Page 61 of Attempted Compromises
Elizabeth’s gaze landed on Darcy, noting his missing coat and cravat. She realized with a sinking feeling that Wickham must have used them to bind Miss Bingley. Swallowing hard, she tore her eyes away and continued down the hall.
I must find help.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” she called again, her voice breaking. “Please, somebody help me!”
The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of her footsteps and the pounding of the rain outside. She reached the servants’ staircase and descended quickly, nearly tripping in her haste. At the bottom, she burst into the housekeeper’s office, her face pale and desperate.
"Miss Elizabeth?" Mrs. Nicholls gasped, her eyes widening at the sight of the drenched and disheveled young woman. "What on earth has happened?"
“Please,” Elizabeth panted, clutching the doorframe for support. “You must help me. He’s drugged them all—and kidnapped Miss Bingley!”
∞∞∞
Mrs. Nicholls could only gape at the bedraggled, bleeding figure in front of her. She could hardly recognize the usually poised young lady from Netherfield where her sister-in-law, Matilda Hill, was a lady’s maid. She and Matilda had been steadfast figures in Meryton for longer than most could remember, though her own journey was quite different than her sister’s-by-marriage.
Claire Nicholls had come to Netherfield as a wide-eyed housemaid at the tender age of twelve, scrubbing floors and polishing brass under the watchful eye of the former housekeeper. Over the decades, her hard work and quiet dignity had seen her rise steadily through the ranks until she earned her current position, a role she served with no small measure of pride.
In her years of service, Mrs. Nicholls had witnessed all manner of tenants pass through Netherfield Park. From pompous tradesmen flaunting their newfound wealth to flighty heiresses with a penchant for melodrama, the estate had hosted its fair share of colorful characters. None, however, had been quite so difficult as Miss Caroline Bingley. The young woman’s whims were as fickle as an April breeze, and her imperious nature made her a trial even to the most seasoned staff.
When Miss Bingley had unceremoniously declared a holiday for the majority of the household staff, keeping only Mrs. Nicholls, the butler, and a single maid and footman to oversee the running of the house, Mrs. Nicholls had accepted the decree with quiet resignation. After all, her fellow servants worked tirelessly to endure their mistress’s inconsistent demands. A day of respite for them was hardly something to bemoan. And while Mrs. Nicholls herself remained behind to ensure the household stayed in order, she did so with little complaint. Years of service had taught her to appreciate small mercies where she could find them.
But nothing in her decades of experience had prepared her for the sight that greeted her when Elizabeth Bennet burst into her office, soaked to the skin and trembling like a leaf in the wind. The young woman’s dress clung to her frame, dripping water onto the polished floor, and her face was a ghostly shade of pale. Her wide, frightened eyes held a plea for help that sent a chill through Mrs. Nicholls’s bones, nearly undoing the housekeeper for the first time in her life.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Mrs. Nicholls exclaimed, rising from her chair in alarm. “What on earth has happened?”
Elizabeth clung to the doorframe as if it were the only thing holding her upright. Her voice was hoarse with urgency as she stammered, “Please—you must help me. He’s drugged them all—and kidnapped Miss Bingley!”
For a moment, Mrs. Nicholls could only gape at the girl, the words refusing to settle in her mind. Her head was reeling; shehad dealt with many crises in her years of service—fires, unruly guests, broken china—but never anything like this.
Elizabeth Bennet, a young gentlewoman from the neighborhood, had appeared in the her office like a wild animal, with her disheveled hair plastered to her pale face, and her skirts nearly completely torn from her body, clinging to her as the dripped muddy water onto the floor.
As the full weight of Elizabeth’s statement sank in, a jolt of adrenaline coursed through Mrs. Nicholls, and she sprang into action. The housekeeper’s voice, long unused to such volume, thundered through the room as she bellowed, “John! Get in here at once!”
The butler, startled by the uncharacteristic shouting of his first name, appeared in the doorway, his wide eyes darting between the drenched young lady and his normally unflappable counterpart. “Have a stableboy fetch Mr. Jones immediately!” Mrs. Nicholls commanded, pointing a trembling finger toward the door. “Tell him it’s an emergency and he’s needed at once!”
John’s eyes took in the scene as hesitated only a second before bolting down the hall, his boots clattering against the floorboards as he ran.
Turning sharply toward the maid, who had appeared in the doorway with a teapot in hand, Mrs. Nicholls barked, “Forget the tea, Sally! I want you to go to the kitchen and set a large pot of water on the stove to start boiling. Quickly, girl—no dawdling!”
The maid’s eyes widened in alarm, but she hurried to obey, disappearing back into the kitchen with the urgency of a soldier responding to orders.
Mrs. Nicholls turned her attention back to Elizabeth, her voice softening as she placed a steadying hand on the girl’s arm. “Now, Miss Elizabeth, tell me everything. Who has been drugged? And who has taken Miss Bingley?”
Elizabeth shook her head, her wet curls clinging to her face as fresh tears spilled over her cheeks. “It—it was Mr. Wickham. The officer from the regiment,” she choked out. “He… he laced the tea with laudanum. Everyone drank it—Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Jane—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her trembling lips. “They’re all unconscious in the drawing room.”
“Good Lord,” Mrs. Nicholls whispered, her heart sinking as she imagined the scene upstairs. But she pushed her own alarm aside, her years of experience in crisis management taking hold. “And you say he’s taken Miss Bingley?”
Elizabeth nodded, her body shaking with the effort to remain composed. “He—he’s gone now,” she stammered. “He took her in my father’s carriage. I wanted to stop him, but…” She trailed off, her voice breaking as she stared off into space, falling silent.
Mrs. Nicholls felt a jolt of alarm, but years of experience quelled her panic. “Come now, child,” she said firmly, stepping forward and reaching for Elizabeth’s arm. “You’re in no state to be running about like this. Sit down in the kitchen and let me fetch you something warm. You need to collect yourself.”
Her intent was to guide Elizabeth toward a chair by the desk, but as soon as her hand touched Elizabeth’s arm, the younger woman stiffened. Her wide eyes darted to Mrs. Nicholls, and with a sudden cry, she wrenched herself free.
“No!” Elizabeth shouted, her voice rising with desperation. “I have to see Jane! I have to—” She spun away, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she stumbled toward the door.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Mrs. Nicholls called after her, her own voice laced with concern. “Please, wait! You’re in no condition—”
But Elizabeth was already running, her steps echoing down the corridor as she made for the drawing room. Mrs. Nicholls followed as quickly as her legs would allow, her heart pounding with a mix of worry and frustration.
