Armed Robbery

by Iris Lim

  “Liar!” Arnold cried – and sent his knife to the floor. It pierced the floorboards, hilt standing stiff and dangerous, two feet from my knees. I shivered. “Don’t want the next one hittin’ yer wife, sir.”

  Huffs of clear anger escaped Mr. Darcy. I reconsidered the sanity of his censure.

  “Mrs. Bingley got a sister,” Arnold began again. My eyes widened. “She’ll talk, maybe, if yer wife won’t.”

  “No!” I objected with little thought. My eyes flew instantly to our menacing overlord. “Do not touch her!”

  “Ye ain’t stoppin’ me, ma’am.” His sneer widened.

  “Please – take me – I’ll – I’ll show you where the money is.” My bluffs died in the air around me. I wondered how long the deception could last.

  “No, take me.”

  I whipped around in surprise. Mr. Darcy appeared unfazed by his own offer.

  He smiled slightly, almost bitterly. “I know where the safe is.”

  In three quick strides, Arnold crossed the room and raised Mr. Darcy’s face by the collar. I cried aloud, sharply.

  “No games, misser.” Arnold’s weaselly face threatened Mr. Darcy’s regal one. “George an’ I want ‘em ten thousand pounds.”

  “I cannot promise ten thousand –”

  “No games!”

  Arnold’s shout was enough to silence the room, the house. I watched with bated breath.

  “I makin’ myself clear, Mr. Bingley,” the robber spoke slowly, menacing and eerie. “Ye lie one more bit about yer money, and I’m takin’ yer wife to ma bedroom. There, I’ll make myself –”

  “You shall not!” I protested, drawing his beady eyes back to me. I swallowed harshly. “You shall not threaten my husband.”

  “An’ yer sister then, ma’am?”

  “I –”

  “Arnold!” Quick footsteps approached. My first captor last night – young and pale – stepped into the sitting room panting. He stopped at the sight of Mr. Darcy nearly-choked.

  The young man’s lip quivered. “Arnold, I – I can’t ward them off.”

  Arnold’s eyes narrowed. The corner of my eyes caught at movement in Mr. Darcy’s arms. I knew the blow would be inevitable. I knew –

  “Won’t go away?” Arnold dropped his victim all of a sudden. Mr. Darcy’s free hands broke his own fall. I inched closer to him, wishing him unharmed. “Them callers that erpistent?”

  “Yes, persistent, sir –” The boy – King, I remember – echoed.

  “Tell ‘em the master’s gone.”

  “They hear movement and won’t go away, sir.”

  My hands had just reached Mr. Darcy, just begun to support him, when Arnold snapped. Palpable annoyance accompanied his every word. “Folks gettin’ in the way of me an’ money ain’t gonna find it funny.”

  • • •

  “Who’re they?” Our chief captor demanded from his crew.

  I struggled to keep calm. Between Arnold’s weapons and Miss Elizabeth’s proximity, the task proved particularly difficult.

  “Lady Lucas and her daughter, Miss Lucas, their cards said,” the younger boy mumbled. I watched Arnold’s face twitch. I nearly missed Elizabeth’s reaction to the names – and was informed of it only by the slightly tighter grip upon my arm.

  “Who they lookin’ for?”

  “Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”

  “Not Mrs. Bingley?”

  Once again, in the mere span of three sentences, our flimsy charade placed our very lives at risk.

  “Our dear sisters,” Elizabeth, ever smart, remarked quickly. “They are – hugely popular with our neighbors.”

  I nodded vaguely, anxious to agree with whatever she suggested. Arnold seemed marginally appeased.

  “They mention ‘em?” The knife point hovered generally towards us. The sun’s rays on its blade were not kind. “I ain’t lettin’ ‘em go so easy.”

  “They might be pacified by meeting any member of the family, sir.” The boy’s fair skin did not come with a pale mind. “We can ask Bo to collect anyone upsta –”

  “I can write to them!” Elizabeth cried, deserting me to barrel forward until she knelt at Arnold’s feet. The sight discomfited me. “A simple note from the mistress should cease their – persistence.”

  Three short seconds were sufficient to remind me of who waited one floor above us. My frown returned.

  “Arnold – please – do not cause a – fuss,” Elizabeth pleaded on. I swallowed hoarsely. “One note from me claiming our inconvenience shall silence them shortly.”

  The leader’s eyes squinted, thoughts processing clearly on his face. I inhaled, exhaled, and cleared my throat loudly.

  All six eyes turned dutifully towards me.

  “Mrs. Bingley is right,” I agreed. The false title lent me calm that the words ‘my wife’ would not have. “The neighbors are reasonable. We shall not be bothered if she assures them of our being indisposed.”

  The squint and glare continued.

  “A note to unexpected visitors lowers your risk of exposure,” I continued as well. It was uncommon for me to speak while seated on the floor. I refused the distraction. “They need not see us if they receive our regards otherwise.”

  Slowly – far too slowly – Arnold began to nod.

  I waited patiently, engaging my much-practiced self-control. The younger man looked hopefully towards Arnold, seemingly advising him to accede. It was a relief to us all, I believed, when it was clear that Arnold did.

  “Make it short,” he barked. His hand began to toss his knife again.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth replied.

  I was glad to find her retreating back to my side.

  “The stationery can be found on the leftmost drawer.” I gestured towards the desk whose other drawers they had raided hours before. Arnold frowned, but his assistant retrieved it instantly.

  At my side, I found a breathtaking Elizabeth – with a glint of gratefulness in her bottomless eyes.

  Chapter Four

  “Now, whatever could they mean? Mrs. Bingley? Since when has there been a Mrs. Bingley? Has Mrs. Bennet been mistaken all along? Fie, I wonder how she shall take this!”

  I watched my mother pace, exclaim, and collapse in rapid succession. I may not have always had Elizabeth’s wit or charm, but I dared to hope I equaled my best friend in perception, at the very least.

  My mother was aghast at our rejection from Netherfield’s door this morning, declaring the Bingleys quite the rudest in all of England. But, now, it was the note I held in my hand that confounded her.

  “And pray, tell, why would she address you over me?” She continued to lament, “Should not a mother be granted precedence over her child? Your plainness does no credit, certainly – but must they be so rude as to use you a tool against me?”

  Years of patience stayed my tongue. I diverted my eyes to the note once more.

  Dear Miss Lucas,

  Forgive our neglect. My husband and I are rather too preoccupied for company. Princess Peridot herself would envy my luck. My home now is hardly fit for company with such a grand degree of her condition.

  Your mother shall respond most slowly, I believe, for she always does.

  Most affectionately,

  E. Bingley.

  The handwriting was Elizabeth’s – there was no doubt at all of the fact. I only wondered why she addressed herself thus.

  “Mr. Bingley, five thousand pounds a year – taken, wholly taken! My hopes for Maria thoroughly ruined – oh bless my heart.” My mother’s hysterics nearly rivaled Mrs. Bennet’s. I read the note again.

  Was Elizabeth performing a role – pretending to be a person who did not exist? Was she portraying a part to express distress?

  My mind wandered at her mention of Princess Peridot.

  There was no such thing as Princess Peridot, of course – nowhere but in our joint imagination. Our childhood adventures had princesses aplenty, with only John to serve as the footman and the dragon and the p
rince all at once. Princess Emerald was Jane, ever kind and gracious. Princess Amethyst was I, loyal and true. Princess Peridot was – Lizzy. She never did like being rescued by John, though Jane had always been willing. Lizzy’s Princess Peridot, often with my assistance, mostly slew the dragon herself. While never quick-witted enough to ever escape capture, she’d always found a means to thwart John’s childish iterations of imprisonment.

  My brow furrowed, and I read it once again.

  “Do you think she means to shun us on purpose, Charlotte? Could she be so evil as to make an example of our poor, neighborly, unassuming selves?” Mother refused to let the matter rest.

  I looked at her as if to question her sanity.

  She did not seem to notice at all.

  “Princess Peridot indeed! Was she a former lover of Mr. Bingley? Did Mrs. Bingley need to be so cruel?”

  I ignored her and wondered on.

  My mind resumed its recollection of Netherfield’s many windows – each one shut. My thoughts lent themselves to the pale, shivering servant who’d delivered our note – and the snarling, muscular man behind him.

  Was Netherfield John’s new unlikely dungeon?

  “Have you heard of Princess Peridot, Charlotte? I daresay you have. Was she pretty and rich? Why, of course, as a princess –”

  “Princess Peridot is in danger, Mother,” I interrupted. She watched me, eyes wide.

  Full understanding dawned on me even as I spoke.

  “There is no Princess Peridot – there are only Jane and Elizabeth,” I continued, “and I have every reason to believe they are in grave danger.”

  • • •

  The darkness of the room nearly emptied my lungs of their contents entirely. I had eaten but two bites of bread since the men had taken Darcy last night, right after he’d claimed that he was the current tenant of Netherfield. Now, I must remain upright – lest they dismiss my plea to see her at all.

  “Is my sister well?” I asked my young captor, knowing fully the physical descriptions I had rendered described another woman.

  “She is weak,” the boy mumbled back towards me. He frowned as if in guilt.

  It had taken me copious amounts of pleading to convince him to let me see Jane. Now that we were standing before the room where she was held captive, the door could not open fast enough.

  When the door did open, my eyes began their shift towards a more nightly sort of vision. I searched the unoccupied chairs in the center of the room. I searched the rugs. I searched the window. I searched the old bed I had first seen the day we arrived here and found –

  “Jane!” I ran forward, thankful that the boy had loosened my bonds. There was honor in a thief yet.

  I supported her when she attempted to sit. Her face – ashen upon her arrival in Netherfield – looked nearly cadaverous now. My heart all but stopped.

  “Jane, Jane,” I begged earnestly. My hands moved to clear her face of her disheveled locks. “Jane – please, wake.”

  “I shall return. Please watch her – fever.” The kindness of our captor’s words surprised me, and I turned quickly.

  “May we have water?” I begged – before his hands closed the door. His eyes met mine. I pleaded still.

  “I shall bring a little,” he acquiesced soon.

  I nodded gratefully as he closed and locked the door.

  “Jane.” I turned again towards my guest and angel. I shifted my body until it served as a reclining means for her. Hang propriety and its heartless concern. “Jane.”

  She responded then, gasping softly between her parched lips. I frowned until I could not frown further.

  “Jane, hold my hand.” I intertwined the fingers on our right hands. The unusual warmth of her body did not bode well. How did a simple invitation for tea turn so morbid so quickly? I shed tears onto her shoulder. “Jane – please, do not die.”

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Our privacy would not be granted for much longer.

  “Jane, be well – please.” I held her close. I knew, most hopelessly, that the return of our captor brought with it the dictates of society. I had pleaded for my sister and asked for Jane. I had no one to blame but myself that I would now be required to treat her as if we shared blood rather than hearts. “Jane, I am so sorry – so sorry for the attack.”

  More tears escaped me. Guilt threatened to swallow me whole.

  I had seldom found cause to be responsible in life before yesterday. My sisters presided over my choices for me. My father’s money covered my life’s every expense. My boundaries of freedom existed as I wished them to be – as limited as the responsibilities I desired.

  But, while I could claim Caroline’s invitation to be the source of Jane’s current captivity, I had no delusion that the root cause was mine.

  “Jane,” I whispered, her neck on my chest. “Stay well – I shall save us yet.”

  • • •

  “Mr. Bingley?” My lips cracked painfully with every word. It was foolish, very foolish, to assume the blurry figure lifting water to my mouth was someone from Netherfield. Where else would I be when I fell ill? I had to be at Longbourn. “Is it you?”

  “Jane,” he called my name breathily. The voice was indeed his.

  “Mr. Bingley?” I blinked my eyes and exerted great effort in propping myself to a seat. I noticed, rather vaguely, that he assisted me. Another coughing fit arrested me.

  “Jane! Jane – please, drink.” His left hand soothed my back while his right hand fed me water. I gulped down the contents of the stained cup, grateful despite the indelicacy of it all.

  “Where are we – sir?” I asked when the coughing stopped. Every word I spoke drew with it nearly all air from my body.

  “We are at Netherfield.” He did not sound proud.

  I squinted through the ache in my head. He was hanging his head, frowning.

  “Mr. Bingley –”

  “Thank God you are awake, Jane,” he replied with gusto.

  I pondered wearily at how long I must have been sleeping to have stirred such concern. I remembered snippets of nightmares – monsters and robbers. In one dream, a knife had been pressed to my throat. Had the images, save the monsters, been gleaned from true events?

  “Robbers,” I croaked. Another full cup was pressed into my hands.

  “Yes, they let me in here. The young one was – understanding.”

  I listened carefully to his words as I imbibed the cool fluid again.

  “They took Darcy soon after they arrived. He – he claimed to be me.” Mr. Bingley’s frown grew harsher.

  I did not understand.

  “Darcy, ever the leader, claimed to be the master of a house he did not own merely to save me from danger. I owe him my very life!” Mr. Bingley’s words grew into laments. “I should have stated my identity. I should have saved us. Oh, Jane, what shall you think of me now?”

  I blinked, eyes still heavy. I smiled. “You are brave to come here.”

  A sad smile crept onto his face, wiping away each worried line. He took my hands into his own. I felt warm yet chilled.

  “I shall save us, Jane. I shall find a way to hail down authorities and ensure that these blackguards do not have their way.”

  I nodded, believing heartily in his success. “Use the window.”

  He looked at me, then at the aging panes, then at me once more. He nodded. “I shall need the sheets.”

  I nodded again, in full agreement. “I wanted to try – but could not.”

  “No! Of course – no, Jane, I cannot have you fulfill my penance for me.”

  “Do not blame yourself. They did not –”

  “They asked for Mr. Bingley!” He cried, spare tears escaping him. I wiped both drops gently with my thumbs. “How could I be cowardly enough to let Darcy take my place?”

  I felt tears myself.

  “Like Elizabeth,” I said softly.

  “Your sister – yes.” Mr. Bingley’s eyes were sad. I cried for him. “I am no better than my own sis
ter – leaving our guests to bear duties that truly ought to have been ours.”

  “No, sir,” I comforted.

  He looked up towards me. I held his face in my hands.

  “Will you be well without the covers? I fear your fever is worsening,” he remarked gently.

  I shifted as quickly as I could to prove my ability to remain rested without the dusty sheets. Mr. Bingley gathered them dutifully.

  I noticed, belatedly, our thoroughly unchaperoned and thoroughly unacceptable intimacy.

  “You must go,” I offered faintly. He met my eyes, unsure. I tried not to cry. “I shall tell no one.”

  He frowned at my promise. I had no strength to ponder what he did expect of me.

  “I need no secrecy, Jane. I have but apologies to offer.”

  • • •

  “Mr. Bing –”

  “No.” It strained my heart to stop her words – but I simply must. “Accept my apologies, Miss Bennet, for placing you and your sister in such danger.”

  “No apology –”

  Her words ended abruptly as her body bent over in a violent rush of coughs. I rushed to assist.

  “Jane, I cannot leave. Oh, what can I do!”

  The tears in my throat reflected back to me through her eyes when her coughing ceased at last. I gripped her shoulders more tightly than I did before.

  “Jane, please – let me marry you.” The words came without effort. I had always known. I was merely more certain now.

  “The robbers think we are family.” Her beatific smile matched ill with her frail voice. “You do not need –”

  “I want to, Jane – I want nothing more.” My tears fell freely now. My guilt, simmered to a boil by two dozen long hours in lonely captivity, threatened to take me whole. “I know I do not deserve you. You have been in my care but for a day before thieves and robbers nearly destroy you. I am a fool to think I can tender the care you deserve for an entire life –”

  “Sir.” Breathiness in her voice did not alter its certainty.

  “Please – call me Charles,” I begged now. A future in my mind began to slip away – Jane Bennet’s figure slowly drifting towards the unexplained darkness.