with his cuff, brought out the quill knife.
Was it cowardice that he was reluctant to stab Steamer, or did that make him a decent person? Of course, it was necessary and right to save himself and Elizabeth by whatever means necessary, so why was his hand shaking?
“Get your head back in here.” Rather than jump at Steamer’s impatient tone, Elizabeth rested her cheek on the window frame.
She had courage enough to play her role; he would have to conquer his fear.
Elizabeth was not a short woman, but she still had to rise from her seat to lean out enough to grasp the handle. The latch gave way, and Steamer swore a vicious oath before leaping across the carriage.
He grabbed her by the shoulder to pull her back inside the window frame, and she gave a shriek of pain as her hat caught the edge, but she managed to push out the door. The momentum of Steamer’s hard yank brought them both back toward the centre of the carriage as the door swung open.
Elizabeth scrambled to the side, crawling atop the seat to hold open the door. Steamer was on the floor, facing the open door when he shoved Elizabeth with a sharp blow to the chest. She coughed roughly as all the air was driven from her lungs, and she fell back as Steamer reached to close the carriage door. It rattled lightly with each turn of the wheels while Darcy adjusted his grip on the knife.
Darcy raised a fist and brought it down above Steamer’s coat collar, between his neck and his shoulder, driving it down with all the force he could muster. His hand slipped from the knife, and it stayed embedded in Steamer’s flesh, blood oozing out of the wound. Steamer gave a roar of pain and in the same breath reached for his own larger knife. Before he could turn around, Darcy leant against the carriage wall and kicked against Steamer’s back, forcing him off balance. Steamer fell into thedoor, but rather than fall through it he held on to it with both hands.
He heard Steamer drop his knife, and it clattered onto the road as they rumbled on. Darcy shoved him again, but Steamer braced himself against the open door, his upper body leaning over the roadway. Elizabeth brought out her broken bottle and drove it into Steamer’s hand.
With a scream of outrage, Steamer let go. Darcy gave him a final shove, and he tumbled out.
The rear wheel jolted, and Darcy thought Steamer had been run over. Elizabeth reached to shut the door while Darcy knelt onto the rear seats to look out the window, but it was too dark for him to see if Steamer had rolled free or been crushed.
Darcy turned around, collapsing into the seat with a weary sigh. Elizabeth was pale, and then she gave a little cry of laughter as tears ran down her face. It was as though her body did not know whether to rejoice at being successful or cry at the distress of it. His own relief was short-lived; Conway was not slowing the horses.
“Why do you look like that?” she asked, smiling even though she still clutched the broken bottle. She raised the side-glass and latched the strap back into place. “We did it!”
