He had forgotten about that. The elation of his discovery drained away as if it had never been. “No one knows for certain how time works in Faerie except that it is different from here, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. But Elizabeth would know of that risk, and she did not mention having a problem when she visited Faerie before. She would be careful of time passing, would she not?” As if somehow Mrs. Collins could answer his question and reassure him.
“I hope so.” She looked down at her hands. “I always wondered how the old stories could be true. If the fay dance on Beltane and All Souls Night, and a day in Faerie is as long as a hundred of our years, would that not mean they would be dancing at a hundred Beltanes and a hundred All Souls Nights each day?”
“A good point. Any difference of time between our world and faerie must not be large. That would relieve one worry.” Darcy refused to consider any other option.
Mrs. Collins said, “Should I tell the Bennets about your theory? I would rather not mention it to my husband. Lady Catherine equates the fay with the devil, and he has adopted her attitude in this, as in so many other things.”
As if his aunt had not already caused enough trouble! “I am aware of Lady Catherine’s prejudices. Perhaps it would be best to keep this to ourselves for now.”
“I will. But I thank you for telling me. It has relieved my mind of my worst suspicions.” Mrs. Collins wiped away a stray tear.
“HER CHATELAINE. HERkeys. Where are Lady Catherine’s keys?” Darcy tried to keep his anger in check. His aunt’s nonsensical shouting from the next room did not help.
“Yes, sir. I know, sir,” the maid squeaked. “They are in the table beside her bed. The drawer, but she says we are never, ever, ever to touch that drawer. Ever.”
“I am not asking you to touch it.” Darcy opened the bedroom door and strode in. A teacup flew at his head, but he ducked it without missing a step.
“Gardenias!” cried Lady Catherine. “Nettles and gardenias, all of them!”
“Nettles and gardenias,” Darcy agreed as he opened the drawer. The chatelaine with its dangling keys sat atop a pile of old papers.
A bony hand grasped his wrist. “No!” shrieked his aunt. Of course, the very first word Lady Catherine used sensibly would be ‘no.’
Darcy pried away her fingers. “Yes. Elizabeth saved your life, and now I am trying to save hers.” He held the keys out of her reach. “You should rest.”
“Oak and ash and thorn, they are all thieves born,” she said in the singsong of a nursery rhyme.
Dear God, now she sounded like a fay. He would have to ask Elizabeth if that was typical after elfshot.
No, he had to find Elizabeth first.
The maid still looked horrified at his presumption. Darcy moved past her and started up the stairs two at a time.
Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s library and study were at the far end of the wing. No doubt Lady Catherine had thought it safer that way. Now it was abandoned. The housekeeper had told him no one was permitted near the room, and Lady Catherine kept the only key. The heavy layer of dust outside the door seem to confirm her story.
He tried the keys one by one. When he finally found the correct key, the lock was too stiff to turn. He had already tried the usual spell for unlocking doors without success, so he leaned his forehead against the lock plate, picturing drops of oil running through the mechanism. Finally, with a piercing squeal of metal on metal, the key turned, and the door opened.
A cloud of dust made him cough as soon as he stepped inside the room. He wrenched open the closed curtains to allow enough light in to see. A long workbench stood against one wall, its surface cluttered with flasks and bottles of all sizes, stones, and unrecognizable wizened things. Darcy raised his eyebrows. Sir Lewis must have been mixing alchemy and magic. He would have been expelled from the Collegium of Mages ifanyone had ever found out.
Darcy did not care about the past, only about Sir Lewis’s books. They were in a locked bookcase, but this lock responded to his spell. The top shelf held musty books in Italian and Latin, so he started on the second shelf where the books were in English. They were all locked with standard Collegium spells to keep the books closed to any non-mage, but that would not stop him. He chose several to take downstairs to read in less unpleasant surroundings.
BLEARY-EYED FROM EXAMININGthe centuries-old book, Darcy looked up to see Richard in the doorway, his clothing covered with road dust.
“Nothing,” said Richard gloomily. “I found plenty of things, mostly dead rabbits and the remains of poached deer, but no sign of her. Has there been any word here?”
“None,” said Darcy. “But I do have a theory, one that I do not want to come to the attention of the Collegium or your father, at least not until Miss Bennet is safely back.”
Richard grimaced. “I will tell no one, and I pray your theory is correct, since otherwise I see little hope of finding her alive.”
“This may not be much better.” Darcy closed the tome in front of him. “I cast an old finding spell, one I did not expect to work, but I had already tried everything else. It led me straight to a faerie ring, one I have walked past a dozen times and never noticed. The trail stopped in the center of the ring.”
Richard whistled. “You think she went to Faerie?”
Darcy nodded.
“Faerie,” said Richard reflectively. “That is perhaps the most preposterous theory I have heard, but it makes more sense than anyother.”
“My thought exactly. And she has gone to Faerie before, which makes it slightly less preposterous.”
