Page 49 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

ELIZABETH DARCY

The musicians are tuning their instruments in preparation for the last half of the ball.

Supper is over, and I am alone in the retiring room after half the ladies in Meryton have come and gone.

I know better than to retire in the first rush, so I wait until the set is about to begin before I step in to check my curls against their unruly habit of coming loose.

I feel the luxury of pale ivory silk against the palm of my hand as I smooth out my skirts.

I am buttoning my glove and thinking with a sigh of resignation of my promise to dance the next set with Charlotte Lucas’s brother.

He is a dolt, and a cad besides, but he is our dolt, and I cannot snub him without remorse.

I am in the hall, on the way to the dance floor. The constable’s closet door is slightly ajar. Strange. An impulse of devilry makes me want to slip inside. I suppose I am half hoping that if I am late, John Lucas will dance with Lydia instead.

This is a curious room. I have always wondered about it.

The assembly hall is where our magistrate holds his inquests, and in this room, the guilty are locked until they are taken away to the assizes.

The last time it was used—I doubt I even know.

I step in and my eyes strive to adjust to the dark when a sound disturbs me.

Mr Darcy! I swirl around to run away but the door slams, followed by the click of the bolt. I hear my sister’s victorious laugh on the other side of the oaken planks.

“Lydia!” I roar. “Unlock the door this instant!”

Her laugh trails down the hall. I begin to beat my fists against the door, but Mr Darcy grabs my wrists and speaks in a hissing whisper.

“Do you have no shame, madam?”

I realise that my pounding will only bring witnesses, and I am instantly limp with fear. He seems to sense the fight go out of me and drops my arms. He is feeling his way around the door frame. Why was he in here in the dark?

“Why is there no doorknob? There is no handle.”

I answer his desperate whisper. “This is the constable’s closet.”

There is so little light I can only discern a shadow where he stands, searching frantically from the sound of it for a way out. This goes on for I know not how long until there are voices. I begin to feel faint.

“I-I believe I should sit down,” I said weakly, and fearing I might lose consciousness, I reach out for his arm.

Suddenly, I am on the floor, Mr Darcy is leaning over me, Lydia is laughing, I hear a stern command shushing her, and many footsteps.

We are blinded by light from the hall, but by instinct, I recognise Sir William Lucas and a few of the others silhouetted against the light.

There is a jumble of voices, my own included, rising, trying to be heard.

I am desperate to explain that Lydia only played a stupid prank. No one pays me any heed.

My father, holding a branch of candles, is now in the room. He looks down at me on the floor with the blankest, most uncomprehending stare. I can only hear the rush of blood in my ears, though I see that there is uproar all around me by the way their mouths are moving. Why are there so many people?

Mama’s voice reaches me through the ringing in my ears.

She is wailing something I do not understand.

I see Mr Darcy say something to my father.

He bows curtly, his friend Mr Bingley arrives at the door, pale as a sheet.

My father’s hand is pulling me up by the arm, none too gently.

I am standing, and then I am in the carriage—we are home.

I am shouting, I am on my knees, I am vomiting in a basin while Jane holds my hair.

Nothing happened! He did not touch me! I merely fainted!

I am pleading and blinded by tears. Why does no one listen to me?

I am fighting for my life. They are holding me, hands holding me down. Why will they not let me leave? I will run away! Papa cannot make me marry! I am too weak to fight, and I fall endlessly into a dark void.

At long last my eyes opened. Slits of light stabbed dagger-like in my head and I winced. “Wilson?”

“She is coming.”

“Mr Darcy?” I was still dreaming. “I cannot forgive you,” I whispered.

He did not answer.

“You would not listen to me. I begged you. How could you be so heartless?”