Elizabeth turned towards the voice and saw the housekeeper wrapping an arm around the mistress’s shoulder.
But Miss de Bourgh did not appear to hear her. The lady watched in stunned silence, as if the sight of her burning home had cast some terrible spell over her. She said nothing, and no trace of emotion stirred her pale, drawn features, which were untouched even by the housekeeper’s quiet gesture of comfort. Then, slowly, she inclined her head and leaned against the woman’s shoulder, her gaze never leaving the inferno.
Elizabeth took pity upon her. First, she had lost her mother, and now her home. Surely the shock had numbed her—no one could remain so calm in the face of such ruin.
Charlotte, silent until now, stepped forward and intercepted one of the footmen rushing past. “Have you seen Mr. Collins?”
The servant looked at her, puzzled.
“The parson. Have you seen him?”
The man shook his head and hurried away.
“He is inside,” Anne replied with composure, casting a brief glance towards Charlotte. “My cousin went for him.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. Mr. Darcy was looking for Mr. Collins in the burning house? Charlotte’s stricken face showed she had heard the same.
A stir behind them drew their attention. Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned.
“Richard!” Miss de Bourgh’s stillness was gone in an instant as she ran to meet him.
“Anne!” Colonel Fitzwilliam caught her in a firm embrace.
“Oh, Richard, I thought you were gone!” She sobbed into his chest.
“I saw the fire from the ship. I had to come back.”
Between trembling sobs, Anne recounted what had taken place in her room: Mr. Collins’s sudden attack, their struggle, and the fire that followed. Charlotte’s features twisted in shock and disbelief as she clung to Maria’s steadying hand. Her poor friend! But Elizabeth’s fear was fixed elsewhere, and she must alert the colonel before it was too late!
“Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth stepped forward, her voice urgent. “Mr. Darcy is still inside! He brought Miss de Bourgh out safely, but he returned to help the others!”
“He is still inside?” the colonel’s expression hardened. “I must go for him.”
“No!” Anne clung to his arm. “Richard, do not leave me!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled away and ran into the house.
***
Darcy sat up on the stone and came face to face with theburning house. His options for escape were meagre at best. Behind him, a dark abyss towered over the turbulent waters below and, on either side, a row of crumbling stone balconies. He had come to the terrace with the intent to jump from one balcony to another, but after witnessing Collins’s fateful fall, he was uncertain of his odds of suffering the same.
He rose, aware that time played against him. The fire’s glow illuminated his surroundings, allowing the separation between balconies to become visible. The gaps were wider than he had anticipated, but some protruding stones might provide enough support for a careful climb. It was a treacherous path, and the adjoining room might already be taken by fire, but he had no other choice.
Bracing himself, he passed over the railing and stepped onto the first stone. It held firm. Keeping his body pressed tightly against the wall, he advanced slowly, one step at a time. His shoe slipped once, but he recovered, heart hammering against his ribs. When he reached the next balcony, he took a breath and leaped.
A mistake.
His landing was unsteady, and loose tiles beneath his shoes sent him sprawling forward. His torso slammed against the stone ledge, dislodging pieces of masonry that tumbled into the abyss. He grasped at the pillar beside him, fingers scraping for purchase as his feet kicked the air.
For a moment, hanging over the precipice, exhaustion nearly overcame him. Was this how it ended?
***
Fitzwilliam dashed up the stairs, sidestepping a fleeing servant.
“Have you seen Mr. Darcy?” he demanded, gripping the man’s sleeve.
“The last I saw, he went into Miss de Bourgh’s rooms. But those have fallen in!”
