Page 37 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“Mrs Vincent,” said Mr Monroe, obviously relieved to see the housekeeper. “Is Miss Bennet in there? Is it locked? If so, do you have the key?”

The housekeeper stood. “Someone is down there. They must have heard my footsteps, for they have been knocking. And there has been a clicking noise coming from below. As for the key, it is missing, sir. I do not know how it happened, but someone took it.”

“Wait!” Alfred flung out both his arms, impeding the men behind from moving forwards. The floor in front of him rattled. A trapdoor slowly opened.

Darcy could have wept when a head, full of cobwebs and unpinned brunette curls, emerged from what appeared to be a priest hole.

Elizabeth squinted in the candlelight. “What took you so long? I despaired of ever effecting my escape.” With the footman and housekeeper’s assistance, she climbed out of the centuries-old hiding place. “Have I missed dinner? I am hungry and filthy.” She brushed off her dress and winced. “Kindly pardon my appearance. I broke ten hairpins and a fingernail trying to pick that stubborn lock. The eleventh pin worked like a charm.”

Darcy ran his eyes over Elizabeth’s form. A dark stain spread downwards on the side of her skirt from thigh to knee. It took every bit of decorum bred into him to stop himself from rushing forwards and crushing her to his chest, especially when fat tears slipped down her cheeks.

Mrs Vincent passed the candle to Alfred and enfolded Elizabeth in her arms. “There, there, dear. You have had an awful fright, but you are safe now. Come, let us get you washed and fed.” With fire in her eyes, the housekeeper looked at the four men. “Find the wretch who did this to her!”

“I know who it was,” said Elizabeth between sniffs.

Brushing past the others, Darcy handed her his pristine handkerchief, dearly wishing he could do more.

“Thank you.” She gave him a watery smile and, leaving Mrs Vincent’s embrace, wiped her eyes.

“Who did this to you, Miss Bennet? Who is he?”

Darcy had never heard Mr Hadley so full of anger and anguish; and when he glanced at the footman and attorney, they, too, appeared ready to tear the perpetrator limb from limb.

It was Fordham. It had to be. But he was already in the parlour when I arrived shortly after half past five.

Peering down into the pitch black of the priest hole, Darcy shuddered before kicking it closed. “How long were you in that hide, Miss Bennet?”

“I cannot be certain how much time might have elapsed, but I left my room at about half past five. While trapped, to dissipate a measure of panic, I sang ‘Old Maid in the Garret’ at least a dozen times.” Rubbing her forehead, she moved unsteadily and looked terribly pale in the candlelight. “The person who…attacked me and…locked me…in…there…was…”

Moving fast, Darcy caught her before she could hit the floor, and he prayed she had not fainted from blood loss.

One arm round Elizabeth’s lower back and the other behind her knees, mindful of her injury, Darcy lifted her limp form and held it close to him. Shoulders back and grip secure, he took a deep breath and a careful step forwards, maintaining his balance.

Thus, he began the treacherous descent of the staircase, fearful it might collapse under their combined weight, though she was as light as a feather and no burden to him. Almost immediately, she groaned and revived. He stopped on a stair and watched her fine eyes flutter open. “What…? Where am I? Mr Darcy?”

He felt her stiffen in his arms. “Mr Darcy! Put me down on my own two feet at once. I am perfectly well now. I merely was overwhelmed earlier. Please, put me down.”

He would not hear of it, but he did have to listen to her constant fears of overtaxing his back. In gentle tones, he repeatedly assured her he was under no strain at all. If he took pride in exhibiting his physical prowess, no one else need know.

“Sir, allow me to carry Miss Bennet for you.”

Darcy told Alfred that he could manage quite well himself, thank you. Under no circumstances was he going to surrender his precious cargo to anyone else’s care.

“Watch Miss Bennet’s head, Darcy! The stairs bend to the right just ahead.” Mr Hadley, on Darcy’s heels, kept up a running commentary on the twists and turns in the staircase.

All the while, Darcy relished the feel of the young woman in his arms, and he imagined carrying her across Pemberley’s threshold.

“Why,” she asked, “are you suddenly grinning like a Cheshire cat?”

Because you, my darling, never will be an old maid in the garret if I have any say in the matter. “This is not a grin, madam. This is a grimace—an ugly, twisted expression brought on by the pain of carrying a ton of bricks down a steep spiral staircase.” His remark produced the desired effect.

She smiled, then spoke in no uncertain terms. “Put me down, sir. Now!”

He pretended he had not heard and concentrated on breathing in her fragrance, which customarily brought to mind a summer meadow or an autumn orchard. Now I detect traces of a granary or vegetable cellar.

“Mrs Vincent,” called Mr Monroe from behind. “I will not hear of a genteel lady being carried through servants’ passages. We shall take the longer but easier route.”

“Easier for whom?” muttered Elizabeth. “I shall walk from here.”