The sound of Balfour fully cocking the hammer was loud over their laboured breathing. Balfour jumped to his feet, pointing it at him. Darcy rose more slowly, wiping the blood from his lip.
“What shall you do now?” he asked, spitting out the blood in his mouth. “The first death might have been manslaughter, but shooting me will be murder.”
He heard quick footsteps approach the door, and when it flung open Elizabeth charged into the gunroom. Balfour started and swung the pistol straight at her. She gave a gasp of astonishment and steppedbackward in alarm until she tripped against the door’s edge, shutting it behind her.
Darcy cursed quietly. A cold sweat broke out across him. Every muscle in his body felt tense, and he had to decide if he could convince Balfour to let Elizabeth go, or if he must rush forward to stand between them.
“Balfour,” he said quietly, and, thankfully, as Balfour’s attention turned back to him, he aimed the pistol at him as well, “we had best tell Miss Bennet there is nothing to be concerned about, and let her get to bed.”
“I dinna think she should leave. She will raise an alarm!”
“No, no of course she won’t,” he said as gently as he could. “She heard a noise and came to check, but there is nothing the matter. Miss Bennet will say good night and leave us to finish our conversation, won’t you?” he added, looking directly at her and imploring her with his eyes to run from here as fast as she could.
Elizabeth shook her head slightly, but she brought her hands behind her back to reach for the door. He heard what must have been the latch click and felt a surge of relief. But Balfour aimed the pistol at Elizabeth again, his fingers shaking. She started and dropped her hands at her sides.
“She is only opening the door!” Darcy cried. “She can leave. Miss Bennet knows nothing about any of this.”
Balfour’s left eye was rapidly swelling shut, and he seemed on the verge of angry tears. “She may not, but you cannot say she will be quiet about what she has seen here.”
“Listen to me!” he cried, and the pistol moved back to him. “You can leave. I shall say nothing about this or the other matter. Let Miss Bennet go, and she will go straight to bed. Then you can take a horse and leave. The stable yard is right there.”
Balfour might shoot him before he fled, but it would keep Elizabeth safe. Balfour would only have time to fire one shot before the whole house came running.And I cannot allow that single shot to be fired at Elizabeth.Besides, the ring might still be found, and Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam knew the truth. If Balfour murdered him, Carew would still have her justice.
“If I leave, you won’t stay silent about that maid, will you?” Balfour asked, his voice raising. “You would see me hang! Me, your friend!”
Elizabeth appeared to be wringing her hands or nervously adjusting her sleeves. He hoped she had the presence of mind to run as soon as she had the opportunity. Balfour was growing frantic. The more certain he was that he was not going to escape justice, the more desperate he would likely become.
And the more likely it will be that someone gets shot.
“What matters to me now is that Miss Bennet remains unharmed,” he said softly, not looking at her in case Balfour followed his attention with the pistol.
“She will say that I shot you. I shall have to kill both of you and flee!”
“You have one shot. Shoot me if you must, but Miss Bennet is leaving now,” he said, taking a step closer.
He heard Elizabeth give a little whimper, and Balfour’s pistol moved towards the sound.
“Balfour! Look at me!” he cried, hating the desperation that surged into his voice. The pistol jerked back to him, and that was what mattered. “She is walking away, and then you may leave as well. Elizabeth,” he said without looking from Balfour, “go upstairs.”
“But you will still go to the magistrate if I leave the parish.” Balfour gestured angrily at him with the pistol, but with only eight feet between them, he was certain to hit him. “You will get a warrant from the King’s Bench, and put a notice in theHue and Cryto make them pursue me across Great Britain!”
“No, I won’t.”
“Damn your soul, Darcy,” Balfour said, with a sad smile and levelling the gun, “you truly cannot lie to save your life.”
The sudden crack of gunfire filled the small room, and he heard the dull thud of an impact against the wall.
Balfour flinched, and he lowered his pistol arm. Darcy rushed forward and grabbed the barrel with his left hand, forcing it down, whilst drawing back with his right to punch Balfour a second time. When he fell, Darcy pried the pistol from his hand; it was still loadedand fully cocked. Balfour stayed on the ground, his face filled with abject despair, and only then did Darcy look at Elizabeth.
Somehow, she had got a hold of the pistol he had left behind, and distracted Balfour by firing it. She took a few steps into the room, alternating her shocked gaze between Balfour and the hole on the opposite wall above their heads. The horrified look on her face made it hard for him to determine if she was about to faint or scream.
“Are you well?” he asked, keeping the pistol aimed at Balfour.
Elizabeth dropped her pistol onto the table and nodded.
“Would you go into the hall and call for?—”
Before he could finish, Mrs Reynolds ran into the room wearing her dressing gown, followed by a footman out of his livery. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who looked like he had just arrived, hurried in behind them. He watched his cousin’s eyes take in the scene—Darcy’s bloodied lip, the pistol in his hand, and Balfour on the floor—and began to shout orders.
