2. Runaway

CHAPTER 2

Runaway

E lizabeth swam back to consciousness as the carriage jolted and then began to move across the courtyard, first at a trot and then gaining speed until she felt the coach were flying. Had she slept through her aunt and sister's return? Surely their entry and the ensuing arrangements would have roused her from her sleep. But no, they were not here with her at all. Could they possibly be on the rumble with the servants? Or sitting by the driver, since the day was fine? It seemed improbable, but what alternative could there be, other than…

Her eyes snapped open and she jolted upright. She could hear nothing above the rumbling of the wheels and the thunder of the horses' hooves, running far faster than a coach ever ought to go.

"Jane?" she called out, her voice still thick from sleep. "Aunt? Who is there?"

Had the horses taken a fright and begun to run, driverless, down the roads? Such things happened, she knew. She had heard a tale once, of a stagecoach team who were so trained to the time and destination of their route that they completed the entire stage of their own accord, their driver still nursing his drink at the previous posting inn. But no, not this fast, this seemingly out-of-control.

The thrum of her heart grew louder in her ears until she felt faint.

"Jane?" she shouted once more, and shifted across the shuddering coach to pull aside the curtain that covered the front windows, expecting to see nothing but flying reins trailing behind the two unguided horses. She took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself and held firmly to the back of the squabs to stop from falling.

"They know their way home," she whispered to herself. "They will return me to Longbourn. All will be well. They know their way." it was as much a prayer for the running beasts as it was reassurance for herself.

But the look she cast through the windows was anything but reassuring, for rather than the unimpeded sight of the horses she expected, she saw two boot-encased legs descending from the coachman's box, the reins held by some unseen hand rather than flapping loose.

For a moment, her mind failed to make sense of these images, as much from incredulity as from the harsh return to consciousness, but all too soon, she lit upon the only possibility that explained her circumstances.

Somebody had stolen her father's coach, with her inside it!

What to do? Never in her years of reading at her father's side had she come across this situation. Ought she to yell out? To remain silent in the hopes of not being discovered? If the thief knew she was about, might she come to physical harm? But she would surely be found eventually. Better to shout out now in the hopes that the miscreant would abandon his mission and run off into the surrounding countryside, or at the very least, release her so she might walk back to the inn.

"Oy, there! Stop! Stop at once!" She yelled as loudly as she could, banging on the roof first with her hand, then with the handle of her aunt's umbrella that lay on the back of the seat. "Stop and return me to the inn this very instant!"

But the driver either did not hear her, or did not care, for the coach continued along its way, if anything, gaining speed.

I must not panic , Elizabeth commanded herself. I must not panic. I must think! Soon enough, he would have to stop. The horses would soon tire and would have to rest and drink. He must find an inn, or some other watering spot, and then she could make an escape.

She shifted to look out of the side window now, which afforded a better view of the countryside than the narrow slits at the front, which were blocked by the driver's legs. She knew this area, which brought her some relief. They were still on the main road, heading northward as they had been before the coach was commandeered. Would the thief stop at Edgware? Surely not. What about the toll houses along the route? He must slow for those, and she could leap from the vehicle, or cry out to the gate keeper.

A hundred different plans formed and unravelled in Elizabeth's mind as she gathered everything she could and packed them into her reticule and the soft bag she had carried with her from London. The trunks with their clothing would be lost, but the bit of coin and some personal effects might still be salvaged. She held her breath and waited, knowing a booth must be coming soon.

In answer to her prayers, the coach began to slow. Perhaps the horses had run their bit and would answer the whip no more. Or was the next gate closer than she thought? She put her hand on the door, thankful that it opened from the inside, and prepared to fling it wide and leap.

But instead of slowing further to pay the toll, the coach veered sharply to the side and began to rumble in a different direction. This was a lesser road, still in respectable condition for a carriage, but narrower and rougher than the main London Road. More to the point, it was not a road she knew, and her hopes for escape began to dim.

Despite her continued bangs on the roof and shouts to stop, the thief continued a fair distance, through several turns of the road, and down one or two smaller lanes yet, until at last, he slowed the vehicle and came to a stop.

Anger now gave way to fear. Along the main road, there would be help. Transports of all sorts were frequent, and there were enough towns and stops that she felt somewhat safe. But here, out in the country, out of sight of any house or farm that she could see, her perilous position settled heavily upon her.

Clammy with perspiration, her hands slipped on the handle of the umbrella she still held, and her breaths came short and shallow. What could she do? Was she to die here, out behind a copse of trees in the woods somewhere? No! That could not be. She would not allow it.

Calming her mind with the greatest of effort, she looked around the carriage once more to see what she could find. A book, the umbrella, the blanket, a deck of cards…

Her hat! More to the point, her hatpin! Armed with the umbrella and the sharp spike, she crouched by the door and waited as the driver leapt from his box and began to walk her way.

Damnation! What was he to do?

Darcy looped the reins around the fence post he had spotted and surveyed this disaster he had created for himself. He had stolen the coach with all intention, although he would find the owner and compensate him for the inconvenience at a later date. But what of the person inside? How on earth had he chosen the one conveyance that carried somebody within it?

He cursed out loud.

There was nothing for it but to confront his unintended victim. Perhaps he could let the fellow off at some village or coaching inn with some of the coins he still possessed and an abject apology. The servant—for servant it must be; who else would have remained in the carriage whilst the ladies went to refresh themselves?—could then make his way back home and beg his master's forgiveness. From the high-pitched voice that had shouted at him for the last hour, the lad must be quite young, perhaps his sister's age.

The thought of his sister sent a blade into his soul, and he stood for a moment to steel himself before grabbing for the handle to open the carriage door.

Instead of a meek boy of fourteen or fifteen summers, a screeching hellcat emerged, shooting from the interior like a ball propelled by a cannon, flailing and stabbing with an umbrella as if it were a sword. All arms and wild hair, the creature whirled this way and that like a dervish from the East. Darcy leapt back, narrowly avoiding being skewered by something sharp and vicious, his years of fencing coming through to save him from what could have been a rather unhappy injury.

By the gods! This was a young woman, and she was attacking him with a hatpin! The sight so stunned him that he lost concentration enough for her to score with the umbrella, catching him across the side. Pain bloomed through his ribs and he almost stumbled until he saw the hatpin's end coming all too close. He ignored the throbbing in his ribs and leapt aside, circling around to capture the mad creature from behind. He pinned her arms to her sides, barely controlling her frantic attempts to free herself from his grip.

Had she been trained in the arts of swordplay and pugilism, as he had been, she surely would have succeeded. As it was, Darcy made certain to position himself such that she could not crush his toes with her heels, or crack her head against his nose.

She was quite a handful. Although shorter than him by a full head, she thrummed with vinegar and strength, and it was only when he growled something indistinct but feral into her ears did she cease her valiant struggle.

"Drop the pin and the umbrella. I shall not harm you."

She shifted and stamped down on his foot despite his manoeuvring. But he wore solid riding boots and she soft slippers, and her attack was ineffective.

"Drop them. I give you my word, I mean you no harm."

She let out a curse that no lady ought to know and resumed her struggles for a moment, until she drooped at last, her writhing clearly ineffectual. Darcy retained his hold on her arms; this could be a feint. He had spent too long sparring with his cousin to be deceived by an opponent, even a short, female one such as this.

"Drop them." He tightened his grip, squeezing what felt like a nicely padded bosom. At last, the fight truly seemed to go out of her and she obeyed, letting her makeshift weapons fall at her feet. Without releasing her arms, he kicked the umbrella aside and then shifted, dragging the hellcat with him, until there was no possibility she might reach again for the hatpin. At last, incrementally, he released his hold on her.

Whatever he was expecting, it was not the slap across his face that she dealt him. The sting on his cheek muted the ache that still throbbed in his ribs where the umbrella had struck, and from instinct more than conscious thought, he countered to capture her arm in his hand.

"Consider yourself fortunate that I am a gentleman," he growled. "Now stand down, for I will not harm a lady."

Narrow slits of eyes met his as he peered, for the first time, into the face of his hellcat. She was young, far younger than he had imagined from her initial attack, perhaps no more than twenty. Her hair had long since escaped its pins, and wild wisps and curls stuck out from her once-coiffed head at strange angles. She radiated animosity, her face blotched red and her chin thrust forward in defiance, the incongruous scent of rose cologne at odds with her thorny expression. But she relented at last, and her arm relaxed.

He did not ease his grip.

"Not again, Madam. I shall not receive another of your blows."

"Thief!" she spat at him. "You stole my father's coach! Now take me back at once."

"That is not possible, Madam. To return would be to forfeit my life."

"A life of disgrace, by your actions today. How dare you abduct me thus?"

The hellcat hissed at him, the thin line of her mouth daring him to respond.

"Forgive me, Madam. I had need of the conveyance to escape a man who wishes me dead. I had no notion it carried a passenger. I assure you I shall make amends for my, er, appropriation when at last I am able to return home. Permit me to ask your name."

"Those are grand words for a common thief, no matter how prettily you say them." Her eyes flashed hatred at him. "I had rather ask who you are, that I might have you brought up on charges of theft!"

Tension built in Darcy's jaw and his scowl met her glare. Could she not see and hear that he was a gentleman? Despite his damaged and filthy garb, his very air ought to have proclaimed his superiority to her.

"Who I am matters not, lady. I had not intended to carry you with the coach, which I needed to save my life. But as you stowed along, you must, I am afraid, remain with me until I can send you home safely. Madam." He added the final word as an invective.

"And should I decide to leave at this moment?" Her narrowed eyes threatened him.

"Then you leave. Shall I remove your trunk from the back of the coach? Decide now, for the horses are no longer breathing as heavily and I must be off again."

For the first time, he saw fear in her regard.

"Where are we?" Her head swivelled left and right as she scanned the tree-lined lane down which he had driven. "Are we north or south of Edgware?"

"I cannot say. I do not know exactly where we are, and hope that if I cannot find myself, my pursuers will also have no success in finding me."

"Then where are you going?"

This was an excellent question, and one he had not entirely considered. If he turned northward to Pemberley, Wickham would certainly be lying somewhere in wait, to pounce before he reached the sanctuary of his estate. Nor could he return to London. This was something he had to consider at a better time, when he was not filled with the horror of his near escape and burdened with the realisation of his unwanted accomplice.

"North," was all he said. "I can find my direction by the position of the sun."

She wrinkled her nose. It was, now that she was not attempting to eviscerate him, a rather pretty one. "Then I shall make my own way. Good riddance, thief!"

She reached back into the coach for her reticule and a small bag and began to stomp down the lane. Her umbrella still lay at Darcy's feet, the lethal hatpin a few feet away. He bent to pick both up, storing the hatpin in the seam of his lapel. The coat was in poor enough repair now that another hole in the fabric would render it no greater harm.

He was well rid of that hellcat. When he found himself somewhere safe, he would make inquiries and return the trunk to its rightful owner, but for the present, he could make his escape, free of this encumbrance in a petticoat. Now, where to go? North, he judged by the sun, was that way, where the road seemed to curve. It would take several days to reach Derbyshire at this rate, but if he turned westward at some point, he might make for his school friend's estate in Staffordshire. Even if Julian were not at home, his housekeeper knew Darcy well enough from previous visits that she would afford him accommodations for a time. That would involve crossing the Great North Road at some point, but…

His eyes flickered up to the retreating figure, still pounding her way down the lane. Good riddance, indeed. Let her stumble her way to whatever farm or village might lie on the path of this narrow lane. He had not wanted her and was pleased to see the back of her. His rib ached, and his cheek still stung from her unprovoked attack.

But his good principles protested. She was a nasty creature, but she was, by her speech and dress, a lady. And a gentleman never left a lady in need of assistance. This had been drummed into him since his most tender youth. She had no food or drink that he could see, and with the sun growing ever warmer, no shade other than that offered by the trees that dotted the edge of the lane. Then there were other dangers as well that he did not wish to consider.

Well, she had decided on her fate, had she not? He glanced up at the sun to get his bearings, but his eyes would not leave the small figure that trudged towards the horizon.

With a huff of annoyance, he knew what he had to do.

He clambered back onto the driver's seat and nudged the horses forward at a slow pace, following her down the dusty lane. She did not look back as he neared, but increased her pace.

"Where are you going, lady?"

Silence.

"I cannot, in good conscience, leave you here alone. This road is quiet, and by the surface of it, little travelled. It might be hours, or days even, before somebody comes along with a cart. And then, what sort of person he might be, I would not wish to guess. You might well be lucky to encounter a good and honest farmer, but there are other sorts about who would be happy to do harm to one such as yourself."

She still did not speak, but her gait faltered for a step.

"Allow me, at least, to convey you to a village, where you might send a message to your family. There must be a good woman there, a parson's wife, perhaps, who would offer you lodgings until you are sent for."

She glanced aside to scowl at him, but slowed her steps.

"I promised I would not harm you. Please, lady. Else I shall be forced to walk these poor horses after you all day. I cannot leave you alone."

She did stop now. Her face, when she turned it completely to face him, was streaked with tears. The hellcat was really a very frightened kitten, it seemed. A glimmer of compassion lightened his annoyance. He pulled the horses to a stop and waited.

"Very well." Her voice was quiet, scarcely heard above the rustle of leaves and the calls of the birds.

She walked to the door and fumbled for the steps, then climbed inside, pulling the door closed after her.

Blasted nuisance! He cursed quietly as the horses resumed their steady pace. He needed to run, and fast. Wickham had tried to kill him once, and the anger borne of failure would not soften the man's heart towards him. But how could he flee when he was responsible for this stow-away?

She was absolutely the last thing he needed now, a pampered society miss who was certain to be more concerned about the dust damaging the lace on her fichu or the state of her hair than on the very real danger that chased them. And if Wickham should find her… His heart went cold at the thought. Darcy knew how Wickham treated young ladies when other eyes were turned away. If he thought that the hell-kitten was somehow under Darcy's protection, there was no saying how vicious he might be to her.

Confound it all. Added to his monumental task of staying alive, he now had to protect this unpleasant young woman until he could somehow rid himself of her.

His arms tensed, tugging at the reins, and the horses jerked before regaining their pace.

This was no good road that wound through the countryside, skirting farms and cutting through copses of trees. The parish must be poor, or the residents uncaring of their comfort, for it was uneven and pocked with holes and stones. The carriage bumped and shook, and at times swerved from side to side as he guided the horses around larger obstacles to their travel, such as fallen tree limbs and the remains of what was once a rabbit. He thought.

He kept the pace as fast as he thought the horses could manage for a long journey and, wherever possible, he avoided the villages. The fewer people who saw them, the safer they would be. Thank the heavens this was no elaborate coach to draw the eye, but one much like any gentleman of comfortable means might possess.

Darcy glanced at the sun again and considered the time. Yes, north was that way…

A tap from the inside of the carriage caught his attention.

"Stop!" the hellcat called out.

"Nay, my lady, we have canvassed this topic and rejected it. I cannot oblige."

What did she expect of him? A hot nuncheon under a canopy, with a full staff of servants to cater to her needs?

"Please," she called out again. "It is rather… urgent."

"You might have considered that before remaining in the coach instead of visiting the necessaries at the inn." He had never had such conversations with a lady before. Such country manners as these reminded him of the quality of his own society.

"No, you do not understand…"

There came another sound from inside, and he heard one of the windows being flung open.

Oh.

He pulled the horses to a stop, and the woman all but fell out of the carriage, so quick was she to escape. She stumbled to the side of the lane and bent over for a moment, gasping for breath.

Darcy reached under his damaged coat for the small canteen he had remembered to take as he escaped. He opened the cap and passed it to her. "Here, drink a bit." It was only water, boiled and cooled, but it would help her. It also deprived him of yet one more thing he needed to stay alive. Perhaps a kind farmer would offer assistance at some point.

The woman handed the flask back with a nod. "Thank you." She raised her eyes to meet his. They were rather fine, now that they were not narrowed in fury. "May I… May I sit with you?" She took a deep breath. "My stomach…" The red that infused her face now was not the blotch of her earlier rage. "I have eaten little and am feeling not quite the thing. Fresh air would be welcome."

Damnation. Now he would have to engage in idle chatter with this annoying creature. But, he reminded himself, he was a gentleman. He just hoped she was the sort not to prattle.

"Very well," Darcy replied after a moment's pause. "Allow me to assist you."

Within a few minutes, she was sitting up beside him. The box was not so very wide, but there was sufficient space for the two of them. Darcy flicked the reins, and the horses began their forward march once more. They rode in silence for a quarter of an hour, perhaps more, as the sun climbed towards its peak in the sky.

Eventually, the young woman cleared her throat and announced, "Until such time as we may separate, I suppose we need to know what to call each other. You may call me Miss Bennet."

Ah, the hellcat had a name.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your service, Madam."

"Very well, Will. Drive me to an inn so I can return home."

Will? She called him not even by his proper Christian name, but by this diminutive, like a servant? Miss Bennet needed to learn exactly who he was!

"That is Mr Darcy to you, Madam."