38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

D arcy lay slumped in a chair in Wickham's study, his breathing ragged, his vision hazy from the pain coursing through his skull. Every noise, every movement, sent a sharp throb to his temple, but so far, he had been able to force himself to remain aware, Mr Jones' narcotic concoctions notwithstanding. He had to stay alert, to listen. Wickham would return any moment, and he needed to be ready.

Mr Jones, the apothecary, hovered nearby, his brows furrowed with concern as he poured a small amount of laudanum into a glass. "You should have summoned me weeks ago, Mr Darcy," he said, his tone reproachful. "This condition of yours—whatever it may be—has clearly progressed. You cannot afford to ignore it any longer."

Darcy clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "I am aware of my condition, Mr Jones. More than you could possibly imagine. But I need to remain alert, not drugged. I will not be carted off to Cambridge like some helpless invalid who cannot hold his head up."

The apothecary sighed, placing the glass on the table beside him. "Then, at least allow me to advise you on how to make the journey safely. You must rest, keep yourself calm. And you need to keep well-nourished. The stress—"

"—is unavoidable," Darcy interrupted, his voice sharp. "And if I am to remain alert, then there will be no rest, Mr Jones. Understand this: If I am not fit to handle myself, then I will not be making that journey at all."

Mr Jones opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, the distant commotion in the hallway grew louder, followed by the pungent smell of smoke seeping into the room. Darcy's head whipped toward the door, his pulse quickening despite himself. "What in the devil is going on out there?" he muttered.

Mr Jones crossed to the window, peering out cautiously before glancing back at Darcy. "There seems to be some sort of fire somewhere, sir. And the servants… they're running back from the well with buckets, trying to put it out. "

"Go into the hall and see what else you can find out," Darcy ordered, struggling to push himself upright. "But do not let them see your face. If Wickham knows you were here…"

The apothecary nodded, moving quickly to the door. He opened it just enough to peer out, his body blocking Darcy from view. The noise outside grew louder—the shouts, the sound of hurried footsteps—and Mr Jones turned back to Darcy, his expression tense.

"It seems there is quite a commotion. Mr Wickham has just arrived, and he does not look pleased. There is smoke everywhere, and it is causing a great deal of chaos."

Darcy's heart sank. This was the worst possible timing. He glanced at the open door, then back at Mr Jones. "You need to leave. Now. And make sure no one sees you."

"But Mr Darcy—"

"Go, Jones," Darcy snapped, his voice low but firm. "Do not let Wickham see you. Get out of here while you still can."

The apothecary hesitated for a moment, then nodded, slipping quietly out of the room and closing the door softly behind him. Darcy listened to the faint sound of his footsteps receding down the hallway, then turned his attention back to the noise outside.

The commotion outside reached his ears first—voices raised, the hurried steps of servants, and then the unmistakable burn of smoke in his eyes. Darcy's grip on the armrest tightened as he heard the distinct click of footsteps approaching. Wickham's footsteps. Darcy's stomach twisted. The door swung open, and there he stood, wet from the rain, his expression dark and furious. Wickham's eyes darted around the room, then fixed on Darcy, a sneer forming on his lips.

"Darcy," Wickham said, his voice steady but edged with irritation as he stepped into the room. "Did you really think sending me to Longbourn would keep me away for long? You underestimate me, as always. I know every trick you would try to pull—by now, I would have thought you'd learn that."

Darcy forced himself to sit straighter, every muscle protesting. He had no intention of letting Wickham see his weakness. "Obviously, you did not know as much as you thought you did," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt. "But it kept you away long enough, did it not?"

"Long enough for what, Darcy? You are still here and in worse shape than before, if that sickly sweat on your brow is any indication. What did you hope to gain?"

Darcy swallowed, trying to force his vision back to singularity, but there was nothing he could do about the tremor in his hand. "Little enough, I suppose. "

"Where is Bennet?" Wickham stalked closer, towering over Darcy's chair. "You know—you must know. Where have you sent him, Darcy? Off on some errand to undermine me with the neighbourhood?"

Darcy's breathing eased a little. So, Wickham still did not know that Mr Bennet and Elizabeth had been in his carriage. They remained safe. "How should I know? I scarcely know the man, and I am certainly not his keeper."

Wickham's sneer deepened, but before he could respond, a servant rushed in behind him. "Mr Wickham, there's a fire in the scullery! We're trying to contain it, but the kitchens are almost entirely blocked!"

"A fire?" Wickham's eyes flashed with irritation, then suspicion. "Who started it?"

The servant looked uneasy. "I—I don't know, sir. It was an accident…"

Wickham dismissed the servant with a curt wave. "See that it is handled," he snapped before turning back to Darcy. "I suppose you had something to do with this as well?"

Darcy managed a faint smile despite the pounding in his head. "I have been here the entire time, Wickham, incapacitated as you see. I hardly think I could orchestrate a fire from this chair."

Wickham opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, another figure appeared in the doorway—Sir Anthony Mortimer. Darcy's heart sank further.

"Well, well, Darcy," Sir Anthony drawled, his tone dripping with false civility. "You've been quite the busy man. It seems we've found some unexpected guests of yours."

Darcy's breath hitched. Guests? His mind raced. They could not mean—

His stomach lurched as the door swung open wider, revealing Elizabeth and Mr Bennet standing just outside the threshold. Elizabeth's face was taut with worry, her eyes darting between him and Wickham. Mr Bennet, on the other hand, wore a bemused expression as though he found the whole situation mildly entertaining. Darcy's heart sank. How had they been discovered? They should have been well on their way to safety by now.

Wickham's eyes widened with surprise, the confident mask slipping for just a moment before he regained his composure. "Well, well," he said slowly, his tone sharpening as he assessed the situation. "What have we here?"

"They were hiding in Darcy's carriage," Mortimer replied. Darcy's hair stood on the back of his neck at the way Mortimer's eyes were raking down Elizabeth's body. "Surprised you did not find them yourself, Wickham. And the lady here thought to make for the window when the servants reported smoke. I only just caught her as she was climbing out. "

Wickham's gaze snapped back to Darcy, then he rubbed his jaw and began to pace round the Bennets. "Darcy," he murmured, "I confess myself humbled. You yet have the capacity for surprise. So, Miss Bennet and her esteemed father, hiding in Darcy's carriage like thieves in the night. I must admit, this is quite the unexpected reunion."

He forced his expression to remain neutral, though his insides were churning. "Wickham," Darcy said, his voice steady but edged with warning, "leave them out of this. They have nothing to do with our dispute."

Wickham's eyes narrowed, the wheels visibly turning in his mind. "Nothing to do with it? I find that hard to believe, Darcy. Why else would they be here, hidden away in your carriage? Unless…" He turned a calculating gaze toward Mr Bennet. "Unless there's more to this than meets the eye."

"It appears Mr Bennet might have publicly changed his allegiance, don't you think, Wickham?" Sir Anthony asked. "And as for Mr Darcy, well, perhaps Miss Bennet is even more… persuasive than you thought."

Elizabeth's face flushed, but she held her ground, her chin lifting defiantly. "You know nothing of the circumstances," she said, her voice calm but firm.

Wickham's gaze flicked to Elizabeth, then back to Darcy, his mouth curling into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Oh, I think I know enough," he drawled. "You fell for Darcy—heaven only knows why, for I thought you utterly despised the man. Unless you are fonder of coin than I had given you credit for— and your father did whatever you wished him to do."

Mr Bennet's lips quirked into a small, ironic smile. "I assure you, Mr Wickham, I am no one's pawn. Not Darcy's, nor my daughter's, nor yours. And I came here of my own accord—more for the entertainment, I dare say, than any political machination."

Wickham's eyes darkened, clearly irritated by Mr Bennet's flippant tone. "You think this is a game, old man?" he hissed. "I assure you, the stakes are far higher than you imagine."

Darcy tried to stay upright, his vision blurring as he swayed to his feet. The pain in his head had worsened, a relentless pounding that made every sound sharper, every movement more jarring. He could barely focus, but he had to. He had to protect Elizabeth and Mr Bennet.

Wickham clearly noticed the way Darcy swayed, his steps uncertain. "You do not look well, Darcy," he said casually. "You ought to be resting. I am more than capable of seeing to the lady's comforts. "

Darcy watched Wickham's gaze flick to Elizabeth, and a cold dread settled in his stomach. Wickham's expression softened, his lips curving into a smile that might have seemed polite to anyone who did not know him better. He stepped closer to Elizabeth, extending his hand as though to offer her assistance.

"Miss Bennet, forgive my earlier brusqueness. I only wish to ensure your safety, you understand."

Darcy's pulse quickened. He could see the calculated look in Wickham's eyes, the way he was positioning himself. Elizabeth hesitated, glancing at Darcy for reassurance. Darcy wanted to shout at her to keep her distance, but his voice caught in his throat, a wave of dizziness nearly toppling him over.

Wickham's hand moved suddenly, gripping Elizabeth's arm and twisting it behind her back. Her gasp of pain cut through Darcy like a knife. He lurched forward instinctively, but his legs buckled beneath him. Wickham's smile remained in place, his tone still deceptively smooth. "You see, Darcy, it is quite simple. You do as I say, and no one gets hurt."

"Leave her out of this, Wickham!" Darcy growled, his voice hoarse with desperation.

But Wickham ignored him, pushing Elizabeth ahead of him. "Oh, I think not," he said, his tone mockingly light. "You see, you and I are going to have a little chat, and she's going to make sure you stay... cooperative."

Darcy's vision swam, and he fought to stay conscious. He could feel himself slipping, his legs weakening. He looked at Mr Bennet, who was already moving to support him, his expression grim. A male servant rushed forward to help, and together, they kept Darcy on his feet as Wickham forced Elizabeth toward the door.

"Bring him," Wickham ordered over his shoulder. "I want to keep an eye on all of you."

The room was filling with smoke, the air thick and choking. Darcy could barely breathe, his chest tight with panic and pain. He could see the fear in Elizabeth's eyes, even as she tried to remain calm, tried to stay strong. Her courage only fueled his determination. He would not let Wickham win.

As they stumbled toward the door, the servants began to act, moving subtly, quietly, trying to create as much chaos as possible without drawing Wickham's attention. Darcy could see Mrs Nicholls in the corner of his eye, directing the maids and footmen bringing in buckets of water, but… none of them were going towards the scullery, where the fire was supposed to be. She was up to something, he knew it, but what ?

The shouts outside grew louder, frantic voices merging with the crackle of fire and the sharp, acrid smell of smoke that now filled the air. The commotion was intensifying, with servants rushing past the door, their faces smeared with soot, carrying buckets of water, their footsteps pounding against the wooden floors in hurried, erratic rhythms. Darcy could feel the heat building from the growing fire, a suffocating warmth that pressed against his skin and made it hard to breathe.

Wickham's composure began to crack. He barked orders at the two workmen who had accompanied him, his voice rising above the din, but there was a tremor of uncertainty beneath his authoritative tone. The chaos was taking its toll on him, eroding the veneer of control he so desperately clung to.

Darcy could feel his own strength waning, the dizziness creeping up on him, threatening to pull him under. His chest tightened, and his breaths came in shallow gasps. But the sight of Elizabeth, her arm wrenched behind her back in Wickham's grip, stirred a fury and desperation that cut through his haze. He could not let Wickham take her. He had to act, and quickly.

Darcy looked at Mr Bennet and the servant who stood beside him. "Help me," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth. "We need… a chance."

Mr Bennet nodded, his usually indifferent demeanour is now steely with determination. Darcy saw a flicker of resolve in his eyes—this was not the time for his usual sarcasm or indolence. He understood the gravity of the moment and what was at stake. Mr Bennet shifted slightly, his body moving closer to the door, adopting a position that was deceptively casual yet poised to spring into action.

Darcy drew in a shaky breath, every muscle in his body tensing. His head swam, the pain throbbing in time with his heartbeat, but he forced himself to focus. This might be their only chance. He had to create a distraction.

Just as Wickham reached the doorway, yanking Elizabeth with him, Darcy let himself collapse forward in a controlled fall that scattered bodies ahead of him. Mr Bennet and the footman both stumbled as Darcy's weight collided with the backs of their legs, their bodies crashing into the doorframe with a heavy thud.

"What the—" Wickham spun around, momentarily losing his grip on Elizabeth as he tried to make sense of the sudden chaos.

That brief lapse in concentration was all Darcy needed. With a surge of adrenaline, he hurled himself forward, colliding with Wickham, his shoulder slamming into Wickham's chest with enough force to knock him back against the wall. Elizabeth twisted free, wrenching her arm out of Wickham's loosened grip, and Mr Bennet lunged forward, pulling her behind him. The servant rushed to Darcy's side, steadying him as he swayed, the room spinning around him.

Wickham recovered quickly, his face a mask of rage. "You think you can make a fool of me, Darcy?" he shouted, his voice rising above the noise. "What do you think you stand to win? You are dying!"

Darcy's vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges, but he planted his feet firmly, refusing to yield. "This is not about winning, Wickham," he rasped, each word a struggle against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. "It is about getting out of here alive."

The smoke was thicker now, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs with every breath. Servants were dashing past, coughing and shouting, trying to keep the fire from spreading further. Wickham's eyes darted around the smoke-filled hallway, his advantage slipping away with every passing second. "Very well," he muttered, his voice strained, his composure cracking. "We are leaving. But Miss Bennet comes with me."

Wickham lunged for Elizabeth again, but this time, Mr Bennet and the servant were ready. They stepped into his path, forming a wall between him and his quarry. Yet, Elizabeth was not content to merely stand by. Her eyes flashed with defiance as she stepped closer to Wickham, her chin tilted upwards, a sharp rebuke poised on her lips.

"Really, Mr Wickham," Elizabeth drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm that cut through the chaos like a blade, "is this your grand plan to prove your manhood? Bullying women and elderly men? How bold you are. Truly, the very model of a gentleman."

Wickham's face flushed with anger, his smug expression slipping as her words hit their mark. "You know nothing of what is at stake here, Miss Bennet," he snapped, though his voice wavered ever so slightly.

Elizabeth arched a brow, her eyes narrowing with contempt. "Oh, I know plenty," she retorted, a sharp edge to her voice. "I know you are nothing more than a bought man with a tremendous sense of your own inferiority, trying desperately to play the part of a gentleman. But do go on, Mr Wickham, show us how a true coward carries himself in a crisis."

Wickham's eyes narrowed further, fury sparking in his gaze as he glared at her. "I would watch my tongue if I were you, Miss Bennet," he hissed.

Elizabeth's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Oh, believe me, I would rather watch yours. It does such amusing contortions when you lie. I daresay it is your best skill. "

Her words stung, and Wickham's eyes narrowed, a flash of anger crossing his features. He moved again to grab her, but Mr Bennet thrust his arm out, his voice hard with resolve. "Back away, Wickham. You have no business here, and even less with my daughter."

Darcy, struggling to stay upright, forced himself into Wickham's line of sight, his presence a steadying anchor amidst the chaos. "You will not touch my future bride," he rasped, every word a strain. "She stays where she is."

Wickham paused, frustration clear in his expression. He was losing control, the fire's heat now almost unbearable, the smoke choking. His gaze flicked from Darcy to Elizabeth, calculating. She met his stare with unwavering defiance, her posture rigid, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as if ready to strike.

"You think you can command me, Darcy?" Wickham snarled, his bravado slipping. "You, who cannot even stand without shaking?"

Darcy did not respond, but Elizabeth's voice rose again, sharp and mocking. "At least Mr Darcy stands for something, Mr Wickham. Unlike some who slink about in the shadows, preying on the vulnerable."

Wickham's face twisted with rage, but Elizabeth did not waver, her gaze steady and unflinching. The fire's roar was getting louder, the heat oppressive, but she would not be cowed by him.

"Enough of this," Wickham finally barked, his composure slipping as the situation grew more dire. "You will all come with me, or we will see how long your defiance lasts in this inferno."

Elizabeth took a step back, moving closer to Darcy and her father. "We will take our chances here," she said calmly, a final note of defiance in her tone. "At least here, we are not at the mercy of a coward."

Wickham hesitated, his face a mask of fury and indecision. The flames crackled louder, and he could see his advantage slipping away with every moment. For a moment, he seemed about to strike, but then he stepped back, his gaze still locked on Elizabeth.

And then, without another word, he turned and stormed out, leaving them alone in the smoke-filled room.

Darcy could feel the tremor in his own legs, the unsteady wobble that threatened to betray him at any moment. He could not keep this up much longer—his body was nearing its limit, and the fire was spreading too quickly. But he kept his gaze locked on Wickham's retreating back, refusing to show any sign of weakness until the blackguard had gone .

Elizabeth rushed to Darcy's side, her face pale, and eyes wide with concern. "Fitzwilliam!" she cried, her hands moving to steady him, "We need to get you out of here."

Darcy nodded weakly, struggling to stay focused. The heat was becoming unbearable, and the smoke was choking him. "The back door," he murmured, barely able to get the words out. "We need to get to the back door."

Mr Bennet nodded, quickly taking charge. "This way," he urged, moving toward the nearest hallway. "We can make it if we hurry. Keep low and stay close to the walls."

Elizabeth hooked an arm under Darcy's shoulder, helping to support him as they began to move. The servant stayed close behind, ready to catch Darcy if he faltered. The smoke was thick and acrid, stinging their eyes and filling their lungs, but they pressed on, driven by the need to escape.

The group moved through the darkened corridors, the heat intensifying with every step. Flames were visible now, licking at the edges of the wooden beams and creeping along the walls. The crackling of burning wood was a constant, ominous presence, a reminder that time was running out. Darcy's breath was coming in ragged gasps, his strength fading rapidly. He stumbled, his vision swimming, but Elizabeth held him firm, her grip strong and unwavering.

"Almost there," she urged, her voice steady despite the fear she could feel gnawing at her insides. She could see the faint outline of the back door ahead, a small sliver of hope in the midst of the chaos.

As they neared the exit, a sudden burst of flames erupted from a doorway to their left, the heat scorching their skin. Elizabeth shielded Darcy as best she could, her own fear forgot in her determination to protect him. The servant pushed forward, kicking the door open with a forceful shove, revealing the cool night air beyond.

"Go!" Mr Bennet shouted, ushering them through the doorway. "Get him out of here!"

Elizabeth didn't hesitate. She half-dragged, half-carried Darcy through the door, feeling the cool rush of air on her face as they stumbled into the night. The servant followed close behind, slamming the door shut to slow the spread of the fire.

They were outside, but the danger was far from over. Darcy sagged against Elizabeth, his body trembling with the effort it had taken just to get this far. His head was pounding, each beat of his heart sending a fresh wave of pain through his skull. But they were out. They were safe .

"Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "stay with me. Just a little longer. We need to get you away from here."

Darcy nodded, though he was barely conscious. He could feel the darkness closing in, his body finally giving way to the exhaustion that had been clawing at him for so long. But he forced himself to stay awake, to stay alert. He could not leave Elizabeth now. Not after everything.

"We… we need to move," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Cannot… stay here."

Mr Bennet joined them, his expression grim but determined. "He's right. Wickham and Mortimer are surely waiting for us to emerge somewhere. There's a path around the side of the house that leads to the stables. Perhaps his carriage is still there to get us further away, and in the chaos of a house fire, I doubt Wickham will be able to spare his energies for us."

Elizabeth nodded. "Then let us go," she said, tightening her grip on Darcy's arm. "Come, my love. Stay with me."

He managed a lopsided grin—at least, it felt like it was probably lopsided because the right side of his mouth did not respond as he would have liked. "As you wish, Mrs Darcy."