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Longbourn, Breakfast Room - Elizabeth

E lizabeth unfolded Jane’s note at the breakfast table. Her fingers tightened around the paper. Jane’s cold had worsened.

The morning was grey and damp, heavy clouds threatening rain. She read the note aloud, though her mother appeared more interested in the advantages of Jane’s continued stay at Netherfield than in her daughter’s health.

Elizabeth glanced at the sky. The carriage was unavailable, and she did not ride. If she left now, she could reach Netherfield before the weather broke.

“How can you be so silly,” cried her mother, “as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt. You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”

“I shall be very fit to see Jane, which is all I want. ”

Her father looked up from his book, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Is this a hint to me, Lizzy, to send for the horses?”

“No, indeed,” she smiled, already reaching for her boots. “I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one has a motive. Only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.”

“I admire the activity of your benevolence,” observed Mary, “but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.”

“We will go as far as Meryton with you,” said Kitty and Lydia, both eyeing the clouds. The rain had yet to fall; they might return before it began.

“If we make haste,” Lydia added, “perhaps we may see something of Captain Carter before he departs.”

In Meryton they parted, Kitty and Lydia hurrying off towards the officers’ lodgings.

As the first drops fell, Elizabeth quickened her pace.

She crossed field after field, leapt stiles, and skirted puddles growing larger by the minute.

By the time Netherfield came into view, her ankles ached, her stockings were spattered with mud, and her cheeks glowed from exertion and wind.

The butler admitted her to the breakfast-parlour.

Water dripped steadily from her hem onto the polished floor.

The assembled company looked up, expressions ranging from shock to barely concealed disdain.

Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley exchanged glances at her muddy stockings and windblown hair.

Such a walk defied every rule of propriety.

Mr Bingley greeted her warmly, though somewhat disconcerted by her appearance. Mr Darcy’s dark gaze moved from her face to her hem and back again, his expression unreadable. Mr Hurst returned to his plate.

Elizabeth’s inquiries brought worrying news. Jane had slept poorly and was feverish. A maid led Elizabeth upstairs, where Jane brightened faintly at her arrival but soon drifted into exhausted sleep.

The morning crept by. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst visited intermittently, showing enough concern to surprise Elizabeth.

When the apothecary arrived, his diagnosis confirmed their fears.

Jane’s cold was severe, requiring complete rest. As her fever rose, Elizabeth remained by her bedside while the Bingley sisters drifted in and out.

By three o’clock, Elizabeth reluctantly acknowledged she must return home. The wind rattled the windows; trees bent under its force. Miss Bingley, noticing her glance at the sky, offered the carriage.

“The chaise would be most suitable,” she said, turning to instruct the butler. “It is lighter than the coach, more suitable for these roads.” She glanced at Elizabeth’s still-muddy hem. “Though perhaps you would prefer to wait out the storm.”

Elizabeth thought of her mother’s nerves should she fail to return for dinner. The chaise would be fast enough. She accepted with a polite nod.

She returned to Jane’s room for one last look. Her sister slept, cheeks flushed with fever. Elizabeth left a short note explaining her departure, pausing in the doorway, reluctant to leave.

“You need have no fear, Miss Eliza,” Miss Bingley said as she appeared beside her, guiding her downstairs. “Dear Jane will receive every attention while she remains with us.”

Elizabeth offered thanks, though something in Miss Bingley’s tone rang false. At the door, Morris waited with an umbrella. The rain had eased somewhat. The chaise stood ready, its polished panels gleaming wet beneath the dim light. Elizabeth stepped carefully around the puddle and settled inside.

She never enjoyed enclosed carriages. The swaying motion made her stomach uneasy. As the chaise rolled forward, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching sodden fields blur past. Dead leaves spun in the rising wind. November darkness settled early under the thickening clouds.

She tried to distract herself with thoughts of Jane, but worry only increased her restlessness. Jane would wake and find her gone, while Elizabeth sat helpless in this swaying, confined space.

The chaise lurched. Its high body swayed as Thomas fought for control. Through the forward window, she glimpsed the coachman shouting, his words lost to the wind. A tremendous crack split the air, sharp and sudden, as an ancient oak surrendered to the storm.

The horses screamed. Elizabeth clutched at the rail as the chaise tilted sharply. One wheel lifted free of the ground. Her stomach dropped.

Time splintered. Slowed. Then rushed forward.

The first impact flung her sideways, forehead striking the panel between windows. Vision blurred. The chaise rolled. Sky replaced road. Rain fell sideways. Cushions and blankets tumbled like leaves in a gale. Her body floated weightless, then slammed back with brutal force.

When the motion stopped, she was trapped in a world turned sideways.

The window she had leaned against was now buried in mud; the opposite one opened to grey light above.

The forward bench seat loomed overhead. The ceiling pressed against her shoulder.

Every surface had shifted. The familiar had become strange.

Outside, voices shouted. Horses screamed. Wood creaked and groaned as the frame settled. She stared up at the door, its brass handle glinting faintly. Rain dripped through the warped seams, falling in steady rhythm.

* * *

Netherfield, Library - Darcy

The storm worsened throughout the afternoon. After a restless ride, Darcy attempted to read in the library, but his thoughts refused to settle.

He dozed briefly by the hearth. Voices in the hall woke him. Miss Bingley’s clipped instructions reached his ears. Morris answered quietly. He caught one phrase: Miss Elizabeth.

He stepped closer.

Miss Bingley had arranged for Elizabeth to return home in the chaise, during a brief lull.

The chaise. In this weather.

Darcy returned to his chair. Surely she had reached home before the storm worsened. Yet his gaze shifted to the window. The break in the clouds was already closing. Trees bent under the wind’s renewed force.

He sought distraction in the billiard room, but each crack of thunder drew his attention back. The growing storm set his nerves on edge.

Finally, he gave up and returned upstairs. Perhaps Georgiana’s letter would provide distraction. Her continued low spirits troubled him. London had offered diversions, but none had lifted her mood. Pemberley might be better. The quiet landscape had always soothed her.

He should have remained with her. Yet his own restless grief had only worsened her anxiety. The memory of his father’s death hovered always at the edges, those long days of helpless strength leaving scars that still ached.

A fresh burst of wind rattled the windows.

The front door slammed open. Bingley burst in, rain streaming from his coat .

“Darcy! I had to abandon the coach in Meryton. The roads are becoming impassable.”

Morris stepped forward. “Sir, about the chaise.”

“Chaise?” Bingley frowned. “What chaise?”

“Miss Bingley arranged for Miss Elizabeth to return home over an hour ago.”

Darcy’s chest tightened. An hour ago. In this storm.

“Which way did you return?” he demanded, already moving.

“I cut across the fields. The main road was too dangerous. Left the coach in Meryton and rode back.”

“The chaise would have taken the high road.”

“I saw no sign of it,” Bingley said grimly. “Several branches already down.”

Morris added, “Sir, the stable master reports the chaise is now overdue. He is concerned about the stretch near the stone bridge. The old oak.”

Darcy was already giving orders. “Have the horses readied. And lanterns. It is nearly dark.”

“I will come with you,” Bingley said. “Mount the stable hands. We will search both roads.”

“I will take the main road.”

The image of Elizabeth’s departure haunted him. He had let her leave. Every moment counted.

“The bridge may be blocked. We will need ropes,” he said, then stopped, unwilling to voice the worst.

* * *

Netherfield, Overturned Chaise - Elizabeth

Elizabeth wiped blood from her lip, breath quickening. The confined space seemed smaller with each moment. Any shift sent pain through her ankle. Rain drummed above.

A voice reached her through the storm. “Miss Bennet! Can you hear us? Are you hurt?”

“Yes! My ankle. I cannot stand. The door is above me. I cannot reach it. Are you all safe?”

“We are safe, miss. Hold on. We are trying the door. A tree came down and spooked the horses, but we are unharmed.”

She pressed against the wall as the chaise creaked under their efforts. The bench seat above loomed. Any shift could bring the frame down. She closed her eyes, forcing slow breaths.

Rainwater dripped through the seams. Steady. Unrelenting.

Her hands scrabbled for purchase, but found none.

She was trapped.