That would have to do until someone could arrive with another rope. As long as it held the carriage, even if the trees below gave way, it would give her father time to arrive and take over.
“Miss Elizabeth! I beg of you, come back and allow us to take the rope!”
“Brooks,” she cried, “I am the lightest one here, and a single stone in weight may make the difference. You do your part, I shall do mine.”
With an oath, Brooks tossed the end of the rope to her and then turned to instruct the men behind him. “Just loop it around the wheels!”
That would never do. Too much force and the wheels and axle might separate from the rest of the conveyance. Elizabeth began to pick her way carefully back down the slope, rope coiled and around her arm. When she was a few feet from the edge, she lowered herself to her hands and knees, pushing her skirt up and out of the way as she made her way to the carriage.
Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she slowly crawled through the muck, placing one hand forward and then bringing her knee up. Stop. Placed the opposite hand forward, brought the other knee up. Cold mud pushed up between her fingers, but the rain was letting up.
After what seemed an eternity, she could reach out and touch the driver’s box. “Jane!” she called.
“Lizzy?” Jane’s voice was weak and frightened. “What are you doing out there?”
“I have come with help, Jane. Papa is on his way. Are you hurt?”
After a pause, Jane replied, “Not badly. The coach tipped over and slid, but it did not roll.”
“Can you move?”
“Not much—the coach shifts when I do. Where is Mr. Tobias?”
“I do not know, but we will find him. First, can you help me thread the ropes through the windows?”
“If I am only required to use my arm. I do not wish to move much.” Jane’s voice was tight, and Elizabeth closed her eyes and steadied her breath.
“Very well.” She lay flat on her stomach and wiggled forward. When she reached the broken window, she dug a small hole in the mud under the window that was pressed to the ground before passing the rope through with enough slack for her sister to raise to the window that now faced the sky. Elizabeth gently plucked out a larger piece of glass from the upper window so it would not fray the rope. “Careful, Jane,” she warned, “do not cut yourself.”
She could not see her sister, but eventually, the end of the rope appeared at the top of the carriage.
Hand over hand, Elizabeth carefully pulled the entire length of the rope through the opening allowing nothing to touch the sides. Once it was all coiled and again over her arm, she made her way up towards the road, gradually unwinding the rope as she did.
Her limbs were shaking with anxiety and exhaustion, so when she was still twenty feet from the top, she sat and tossed the rope up the remainder of the way. Brooks caught it, and then there was movement and shouting as the men secured the line to the closest oak. Brooks returned with another line.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he shouted. “We have two more ropes. Tie one around your waist!”
She nodded and did so. The brief rest had done her good, and the knowledge that at least one side of the carriage was anchored lessened her anxiety. If the sliding earth pulled the carriage over the side, however, Jane might still be tossed out. Elizabeth glanced at the road.
Where was her father?
Chapter Seven
“Iwantedtostrangleyou,” Darcy told Bingley as he poured the man a port and Fitzwilliam handed him a cigar. Bennet was in another private room, speaking with Colonel Forster about his newest lieutenant. “But you had a plan all along.”
“It is the face,” Bingley said with a grin, sliding the cigar into a pocket inside his coat. “No one believes I could be anything but stupidly honest and charitable.” He shook his head. “The impudence of the man. I heard him spinning his sorry tale to the other officers. He was well aware you are the heir.”
“Were the heir,” Fitzwilliam corrected Bingley. “Now the master.”
“One of two,” Darcy added quietly.
Fitzwilliam gave him a slight, silent nod. “Do you think he actually has a connection to Pemberley?”
Darcy sipped his wine. “The best lies are wrapped around truths. I suspect he truly is the son of the steward who died a few years back, and he may even have been my great-uncle’s godson. Uncle Darcy stood godfather for at least a half-dozen children on the estate, and he sent them all to school. Not to university, though.”
“If that is so, Mr. Wickham is even less qualified to hold a living than we believed,” Fitzwilliam said with a sigh, and sat down. “I cannot like how free he felt to approach you.”
“I am afraid it is something to which you shall have to grow accustomed,” Bingley said. “When you have come into a fortune, there are always those who wish to help themselves to it.”