Darcy and Diamonds

by Caitlin Marie Carrington

  Mariah. Elizabeth committed her named to memory.

  “And while I would never impugn the lady’s intelligence,” Mr. Gladwell’s voice returned to his upper-class inflections. “If you had put on your damned cap, she may not have seen your idiot head covered in curls.”

  Mariah made a rude gesture and then pulled another knife from her skirts. What else does she keep in there? Lizzy wondered.

  “She saw me snatch a package. It weren’t the curls—”

  “You little fool.” Mr. Gladwell kept his accent, but not his temper. He walked across the room and put his hand around his sister’s neck, shaking her as if was no more than a dead partridge. “I told you not to nick things here. How do you expect to keep your cover—”

  His stopped speaking then, loosening his hand and trailing it over her neck. “What have we ’ere?” With sudden violence, he pulled the ruby necklace from under her dress and held the ruby in his hand. “You little thief. Stealing from your own flesh and blood? If it wouldn’t ruin the value of this, I’d rip it off your throat or choke you with it.”

  Instead, he stepped back and held out his hand. “Give it to me, and whatever else you’ve pocketed.”

  Mariah suddenly seemed years younger. She acted immature and hardened all at once, and she could have been anywhere between sixteen and six-and-twenty. Whining, Mariah removed the necklace and slapped it in her brother’s hand.

  “It has my M on it!” she said. “And red’s me favorite color. You have all those diamonds and such, I don’t know why I can’t have one for meself!”

  As fascinating as their argument was, Elizabeth could not just stand here. She slowly walked backwards…just a few more paces and she might be at the windows above the courtyard. Could she scream or cry or even break one open, before the siblings reached her?

  Was it worth it?

  Lizzy bit her lip. She didn’t know what they had planned for her.

  “Ah, ah, ah! Mrs. Allerton, I see you sneaking about.” Mr. Gladwell turned and walked toward her, his boots scuffing the old wood floor. “Now, my sister here has a bit of temper. She gets upset so easily. Myself? The opposite—sit please, there on the bed. I’m quite calm by most accounts. But if you disobey me, well then, I can be a real right bastard.”

  Elizabeth stared at the man. The quicksilver changes in his entire demeanor were extreme that she was confused—so much so that she had forgotten his demand to sit.

  “I said sit down!” Mr. Gladwell roared, and he rushed her so quickly that Elizabeth fell more than sat onto the bed.

  Mr. Gladwell stood over her, his knife pocketed but his hands in fists. Elizabeth felt tears fill her eyes, but she would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing them fall.

  “There now.” Mr. Gladwell stepped back, changing so quickly from brute to dandy that Elizabeth felt ill. He is deranged. And dangerous.

  “Was that so hard? Oh dear, you’ve cut your leg. Blood on your pretty skirts.” His eyes narrowed. “If you listen to me and do as I say, that will be your only injury today, Mrs. Allerton. Do you understand.”

  “Y—yes.” Elizabeth had to clear her throat in order to speak.

  And then he was jovial again. “Wonderful! How did this happen?”

  “I—I fell on the stairs, as I ran up here.”

  Mr. Gladwell made a moue of sadness. “You’re a bit prone to accidents, aren’t you? First a fall off a horse, now this?”

  Elizabeth frowned, her breath coming quick and panicked. Surely her aunt must have returned to their rooms by now. But even if they discovered her missing, what reason would they have to search other rooms at the inn?

  “Though I suppose you could blame your fall on the early-morning rain, not the horse?”

  Elizabeth stared up at him, suddenly. “Did you say rain?”

  “Is she deaf?” Mariah said from the door. “And wot’s the plan now, eh?”

  “I’m sorry—but you said it rained the day I fell from the horse at Netherfield?” Elizabeth repeated.

  Mr. Gladwell took a seat by the fire, elegantly crossing his legs. “Yes, it rained that morning, didn’t it? I remember because only the wealthy would choose to go get muddy on purpose. Deuced fools.”

  “But—you had told us all that you never rose before noon,” Elizabeth said.

  Mr. Gladwell began to laugh and Lizzy realized she wasn’t even certain that was his real name.

  “My dear, I often rise before noon—or stay awake well past midnight. And my name is not ‘Gladwell.’ I would hope that you realize by now: I’m a bit of a liar.”

  “And a thief as well,” Elizabeth said coldly. “Are you now adding kidnapping to your list of accomplishments?”

  Mr. Gladwell grinned evilly. “Well now, my dear, that might depend on you.”

  29

  Elizabeth

  Mr. Gladwell picked up an apple from a plate on the table, took out his knife and began to carefully cut the fruit. He tossed a thick slice into his mouth and grinned at her while chewing. For some reason his smiles terrified Elizabeth more than anything.

  “Wot are ye’ on about, Chris?”

  Mr. Gladwell turned and shouted suddenly at his sister, his face turning red with rage. “Shut yer mouth!”

  Mariah the maid seemed to take his moods as normal. She shrugged and leaned against the window. Elizabeth, however, found his swiftly changing tempers—and personalities—more than disturbing.

  “Now, as I was saying before so rudely interrupted, I do not actually wish to add kidnapping to my list of formidable skills.” He winked at her. “We were waiting here to sell off our little trinkets. It turns out your Mrs. Potter’s diamonds are rather rare. I half-expected them to be no more than paste, but no. What a treasure. They’ve proven rather difficult to sell off, though. If only my sister had waited one day for our buyer to arrive, we’d be gone and you’d be happily skipping about Lambton.”

  His sister glowered in the corner.

  “But what did Shakespeare say about fortune? Ah yes, ‘she is a strumpet.’”

  “Well, ye know what to do with strumpets,” the girl sniggered.

  “Shut your mouth.” Mr. Gladwell turned from her and calmly ate another bite of apple. “Mariah, out in the courtyard, any chance a tall chap has arrived? Rich and snobby, should be accompanied by a man with a limp and a tall woman in green.”

  Mariah’s eyes widened. “Yes! How’d ye know?”

  “You’re a fortune teller now, too?” Elizabeth said from her perch on the edge of the bed.

  He laughed. “No, though I have played that role in the past. But today, I simply saw our dear Mr. Darcy out on the street. He’s with your uncle, I believe. And his sister and some other ridiculous fop with a limp.” He stood and walked slowly toward Elizabeth. “I’ll admit I’m making up this plan as I go, but really—I’m finding myself quite the genius!”

  “Wot are you talkin’ about?” Mariah cried. “You and yer talk, talk, talk. Let’s gag her, stick her behind the bed, and get out of here!”

  Mr. Gladwell ignored his sister, smiling down at Elizabeth instead. He was so close that the top of his boot nudged Elizabeth’s.

  “She’s so impatient. Always has been. Mariah, darling, we could gag Mrs. Allerton and hide her here. But she’s quite persistent, I’d wager. And she knows our names, our faces. It might be dangerous for us.”

  “So, we gut ’er and go.”

  Mr. Gladwell smiled merrily at Elizabeth. “We could. Always an option. But do you know whom I happened to see yesterday at Pemberley?” He leaned toward Elizabeth and pretended to whisper. “You gave me such a start there! I hadn’t expected you or Mr. Darcy. Or that nasty housekeeper. I was hoping to rifle through some of the family’s rooms, but she kept watch on me. But did you know, after Mr. Darcy arrived, I kept watch on you?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Elizabeth said. She considered it a triumph that her voice did not waver. Was Mr. Darcy really coming here, right now? Per
haps her aunt and uncle and Mr. Darcy would soon realize she was missing.

  But did she want them to rescue her? Yes, of course—but she didn’t want any of them to get hurt.

  Keep him talking. Find out more.

  “Of course you don’t. You believed me when I pretended to be a London dandy with an imminent inheritance.”

  It shouldn’t have surprised Elizabeth that he’d lied to everyone at Netherfield, but somehow, it did.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  He leaned closer and tapped her nose with his finger, quickly, as one did to babies. “If you’re lucky, you’ll never really know.” He stood and began pacing. “I never would have come to that wretched house if Mrs. Caroline Doughton hadn’t hired me.”

  Elizabeth froze. Caroline? “You admitted you are a liar and a thief. Why should I believe a word you say now?”

  He shrugged. “I’m always amazed at the Ton. Your Mrs. Doughton can’t be a liar and thief, because she has money? Let me tell you, my poor foolish Mrs. Allerton, the rich are the worst thieves of all. And your friend, well, she’s quite the little liar.”

  Elizabeth bristled. “She’s not my friend.”

  Mr. Gladwell surprised her by simply nodding amiably. “No, I suppose not. She hired me, after all, to keep you away from Mr. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped. Her vision narrowed for a moment—the room was dark and smoky and it was hard to breathe.

  “Yes, you are shocked. She’s very clever, your Mrs. Doughton. She knew somehow that this Mr. Darcy would be quite taken with you.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it,” Elizabeth said, beginning to shake. She had to get out of here. The candlesticks on the table—were they heavy enough to injure a man? How could she fight the two of them at once?

  She couldn’t. That left her with only one thing: her wits.

  “It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t,” Mr. Gladwell said. “But she was correct. One look at the two of you, bristling at each other from across the room, and I knew I’d never be able to catch your attention. No matter what silly lies I told.”

  “And then you stole Mrs. Graham’s necklace, and Mrs. Potter’s diamonds, and who knows what else!” Elizabeth paused, considering her next words. “How very clever.”

  Mr. Gladwell’s eyebrows raised. “Not the reaction I was expecting.”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to shrug. “You call me a lady, but let me assure you, I can barely lay claim to that titles. My father was a gentleman, yes, but a gentleman without money. When he died, we lost our home. I have no diamonds, and if I did, I would sell them come winter.”

  Mr. Gladwell smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Sad story indeed, Mrs. Allerton. But you still have more possessions than most of the world. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. You aren’t walking out of this room unscathed—unless Mr. Darcy plays along.”

  Elizabeth could not control her reaction to this. She knew the shock and fear was evident on her face.

  “Mariah, go downstairs and find Mr. Darcy.”

  “Who?”

  Her brother growled in frustration. “Find the Gardiners, you know, the couple you stole those stupid ribbons from.”

  Well, Elizabeth thought, that solved the mystery of where her ribbons had gone.

  “Tell Mr. Gardiner that you saw Mrs. Allerton come into this room…with a gentleman.”

  “And who’d that be?” She laughed at her own joke.

  “Get out. And make it all sound…scandalous.”

  The girl laughed and tossed a triumphant look at Elizabeth. “Ah, I see now. A good plan, it is.” And then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.

  “What is a good plan?”

  Mr. Gladwell walked slowly toward her.

  No, that’s not right. He’s not walking…he’s stalking.

  Me.

  He stopped at the foot of the bed, where Elizabeth was perched on the great, carved footboard. And then he reached out his hand and ripped her cloak off.

  “What are you doing!” Elizabeth shrieked.

  He ignored her, holding her right shoulder with one hand. With his free hand, he grabbed the bodice of her dress and ripped it clean off her shoulder.

  “You beast!” Elizabeth shouted, slapping him as hard as she could.

  “Now, now, save that talk for after our wedding.”

  “Wedding! You are mad!”

  “No. I’m not.” Mr. Gladwell leaned down and grabbed both her arms, squeezing so hard she knew he would bruise her. “Do not ever call me that again.” He shook her once more, so hard her teeth rattled.

  Then he stood up abruptly, and walked away as if calming himself. “Never call me that. And don’t look so horrified—you have nothing I haven’t seen a hundred times before. Your virtue is safe…for now.”

  Elizabeth tried to pull up the torn cloth to cover her shoulder. “What is this plan that your sister so approves of?”

  “It’s quite simple, really. In a moment, your Mr. Darcy will come bursting in here to save you. Get up.” He pulled Elizabeth roughly to her feet, and pushed her into the middle of the room. Then he drew back the coverlet from the bed.

  Making it look like we were in there. Together.

  “And he discovers us, with my gown torn?”

  Mr. Gladwell nodded and loosened his cravat. “Yes, exactly. What a delicate situation! The lady he hopes to marry, compromised by another man.”

  “What are you talking about? We are simply old acquaintances. We are not marrying.” Elizabeth, of course, had her own, private hopes. Hopes which had flared like fresh flames since meeting Mr. Darcy yesterday. But she would never admit it to this man.

  I have to protect Mr. Darcy. She knew logically she was in more peril than Mr. Darcy, but still—suddenly—protecting him seemed like one of the most important tasks in the world.

  “He hasn’t asked you yet. But you didn’t see me at Pemberley. I stayed till after you left. Why, did you know, Mr. Darcy spent some time inquiring as to the location of his mother’s rings? And a tiara? And he wrote a letter to his friend Mr. Bingley—”

  Mr. Gladwell reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy piece of parchment, the seal obviously broken.

  “I know it’s not terribly romantic, but darling, he’s wants you to be the next Mrs. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth inhaled just slightly. “But he wouldn’t want the next Mrs. Darcy to be compromised?”

  “I rather not think.” Mr. Gladwell pocketed the letter and winked at her. “I’m glad you’re not trying to lie your way out of this—you are a rather terrible liar, my dear. Now your Mrs. Doughton? Excellent. I heard her telling you all about her understanding with Mr. Darcy.”

  “You did more than that. You led me to believe the same thing—telling me to eavesdrop on them in the library!”

  “Tsk, I suggested it. You made that choice all on your own. Of course, it was Mrs. Doughton’s idea to begin with. She was hoping that she might be able to convince Mr. Darcy to engage in their own compromising positions. Alas, he’s too upright, really, isn’t he?”

  “Or perhaps he is an honorable man, who would never imperil another’s marriage.”

  Mr. Gladwell laughed. “Mrs. Doughton didn’t want to leave her marriage. She wanted a baby—her husband wasn’t working out, you see, and she really needed an heir to secure her place in the family. D’you know who happens to look quite similar to her old, tall, doddering husband?”

  Elizabeth swallowed. “Mr. Darcy?”

  “I always knew you were a quick one. Naïve and awful at concealing your thoughts—those flashing eyes do tend to give you away. But smart. Yes, Mrs. Doughton needed a babe that looked like her husband. I doubt she cared very much where it came from—in truth, I know quite well that she is so desperate for a child she will do almost anything. Or anyone. But I think she always had a special affection for Mr. Darcy. Perhaps she even loves him, in her way. She didn’t see that he’d never sleep with her—even when sh
e tried to strip right there, in the library. You ran off before you heard Mr. Darcy roundly reject her. But, love makes fools of us all.” He walked to the center of the room and wrapped his arm around her waist, suddenly, and violently jerked Elizabeth back and into his arms.

  “Those pretty flashing eyes—I can see them trying to find a weapon. It’s best you don’t, love. You don’t want to get hurt, just like your friend Caroline.”

  Elizabeth gasped. This close she could feel his heat, the roughness of his hands, and the bristle on his chin as he pulled her back and against his chest, pressing her face against his neck. He smelled ripe and vile and she struggled mightily to get away.

  He only tightened his hold.

  “Shh, shh. Your Caroline got upset with me for stealing some trinkets. How could she blame me? You weren’t paying any attention to me and I was terribly bored. She had the gall to yell at me!” He pulled Elizabeth closer, her back plastered to his front. “Can you believe? She tried to order me about—and then said she wouldn’t pay me if I didn’t return all the jewels.”

  He buried his face in her neck and whispered. “It was just a little cut, just to remind her…she can’t control me.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Elizabeth cried. “What would—what would the girl who gave you the watch think of this?”

  “The girl who—oh, Mrs. Allerton. I nabbed that off an old tuft who’d fallen asleep in the park. The rich really do think they can do anything, at any time. I just needed a story to try and woo you, but it did not work.”

  “You’re a better thief than you are an actor,” she hissed.

  “Don’t worry.” He drew her even closer. “I won’t need to act all. Mr. Darcy will barge in—conveniently bringing witnesses like your uncle and various footmen, I’m sure—and your panic will be all too real. And then I’ll admit to compromising you—”

  “I’ll deny everything!” Elizabeth said vehemently.

  “Of course you will! It will appear all too real. I’m sure you’ll even cry. And with all these witnesses, well, we’ll be forced to marry.”