Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

“I was about to come looking for you.”

Her hand flew to her chest until she realized the hushed voice beside her belonged to Darcy. She slumped against the door once more and released her breath.

He took her fingers in his and led her back to the bed. The sheets still held his warmth. “I apologize,” he whispered. “I did not mean to startle you. But what errand called you out of our room at this hour? Have you followed Caroline Parrish’s lead and taken up nocturnal wandering?”

“More than you know. I just saw her in the hall.” She nestled against him and described her recent adventure. As she spoke, her muscles relaxed. Mr. Kendall seemed less menacing in the safety of her husband’s embrace.

Darcy, in contrast, tensed as she related the tale. At its conclusion, he left her side and slipped into his breeches.

“Where do you go?”

“That man cannot be trusted until morning. I know where Bingley keeps his key. I am going to move the documents in that drawer to a safer location until he can attend to them. Someplace Kendall won’t think to look.”

“Where?”

He kissed her. “Under our mattress.”

It seemed she had just settled back into slumber when Darcy’s urgent voice penetrated her consciousness. “Elizabeth!”

She burrowed further into the bedclothes.

“Elizabeth!”

This had better be important. “What?” she whispered without opening her eyes.

No response. She rolled to face him and forced her lids open. He lay fast asleep.

She held perfectly still, listening for the voice again. Had she only imagined it? Had Darcy uttered her name in his sleep? Had someone called from the hall? She would have testified under oath that a voice had come from within their chamber — indeed, from right beside her. An unsettling thought gripped her: Was someone else in the room?

She held her breath and peered wide-eyed into the shadows. The wan firelight revealed no other person. Only the sound of sleet yet pelting against the glass disturbed the night.

The voice must have come in a dream. She sighed and curled into a ball, wondering what time it was and whether she was destined to get any rest before dawn. At this rate, she’d appear a sorry sight in the morning. The wind howled, mocking her sleeplessness.

Despite the heavy counterpane and her husband’s proximity, a shiver seized her. The fire sputtered. She lay in bed, the knowledge that she should add a log to the hearth battling reluctance to leave her cocoon to do so.

She forced herself from beneath the blankets. To delay would only permit the room to grow colder. The floor chilled her toes as she neared the fireplace. For a dying flame, the smell of smoke hung strong.

A basket of extra wood stood beside the hearth. As she reached for a log, she blinked back the sleepy haze that clouded her vision. Or at least she tried. But she could not clear her gaze.

Because the smog wasn’t in her head. Nor, a glance revealed, did it come from the fireplace.

Smoky tendrils snaked in beneath the door.

She dropped the log. “Darcy!”

She rushed to the door, tested its panels for heat. Mercifully, her touch met cool wood. “Darcy! I think the house is on fire!”

He was at her side before she finished the words. She tried to yank the door open but he restrained her panicked movements. “Slowly!” Though his command suggested composure, his tone revealed alarm that matched her own.

Together, they cautiously opened the door. Smoke swirled in the hallway. It seemed to come from the room across the hall. Jane and Bingley’s room.

Elizabeth started forward. Darcy stopped her. “Rouse the others and the servants. Send someone to help me but do not follow me in there yourself. Get out of the house.”

Every instinct urged her to run straight to Jane. But she realized it would take stronger arms than hers to help Darcy get the couple to safety, and many hands to keep the blaze from engulfing the house.

She sprinted down the hall and pounded on the next door. “Fire! Wake up! Fire!” Mr. Hurst answered with greater speed than she would ever have thought he possessed.

“Quickly! Go to Bingley’s room and help Darcy!” Without waiting for a response, she crossed to Parrish’s door.

The American answered before she even knocked. “I heard your cry. But I can’t find Caroline — she’s not in our chamber!”

Elizabeth glanced toward the staircase where she’d so recently seen the elusive Mrs. Parrish. There was no sign of Caroline, but she saw that Darcy had already dragged Jane into the hall and gone back for Bingley. Jane wasn’t moving. Dear God, let it be only the laudanum. Hurst slung her over his shoulder while Louisa fluttered around uselessly.

With the door to Bingley’s chamber open, the hallway was rapidly filling with smoke. In just a few minutes more they wouldn’t be able to see a thing. “Ring for the servants while I wake the others,” she said. “Then I will help you look.”

She left the family quarters and dashed up the side staircase. She had no idea who occupied which guest suite, and so just pounded on each door in succession. “Fire! Help!”

Randolph came into the corridor immediately. “What can I do?”

“Go downstairs. See whether Darcy has gotten Jane and Bingley to safety. Then help Mr. Parrish find his wife.”

Lawrence Kendall made no offer of aid, just fled down the steps as fast as his boots could carry him. Mr. Jones had the presence of mind to grab his medical bag. “I have a feeling I’ll be needing this,” he said as they descended the stairs.

When they reached the landing, so much smoke filled the air that she could barely discern the servants who had formed a bucket brigade and already worked to douse the flames. Had Darcy gotten Bingley out yet? And Caroline — where was she? She headed toward the mayhem, but Mr. Jones caught her arm. “Where are you going?”

“I promised Mr. Parrish I’d help him look for his wife.”

“He has probably long since found her. Doubtless, they wait with the others outside. Where you should be.”

“But Darcy—”

“Will vivisect me if I allow you to remain in this house a moment longer. If you must help someone, come with me to attend your sister.”

She did not need further prompting to seek out Jane. Her lungs burned as she and Mr. Jones groped their way down the final flight and across the entry hall. Coughs wracked her, slowing their pace.

At last they reached the door and burst into the night. Icy pellets stung her, rapidly drenching the thin shift she wore. The stone steps froze her bare feet.

The lawn was pandemonium. Servants raced about everywhere. Some of them carried buckets toward the house, while others carried valuables out. She saw no sign of Darcy or the Bingley family.

“Mrs. Darcy, thank heaven!” Her lady’s maid appeared at her side and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, rescuing her from both the elements and indecency. She handed another to Mr. Jones, who also wore only nightclothes. “I’ve been waiting here for you, just a-praying you’d come out soon!” She bent down and slipped a pair of unfamiliar shoes onto Elizabeth’s feet. “I hope these fit — they’re mine. I couldn’t get to your chamber for any of your things.”

“Lucy, I can’t take your shoes from you!” The servant probably had just the one pair.

“Oh, not to worry, madam. One of the men brought me a pair of Wellingtons from the barn. I’m sorry I don’t have a pair for you, too, sir, but there are more boots and blankets in the carriage house. That’s where Mrs. Bingley and the others are gathered.”