Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

Darcy straightened and took a step toward Elizabeth’s side of the room. “All right, then. Tell me what it is you want.”

Elizabeth worked her fingers closer to her pocket. They reached its edge.

“First, I want you to stop moving toward your wife. Do you think I’m stupid? There—” With the dagger, he pointed to the other side of the room, near the sputtering fire. “I want you there.”

Darcy moved where he indicated. Just a couple feet from the flames, his form cast long shadows on the floor.

To keep both eyes on Darcy, Parrish now had to stand with his body turned away from Elizabeth. She dipped her fingers inside her pocket. They brushed something, but not the expected housewife — a chain… Professor Randolph’s watch. She nearly cried in frustration. Of what possible use was that watch right now? She pawed it until it slid into her palm. Perhaps she could move it out of her way and yet reach the housewife.

“Second,” Parrish continued, “I want money. Lots of it.”

“How much?”

“How much do you have?” Parrish ran a fingertip along the flat of the blade. He cocked his head as if an idea had just occurred to him. “More to the point, how much is your wife worth? She’ll be taking a little trip with me, you see, until a generous sum finds its way to us. I’d planned to just bring Caroline — we never had a proper honeymoon, you know. But adding Elizabeth could make things far more… exciting.”

Elizabeth fought down the bile that rose in her throat at Parrish’s indecent suggestion. Darcy made no reply, but she could see from the tightening of his jaw that Parrish had baited his anger.

“I can hardly wait to find out, Darcy — is your wife as spirited by night as she is by day?”

Darcy’s gaze flickered to Elizabeth. She could read in his expression that he wanted nothing more than to silence Parrish’s offensive utterances. His hands clenched into fists. But the villain’s order to Caroline prevented action — Darcy might risk harm to himself, but never to her.

Loud footsteps clattered in the hall, heading toward the chamber. Parrish looked at the door, then back at Darcy. “I won’t be outnumbered.” He leapt toward him, dagger poised.

Darcy sprang. But not forward — back, to the fireplace. He grabbed the poker and brought it up to block Parrish’s attack. Steel struck iron as he deflected the thrust.

Caroline pointed the pistol at Darcy. Elizabeth struggled against her bonds, but to no effect. Caroline wrapped both hands around the handle and moved her finger to the trigger.

At Darcy’s parry, Parrish retreated a step. He stood between Caroline and Darcy, blocking her aim. Darcy gripped the poker in his right hand like a fencing foil, his stance en garde . The two men circled. In another moment, Caroline would have a clear shot.

Elizabeth hurled her whole weight at Caroline, upsetting both chair and captor. She knocked Caroline to the ground and landed on top of her legs. The pistol flew out of Caroline’s grasp and skidded under the night table.

The fall knocked the wind out of Elizabeth. She labored for breath, helpless as a turtle on its back. Her right hand, yet grasping the watch, had slid from her pocket, but her bonds still held fast. She could do little against Caroline but try to maintain the pin, and nothing to help Darcy. From her present position she could barely see her husband and Parrish.

“Caroline, kindly kill Mrs. Darcy, will you?” Parrish lunged at Darcy, trying to stab him in the gut. Darcy parried the strike. The sound of clashing metal filled the air.

Caroline fought to free herself from Elizabeth’s weight. She kicked and twisted, trying to move out from beneath the chair. She stilled, however, when she caught sight of the watch in Elizabeth’s hand.

The watch! Perhaps it truly did hold power. If so, she could use it somehow. But did she dare? She didn’t want to harm Caroline, only to prevent her from acting on Parrish’s orders.

Caroline resumed her struggle. She stretched her arm toward the night table, attempting to reach the pistol. Her fingers brushed the handle.

The chamber door flew open. Bingley rushed in — accompanied by Professor Randolph. Randolph carried a forked wooden rod.

“Bingley!” Darcy cried. “Help Elizabeth!”

Parrish fingered one of the knots in the medallion at his neck, his other hand still brandishing his weapon. “No — help your sister! Mrs. Darcy is attacking her!”

Bingley stood rooted to the floor, frozen with indecision, his gaze ricocheting from Darcy and Parrish to the women. Elizabeth didn’t understand his hesitation. How could he possibly believe Parrish’s claim? Could he not see that Elizabeth was bound to the chair?

Caroline managed a tentative grasp on the pistol, clawing it into her hand. Randolph hurried forward.

“Mrs. Darcy, the amulet — my watch — touch it to her!”

Why? What would it do? She longed to ask but the gag still silenced her.

Parrish kept his eyes on Darcy as the two yet faced off. “Bingley, now Randolph’s trying to use his hocus-pocus on Caroline.”

Bingley grabbed Randolph, preventing him from getting any closer to where the two women lay sprawled.

Randolph struggled against Bingley. “Mrs. Darcy! The amulet!”

“Caroline, shut him up!” Parrish snarled.

From her angle, Elizabeth could scarcely see Randolph, could not look him in the eye to judge his motives. What harm would the amulet inflict on Caroline? On herself, for using it? She clutched it in her palm. Did she dare trust the supernaturalist? Why had he returned to Netherfield? Wasn’t he in league with Parrish?

Caroline had the pistol firmly in her grasp now. She twisted to take aim at the professor.

There was no more time to think. If Elizabeth was going to act, it had to be now. She pressed the amulet against Caroline’s leg. And prayed she was doing the right thing.

Caroline’s grip on the pistol relaxed. She lowered it to the floor.

Randolph fought to extricate himself, but Bingley’s grasp was strong. “The amulet has reduced the ring’s hold on her,” the professor said to Elizabeth. “Ask her to free you.”

With a howl of anger, Parrish suddenly abandoned his duel with Darcy and lunged at Randolph. Restrained by Bingley, the professor was helpless to defend himself. Just as Parrish was about to sink a fatal thrust, Darcy leapt for his legs. Parrish fell forward, the dagger still in his hand.

He rolled to his back and stabbed at Darcy. Darcy caught his wrist. Their arms shook with the strength of two matched forces in opposition. The blade inched closer to Darcy, coming but a hairsbreadth away from him.

Elizabeth stopped breathing. Her neck ached from the strain of watching from the poor angle, but she could not tear her gaze away.

Darcy never flinched. With slowness that seemed to last an eternity, he forced Parrish’s hand back until it rested on the floor.

Elizabeth choked down a sob of relief.

Darcy disarmed Parrish, checked him for other hidden weapons, and — at Randolph’s direction — removed both his wedding ring and the medallion he wore around his neck. With Bingley’s help, he tied the knave’s wrists to the bedpost. Parrish said nothing the whole time.

The moment Parrish was secured, Darcy hastened to Elizabeth. He tugged at her bonds until she was free and pulled her into his arms. “Elizabeth,” he whispered fiercely, the single word at once an endearment, an apology, a promise. She understood it was all he could say. As he had once told her, a man who had felt less might have said more.

Her own heart was just as full. She tried to respond but discovered the gag had left her mouth too dry to speak. She settled for simply resting her head in the crook of his neck.