Beside her, still holding her hand, Mr. Darcy said, “He attempted to embrace Mrs. Rushworth last night at dinner, after….”
Elizabeth repeated this to Emma, who laughed. “Yes, he does try to do that to all of us, I think. Oh, sorry, Mr. Willoughby.”
Elizabeth laughed, grateful she had mostly been spared the man’s leering attentions. She began to think it unwise to speak of him while so exposed, and she looked down to see if any of the windows on the lower floor were open. Happily, they were not, but she looked at the moat for a moment too long, and became terribly dizzy.
Mr. Darcy acted quickly as she lost her footing, and braced her body against his until she stilled and calmed herself. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured, clinging to his arms around her even though she knew she was perfectly safe.
He slowly released her. “We ought to keep trying to call for help. If Miss Morland still has her keys, she will be able to let us out.”
“I can think of only one reason Sir Walter would lock us all away. These rooms are next to the servants’ passage.”
His countenance turned grim. “Mrs. Clay.”
Elizabeth brought her hands to her face. “We were supposed to warn her.”
“Good God.” Mr. Darcy sank down onto a leather chaise at the side of the room, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
Elizabeth’s chest ached at the sight of him, and at the horrible truth left unspoken. She sat down at Mr. Darcy’s side, uncertain of what to do with her hands in her wish to comfort him.
“He is claiming another victim even now, and he may decide to come back for us, since he has us trapped here, helpless.”
Elizabeth felt a wave of terror at his words, and then she remembered something. When Mr. Darcy had doubted Mr. Willoughby’s good intentions in the parlor, he reached into his coat for something. She slowly brought up her hand and placed it on his chest, or rather, on the distinct shape of a pistol. She abruptly withdrew her hand.
Mr. Darcy glanced down at his coat. “Yes, I suppose that is an option, but not one I should like to take. If I am obliged to shoot Sir Walter, it will hardly help us make the case that he is the murderer.”
“Could you use it on the lock?”
Mr. Darcy sat up straighter and smiled indulgently at her but shook his head. “I admire your temerity, Miss Bennet, but I do not think it wise. The bullet might ricochet and cause us some harm, or it may destroy the lock entirely, and then it shall never be opened.”
Elizabeth felt her face burn with embarrassment at her suggestion. “It is comforting, at least, to know you have it. And what a relief, for Miss Bingley would be very cross if she were to hear that I had the audacity to perish alone in a room with you.”
He laughed, narrowing his eyes a little. “Why does she nettle you so?”
Her eyes went wide and she gaped at him as if he had just asked her the color of the sky. “Because….” She gesturedbroadly. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. Elizabeth huffed. “If we may soon be at the mercy of a killer, I should rather not speak of Miss Bingley!”
He winked at her. “Nor I.”
Elizabeth felt herself leaning closer to him, and shot up off the chaise. She pounded her fists on the locked door and called out for Cathy several times. Eventually Mr. Darcy came to her side and gently tugged at her wrist.
“That is enough, for now. You will do yourself harm.”
The sides of her hands were pink, and they rather stung; she cupped her hands awkwardly in front of herself. In want of some distraction, her eyes landed on the billiard table. Her lips twisted into a mischievous smile. “Would you like to play?”
Mr. Darcy looked bemused. “If it will take our minds off of this whole horrid ordeal, I should be honored to instruct you, Miss Bennet.”
She stifled down a snort of laughter and arched an eyebrow at him. “How gallant.” She moved to the billiard table and slid her hands into each of the pockets. “What if we were to find the other key?”
He nodded, but neither of them had much heart for their search at present. “He might have thrown the blasted thing into the moat,” Mr. Darcy muttered.
He retrieved two cues, and handed one to her, and then demonstrated its use. When Elizabeth assured him she comprehended the mechanics involved, he placed two cue balls and one red ball on the table, positioning them carefully.
“If you can strike the other two balls with your cue ball, that is a cannon. If you can get the other balls into one of the pockets with your cue ball, that is a hazard.”
“And the point values?”
“Whatever we choose. Shall we agree that a cannon is two, and for hazards, a cue ball is three points and a red ball is four? We shall play to twenty.”
Elizabeth nodded, and he made a few demonstrations, calling attention to his techniques and explaining fouls; all the while she smiled brightly and nodded her head. When he was done, he made way for her to take her first shot. He looked as if we would advise her on her posture, but hesitated, and Elizabeth knew herself to be correct. She took her shot. The red ball spun into one of the far pockets, and the cue ball into another. Mr. Darcy stood up a little straighter and eyed her with something between awe and alarm.
