Page 33 of The Blackmail of Mr. Darcy
And…speaking of safety…Darcy suddenly noticed movement across Netherfield’s back facade. He narrowed his eyes to see what it was, and then he started running across the field, frightened by what he saw. It was Elizabeth. She was moving slowly and carefully down a window frame, stepping onto the sill and then moving to a nearby ledge. He decided that she was angling towards a tree whose branches came very close to the mansion—and just as he reached the tree, so did Elizabeth. She had somehow moved from a very shallow window sill to grasping and hanging from a branch, about nine feet from the ground, and she was very focused as she carefully moved one hand and then the other, inch by inch.
Darcy scrambled around the tree, ducking under the lowest branches, so that he was directly under her, and only then did he say, “Miss Elizabeth!”
She gave a little cry of surprise and stopped moving her hands. “Mr. Darcy?” she asked, sounding quite incredulous.
“I can easily catch you; pray let go of the branch.”
“Are you certain?” she asked.
“Very.”
The next thing he knew, Darcy was holding Elizabeth, and then hastening to put her down. They both sat down, under the tree. He was breathing hard from his panicky run, and she was rubbing her arms and gloved hands.
“What on earth were you doing?” he finally asked, sounding angry and frustrated.
“I was locked in my room,” she explained defensively. “I rang for a servant and then waited a long time before I decided nobody would come. Then I started knocking and shouting, but the only people who heard me were Molly and Jane, and they too were locked in. I finally decided I had to get help.”
“By climbing out of your upper-floor window?” he asked. He still felt scared of such an attempt, even though she had clearly managed to emerge from the feat unscathed.
“As you see.”
She sounded displeased, and Darcy considered the tone he had been using as he spoke to her. “I apologise, Miss Elizabeth. I believe I sounded so harsh because I had been so very frightened.”
“Please, we need to go into the house and release my sister and her maid.”
At that point, Bingley’s voice called from the other side of the tree. “What has happened, Darcy, Miss Elizabeth? Is there another fire?”
Darcy crouched down to escape the lower branches and waited until Elizabeth emerged as well. Then he offered his arm to her, and they both approached his host. “Bingley, it seems that both Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were locked in their rooms today. Who do you suppose would have done that?”
“Caroline?” Bingley’s supposition was a horrified whisper, and he rushed into the house calling for Miss Bingley.
Darcy led Miss Elizabeth through the French doors into the blue drawing room. Darcy said, “Like Bingley, I suspect that his sister locked you into your rooms. I fear for your safety; please stay with me while we check on my sister and then go to yours. I hope Bingley is obtaining the key to your sister’s room even as we speak.”
He rather expected an argument from her—how dare he presume that she needed him to protect her, when she had just very capably saved herself from her locked room?—and, when it comes to that, how dare he prioritise his own sister over hers?—but instead she gave his arm a little squeeze and said, “Good idea. I hope Georgie has not been locked in as well.”
Darcy startled at the suggestion, but the two of them hurried through the ground floor before moving up the stairs to knock on her door. “Georgiana?” he called.
“Brother!” she said. “I cannot get out! My door is locked!”
“Do not worry, Georgiana; we will get you out!”
Richard was huffing as he hurried up the stairs. “What the devil is happening, Darce?” he asked.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and Georgiana have all been locked into their rooms.”
“For what purpose?” Richard sounded somewhat sceptical. He whispered, “Even insane people have reasons for their behaviour. I cannot understand how she thinks locking them up will win her the title of Mrs. Darcy!”
“Nor do I. Listen, Richard, I feel that the women are unsafe here at Netherfield. I know that Bingley has gone to confront his sister and get the keys, but I would like to check my room and speak with my valet before I join in that effort. Do you suppose you can guard the corridor, along with Miss Elizabeth? And perhaps she has a hairpin with which you can endeavour to pick a lock or two?”
“Gladly,” Richard said.
Darcy went to Miss Bennet’s door and called through it his assurances that Elizabeth was well, that the men had returned from their hunt, and that the door would be unlocked—or broken down, if need be—soon.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” Her anxious voice sounded from immediately behind the door.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, my cousin and best friend, is nearby, guarding the corridor and Miss Elizabeth,” he explained. “He is entirely trustworthy, and if you need to communicate with him, I believe he will hear a shout.”
“Very good.”
