Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

Mrs. Parrish either couldn’t hear her or ignored her.

“Caroline belongs to me.” Parrish cackled again. “Her wedding vows included a promise to obey — didn’t yours? Tsk! Terrible oversight on your husband’s part. I’ll have to give him the name of my jeweler.”

His gaze never leaving Elizabeth, Parrish crossed to a chest of drawers and removed a fistful of neckcloths. Pressing his knife to the base of Elizabeth’s throat, he instructed Caroline to bind her ankles and wrists to the chair. Elizabeth breathed shallowly through her nose, afraid the slightest movement would cause the blade to pierce her.

When she was bound, he held the knife away a few inches and ordered Caroline to gag her with the last cravat. “I really quite liked you, Mrs. Darcy. You were the only person in this whole vapid house with sufficient wit to challenge me.” He tossed the blade in the air, spinning it end over end, then reached up and caught it squarely by its handle. “Don’t attempt anything stupid, and I might let you live.”

Her heart pounding so loud that it nearly drowned out his words, she nodded.

He snickered. “Why don’t I trust you?” He handed the blade to Caroline. “Slice her if she moves.”

He crossed to the armoire with rapid steps, withdrew a valise, and set it open on the bed. From various drawers he pulled clothing, money, documents — and a dagger with a jagged blade twice the size of the one Caroline held.

A knock at the door interrupted his packing. He gestured for Caroline to hold her knife against Elizabeth’s throat once more. Unreleased breath filled her lungs. Staring at the dagger Parrish gripped, she at once prayed it was Darcy who stood outside, and prayed it wasn’t.

Parrish approached the door. “Who’s there?”

“Mrs. Darcy’s maid, sir. By chance is she with Mrs. Parrish?”

He opened the door a crack. “Mrs. Darcy isn’t here. I haven’t seen her all morning.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry to disturb you.”

He shut the door without response.

Lucy! Elizabeth silently willed her faithful servant to get as far away from this chamber of horror as possible — yet to somehow know she needed help.

Pressed against the wall outside Parrish’s room, Darcy met Lucy’s gaze. She shook her head and shrugged — she had not been able to see inside.

Damn.

He jerked his head toward the stairs. As prearranged, the servant left to summon assistance.

Parrish’s lie that he hadn’t seen Elizabeth all morning further strengthened Darcy’s suspicions that she was in fact within. If this was what his wife meant by intuition, he was starting to put some stock in it. He only hoped the instinct that told him she yet lived was also accurate. He deeply regretted their quarrel, that their last moments together had been laced with tension and unhappiness. Dear God, if he could but hold Elizabeth safe in his arms once more, hear his name on her lips, he’d patiently listen to every far-fetched notion she cared to utter.

Cold terror clawed his chest. He had never feared for himself the way he now feared for her. Parrish was a violent man without conscience, and Elizabeth was within striking range. Common sense told him to wait for help, but he dared not allow another minute’s delay.

He cocked the pistol he had borrowed from Bingley’s desk. Bracing himself for whatever he might find on the other side, he swung wide the door and burst in.

“Mr. Darcy. I wondered when you might join us.”

Parrish calmly greeted Darcy’s dramatic entrance. Standing in the center of the chamber, he gestured with a wicked-looking dagger toward the side of the room. “As you can see, your wife has already made herself comfortable.”

Elizabeth was bound and gagged, and — Darcy’s jaw dropped — held at knifepoint by Caroline Parrish.

“Mrs. Parrish?” Darcy struggled to comprehend the scene. He could not believe Caroline would act in collusion with the ruffian.

“Put down that pistol before someone gets hurt. My wife is a most attentive hostess, I assure you.”

Darcy instead aimed the weapon at Parrish. “I know Caroline Bingley. She would not harm Elizabeth.”

“Caroline Bingley might not. But Caroline Parrish will if I ask her to. She’ll do anything I command. Imagine that — a wife who does her husband’s bidding! Perhaps yours would get into less trouble if she followed suit.”

Parrish was bluffing. Had to be. Darcy had known Caroline for more than a decade, and while she did not harbor any great affection for Elizabeth, physically harming another person was not in her nature. He held the pistol steady.

“Don’t believe me?” Parrish slowly brought his hands together and twisted his ring. “Caroline, run that blade down your own cheek.”

Caroline lifted the knife. In a motion too swift for Darcy to prevent, she scratched the side of her face. A thin ribbon of blood welled and dribbled down her cheek. She returned the blade to the base of Elizabeth’s throat.

“If a woman as vain as my wife will disfigure herself at my command, do you doubt what she’ll do to your precious Elizabeth?”

Darcy, nauseated by what he’d just witnessed, stared at Parrish. What kind of monster was he? And what sort of domination did he hold over Caroline? He looked at Parrish’s ring. He’d fingered it before issuing the vile order. Glancing back at Caroline, he noted that she still wore her own wedding ring. Was it possible that Elizabeth was right? Could the rings possess some mysterious power?

Parrish laughed, a malevolent, sickening sound. “Realization dawns on stuffy English intellect. Your wife caught on much faster than you. Now, speaking of the little lady — if you love her, put the pistol down.”

Slowly, Darcy set the pistol on the floor.

“Fool.”

Elizabeth ignored the lump in her throat, not daring to swallow it. The tip of Caroline’s knife pressed into her flesh. Perspiration trickled down her throat. Or was it blood?

Parrish kicked the pistol toward Caroline. “Here, darling — I think even you can figure out how to use this.” The weapon scudded across the floor, coming to rest near Elizabeth’s foot. Elizabeth, hoping to kick it under the bed, strained against the bond at her ankle, but it held fast. Caroline set her knife on the night table and picked up the gun.

“If either of them tries anything, shoot the other,” Parrish said.

Elizabeth hadn’t known such wickedness existed in the world. She dared not look at Darcy. He’d already relinquished his weapon because of her; she did not want him to see the terror she felt for him and herself. Nor did she want Parrish to know that in threatening him he’d found her greatest vulnerability.

Her mind raced, trying to devise a way to help her husband. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move… much. She tested her wrist constraints. The left secured her tightly to the chair arm, but she found the right just loose enough to allow slight movement. If she proceeded very slowly, so as not to draw Caroline’s notice, perhaps she could reach her pocket — and the housewife inside. What she hoped to accomplish with sewing notions she knew not, but attempting to reach a pin or needle seemed more useful than doing nothing.

“Parrish, there is no reason anyone has to get hurt.” Darcy held his hands before him in a show of cooperation. “Let my wife go, and we can settle this like gentlemen.”

“Like gentlemen?” Parrish snorted. “And just what does that mean? Shall we repair to the drawing room for tea? I’ve endured enough foppish English manners. I’ve got you and your wife at gunpoint, man — let’s drop the phony civility.”