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“Miss,” came a gruff male voice from behind her. “Miss Bennet!”
Lizzy turned to see a portly older man, whom she recognised from the journey to London in the Darcy carriage; Mr Frost, the coachman—huffing a little—struggled to catch his breath once he reached her.
“Ye made it further from Darcy House than I thought ye could. I ought to have taken the mare,” he said. “If ye’ll come on back with me, miss, Taylor will get your things out to the stable, and I’ll take ye to The George. The post runs from there to most everywhere in England.” He eyed her plain dress and worn half boots. “If ye haven’t the fare, it will be provided.”
She coloured at his remarks, but this was no time for pride. “I thank you, sir. If the fare to Hertfordshire might be supplied, I will return to my family home.” Or to a little cabin in the woods near my family’s home until Jane returns. Better to face the dangers of the forest than the dangers of London, or even the potential danger of an unknown uncle—one who had never seen fit to be a part of her life in the past and thus could have little interest in her future.
But though she had stifled her pride, she could not go so far as to allow others to be punished for it. When they drew closer to the house, she asked, “Excuse me, sir—but will you be held accountable in any way if Lady Catherine sees you with me? I would not like to cause you trouble. I could come back under cover of darkness for my belongings if it will save you any.”
Mr Frost looked her right in the eye. “My loyalty be to the Darcys, miss,” he said, “and none other, despite what any might think about who be in charge here. Ye needn’t fear for me place.” He grinned. “And after all, the old lady be on the other side of the house, ain’t she? Wait here a moment, and I’ll fetch your trunk and the fare from Taylor, with a bit extra besides to see ye through. Then I’ll have the carriage hitched and will see ye safely on the post.”
He disappeared into the house while she stood where she was, cloaked in the shadows near the tradesman’s entrance, feeling conspicuous, guilty for taking his charity, and angry at the fates on every count. Was the doctor even now resuming his torture?
Thankfully, Frost quickly reappeared, hoisting her trunk on a beefy shoulder and directing her towards the stables. But they had no sooner neared them when a panicked voice from within drew their attention.
“Someone, help! Oh, help please!”
Frost hurried in via a side door, Lizzy directly behind him. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness of the interior, but she made out two stable lads staring, their mouths gaping. Georgiana stood by, sobbing and calling. And then she saw why: James was on the ground, trying to struggle from beneath the weight of a collapsed Mr Darcy.
Georgiana caught sight of her, running to her, clutching at her arms. “Lizzy! Thank goodness! Donavan is at breakfast, so I went to Fitzwilliam. He got himself up and was determined to leave—he wishes Mr Frost to take him…somewhere, anywhere! We helped him get this far, but…I know he should not have left his bed, but—”
“Of course, dear. You did well. Hush, now,” Lizzy said, extracting herself to go to Mr Darcy.
James had gotten to his feet, Frost propping up his fallen employer with a broad arm across his back—which must be excruciating for the injured man, not that the coachman would understand. Mr Darcy’s eyes were open, and other than his breath coming in the short pants of the deepest pain, he bore it stoically. She saw the moment he recognised her—his eyes widened with…something. Relief? Pleasure?
He looked at Frost. “Perdition. No. Up.”
Frost’s brows furrowed. “Taylor said ye’d been hurt. Never held with nimgimmers an’ their fancy treatments.”
“Donavan mutilated his back,” Lizzy said, “and he says he means to do more. Lady Catherine will not stop him.”
“Bloody bled me…first. Cursed…weak.”
The coachman carefully helped him stand, withdrawing his arm from about the wounded shoulders; Mr Darcy swayed but remained standing.
“Donavan is inside now, and Stimple might return at any time,” Lizzy warned. “We must get him away.”
“Stimple’s a guzzle-guts. His loyalty’s only to the whiskey. Easy enough to be rid of him. James, help the master in, careful-like.” He turned to the lads. “Quit your starin’, and get the brougham hitched. Chop up now.”
His words were mild, but she saw how quickly he was obeyed.
“You must get your things as well,” Lizzy said to Georgiana. “Just what necessities you can gather quickly. You must flee with your brother, and at once.”
“But what of you?”
“I will ask Mrs Taylor to help me reach the post. Or perhaps take my chances with my uncle. It matters not—what matters is that you hurry.”
But Georgiana obviously understood she had nowhere to go. “No, Lizzy. Besides, I know nothing of caring for—for a wounded man. You must come. You must help me! Say you will!”
Lizzy hardly had to think about it. “Of course I shall, if you wish it. Now hurry and get what you need!”
As the younger girl hastily returned to the house, Lizzy watched the carriage be readied with a speed she had never before seen at lackadaisical Longbourn. After her trunk was loaded, she moved to where Mr Frost and James stood at the open door of the carriage. Mr Darcy was now sitting quietly within, observing, still swaying slightly, his eyes drifting shut then widening as he plainly fought for consciousness.
“Where might we take you?” she asked. “Ought we to try for Pemberley after all?”
He shook his head, a firm no. His lips moved as he struggled to speak. “Blast it. No. B-bright. Bright. Bing.”
Frost looked confused, but Lizzy thought she understood. “Do you mean Brighton? The Breakers, the house Mr Bingley let? But I do not know whether they are there yet.”
