Page 38 of A Matter of Murder
Using her arms, Lizzie slowly pushed herself back toward where her leg had fallen through. There wasn’t just creaking or groaning wood—there was an ominous ticking sound that raked her spine with panic. Lizzie pulled her right leg up from the jagged hole it had fallen through and had almost succeeded in getting free when her ankle caught on something sharp—the splintered edge of the floorboard she’d broken through. She hissed with pain.
“Lizzie!” Darcy cried out in panic, and started to crawl to her.
“Stay back!” she shouted, and she tried again, this time kicking the ragged edge of floorboard to the side. She lost her slipper, but then she was free, and she pushed herself up on her goodfoot, her entire leg screaming in pain but holding her weight. Lizzie launched herself forward, falling into Darcy’s arms as the floorboards that had held her just a moment before broke. A cascade of falling wood echoed from behind her as Darcy propelled Lizzie down the hall, half carrying and half dragging her to safety.
When they crossed the threshold into the central part of the house, Darcy slowly relaxed his death grip on her, but Lizzie dug her fingers into his arm, swaying. After the excitement and fear had washed over her, she just felt weak. She wasn’t certain what had scared her more—the fact that she’d almost fallen through to the ground floor, or the wild, desperate look on Darcy’s face when he’d thought she was going to fall through.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said, wrapping her into a hug. His lips found her ear once more, and he whispered, “Me too.”
Ten
In Which Lizzie Makes a Midnight Discovery
Lizzie and Charlotte’s foray into the forbidden east wing of Netherfield Park put an end to their short-lived (and probably ill-advised) treasure hunt. No one had turned up much of anything, anyway: Caroline had grown bored of the picture gallery after half an hour, Kitty and Lydia and Mrs. Bennet had prowled around the ballroom, billiards room, and the drawing rooms and found nothing of note, and when questioned, Bingley sheepishly admitted to half-heartedly searching the library and study before giving up as well. It seemed that Lizzie and Charlotte were the only ones to have found anything interesting, and that something interesting had nearly gotten Lizzie killed.
Bingley and Jane were horrified when Charlotte and Lizzie recounted their discovery of the servants’ passage, and their entrapment within the dark hallways. Lizzie had even led them to the back corridor to show them the secret door and how they’d gotten trapped, but when they’d arrived, Lizzie was perplexed to find the door swung open easily. She even stepped within thepassageway and closed the door after her to see whether it stuck, but she was able to open it without issue.
“It must have been panic,” Bingley told her when she opened the door, bewildered. “You were in the dark, so you weren’t able to get the door to unlatch.”
If he had been anyone else, Lizzie would have informed him that she’d been held at gunpoint, chased by various villains, and been caught in a number of dangerous locales that she was not meant to be in, and she’d never panicked. But since he was Bingley, and he meant no harm, she bit her lip and just shook her head at the door.
It had been jammed. Or locked. It hadn’t opened for them. And now it was open.
Which begged the question: Had someone closed the door after them, forcing them to forge ahead to the east wing?
But who? Andwhy?
After baths for Lizzie, Charlotte, and Guy, the rest of the day passed with little excitement and much fussing over Lizzie’s scraped leg and torn dress. By the time it was late enough to retire, she was actually glad to say her good-nights and whisk Guy upstairs with her, where the featherdown bed awaited her. She undressed without calling for Agnes, leaving her clothes tossed over the wardrobe door, and pulled on a nightdress and fell into bed. Guy pressed his small, warm body alongside the back of her legs, and within seconds Lizzie was drifting away.
Lizzie startled awake suddenly some hours later. She wasn’t certain what had awoken her, and the unfamiliar bed and utterdarkness of the room were disorienting. She lay very still, straining for any sound or hint at what could have roused her, her body coming to full alertness.
She heard nothing for what felt like an impossibly long time, and then she realized she could no longer feel Guy curled against her legs, as was his habit each night. His absence made her heartbeat slam even harder, and then she heard a small, snuffling sound, followed by a piteous whine.
“Guy?” Lizzie whispered, sitting up. Heavens, it was dark. Had she left the drapes closed tightly against the night, or had Agnes come in after she’d fallen asleep to draw them? The idea of someone, even a lady’s maid, coming into the room while she slept made her uneasy.
Guy whined once more, and Lizzie threw back the covers, wincing as she bent her right knee. It was bruised and sore and boasted a few scrapes, but it held her weight and was only a little stiff. Feeling her way around the room, she managed to make it to a window, where she drew back one heavy velvet panel. It was as she suspected—still the dead of night, but clear, and she could see a waxing gibbous moon and a field of sparkling stars in the sky. She turned into her dark bedroom and made her way to the door, where she could make out the pale shape of Guy. His eyes glinted in the scant light, and she knew he was looking up at her expectantly. Lizzie groaned. “You have to go out? Can’t it wait till morning?”
Guy’s whine informed her that it could not.
She sighed, knowing better than to tempt fate. The lastthing she needed was for Guy to ruin the carpet and give Mrs. Bennet more ammunition for her argument that the dog was ill-mannered. It would not be fair to him. Or to Jane’s carpet.
Lizzie managed to find her dressing gown and slippers in the dark, and she fumbled for Guy’s leash. She eased the bedroom door open and peeked out into the hall. It was dark and shadowy, but there was a bit of moonlight illuminating the space. Not wanting Guy to run off, she picked up the dog and carried him down the hall, walking carefully so as not to wake anyone. They made it down the stairs and across the marbled hall straight for the door. It took Lizzie a moment to figure out how to unlock it, and then she carefully slipped out into the night.
She took Guy down the steps and to the left, where the drive curved toward the stables. The last thing she needed was for her dog to make a mess on the pristine front lawn for some poor gardener to discover in the morning. “Come along, Guy,” Lizzie whispered, shivering in the cool night. “The quicker you see to business, the quicker we can be back to bed.”
Unfortunately for Lizzie, Guy was rather picky when it came to the exact spot in which he deigned to relieve himself. In London, she always attributed his reluctance to the fact that he had very little nature that hadn’t been trod on by at least a hundred other souls to sniff out. But here they were, out in the countryside, surrounded by plenty of barely touched green, and her dog was still taking his sweet time.
Lizzie sighed and drew her dressing gown around her even tighter.
She stood there long enough to grow chilled and to feel the weight of sleep drag on her, but finally Guy saw to his business. Lizzie sighed in relief and patted him on the head. “Good boy,” she told him. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time about coming out at night. Let’s get back to bed.”
But when she turned to face the house, something caught her eye. She stopped. Watched.
Candlelight flickered in the windows on the first floor. It was not very strong, but this late at night, with nothing to light up the countryside but the moon and stars, it was starkly noticeable. It was a single candle, if Lizzie had to guess, and it seemed to be bobbing ever so slightly, as if someone were carrying it from room to room. Lizzie tilted her head back and squinted into the darkness, and then realization cut through her exhaustion.
Someone was in the east wing.