Page 38 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“No. I am perfectly capable of carrying you from here to Slough, if necessary.”

Leading the way—though perilously walking backwards down the spiral staircase while guiding Darcy—Mrs Vincent softly asked whether Miss Bennet was ready to name the contemptible blackguard who had assailed her.

“Blackguard? It was not a man who attacked me and forced me into that horrid hide.”

A collective breath was held as everyone waited. Darcy’s mind raced. Surely not Miss Rigby!

“It was the maid Henrietta.” Although she had whispered the name, Darcy was certain the others heard, for there came a collective gasp.

“This is our fault. Henrietta was hired by Pemberton & Monroe.” In a tone of violent indignation, the attorney added, “She will be made to pay. Perhaps some time in the priest hole would serve as apt punishment.”

“No!” Elizabeth tried to wriggle free of Darcy’s arms, and he had a spot of bother trying to maintain his balance on the third last stair. “Please, please,” she begged, “do not put Henrietta, or anyone, ever, in that awful place! So dark, so airless.” She shuddered.

Darcy hugged her tighter and discreetly placed a light kiss upon her hair.

Mr Monroe spoke gently. “As you wish. In fact, I shall have the hiding place dismantled as soon as may be.”

Arriving at Elizabeth’s apartment, they found Miss Rigby and Rachel anxiously waiting at the door.

Lowering his body, Darcy allowed Elizabeth to safely place her feet upon the floor. He helped her stand but remained ready to assist if she stumbled. He need not have bothered. Together with Mrs Vincent, the women whisked the young lady into her bedchamber, and the four men were banished.

The instant the door closed in his face, Darcy was bereft. Still feeling Elizabeth’s body against his, he turned and joined the other solemn men as they made their way downstairs.

At the bottom of the grand staircase, Mr Monroe rubbed his temples and ordered Alfred to have Henrietta brought to him in the library. “Secure her hands behind her back. Spare the wretched girl no mercy.”

Grim-faced, Alfred nodded and set off to take the perpetrator captive.

Darcy approached the attorney and asked to be included while the maid was questioned. Mr Hadley was right behind him. “I wish to be there, too, sir. Miss Bennet is”—he glanced at Darcy—“our friend.”

“Where the devil has Mr Fordham been during this entire incident?” Mr Monroe looked about the vestibule. “Why did he not accompany us to the garret? Was he not concerned about Miss Bennet’s welfare?”

Darcy and Mr Hadley exchanged a look, then followed their host to the library.

I had not given Fordham a second thought, but I suppose he is in the dining room enjoying dinner. For his part, Darcy had no appetite, and he declined either a seat or a glass of brandy when they were offered. He paced, and his heart throbbed in rhythm with the clock’s pendulum.

He, Hadley, and Mr Monroe turned at a sudden sound from the doorway. But it was Miss Rigby, who had come down to advise them of Elizabeth’s condition.

“The poor dear is recovering. She has eaten a bite, and her wound has been tended. Now she is up there pacing and fretting over Mr Darcy’s back, the tournament, and her ruined gown, in that order.”

Finally, Alfred returned with Henrietta. The maid looked as though butter would not melt in her mouth, but the footman seemed ready to beat walls. “Here she is, Mr Monroe. She and Mr Fordham were in the coach house together, waiting for his carriage to be readied. It seems he was absconding and taking her with him. Mr Atwater and Christopher are detaining the gentleman, in case you wish to question him as well.”

19

A TICKING TIMEPIECE

Sleep had come in fits and starts. Restless wakefulness had been followed by dreams of confined spaces and sensations of suffocation. Elizabeth awoke each time gasping for air but was comforted by either Rachel or Miss Rigby, who had taken turns sitting at her bedside.

Through a gap in the curtains, morning sunlight peeked into the room, and Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. The splinter’s gash on her thigh ached, but it had been cleaned and a poultice applied the previous night.

Bestirring herself, she squinted at the mantel’s timepiece. Ten o’clock! Never had she arisen so late; and, it being Wednesday, only fourteen hours remained in the competition.

“Good morning, miss. Would you care for some chocolate?” Rachel patted a silver pot. “’Tis no longer steaming hot but still nice and warm.”

“I would, but much time was wasted last night. My being close to victory must be the reason I was forced into that hide. I have a tournament to win, Rachel, and not a minute to spare.” Flinging aside bed covers, Elizabeth placed her feet on the floor. “A puzzle needs solving, and a prize awaits.” She looked to the ewer on the washstand. “Is there warm water? And I shall wear my sprigged muslin this morning.”

“Yes, miss.”

“While you assist with my toilette, tell me what became of Henrietta.”