Page 34 of The Blackmail of Mr. Darcy
Darcy was both proud and surprised to find that none of the three young women was in tears.
He moved swiftly to his bedroom, unlocked his door, and noticed that there was another folded paper just inside the door. This paper, unlike the first note, was smooth and cream-coloured.
Ryles was in the dressing room; he knew nothing beyond what he had earlier reported, and he was appalled that ladies had been locked in so close to where he was working.
“And you had not seen this just inside the door?” Darcy asked, lifting up the folded paper.
His valet flushed. “No, I did not,” he quietly replied.
Darcy unfolded the paper and realised that, though the quality of the paper was far better, the penmanship was not. He considered again the theory that the notes had been written with the left hand to disguise characteristic handwriting, and he worked to figure out the latest message: “Stop doin with the Benet grl or yer lil sis will sufer -W”
Darcy strode to his writing desk, unlocked the special drawer, and fished out the original note. He locked the drawer and the bedroom as he exited, and he set off to find Bingley and his hateful sister.
It was time to end all these threats.
Chapter 21
Elizabeth
Elizabeth handed a hairpin to the colonel, who knelt in order to try to tickle the lock’s tumblers into the unlock position.
“You are very courageous, climbing out of your window like that, Miss Elizabeth,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.
She laughed and said, “Or, perhaps, very stupid.”
“Oh, I will not honour that supposition with a response!” he said.
“Except I believe that is what you just did.”
They both chuckled.
“Almost had it!” the colonel said with a frustrated huff. “I guess I should concentrate more,” he muttered.
The silent interval seemed to Elizabeth to be anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes—but of course it felt more like a few decades—but then there was the faint sound of broken glass and a woman’s inarticulate, fearful cry.
Richard jumped to his feet, looking down the corridor, which looked entirely peaceful, but from which some thuds and scrapes could be heard. “That’s Jane’s scream!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She said, “I hope you can smash down the door—I will go outside and see if I can see anyone going in or coming out!”
She sprinted down the stairs, and she was surprised to hear the colonel’s voice echoing in the halls, an accompaniment to the thumping sounds that probably were the result of him trying to break down the door. “Darcy!” Thump. “Bingley!” Thump. “Hurst!” Thump. “Ryles!”
From outside, she could see that Jane’s window was indeed broken, and a rope dangled from it. She pulled at the rope, but it seemed firmly attached at the top. She took hold of the end of the rope and then backed away from the tree. She hurled it up, and she was satisfied that it caught in between a branch and its offshoot. Would that slow down someone intending to climb down? Likely not, but.…
Her brain was leaping about from one assumption to another, and none of them made any sense. If Caroline locked them all in, then who was breaking windows and using ropes to climb up or down or both? If Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley wanted to break in through the window rather than the door, which seemed unlikely, would not one of them let the colonel and her know beforehand? Did someone intend to climb down a rope one-handed, with the other hand, presumably, holding an unwilling captive? (Elizabeth gulped as she considered Jane being grabbed and wrestled down a rope with some horrible man who would surely be unable to get down safely only using one arm and hand!)
Just in case some horrible man did make an appearance, Elizabeth considered the dozen or so sticks on the ground, wondering if one of them could be used as a weapon. One stick was actually a small branch, about the dimension of her wrist in diameter and about four feet long. The branch tapered dramatically the last quarter or so of its length, and she was able to use her knee to snap off the thinner end.
She supposed her improvised weapon would be the best she could do, and she hurried to hide herself…again, just in case.
The thudding sounds coming from Jane’s room ceased with a terrible crashing sound, and Elizabeth hoped that meant that the colonel had been able to breach the door. She could barely see the window through the leaves of the bushes she crouched amongst, but she was able to see the movement of a figure appearing at the window and jerking the rope. A man’s voice uttered multiple curses as the rope refused to budge from the spot where it had caught in the joint between two branches.
The man gripped the rope and swung out of the window, using the rope to successfully climb into the tree’s branches and then downward at a speed that spoke of desperation.
When the man was almost to the ground, he dropped heavily, and, as he awkwardly stood, Elizabeth emerged from her hiding place and thwacked him in the back of one knee. He gave a tremendous yell, but, as he crumpled to the ground, he managed to turn his torso towards her and, reaching out one hand, pulled at her skirt, causing her to fall as well.
Elizabeth still had the stick, and she brought it down on the man’s hand and managed to pull away from him. There was a distinct ripping sound, and she held her skirt with one hand in case the rip would chance to display her petticoat or chemise.
The man on the ground looked to be in his late twenties and was exceedingly handsome, or would have been if his face was not twisted into such a caricature of pain and anger. His age and looks made her wonder if he was the infamous Mr. Wickham, although Mr. Darcy and his cousin had seemed positive that he was not involved in Miss Bingley’s blackmail scheme.
And why would that wicked and mercenary man want to break into Jane’s chambers…?
