Page 54 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
E veryone gathered in the drawing room at Netherfield a little later than custom, awaiting the signal that dinner was ready to be served.
Darcy stood near the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece as he engaged in desultory conversation with Hurst about the servant girl who had been apprehended but was adamant she had stolen nothing.
He did indeed wonder at her taking something so valuable.
She must have realised it would immediately be missed. It made little sense.
Mrs. Hurst joined them after a time, and the men changed the subject, speaking of the Hursts’ return to London.
Bingley and Miss Bennet stood near the window speaking quietly together.
Darcy found his attention wandering from the Hursts' conversation, his gaze drifting periodically to the door as he waited for the remaining members of their party to appear.
"I wonder what can be keeping Caroline and Miss Elizabeth?" Bingley consulted his watch with a slight frown.
Darcy wondered whether Miss Bingley might send word that she was taking a tray in her room this evening, given all that had happened this day, but no sooner had her brother mentioned her name than she appeared in the doorway.
She was dressed in an elegant silk gown that would be more appropriate for a ball but complemented her colouring, and she moved into the room with a studied grace.
"My sincere apologies for the delay," she announced to the assembled company, her voice carrying the sort of bright confidence that suggested she was well pleased with herself. "I do hope you will forgive the inconvenience. Shall we proceed to the dining room?"
When Miss Elizabeth did not appear, Darcy felt a small frown crease his brow. "Are we not waiting for Miss Elizabeth?" he inquired, keeping his tone carefully neutral.
Miss Bingley paused in her movement towards the door. "Oh, Miss Elizabeth asked me to convey her apologies to you all. I am afraid she finds herself rather indisposed this evening and will not be joining us."
"Indisposed?" he pressed. "Nothing serious, I hope?"
Miss Bingley's colour rose, and she glanced meaningfully at the gentlemen present before addressing her response primarily to Miss Bennet.
"These matters are sometimes delicate," she said with the sort of significant emphasis that was calculated to discourage further enquiry.
"I am certain you understand that ladies do not always care to discuss such personal difficulties in mixed company. "
"Perhaps," Miss Bennet said carefully, "I ought to step upstairs briefly to ensure Elizabeth has everything she requires for her comfort. It would take only a moment, and I should not wish her to want for anything if she is feeling poorly."
Miss Bingley's expression tightened almost imperceptibly, though she maintained her smile with determined brightness.
"How very thoughtful of you, Miss Bennet.
I assure you, I have already seen to all the necessary arrangements.
There is no need to delay our meal any longer.
" Her tone suggested offence, as though Miss Bennet's offer constituted some sort of criticism of her abilities as a hostess.
The subtle rebuke was delivered with perfect politeness, but its message was unmistakable.
"Of course," Miss Bennet replied, though Darcy could see the worry that she was struggling to conceal behind her composed facade. "I am sure she is well cared for."
"Excellent. Shall we proceed?" Miss Bingley extended her hand in a gesture that brooked no further delay.
As they crossed the threshold into the dining room, Darcy saw Miss Bennet communicate something silently to Bingley.
For his part, Bingley nodded and, after helping her to her chair, stepped over to speak to the butler.
As he listened to the man’s quiet response, Bingley looked directly at Darcy, and then over at the door.
“Really, Charles,” Miss Bingley said impatiently. “Do sit down.”
Darcy inclined his head almost imperceptibly and stepped out of the room.
“Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley called after him.
One of the footmen was on his way down to the kitchen, and Darcy asked him to send the housekeeper to see him on a matter of some urgency. Perhaps because she was used to speaking with him now, she arrived promptly, a young maid on her heels.
"Mrs. Nicholls," he said quietly. "I am hoping you might help clarify a small matter regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She did not appear for dinner. Is she unwell?”
Mrs. Nicholls's brow furrowed slightly. "Miss Elizabeth, sir? I have not heard anything of the matter.” She turned to the maid. “Have you, Maggie?”
The girl shook her head.
“Might you send the girl up to her chamber? ”
“Indeed. Maggie, please see whether Miss Elizabeth requires anything.” As the girl hurried off, the housekeeper’s brow furrowed. “I hesitate to say, Mr. Darcy, but . . .”
“Please speak freely,” he told her.
“Miss Bingley was quite particular about having a fire laid in one of the guest rooms that is not currently in use. After everything that has happened today, the maid dared not ask any questions. She simply followed instructions and then informed me. I meant to inspect it once dinner service was underway as I could not understand why she wanted it.”
They looked at one another for a moment, and then Darcy felt his temper begin to boil. He knew precisely where they would find Miss Elizabeth. “Show me the room,” he said.
He and Mrs. Nicholls followed in the maid’s footsteps, but as they reached the landing, Darcy sniffed. There was something in the air, something sharp and acrid.
"Is that smoke?" he asked Mrs. Nicholls.
She sniffed and began to walk faster.
But Darcy was already running towards the smell.
He turned the corner. A smoky haze hung near the ceiling of the hall, visible even in the dim light of the wall sconces. Wisps of grey smoke filtered from beneath one door, curling lazily up into the candlelight. He darted to the door.
He grasped the door handle and turned it sharply. Locked.
"Miss Elizabeth!" he called, rattling the knob with increasing force before turning to Mrs. Nicholls with barely controlled panic. "I need the key. Now."
Maggie appeared next to Mrs. Nicholls. “Miss Elizabeth is not in her room, Mrs. Nicholls,” she said.
Mrs. Nicholls fumbled her ring of keys with hands that had begun to shake. "It should be here," she muttered, sorting through the various pieces of metal with growing desperation.
She tried one key, then another. Neither fit.
"Here!" Mrs. Nicholls exclaimed, finally locating what appeared to be the correct key.
But as she moved to insert it into the lock, Darcy snatched the key from her trembling hands and thrust it into the keyhole, turning it with force.
The mechanism yielded with a sharp click, and he immediately pushed the door open.
A wall of smoke billowed out so thick it nearly knocked him backwards. The acrid air burned his throat and eyes instantly, making him cough. There was no light, no flames beyond the fireplace, but the chamber was filled with noxious fumes that would be deadly to anyone trapped within.
"Dear God," Mrs. Nicholls gasped, pressing her apron to her face and staggering backwards.
Darcy pushed the women a few steps down the hall to get them out of the worst of the smoke. "Alert Mr. Bingley," he commanded, untying his cravat and tying it over his nose and mouth. "Bring water."
"Mr. Darcy,” she said, horrified, “you cannot mean to—"
"Go. Now."
Without waiting for further protest, Darcy dropped to his hands and knees and crawled into the smoke-filled chamber.
The smoke was so dense that it seemed to absorb not only light but sound as well, creating an otherworldly atmosphere of muffled confusion. Darcy felt his way forward along the floor, where the air was marginally clearer, his eyes streaming and his chest burning with each breath.
"Elizabeth!" he shouted and coughed. "Elizabeth, where are you?"
For one frightening moment, he wondered if he was too late, if she had already succumbed to the smoke, if he would find her insensate or worse, not find her at all until it was too late .
But then he saw that the smoke was being pulled out of a window in the same way it had been drawn out of the door when he opened it. He felt his way until his hands encountered what felt like a table pushed against the wall beneath.
When he looked up, he could see the blessed sight of an open casement through which some of the smoke was being pulled. Hope rose unbidden.
Clever girl.
But where would she have gone? Surely, she would not try to drop to the ground from here . . .
Darcy climbed onto the improvised platform, coughing violently as he pulled himself up to the fresh air. The moment his head cleared the window frame, and he could breathe again, he called out into the night.
"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, where are you?" He gazed down at the flat roof over one of the bow windows on the first floor. Surely, she had not attempted that drop, not on her own. He opened his mouth to call again.
"Mr. Darcy?" The hoarse voice came from somewhere below and to his left. Hearing it sent such a wave of relief through him that for a moment he felt dizzy.
He turned his head to see her perched on a narrow stone ledge perhaps four feet below the sill.
Her hair had come loose from its pins and from what he could see in the moonlight, her face was streaked with soot.
She sat on a ledge about two feet wide, her back pressed up against the wall of the house, but she appeared to be unharmed.
"Thank God," he whispered, then called down to her. "Are you injured?"
"No," she replied, and even in her current circumstances, the wry humour that was so quintessentially Elizabeth was still there. He almost laughed and cried in the same breath when she said, "But I have lost my slipper."
He would buy her a dozen. A hundred .