Read Online Elizabeth Bennet's Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary by Regina Jeffers - Free Book Online
Authors: Regina Jeffers
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possessed no opportunity to delay what was to come. Once in the safety of the narrow passage between the buildings, two of the men caught his arms, while the one before him struck Darcy square upon the chin, and the fourth punched him several times in the small of his back.
Darcy’s legs did not know whether to stumble forward or to crumple. His mind chose the second, but before he could sink to his knees, the two holding Darcy’s arms jerked him upward again, and a second and a third round of blows followed. He tasted his own blood, but there was no time to consider his split lip for one of the ringleaders’ punches doubled Darcy over at the waist. This time the two who held him permitted Darcy to pitch forward into the slime dumped upon the hard ground. He did not wish to think upon what covered his freshly shaved cheek.
He knew when his attackers stepped back, and instinctively, Darcy brought his legs up to curl into a protective ball before a new onslaught ensued. He expected the men to rob him–to steal his purse. Without considering his actions, Darcy rolled more to his left side to protect the ring and necklace he meant to gift to Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured. At all costs, he must reach Elizabeth. Tomorrow was their wedding day.
With a groan, he rolled to his knees, but before Darcy could stand to make an escape, the toes of a highly polished pair of boots came into view. A gloved hand caught Darcy’s hair and lifted his head. Through what must be a cut eye, Darcy stared up into the scowling countenance of a gentleman. Darcy could not make out the man’s features, for the shadows were too deep in this part of the passage, but he could smell the boot black and the man’s sandalwood soap.
“What have you done?” the man growled as he released Darcy’s hair.
Darcy collapsed to his forearms, his breath difficult to come by.
“As ye instructed,” the ringleader responded in what sounded of fear.
Although he could not view the altercation, Darcy knew the instant the gentleman caught Darcy’s assailant violently and shook the man.
“I told you to bring me that scoundrel Wickham,” the man, who was likely the one called ‘Sloane,’ barked.
Wickham? Darcy thought. How ironic! I took a beating mean for my long-ago chum.
Darcy attempted to respond to the man’s assertions, but he could not muster a breath to pronounce the words. A sharp pain in his chest accompanied each of his efforts.
“We follow this gent several times from the house ye claimed to be this Wickham fellow’s,” the assailant grunted.
“Then we erred,” the gentleman insisted. “We must be rid of this one. If he identifies us to the authorities, we will all face hard labor or transportation.”
Darcy wondered if they meant to kill him. One of his attackers answered his question. The man wrapped a large kerchief about Darcy’s eyes and tied it off.
“We’s take him to the country and dumps him. If’n he lives be it God’s choice.”
After the slightest hesitation, Sloane agreed, and Darcy was unceremoniously hoisted to his feet. His captors half carried and half dragged him to a waiting wagon. Darcy supposed the culprits meant to use the farmer’s cart to transport George Wickham to what was to be his former friend’s fate.
He could not see the flat cart, but Darcy could feel it when the men quite literally threw him into the back. Two of his attackers crawled in beside him and covered Darcy with a heavy cloth. Again, Darcy curled up in a ball of protection. He survived by not fighting back, and Darcy meant to continue the assumption of helplessness. Some would think him a coward, but Darcy knew otherwise. It took more courage to know when to walk away from a fight: He meant to survive and make his way to Elizabeth.
Later, Darcy would locate the unknown “Mr. Sloane,” and the man would know Darcy’s displeasure. Likely, Wickham dishonored the fellow’s sister or wife or Darcy’s oldest friend owed
Darcy’s legs did not know whether to stumble forward or to crumple. His mind chose the second, but before he could sink to his knees, the two holding Darcy’s arms jerked him upward again, and a second and a third round of blows followed. He tasted his own blood, but there was no time to consider his split lip for one of the ringleaders’ punches doubled Darcy over at the waist. This time the two who held him permitted Darcy to pitch forward into the slime dumped upon the hard ground. He did not wish to think upon what covered his freshly shaved cheek.
He knew when his attackers stepped back, and instinctively, Darcy brought his legs up to curl into a protective ball before a new onslaught ensued. He expected the men to rob him–to steal his purse. Without considering his actions, Darcy rolled more to his left side to protect the ring and necklace he meant to gift to Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured. At all costs, he must reach Elizabeth. Tomorrow was their wedding day.
With a groan, he rolled to his knees, but before Darcy could stand to make an escape, the toes of a highly polished pair of boots came into view. A gloved hand caught Darcy’s hair and lifted his head. Through what must be a cut eye, Darcy stared up into the scowling countenance of a gentleman. Darcy could not make out the man’s features, for the shadows were too deep in this part of the passage, but he could smell the boot black and the man’s sandalwood soap.
“What have you done?” the man growled as he released Darcy’s hair.
Darcy collapsed to his forearms, his breath difficult to come by.
“As ye instructed,” the ringleader responded in what sounded of fear.
Although he could not view the altercation, Darcy knew the instant the gentleman caught Darcy’s assailant violently and shook the man.
“I told you to bring me that scoundrel Wickham,” the man, who was likely the one called ‘Sloane,’ barked.
Wickham? Darcy thought. How ironic! I took a beating mean for my long-ago chum.
Darcy attempted to respond to the man’s assertions, but he could not muster a breath to pronounce the words. A sharp pain in his chest accompanied each of his efforts.
“We follow this gent several times from the house ye claimed to be this Wickham fellow’s,” the assailant grunted.
“Then we erred,” the gentleman insisted. “We must be rid of this one. If he identifies us to the authorities, we will all face hard labor or transportation.”
Darcy wondered if they meant to kill him. One of his attackers answered his question. The man wrapped a large kerchief about Darcy’s eyes and tied it off.
“We’s take him to the country and dumps him. If’n he lives be it God’s choice.”
After the slightest hesitation, Sloane agreed, and Darcy was unceremoniously hoisted to his feet. His captors half carried and half dragged him to a waiting wagon. Darcy supposed the culprits meant to use the farmer’s cart to transport George Wickham to what was to be his former friend’s fate.
He could not see the flat cart, but Darcy could feel it when the men quite literally threw him into the back. Two of his attackers crawled in beside him and covered Darcy with a heavy cloth. Again, Darcy curled up in a ball of protection. He survived by not fighting back, and Darcy meant to continue the assumption of helplessness. Some would think him a coward, but Darcy knew otherwise. It took more courage to know when to walk away from a fight: He meant to survive and make his way to Elizabeth.
Later, Darcy would locate the unknown “Mr. Sloane,” and the man would know Darcy’s displeasure. Likely, Wickham dishonored the fellow’s sister or wife or Darcy’s oldest friend owed
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