by Lady Waller
“But how?” Darcy asked. Then he croaked again.
Wickham recoiled. He grasped the witch by her shoulder as she dropped the last iron restraining her to the ground. “He can talk?”
“Magic is a very curious thing. I control the words, but the cosmos and spirits control the outcome. There’s balance in good and evil.” She jerked away from him. “You have what you want, now be done with me.”
The witch spat on the ground and crept off towards the heavy bushes. Wickham let her go. Once she moved out of sight, the sun shone bright again through the trees onto the forest floor as if the wind had dispersed of all the cloud coverage. Wickham stood under the tree, no doubt judging his climbing capabilities.
Darcy no longer had a neck to swivel and had to move his entire upper body to glance around at his surroundings. What would happen if he jumped higher? Or to another tree? And what were those delicious looking little flying bugs?
“It doesn’t matter if you can talk. It doesn’t matter if I don’t catch you. Knowing your last moments before being eaten by a bird or other woodland creature was spent as the lowliest critter is enough satisfaction for me.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Darcy tilted his head and popped out his tongue. The power in the flick brought him up short. He needed to learn and practice all of his animal capabilities if he were to survive. And survive he would.
Wickham narrowed his eyes. “You won’t last the night, and your powerful, rich friends won’t be able to save you. Even if you were to make it back to Netherfield, the first person you spoke to would crush you beneath their boot. Whilst I will now be free to pursue every woman in the Shire. Or perhaps I shall return to Pemberley and once again proclaim my affections for your sweet sister.”
Anger boiled up within Darcy’s throat and he expressed it as a loud croak. A couple of frogs returned the sound with croaks of their own. Humiliation sunk deep into his small body. He pushed it aside. Only focus on the anger.
Wickham’s laugh sounded friendly but Darcy could pick out the insanity. The man began whistling a jaunty tune. He strolled along the tree line and out of sight as if he didn’t have a single worry to weigh him down.
A bird swooped down and lit on a nearby branch. Darcy pushed his body tight against the rough bark. He couldn’t give up. Not only would he survive the night, he wouldn’t rest his frog legs until he found a way to reverse the curse and bring havoc down upon George Wickham’s head.
Chapter Two
“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” Elizabeth’s mother dashed through their house past the sitting room and into Papa’s study. Her bonnet askew on top of her head, the woman panted as if she’d been running. If she meant to close the door all the way behind her, she failed and Elizabeth pulled Jane with her to listen through the crack.
The only time their mother returned from Meryton in such a tizzy was when there was news of marriageable young men passing through. Since the militia was already in town, their cousin Mr. Collins had taken up residence at Longbourn, and they’d attended a ball thrown by the most eligible bachelor in the Shire two days’ prior, Elizabeth couldn’t imagine who could have set her mother’s nerves on edge.
Jane opened her mouth to ask a question, but Elizabeth quickly shushed her. She pressed her ear deeper against the door’s slim opening.
“Mr. Bennet, all of Meryton is panicked with the news of Mr. Darcy’s disappearance. He set out into the Dark Woods yesterday morning and only his horse returned. Mr. Bingley is quite beside himself. It is up to you to offer your services of coordinating a search party.” Her mother’s voice ended on a high note.
“I thought you were not fond of Mr. Darcy,” her father replied, his tone calm and even as usual.
Elizabeth could smell the smoke from his pipe filtering through the door.
“Meryton would not miss Mr. Darcy and his foul manners, but poor Mr. Bingley is all but inconsolable. He won’t be able to offer a proposal of marriage to our Jane in this state. You must offer your services at once,” she repeated.
A heavy sigh passed Papa’s lips. “If I am to offer my services, and I would do so for any gentlemen, then I would not do it to further your matchmaking.”
“Mr. Bennet, there are times when you are insufferable.” Mama added a huff to further show her indignation.
Elizabeth leaned back and bumped into Mr. Collins’ chest. Surprised to find him participating in the eavesdropping, she quickly stepped away and grabbed Jane’s hand.
As she pulled Jane back towards the sitting room, Elizabeth glanced back over her shoulder. “Our apologies, Mr. Collins.”
Since the ball at Netherfield, the impertinent man had tried several times to gain her attention, and other than at mealtime she did her best to ensure she never spent more than a few minutes in his presence. Her mother had designs on one of the Bennet sisters marrying their cousin, and Elizabeth hoped he’d settle his gaze on the middle sister, Mary, for she would be the only one in the household who would appreciate his rehearsed compliments and lengthy sermons.
Her three youngest sisters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, had attended their mother to town and now they stood in the sitting room, each removing their bonnets and gloves. Their excited chatter met Elizabeth and Jane as they joined them.
“Colonel Forster is offering to send his soldiers into the Dark Woods to assist with the search,” Lydia said. She’d become friends with the Colonel’s wife and this friendship had opened a new avenue of gossip for the Bennets. “But after being gone a full night and day, they fear the worst.”
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the settee, interested in hearing the developing news. Whilst it was true that Mr. Darcy had injured her pride on more than one occasion since his visit to Meryton, she’d enjoyed some of their conversations and would never wish the man to come to harm.
A knock drew their attention to the door. Mr. Collins leaned in his upper torso and cleared his throat. “Might I join you ladies for a bit?”
Elizabeth wanted to yell a resounding “no” but Mary quickly responded with opening the door further and ushering him inside.
He sat down on the settee close to Elizabeth. “Tell me, Miss Elizabeth, why do they call it the ‘Dark Woods.’”
Kitty erupted into a fit of giggles, and Jane quickly shushed her.
Elizabeth kept a tight smile. “I would not know.”
Lydia’s eyes sparkled with the opportunity to be the center of attention, even if she’d had no kind words for Mr. Collins since he’d arrived. “A witch lives in the Dark Woods.”
“Certainly not!” Mr. Collins’ complexion blanched. “The good church-going people of the Shire would never allow a witch in their midst.”
Elizabeth held back a sigh. How many times had she defended Mrs. Hucklebee from hateful gossip? The poor old woman had been abandoned by her family long ago, and much preferred to live her life in solitude. That did not make her a witch.
Lydia refused to let the matter drop. “Lizzy knows of her. She often takes her bread so that the witch won’t cast spells on Longbourn.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands together.
Mr. Collins turned his head back towards her, and she saw a ready accusation in his eyes.
“Lydia, that is quite enough.” Jane’s soft voice filled the silence.
Mr. Collins narrowed his eyes, his dark eyebrows forming a straight line across his forehead. “Do you indeed associate with this type of woman? If she is in need why does she not ask the local parson for assistance? Surely he would be better suited to attend the poor than you, Miss Elizabeth.”
A fuzzy sensation started at her fingertips and she realized it was because she wished to raise them up and smack the judgment off Mr. Collin’s face. She sucked in a deep breath. “If by associate with this type of woman you mean do I take bread to a poor, elderly woman who lives in the forest? Then the answer is yes, that is exactly what I do. Her reasons for not standing at the parson’s kitchen and begging for bread are her ow
n.”
She could tell she’d insulted him with her opinion. He fluffed his cravat and cast his eyes down at the hardwood floor. Almost an entire minute later, he spoke. “I forbid you from seeking out this woman from this point forward.”
Of all the pompous, self-righteous, silly men she was forced to endure, he had to be the worst. Elizabeth stood and squared her shoulders. “I am sorry sir, but you do not have the authority to forbid me from doing anything.”
He stood, red spots now coloring his pale cheeks, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I shall speak to Mrs. Bennet about this at once.”
Mr. Collins stomped from the room and shut the door with such a force one of the paintings tilted. Kitty and Lydia burst into another fit of giggles while Mary shook her head as if ashamed to be Elizabeth’s sister.
Elizabeth glanced at Jane, whose expression was one of dismay. She loved all of her sisters dearly, but none of them truly understood her. She would not be bullied by a man and especially not by that man. And to call a woman a witch without evidence bordered on preposterous. She thought of Mrs. Hucklebee out there in the forest on her own. The woman lived in between the land of Netherfield and another neighboring farm. Her shack could scarcely be called a home, and Elizabeth’s spoiled sisters would do better to respect someone who had so little yet continued to show such kindness to all who passed her by.
“Lizzy! Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet screeched her name from down the hallway. Elizabeth didn’t move since she was certain Mama was on her way. Mama burst in seconds later. “My dear child, you will not enter the Dark Woods on your own. Do you want to succumb to the same fate as Mr. Darcy? My nerves could not stand it if one of my girls went missing.”
Elizabeth bowed her head but didn’t offer a verbal answer. It wouldn’t matter if she had, since Mama had moved on to address Jane. “Your father will assist Mr. Bingley in the search. He’ll take the carriage along the main roads, and you shall attend him.”
“Why does she get to go along?” Lydia whined. “I want to watch the men search too.”
Mama turned a sharp eye on her. “There will be many opportunities for Mr. Bennet to speak with Mr. Bingley, and I want Jane there to bolster Mr. Bingley’s fallen spirits should he need it.”
Jane stood and smoothed her skirts, her emotions in check as always. “Yes, Mama.”
“And if Mr. Bennet should be the one to find Mr. Darcy, then Mr. Bingley would have even more reason to be grateful to our family,” Mama added.
Elizabeth groaned. “Mama, really.”
“Not another word, Lizzy. Mr. Collins has asked to stay behind and keep the rest of us company.” She arched an eyebrow. “Of course, with the news of Mr. Darcy’s disappearance, my nerves are in need an afternoon respite. That leaves the rest of you to entertain his sermons until Mr. Bennet and Jane return.”
Lizzy cringed on the inside, but forced a smile. She had zero intentions of spending an afternoon listening to Mr. Collins read from Fordyce’s Sermons.
“Mama, perhaps I shall ask Cook to prepare us some sweet rolls.” Elizabeth kept the smile and fluttered her lashes. “Mr. Collins will no doubt work up an appetite while reading.”
She nodded her head in agreement and took a deep breath. “That is the proper behavior, my child. Off you go to see Cook.” Mama addressed the rest of the girls. “Pleasant faces and no interruptions.”
Lydia and Kitty sat down and tucked their arms across their chest in matching pouts. Elizabeth rushed out of the room before enduring a minute more of Mr. Collins’ company and wound through the hallways to the kitchen. First, she slipped in Papa’s study. If her plan was to work, she needed a way to keep up with the time. He had several pocket watches, but his favorite he only wore on special occasions. Quietly, she opened the drawer to his desk and removed the gold-lined watch, noting its perfectly kept time. She’d have it back long before he missed it.
Strong smells of lamb stew and fresh vegetables greeted her in the kitchen. Instead of asking Cook to prepare the sweet rolls, Elizabeth tied an apron with deep pockets around her waist. She borrowed one of the maid’s bonnets hanging from a hook by the back door and tied it tight beneath her neck. If anyone in the kitchen thought her actions strange, no one made an attempt to question her.
She grabbed two fresh pears from a bowl, tucking them and the watch deep into the apron pockets. A glance out the window let her know that the carriage for Papa and Jane had already been brought to the front steps. Everyone’s attention would be on their departure so she dashed from the back door and down the back lane that led to the Dark Woods.
Once her absence was noted, it would be too late for Mr. Collins to dash down the lane after her. She admitted that if he were to do so, she’d break into a run. How could she ever be made to love a man who judged without having the facts first?
Everyone would speak ill of Mrs. Hucklebee but no one would do the sensible thing and simply ask her if she’d seen Mr. Darcy in the woods. Elizabeth lifted her skirts to avoid a patch of thick mud. She was nothing else if not sensible. If quieting the state of her mother’s nerves and ensuring that she could once again walk the woods without having to sneak out the door, Elizabeth would assist in the search for Mr. Darcy.
She thought back to the ball, where even though she’d wanted to loath the man, she’d been unable to decline his offer of a dance. Something in his eyes pulled her toward him. He’d tried to have polite conversation with her and she’d teased him. Then Miss Bingley had pulled her aside to speak ill of Mr. Wickham, perhaps at the bequest of Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth bit her lip, wondering if her negative thoughts against Mr. Darcy had led to his fate.
If she’d wished ill on Mr. Darcy and it had come to pass, then she’d indeed be the witch. And there were no such things. She shook her head to pull herself out of the somber thoughts as she approached the path to take her to the Dark Woods, which were indeed quite the opposite of dark. The sunlight filtered through the tall trees and their lush leaves, giving the forest a cheery glow. Birds chirped jovial tunes and Elizabeth felt safer in the midst of nature than cornered in a room with Mr. Collins.
Chapter Three
Darcy had survived his first night as a frog. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he still expected to wake up from the nightmare. What a pleasure it would be to find that he was still in bed within the halls of Netherfield.
He croaked and flicked his tongue, catching a fruit fly on the end. Not a dream.
After spending more time than he could calculate pressed into the bark of the tree, he’d finally hopped to the floor of the forest. A rock had provided shelter for most of the night. A chorus of noise had lulled him into short bouts of fitful sleep. His instincts constantly alerted him that any noise could be a potential predator. Never had he worried this much for his safety. When he returned to human form, he wondered if the self-preservation instincts would remain.
Now that the sun crested in the horizon, he needed to get his bearings and make his way to Netherfield. He hopped forward, careful to stay close to the brush that matched his brown and green coloring, but along the beaten path that his horse had followed the day before. The warmth of the sun soaked into his skin and he quickly realized he needed to stay nearer the moist grass. It would take him days to complete his journey at this pace. What horrible acts would Wickham commit in the time it took Darcy to travel through the woods? The witch had mumbled a few words and made him a frog. The same could be done to Charles or anyone that stood against the villain so filled with hate he would easily concoct a plan of this sort.
Darcy paused and scooted beneath a large fallen leaf. It appeared the witch had not wanted to cast the spell, and if not, it was possible she could be persuaded to unspell him. How would he find her? No one in town had mentioned a witch living in the woods.
The ground trembled and quaked and his senses pushed him to hop from the trail onto a tree. He watched as several men galloped by on horseback. They slowed on the trail.
A man he didn’t
recognize cupped his hands around his mouth. “Darcy!”
They were looking for him! Charles had most likely organized a search party. The truest of friends.
He opened his mouth to say “I am here” and out came a croak. He tried again but again only a croak. Why? Was he doomed to only speak in front of Wickham and the witch? She’d said that the cosmos would balance good and evil, but being unable to speak to any other human would mean no one could understand his need for help. He was doomed. The two men rode past and continued to shout his name.
Darcy used his tongue to clean one of his eyes. The action returned the anger. He would not accept failure. He’d stay close to the trees on the path and the next time men on horses came through, he’d catch a ride on one of the saddle bags. A man of his intelligence would find a way to communicate and undo the heinous act. He was not an animal.
He crawled to the bottom of the tree and inhaled deeply. The frog instincts wanted him to leave the path and go past a large pile of mud. Water, he thought. A loud croak grabbed his attention. A couple of croaks followed the first. Water and other frogs. That was what pulled him in the opposite direction of where he wanted to go. His skin itched and felt too hot. Even though he’d eaten the fruit fly, his stomach begged him for more. He laid his body flat on the ground to feel for trembles. It wasn’t likely the men on horses would be returning so soon, and he needed all his strength for when they did. A detour to water and bugs had to be allowed.
Darcy hopped through the mud, the sticky substance refreshingly cool. A bug buzzed by and he snapped his tongue to catch it. This time he missed. Had he ever worked so hard for a meal? He stayed motionless until another bug buzzed by. It didn’t matter the type, if it buzzed, he intended to eat it. This one he caught and he cheered with a bright croak.
The sound brought on a chorus of croaks. One by one, several brown and green striped frogs dropped down beside him. Darcy backed away slowly. How did one tell if a frog were friend or foe? Were there class structures like those of polite society? Would he be considered a gentleman frog? Most importantly, would all of these thoughts someday put him into an asylum for the mentally deranged?