Chapter 4
Darcy picked up a napkin from the tray and wiped his face. A soggy bit of crust fell from his hair. Elizabeth muttered a few words of apology and bent awkwardly to collect the pieces of the plate she had thrown.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said immediately, “please leave that. You are still recovering from the laudanum. You ought to rest.”
Her hand hovered over the broken china but then withdrew. “Is that what I was given?” She sat warily on the end of the bed.
Fitz finally took a few steps into the room. “We believe it was, yes,” he said.
Even in all the commotion, they had managed not to upset the candles, and in their light Darcy could see that Elizabeth was not well. She cradled her splinted arm in her good one, and despite the cold compress he had held to her face, the bruise had swollen a little along her cheekbone. She lifted one shoulder uncomfortably, and he was reminded that she had ridden to London on a bed of metal tools. He tried to control his frustration. She must be in considerable pain. Why could she not just have listened to him and remained abed?
“I must apologize, Mr. Darcy,” she said almost as though she could sense his thoughts. “I am not myself. I cannot tell if it is still daylight or what day it is at all. I left my home for a walk, was forced into a carriage by two men I have never met, and then I awoke . . . here.”
Her distress was genuine, and Darcy’s irritation dissipated. Elizabeth was still under the influence of the laudanum. She was not thinking clearly. It was not her fault. Indeed, the spirit she had shown in attempting an escape was rather remarkable.
Elizabeth had Fitz’s attention. “These two men, Miss Bennet. Can you describe them?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said resolutely. She explained their features. Darcy did not recognize either man.
He tried to recall any new acquaintances he had made at the ball, but he had declined Miss Bingley’s repeated requests to join them in the receiving line, insisting that he was a guest, not a member of the family. It was difficult enough when his Aunt Matlock pressed him into service for her annual ball, and he owed Caroline Bingley nothing in terms of her arrangements. Thank heavens he had not given in; he would not wish his presence to corroborate any gossip about a closer connection between himself and the Bingley family. His typical reluctance to engage in social niceties had served him well there, but had it made Miss Bingley desperate? Had his determination to avoid Miss Bingley led to the compromise attempt or the attack on Elizabeth?
Fitz was staring at him, and he shook his head.
“If you are well enough,” Fitz said, returning his attention to Elizabeth, “perhaps you might explain how you came to be in the boot of Darcy’s carriage?”
Darcy nearly protested that Elizabeth ought to rest, but Fitz was correct. The sooner they had the information the better off they would all be, including Elizabeth.
She took a deep breath. “I . . .” She stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
Fitz began to repeat his statement.
“Perhaps,” Darcy interceded, “you would just tell us what happened to you this morning, Miss Elizabeth. From the beginning.” He motioned to her clothing. “You say you walked out, and you are indeed attired for a walk.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I could not sleep after our . . . conversation at the ball, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy gave her an encouraging nod.
“We had arrived home quite late and my family was still upstairs. I went out for a walk after the sun rose.” She shivered and sniffled but continued. “I needed to think about the things you had said. I was not attending to my whereabouts and had nearly reached the edge of my father’s lands. I turned back for home but my way was blocked by two men on horseback.”
“Had you seen them before?” Darcy inquired.
She shook her head. “No, but the path they were on leads from Netherfield House to Longbourn. I presumed they had attended the ball.”
“They may have,” Fitz said thoughtfully. “Or they may have pretended to be invited.”
“They said they wished to call upon my father,” Elizabeth said tiredly. “But it was far too early to call.” She worried her bottom lip. “Do you suppose they meant to take me from the house?”
Darcy exchanged a glance with Fitz, whose expression was stony. It was possible, but it would have been difficult with such a large family still inside.
“Are there windows in your room, Miss Elizabeth?” Fitz asked.
She nodded. “One large window that faces the gardens in the back of the house.”
Fitz lifted one shoulder. “They may have only wished to scout the premises and watch for an opportunity to take you, but if they were in a hurry, they might try it. After a ball, I would hazard a guess that everyone was sleeping late, and the servants were less likely to be upstairs . . .”
“Better to be taken away from the house, then. Had I been with my sisters . . .” Elizabeth closed her eyes. “At least no one else was hurt.”
Fitz was silent, but his steady gaze meant that Elizabeth had impressed him. Darcy understood the feeling. “Do you recall anything else?” he asked.