Confusion, Confession and Conviction

by Victoria Winfield

  He'd been used to think of himself as a perfect gentleman, his father's true son. There had even been times he’d thought himself a wonderful example to those around him. But now? He snorted. She was right, by God. He was insufferably full of himself. How could he have even hoped that she might stoop to accept him?

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whose fine eyes did not leave his mind, who was both forthright and open. And if she carried pride about her, at least she was able to admit to it.

  Darcy clenched his fist, leaning his head against the cool window pane. He was hopeless.

  Turning back towards his writing desk, his eyes fell on one particular item. Picking it up with one hand, he ran one finger of the other hand along the seal of the letter. It had taken him most of the night to pen those words, and, given by the amount of crumpled paper on the floor, he’d had a difficult time finding the right words. Feeling his heart grow heavy once more, Darcy sighed heavily.

  What was she doing right now? Was she still incensed? He wouldn't blame her if she were. Disgrace filled him as heat crawled up his neck. He would carry his shame to the grave.

  Two quick taps sounded on his door and then it swung open, unannounced.

  "Darcy?"

  Darcy recognised his cousin’s voice at once, aware of the way his sharp eyes pierced him. Evidently he was not looking at his best

  "Are you well?" Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in his regimentals and clearly ready for travel.

  Thankfully, Darcy managed a smile, although it was immediately apparent that it was inadequate to fool his cousin, though.

  "Ah-ha,” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, as he drew nearer and spotted the letter in Darcy’s hands. “Your correspondence has kept you awake for….” his eyes glanced over Darcy, spotting the crushed cravat and rumpled shirt, “most of the night, it seems.”

  Forcing himself to put the letter down, Darcy put his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. His correspondence was his business and his business alone. "Good morning, cousin. Already breakfasted?"

  The Colonel looked up from the direction on the letter, with one eyebrow raised. It was more than obvious that he was aware Darcy was attempting to take his attention away from the letter.

  "Yes, indeed. In fact, I've just come from my aunt in the breakfast parlor. She's in high dudgeon over your absence." He smiled and tipped his head, regarding Darcy closely. “You are known to be punctual, are you not? She assumes something dreadful has happened to you and I promised her I would ensure you were quite well before I left.”

  “You’re going somewhere?” Darcy echoed, remembering too late that his cousin had already spoken to him a few days past about this. Thankfully, Fitswilliam did not seem too put out by his forgetfulness.

  "Indeed. I'm for the vicarage, to take my leave of the Reverend and Mrs. Collins. And, of course, Miss Bennet. I had thought you were to join me?" His left eyebrow arched, and Darcy had to force himself not to look down at the letter.

  "Ah, yes. Well, no, thank you, Fitzwilliam. I.…I have some packing to see to and of course I haven't..." Giving his cousin a wry grin, he rubbed his cheek, aware he needed to shave. "I shall stop there later today. You go ahead."

  Fitzwilliam snapped his heels together and gave Darcy a mock salute.

  "Very well, I shall see you shortly, then."

  Darcy nodded at Fitzwilliam as he left, then crossed the room to pull the cord for his valet.

  An hour later saw him standing at the door of the rectory.

  He wasn't ready for this. Might never be ready for this. Who in his right mind wanted to partake of humble pie? Inwardly wincing over the icy glare she was sure to give him, Darcy tried to focus on simply saying his farewells.

  Standing resolute, Darcy determined that he simply wouldn't try for conversation with her, given that she certainly wouldn't attempt to speak with him. He pulled his lips together between his teeth. He would just hand her the letter as surreptitiously as he could, and then take his leave. That was all that was needed. Surely he couldn't botch that too badly, could he?

  One breath in. One breath out. He raised his hand to the knocker, but the door swung open before he touched it.

  Mr Collins stood on the threshold, clad in what was probably his least presentable outfit, with his head adorned by a floppy straw hat. His mouth was opening and closing, while his face turned a deep shade of red.

  "Oh, Mr. Darcy. Oh, my. Well, this is....I was just going out to...Oh, pardon me, sir. Do step in. Excuse me, sir -- Mrs Collins!"

  Darcy swept his hat off and squeezed past Mr. Collins just has the man bent forward in a bow.

  Collins followed Darcy's top hat to the floor, snatching at it and brushing it quickly.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry. I do beg your pardon." Collins stood, his own hat wildly askew, and proffered the top hat to Darcy. Mr Darcy managed a tight smile in response to the simpering smirk bestowed on him.

  "Think nothing of it. It is of no consequence, I assure you.” Seeing Mrs Collins approach, Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. “Ah, Mrs. Collins. I was just coming to make my farewells.”

  Her face was unsmiling, but she still curtsied, as propriety demanded. "Won't you step in, Mr. Darcy?" She motioned toward the front parlor door, although there was not even the smallest amount of welcome in her voice.

  "Thank you, no. I am just come to take my leave. I depart within the hour."

  "Of course." Mrs. Collins folded her hands at her waist, raised her eyebrows and gave a little nod, as though she understood precisely why he was here.

  Mr. Collins cleared his throat, as though attempting to remind Mr Darcy of his presence.

  "I must say, sir, we have been greatly humbled by your kind condescension on this visit. My dear Charlotte and I were just saying how - "

  “I’m afraid I can only stop a moment,” Darcy interrupted, not caring in the least if he came across as particularly rude. He could bear not a moment longer of Mr Collins incessant prattle.

  Mr. Collins' mouth dropped open making him look like nothing so much as a particularly large pike from one of Pemberley's streams. Mrs. Collins' glance flew to her husband, swept past Darcy, and fixed, apparently, on an invisible spot on her immaculate entryway. The atmosphere grew tense.

  Aware that he had been a little harsh, Darch took in a deep breath.

  "I beg your pardon, Mr Collins. I did not sleep well last night, due to the inordinate amount of organisation and packing that must go into my departure today.”

  “Not at all,” Mr Collins cried at once, as though Darcy was the most wonderful man on earth. “I - ”

  “Mrs Collins,” Darcy continued, turning his attentions back towards the lady. “I was wondering if I might ask you to give something to Miss Bennet.”

  Her smile grew fixed. "I am sorry to say that she left above two hours ago."

  "Two hours!"

  Mrs. Collins attempted, unsuccessfully, to hide her triumphant look. "Yes. She was in a great hurry to be home."

  Darcy gulped. Evidently, the woman before him knew exactly what had passed between him and Miss Bennet last evening. His face flamed.

  "I am prodigiously sorry to hear that, ma'am." He would have to post his letter, in the hope that she would at least read it.

  "Yes, as was I, sir." Mrs. Collins fixed him with her gaze, her eyes narrowed.

  Darcy turned his head away from her penetrating stare, clearing his throat as he did so.

  "In that case, ma'am, I must bid you adieu.”

  "Did you perhaps have a message we might give Miss Bennet, sir?" It was a bold question, eliciting a hiss of warning from Mr Collins, but Mrs Collins continued to look at him, as a mother might look at her scolded child. "Mr. Collins and I plan to travel to Hertfordshire in the next fortnight. I should be happy to deliver any message you might have."

  Darcy glanced at her husband's vapid grin.

  "Indeed, sir. Indeed, we would be truly humbled," Mr Col
lins agreed, apparently delighted at the prospect of being an assistance to Mr Darcy.

  He managed a tight smile and looked back at Mrs. Collins.

  "I thank you, Mrs. Collins. I do have a note I had thought to give Miss Bennett. As she will be traveling," he reached into his pocket and pulled out the carefully sealed pages, "perhaps it would be best to remand it into your care."

  Mrs. Collins took the letter carefully. "I shall give it her as soon as I can, Mr. Darcy. You can be assured of that." Her thin smile softened slightly.

  He bowed, truly grateful. "Thank you, ma'am. I am in your debt. Putting on his hat, Mr Darcy bowed to Mr. Collins and quit the house, priding himself on his efforts at restraint.

  #

  "I should have thought the London road to be kept in better repair."

  Elizabeth Bennet braced a hand against the wall of the coach and adjusted her bonnet, knocked aslant by its recent and violent contact with the back of her seat cushion.

  "Indeed,” came the mumbled reply. The tiny figure huddled in the far corner of the coach kept her eyes fixed on her shoelaces. She had been quite delighted to discover she would have some company on her journey, but the other passenger - a Miss Grace - had thus far, said very little. Elizabeth sighed. It wasn't as though she wanted to be bosom bows with the young lady, although a little more conversation would have been most welcome.

  Trying again, Elizabeth wondered if perhaps a question might elicit more of a response. "I wonder if you might - "

  Without warning, the coach gave a sickening lurch, flinging Elizabeth against the door and the other passenger against Elizabeth.The air left her lungs at once, making her gasp for breath.

  Angry shouts and wild neighing filled the air. The coach rocked upright once, heaved forward, only to tip violently to the right.

  "Cut 'em loose!"

  Elizabeth heard the shout just before the coach tumbled side-over-side down what an incline on the side of the road.

  The vehicle banged to a stop. Elizabeth had to take a few breaths, before she realised that she was indeed, still alive. To her surprise, it was not the face of her sister Jane that flashed before her eyes, nor that of her father. Instead, there came Mr Darcy's face--earnest in his proposal, his sneering refusal to dance, the look of abhorrence when he talked about her family.

  Blinking hastily, Elizabeth tried to remain in the present, ignoring the wave of dizziness that was threatening to overwhelm her. Attempting to breathe evenly, Elizabeth pushed at the weight holding her down, only for muffled crying met her ears.

  Apparently Miss Grace was stuck a top of her. With the voluminous material of the lady’s skirts all about her, Elizabeth was not quite sure where Miss Grace truly was.

  "Miss Grace?"

  More crying.

  “Can you move, just a little?” she begged. “My lungs are burning.”

  Thankfully, the woman moved and Elizabeth was able to push herself upright. Nausea rolled in her throat at once. Putting a hand to her aching head, she felt both heat and a strange stickiness. Pulling her hand away, she recognised the dark stain of blood. Her eyes fluttered closed as she attempted to remain calm.

  “If you can,” she said, quietly. “You must try and move off me completely, Miss Grace. Otherwise we shall never get out of here.”

  It seemed to take an age but, eventually, the weight of Miss Grace’s body was removed from her completely.

  Unfortunately, the lady had not yet stopped crying. Pushing aside seat cushions, she found the girl curled into a ball, rocking, at the other end of the coach. There was no blood or any serious injuries, she ascertained, which was something of a relief.

  "Oh, this wretched thing!" Elizabeth tore at the bonnet ribbons choking her as she tried to reach Grace. The bonnet that had been hanging from her back was now caught on something that Elizabeth could not see. Eventually, a gratifying rip freed her from constriction. She also noted increased volume in the noises outside the coach.

  "Miss Grace, I believe someone is coming.”

  The woman looked up at her with a slight flicker of hope in her eyes, just as the coach rocked slightly.

  "Hello? Hello, there. Is anyone injured?"

  Elizabeth looked up. Whose voice was that? None of the grooms, surely?

  Miss Grace shrieked as the coach rocked once more.

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around the girl.

  "We are both in here and are in desperate need of help. I am slightly injured, and Miss Grace needs to be taken from this place at once."

  “Please!” Miss Grace squeaked, her pallor increasing.

  The sounds outside the coach rose to a cacophony, as Elizabeth held onto Miss Grace, attempting to reassure her.

  "Quiet!" An authoritative, deep voice issued the command. Why was it so familiar?

  "That's better. Now, we'll need a rope from my coach, Martin. And do you bring the extras rugs, as well."

  Elizabeth's head hurt. She cradled Miss Grace against her and allowed her fuzzy thoughts to drift. Darcy's face flitted through her thoughts again. She had left in anger, and hoped desperately that her response to him would make him consider his own behaviour in full.

  "Miss?"

  Elizabeth jerked at the stranger's voice.

  "Hello! We're here. Where are you?”

  The sounds of tapping came from one side of the coach. "Yes, Miss Bennet, we are on this side of your coach. Without wishing to alarm you, you must both remain perfectly still unti lwe have secured the coach.”

  “Secured it?” Her thoughts grew frantic. “Whatever do you mean?” Elizabeth wrinkled her brow.

  "Miss Bennet, your coach lies on an incline. It is braced against a large tree right now, but you must take care not to shift about. The coach is like to slide from its perch and fall the rest of the way down the incline, should you do so."

  Blood drained from Elizabeth's face as Miss Grace gave a quiet shriek. Death had never felt so close. Was she really going to die like this? In a coach, on the side of a road? Well, at least she had given Darcy the set-down he deserved before she departed this earth. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth attempted to give herself a stern talking to. Good Lord, what was wrong with her?

  "Miss Bennet? Miss Bennet, did you hear what I said?" The voice sounded nearer.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat.

  "Yes. I heard you and understand. We shall stay as still as we are able, sir. Can you…do you think you will be able to bring us out?"

  "Yes, Miss Bennet." The voice was just outside the window, as the coach suddenly creaked.

  “Have no fear!” said the voice, as Miss Grace began to cry with loud, hiccuping sobs. “We are simply attempting to secure the coach so we can remove you both safely.”

  Elizabeth rubbed calming circles on the woman’s back, trying to keep calm herself.

  "If you can maintain your calm and your position in the coach, my man and I shall have you out in a trice."

  Elizabeth tried to smile as Miss Grace continued to sob. "Miss Grace, did you hear? There are men working to free us. We shall be out soon."

  "Unless the coach slips," Miss Grace's whispered, her words ended in a whimper.

  "Miss Bennett?" She responded immediately. "Yes? "She was beginning to love the sound of that voice. It was the voice of security, of hope and of trust.

  "Miss Bennet, we have braced the coach as well as we are able. I shall attempt to open the door. It does not appear to be jammed, thankfully."

  The coach rocked wildly. Grace cried out and Elizabeth gasped in fright, her heart beating frantically. Dear Lord! They were going to fall!

  Light flooded in. A shadow appeared in the light of the opened coach door.

  "Miss Bennet?"

  How was it possible for his voice to wash over her with such comfort? All thoughts of death left her the moment he entered.

  "Miss Bennet?" He extended his arm into the coach, causing it to lurch to one side.

  "Hold there!" He turned his head to look at someo
ne outside. "Just a trifle more, lads, and we'll have them out. Hold tight!"

  He turned back to lower his hand once more into the shell of the coach.

  "Can you reach my hand?"

  Elizabeth shifted Miss Grace from her lap and stretched her hand as far as she could. Her fingertips just brushed his. Even at the brief contact, heat flashed through her and she jerked back.

  "Miss Bennet? Are you injured?"

  "My head aches, I must confess, but Miss Grace is the one who should be removed first.”

  He grunted and shifted his position. The coach shifted, but only slightly this time.

  "Will you be able to pass her to me, do you think?"

  Elizabeth looked down at Miss Grace, whose eyes were beginning to close as she attempted to stop herself from fainting completely.

  “I believe so.”

  “Then do it.” The confidence in his voice made Elizabeth's heart lightened. They would make it out of this alive.

  She slowly unwrapped her arms from Miss Grace, who moaned at the lack of reassuring contact.

  "Miss Grace, you must try to stand." Elizabeth took one of the woman’s arms and helped her to rise. On unsteady feet, the woman managed to make her way towards the man - only to faint just as he caught her.

  Elizabeth watched as Grace's inert form disappeared through the opening. Light flooded in as their rescuer -- how ridiculous that she didn't even know his name--transferred Grace to others. She heard the murmur of mens voices.

  She grabbed something to hold onto as the coach lurched again. Nothing was within reach and there was simply nothing to hold on to. Her head was aching so badly that she was finding it difficult to see clearly.

  Another lurch.

  "Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet, can you reach my hand?"

  Now a little dizzy, Elizabeth looked toward the figure in the opening. What did he say?

  Odd. Her vision seemed to be collapsing and her ears were ringing.

  "Martin! Hold my legs. I believe she's fainting."

  The next few moments blurred.

  She was aware of movement, sound, sunlight warm on her chilled skin. And hands.

  Strong, gentle hands chafing her own.