“Do they believe me a dullard?” Darcy asked.
“They will hope that you are and take their chances,” Bingley replied. “These people have no shame.”
“As we saw tonight.” Darcy set down his empty glass.
“Shortly after my father’s death, I lost a hundred pounds to a man much like this, only he was family,” Bingley confessed. “After I realised what he had done, how he had lied, I confronted him, only to be told the money was already gone.” He crossed his legs and sat back. “In the end, it was a small price for a valuable lesson. I was never taken in again.”
“No,” Fitzwilliam said, “you playthe fool instead.”
“Better to play the fool than to be one,” Bingley told them.
“I shall drink to that,” Fitzwilliam said, lifting his glass.
Darcy stood to refill his glass but startled when Bennet threw the door open. He clutched a note in his hand, his expression grim.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “I require your assistance.”
The second trip down to the carriage was more difficult than the first. Elizabeth took very small steps as her feet slipped out from under her time and again. When she finally reached her destination, she explained what she required her sister to do.
“I shall have to sit up to reach it,” Jane called, and Elizabeth could not like how faint her sister’s voice had become.
“Gently!” Elizabeth called.
The coach slipped an inch. Another.
After a few moments, the very tip of the rope emerged from the other window of the carriage, and Elizabeth reached, pulled, coiled, and hurried away, tossing it up to Brooks from the same distance as the first. It landed short of its mark, but Brooks scrambled down to retrieve it. Elizabeth dashed away again, giving the carriage itself a wide berth and once more approaching from the side.
The rear of the carriage was gradually swinging out over the drop an inch at a time.
There were shouts of relief and welcome from above. Elizabeth lifted the dripping brim of her hat and saw two horses galloping up from the direction of town.
“Papa,” she whispered. “Thank God.”
When they emerged into the night, the rain was only a fine mist, but it was damp enough to chill a man to his bones.
“Fitzwilliam, Bingley,” Bennet barked, “check the road to Longbourn—the boy took a shortcut and could not say where the accident occurred. If you see nothing, join us on the Netherfield road. Darcy, with me.”
The men all swung up onto their horses. “I know where I pray the accident didnothappen,” Bennet said directly to Darcy, “but if it has, we may need you and your contraptions. We will check there first.”
Darcy nodded and followed Bennet.
They saw the men gathered first, and Bennet swore. “Damnation. Worst possible place,” he said as they both dismounted.
There was one taut rope tied to a large, stout oak. Darcy checked the knots and, satisfied they would hold, returned to his horse, and tossed the saddlebags over his shoulder. Once back at the tree, he withdrew one of the two pulleys he had fashioned out of wood and called several men over as they began to work.
“Is there more rope?” he asked, “I have a length here, but it is not long enough for the purpose.”
“Billy’s gone back to Longbourn for more, sir,” said a young man. “Should be back any time.”
“Not Netherfield?” It was closer.
“Already took what Netherfield had. Not much there.”
Darcy nodded, then strode over to Bennet just as a man crawled onto the road from the slope, all over mud and breathing hard.
“Brooks,” Bennet said. “What is the situation?”
“Sir,” Brooks said, and rose, holding two ends of a rope. “Miss Jane is still in the coach. We have not seen Old Tobias.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I am sorry, but she would not listen to me.”