“Of course not, but you know Lizzy. She is ever inquisitive, and I believe she has learnt to doubt the first thing she is told. She is not so foolish as to believe the explanation you gave to Thomas, and she has seen Mr Darcy’s generosity for herself.”
His troubled eyes swept the page again. “Only yesterday, I might have suffered no qualms in relaying to her the entire truth, but….”
“But not after Mr Darcy did not appear today?” she guessed very softly. “I thought him well disposed toward her, but that would seem a clear enough indication that he does not intend to renew their acquaintance.”
His face pinched. “Perhaps it is best if she is not led to hope, the sooner her eyes might fall on another.”
She shook her head. “It will not be that simple, I am afraid. Lizzy will see through any dissembling of mine, but even if she does not, I do not believe any other man will easily draw her attention.”
“Why ever not? She is a sensible young lady.”
“She is, Edward, but though she is just coming to know this for herself, I have believed it for some weeks—she is also a young lady violently in love.”
Water. Water everywhere.
Darcygasped,convulsingandstruggling for air. His efforts only intensified the sensation of drowning, filling his lungs with fluid and sending him gagging to his knees. Someone’s boot connected with his middle then, and his abdomen seized uncontrollably.
His eyes wild with panic, he rolled to his back in the pool of water. For eternal seconds, he writhed for air, willing his reluctant lungs to draw breath. Through the haze commanding his mind, his eyes registered two figures and a bucket bending over him. Several shrieking, gasping breaths later, he knew the figures for men, neither of whom he recognised.
“Are yew sure that’s ‘im?” one voice whispered. “’E don’ look so ‘igh an’ mighty.”
“Lawd, that’s ‘im alright. I’d know ‘im anywhere, wiv’ dat fancy waistcoat an’ a’. I’ve been watchin’ ‘im fer months!”
“But ‘e ain’t got no money! F’ought yew said this bloke was rich?”
“’Course ‘e ain’t got money, ‘e gave it to yore ‘arlot!” guffawed the first man. “’E’s a fool, tha’s what ‘e is. Bloke like ‘im could ‘ave paid fer much be’er.”
Darcy was squinting at the two men, still coughing intermittently. He struggled to rise, but quickly found he had been stripped of his former raiment and bound, hand and foot. Little remained of his previous attire but the very most personal of articles, and his torso had been left bare, cold, and wet.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you mean by accosting and robbing me as you have done? I caution you to release me at once, for you shall not like the consequences of detaining me!”
“Oh, ‘e says we’re to let ‘im go! ‘Ow d’yew like that?” the taller man roared in delight. “Naw, suh, yew be goin’ wiv’ us, on a nice li’le voyage.”
“How dare!” Darcy bellowed, attempting to roll to his knees. “I will have you know—” but he was silenced by a vicious kick to his jaw. Robbed of his hands, he fell to his face, spitting blood. Fire shot through his veins at the painful insult. Anchoring his shoulder to the ground, he whirled and lashed out with his bound feet, sweeping them like thick truncheons beneath the shorter man and tumbling him to the floor with a surprised little squeak.
Darcy was on his knees above the man in an instant—to what advantage he could not have told—he only knew the ground was fatal, and an upright posture infinitely preferable. “Release me!” he thundered through bloodied lips. “If you do so now, you may only hang for your offence! Do you know who I am?”
While the shorter man had fallen back, cowed by Darcy’s manacled rage, the taller only laughed. He planted a boot now into Darcy’s chest, toppling him back against his helpless hands and smacking his head uncontrollably to the ground. An explosion of light lanced through his mind, dazing him. He rolled to his side with a groan.
“Go on,” the fellow jeered. “Wha’s yore name, suh? Tell us, so we can be prop’rly respectful, suh!”
Some bit of Darcy’s indignation flagged as good sense whispered to him. “You seem to already know it,” he growled.
The other man had by now regained his feet, and he stood beside his companion as a smaller dog in a pack seeks the protection of a larger one. “Naw, suh, we could ‘ave the wrong man! We wouldn’ wan’ that, now, would we?”
“What is it you seek? A few gold crowns? A ransom? I assure you, sirs, that you will find the executor of my estate a rather dangerous adversary, for he served under Wellesley himself!”
“Would that be, uh, Colonel Fitzwilliam, then?” the taller man mused. “Aye, I’ve ‘eered tell o’ ‘im. A dang’rous fellow, indeed!” he laughed. “Don’ worry none ‘bout ‘im, ‘e’ll be of no ‘elp to yew, suh.”
Darcy froze, his breath growing faint.How could these men know so much about him?He stared between the two in mute shock.
His hesitation proved the final verification which was desired. “Yew see,” the taller man confirmed to his colleague. “Jus’ like I said. Fitzwilliam Darcy, in the flesh, jus’ like the man wan’ed. Come on then, le’s get ‘im ‘board ship.” He produced a rough sort of sack, and to Darcy’s horror, the two men pinned him to the floor and cinched it down over his head, tying it securely in the back.
He raged and stormed all the while, flailing and writhing against his captors, but only earned another vicious kick in the ribs and a second bucket of briny water doused without warning over his face. Blind and helpless, he gagged on the deluge of water, his offended ribs crying out for breath. He was still gasping when, a moment later, a rod was thrust through his elbows, and he was forced to his feet. The two men had determined to carry him off to God knew where, and he was utterly powerless to resist.
Wave after wave of panic rose in Darcy’s gorge as his closely bound feet were compelled forward in mincing, treacherous little steps—away from everything dear to him: Pemberley. Richard. Georgiana! What were they to think? How would his home, his sister, his family carry on if he were to suddenly vanish?
With a final cry of protest, he set his feet and began to twist his torso about, employing the very rod which was to make him their slave as his only weapon against his tormentors. Wildly he spun and slashed with his makeshift bludgeon, searching for the feel of a solid body beside him and snarling in some satisfaction when he felt contact. Back and forth he thrust as his captors yelped and dodged, but a blinded and bound prisoner could never hope to ultimately prevail.
