The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (34 page)

With the last of her strength, she managed to rock the body to its side long enough to pull the remnants of her bonnet free. However, she was too weak to swim to the surface. All she could manage was one last kick and a prayer that God would protect her.

In his panic, Darcy had lost track of the number of seconds his wife had remained below the water's surface. He had reached the spot where he thought he had last seen Elizabeth alive, but Darcy was no longer certain he had chosen correctly. Repeatedly, he dived into the dark waters in search of any sign of his wife and her attacker. Each time he surfaced with nothing to
show for his efforts, his heart seemed to die a slow death. The terror made it hard to breathe. He could see nothing of Elizabeth anywhere, and the dread of not finding her in time built in Darcy's chest.

A gulp of air was all he had permitted himself before Darcy dove again. His eyes searched for a bit of jonquil in the blues, greens, browns, and blacks of the water. Then he saw her floating, still in the water. Lifeless. Unmoving. The blood in his chest pounded as his heart lurched with the image. Darcy kicked hard to propel himself toward her. She was drifting downward. His mind demanded that she hear him. That Elizabeth's soul would answer his plea. “I love you. Do not leave me. You promised we would grow old together.”

Darcy caught her about the waist and kicked against the water's resistance to haul their combined weights to the surface. Breaking the surface, Darcy sputtered and spat. He lifted Elizabeth's head above the water before he tossed her over his shoulders. “Lord in Heaven,” he prayed aloud. “Permit this to work.” Darcy realized she would never make it to the shoreline with a chance for survival if he did not do something drastic immediately. He struck her back hard with the palm of his hand, but his wife did not respond. Struggling to stay afloat, he lifted her higher above his head and let her drop again. This time, her weight hit him hard enough to drive Darcy under, but he kept Elizabeth supported above the water. Resurfacing again, he draped her limp body over his shoulder and slapped her hard across her back.

This time his efforts were rewarded with a weak whimper, but it was enough to give Darcy hope. He wrapped her safely under his arm and side-crawled his way to the shore. With each stroke, he pleaded with Elizabeth to return to him. “You are my indomitable Lizzy,” he announced to the open water. “You can do anything. Set your mind to it, Lizzy. Return to me.”

When he reached a depth where he could stand, Darcy swung her up into his arms to carry Elizabeth to safety. Finally reaching the grassy area, Darcy sank to his knees and lowered Elizabeth to the ground. Exhausted, he gulped for air and draped himself over her, but his wife was not safe; therefore, Darcy rolled her to her side. “Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxed as he pressed his knees against her back. He pulled her shoulders upward and backward to arch against his body. “Open your lungs, Lizzy. Permit the air to come in,” he encouraged. His stomach clenched with anguish.

Darcy cupped her body with his. Elizabeth's back plastered against his chest, he bent her like a bow. Clasping his hands together across her abdomen, Darcy thrust upward. Once. Twice. On the third time, he heard a gurgle. Then a gasp. And finally Elizabeth spit out mouthfuls of dirty water. Quickly, he rolled her to her side so she would not strangle on what she brought up. “That is my beautiful warrior goddess,” he professed as he stroked the hair from her face. As she opened her mouth to cough up more of what she had swallowed, Darcy's fingers worked to loosen the wet knot that choked her. “Damn this thing!” he cursed. “Do not move.” He scrambled to retrieve his boots from the beach.

Rushing to where she laid hacking and coughing, Darcy dug the small knife from the secret compartment in the boot's side. Pulling the blade free, he knelt beside her again. Her fingers clawed at the twisted mass of ribbons as she fought for air. “Lie quietly,” he whispered close to Elizabeth's ear, “and I shall have you free.”

His wife opened her eyes, finally seeing him. Even drenched and lying in the mud, Darcy thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, a miracle. His fingers automatically cut the frayed ribbon, but Darcy saw none of it. White-faced and staring, Elizabeth's brilliant eyes shone wide with fright and wonder. “Thank God,” he whispered as he freed the string from about her throat. Then he kissed her forehead. “I had thought I would lose you. Thank you for clawing your way back to me.” Anger and relief churned madly within him.

“You...you were...my hope,” she said through a hoarse rasp.

Darcy soothed her cheek with the back of his hand. Her face was pale, and her breathing remained uneven. Gently, he brushed away a strand of wet hair. “Shush now. Permit me to see you to safety. We can speak more when you recover. I am going nowhere without you. You are my soul.”

Another round of watery coughing interrupted the tender moment, but Darcy smiled despite her retching. Each twist and distorted turn meant Elizabeth had survived death's grasp.

Darcy wrestled his boots on over his wet stockings and retrieved what remained of his waistcoat and jacket. For warmth, he wrapped both about Elizabeth's body before lifting her to him. “I have you, Darling,” he whispered as her trembling body snuggled into his. Elizabeth's hand fluttered at the irritation at her throat, and then she laid her head to rest against Darcy's shoulder. Each step brought him closer to the manor. Darcy was exhausted, but he would not stop until Elizabeth was safe. Until she was free of danger.

“I...I love you,” she sobbed against his shoulder. The warmth of her shallow breath spread hope through Darcy's veins.
By the time he had cleared the groves and had entered the lower gardens, Darcy's steps were heavy from the effort, but his purpose remained. He would see Elizabeth well before he rested. Dampness clung to every inch of his body: a mixture of his dip in the lake and the sweat running down his body from the exertion of carrying her over such a distance. He could feel his pulse pounding along the back of his neck where the muscles strained against the cut of his shirt. Twice, they had stopped for Elizabeth to empty her stomach. Each time, Darcy had held her on his lap and had soothed her brow with his damp handkerchief. He had praised her bravery and had promised his wife his undying love.

He looked up from the sweat dripping into his eyes to see his cousin racing to where Darcy stood. Despite his best efforts, he swayed in place.

“Permit me to take Mrs. Darcy,” Edward ordered as his cousin released the sword from about his waist to unbutton his heavy military jacket. The colonel stripped the garment from his shoulders and dropped it across a low stone wall.

Reluctantly, Darcy's fingers uncurled. The colonel scooped Elizabeth into his waiting arms, and Darcy collapsed to his knees.

“Can you reach the house on your own?” Edward demanded.

On all fours, Darcy nodded. With great effort, he said, “See Mrs. Darcy to safety. I will follow in a moment.”

Edward turned in place. “Put my coat about your shoulders. You are shivering.”

Darcy looked up into his cousin's all-too-perceptive eyes. “From fear. I might still lose her. Carry my wife the rest of the way, and I will forever be in your debt.”

Edward nodded curtly. “I will send someone to assist you.” Then his cousin turned his steady steps toward the manor house. Willing the colonel to ferry Elizabeth to Hannah's safekeeping, Darcy watched Edward's retreat. His wife's maid held a strong allegiance to Elizabeth. The woman would see to Elizabeth's recovery.

Once Edward had disappeared on the other side of the arbor, with great difficulty Darcy rose. He caught up his cousin's jacket and sword where they lay upon the broken wall. A growl of determination escaped Darcy's lips as he set his feet in motion. His task was not complete. Only when the surgeon pronounced Elizabeth well would Darcy rest.

Edward kicked the partially closed courtyard door open, sending the door slamming against the Oriental wallpaper and leaving a gash in the design, but the colonel took little notice. Instead, he strode through the empty study to emerge into the main hall. “Barriton,” he bellowed. “Hannah. Sheffield.” Servants scrambled to respond.

“Yes, Colonel?” The butler responded from behind an ornate medieval shield.

Edward's temper flared. It was not as if he walked about every day with a limp woman in his arms. “Mrs. Darcy requires a physician,” he barked. “Both she and Mr. Darcy will require hot baths.”

“Oh, my!” Hannah squealed as she rushed to her mistress's side. “What happened?” she pleaded, as she gently touched Elizabeth's hand.

Edward frowned deeply. “I am not certain. Darcy found her. He had carried Mrs. Darcy from the vicinity of the orchard and the lake. She is soaked,” he said as he climbed the stairs.

Hannah trailed behind him. “That be more than three quarters mile,” she declared in amazement.

“Explains Darcy's complete exhaustion. I imagine it so. I have ordered a hot bath and have sent for Mr. Glover.” He hefted Elizabeth higher in his arms. “Go before me and see to Mrs. Darcy's things.” Hannah darted around him and disappeared into the upper passageway.

Above him, Sheffield's voice inquired, “You sought my services, Colonel?” Despite the valet's usual unflappable attitude, concern crossed the man's countenance.

“Mr. Darcy is injured. He is trailing me through the lower gardens. Your master requires your assistance immediately,” the colonel said over his shoulder. Sheffield did not respond verbally. Instead, the man scurried past him to seek Darcy. “Thank God some of the servants in this house recognize their duties,” he grumbled as he shouldered his way through the open door to Elizabeth's bedchamber.

“Set her down here,” Hannah said as she draped a sheet over the small sofa.

“Do you require assistance?”

“I shall attend Mrs. Darcy.” The maid patted Elizabeth's wrist. “The Mistress is so pale.”

Edward simply nodded. What could he say? He had never seen Elizabeth look so, and it worried him as much as it did the lady's maid. “I will leave you to it. I will check on the warm water and assist Sheffield with Mr. Darcy. Knowing my cousin's devotion to his wife, Darcy will be in here before you make your mistress comfortable.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes slowly. “Thank you...Colonel,” she said with difficulty. “See to...Mr. Darcy...if you please.”

“As always, my dear,” he said gallantly. Edward bent to kiss Elizabeth's forehead. “Recover quickly, Mrs. Darcy. Your husband will be a bear until he knows no more worries over your health.” With that, he exited and closed the door to her room.

Edward skidded to a halt when he discovered his cousin slumped over in a chair in the study. Sheffield had wrestled the swollen leather from Darcy's feet. Lacerations covered Darcy's lower legs and blood dotted his stockings. Although it was midmorning, Edward shoved a brandy into Darcy's hand. “My wife?” Darcy asked anxiously.