The Journey (14 page)

“A haven? In this wild country?”

“Come with me.”

He pushed the thick tree limbs aside, holding them until I had passed through the barricading growth. I scrambled to keep up with him and retain our supper while doing so. Eventually, I was forced to hold my skirt with one hand and cling to Mr. Darcy’s hand with the other in order to climb the steep rocks. In doing so, I noticed that I could not do it without exposing a good portion of my petticoat. Somehow, it seemed unimportant. He and I had shared far too many familiarities during the last few days to bother about a petticoat that was four inches deep in dirt at least.

We rounded the cliff on which I had watched him disappear earlier, walked several yards more, and then stopped.

“Look here, Miss Bennet — it is a cave, high and dry, secluded from the wind, and hidden away in this wood. Is not this a perfect shelter for the night?”

“A cave! But is it safe, Mr. Darcy? Are there not wild animals within or bats or some such things?”

“None that I found. I’ve already explored as far as I could, and I discovered nothing other than some ancient, broken crockery, which indicates that others have previously made use of its remoteness.”

We advanced up the stone formation and entered the shallow hole cut in the side of the cliff. Once inside, I could see that it was actually smaller than it had appeared from a distance. Mr. Darcy explained that he had walked back as far as light permitted until the cave ended in a hole. It was possibly large enough for a person to slip through and might lead to an underground cavern. He had earlier made a loud commotion and tossed rocks down the hole, but received no response from below. Neither animal nor man emerged, and he deemed it safe enough for us to stay the night.

I was conscious that the light was already beginning to fade, and darkness could not be more than an hour away.

“I know that you are suffering from fatigue,” he said. “Why not sit here against the cave wall and rest? Perhaps you might remove your shoes. You said that your feet hurt.”

I sat down with relief, acknowledging that he spoke the truth. He picked up a portion of an old stone bowl and after wiping it out with his handkerchief, I emptied the berries into it. We then both ate our fill of the fruit.

“But for scones and sweet cream, we have dined sufficiently,” I said with a smile. It amazed me how easily my outlook had improved with our recent discoveries.

“And a decanter of wine would not be unwelcome,” he added.

“I would not refuse a tall beaker of water.”

“Nor I.” He stood up and walked to the mouth of the cave. “Listen! Do you hear that? Does it not sound like the faint whisper of the river?”

“I cannot hear it from here, sir. Wait a moment, and I will join you.”

“No, no, do not rise. Remain there and rest. But I do believe we are not that far from the stream.”

“Can you see it?”

“No, but if I climb down that slope and follow the noise, I could be there within a short while.”

He looked around quickly, and spying an old chipped pitcher, he grabbed it up with a pleased exclamation. Determined to bring back enough water for the night, he promised to return before dark. Once again, he urged me to take off my shoes and rest.

“I shall not be long, less than an hour.”

I hated to see him leave. “How will you find your way back? What if we are lost from each other?”

He knelt before me and took my hand in his. “That will not happen, Elizabeth, I promise you. I would never leave you.”

With a brief squeeze of my hand, he rose once more and departed down the cliff and through the trees. In spite of what he said, I rose and walked to the cave’s entrance, watching until I could no longer see any trace of him.

A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of how alone I was, at the mercy of whatever lurked without. Just then, however, an unexpected stream of late afternoon sunlight burst through the canopy of clouds above, illuminating my face. I smiled at its warmth, suddenly filled with thanksgiving. In this heavily overcast day, I counted one more treasure.

I turned back inside, sat down, and unlaced my boots. Pulling off my stockings, I noted light stains of blood. As feared, raw blisters had formed beneath two toes on my left foot. It felt good to expose them to air, even though it was cool within the cave. I massaged the other parts of my feet that were sore but not blistered.

Gradually, my body succumbed to the weariness accosting it, and before I knew it, I drifted into slumber. How long I slept, I know not, but I awoke to the sound of footsteps crackling the twigs strewn along the ground outside the cave.

I sat up quickly, unconsciously smoothing my hair with one hand and drawing my bare feet beneath my gown, in anticipation of Mr. Darcy’s return. The steps grew closer and closer, and I could hear strong breathing. He must have run back, and now the climb through the rocks caused his laboured breath. I opened my mouth to call out his name in greeting, when I spied the faintest glimpse of his head moving through the leaves of the trees just outside the opening to the cave.

I did not cry out — my greeting caught in my throat. I began to tremble, my heart raced, and my hands turned to ice, for with dismay I saw that the approaching person’s curls were not dark . . . but golden!

Chapter Seven

To say I was frightened would not do justice to the feeling that descended upon me at the sight of the person making his way straight toward the cave. I was terrified! I knew that it could be none other than Morgan.

With great haste, I arose, not even wincing when my swollen, blistered, bare feet touched the cave floor. Frantically, I looked around, my eyes darting here and there. I grabbed a large, jagged piece of broken pottery. I clasped it behind my back and edged toward the rear of the cave, hoping that simple crockery would somehow protect me from the gun I knew the highwayman bore.

Where could I hide? The only option lay behind me, and I could not force myself to crawl into that deep, dark hole. I had to take my chances above ground where I could at least see my adversary.

Two more steps and he appeared, breaking through the leafy cordon into the open. A look of utter astonishment spread over his face. “Mrs. Darcy!”

My eyes narrowed at his appearance. Dishevelled, hatless, and muddy, Morgan appeared nothing like the handsome, rakish man with whom I had danced the night before. He wore his coat on one arm, but casually slung over the opposite shoulder hung a black cape tied loosely around his neck. I watched him reel toward me as though he were heavily intoxicated.

“Begging your pardon, Missus, but I can no longer stand.”

With that, he fell to the floor of the cave with a moan, his eyes rolling back in his head! I ran to the mouth of the cave and looked out. Seeing that no one followed behind, I threw the shard aside and knelt beside him.

“Mr. Morgan, what — what is wrong?”

His only answer was another moan and a plea for water.

“I have none,” I answered, “but would it help to eat? I have berries.”

He shook his head and turned over slightly, crying out as he did. And that is when I saw it — blood, a great amount of blood coursing down his right side. I must have inhaled audibly at the shock of it, for he opened his eyes then.

“Mmm, my apologies, Missus. Know I am a sorry sight, especially for one in your condition.”

“What has happened to you?”

“Shot in the shoulder by me own men. Ain’t that a pretty turn of the screw? And here I thought they were loyal boys.”

“We must stop the bleeding.”

“’Twill be hard to do. The hole’s deep.”

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I ran outside the cave, and after quickly looking around to make certain I was alone, I slipped off my petticoat. Picking up a stick, I rammed it through the material until I got a good tear started, whereupon I ripped off the lower muddy hem and threw it aside. I then tore the remainder into strips, knotting them together until I had a fairly long piece of muslin. Returning to Morgan, I again knelt beside him and gently prodded him until he opened his eyes.

“What?” he cried, reaching for his pistol.

“It is I, Mr. Morgan, you need not fear.”

“Mrs. Darcy . . . Elizabeth.” He groaned again and attempted to raise himself.

“Let me bind your shoulder, sir.”

Clumsily, I assisted him to a seated position and removed the part of his coat caked in blood. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out at the ugliness of the wound. If only I possessed water, at least I might have cleansed it, but the best I could do was to wrap the muslin around it tightly, attempting a poor, awkward excuse for a tourniquet. It was evident he had lost an inordinate amount of blood and was in dire need of medical attention.

“Mr. Morgan, where are we? How far is it to the nearest doctor?”

“Too far for me. I fear there’s little assistance any surgeon can render at this stage.”

“You do not know that for certain. If you direct me, I shall fetch help while you rest here in the cave.”

“You’d do that for me?” He smiled slightly and raised his good arm, touching my face with his finger and running it down the curve of my cheek.

“I would do it for any man.”

Well, perhaps not
any
man, I thought
.
It would take a bit more Christian grace than I possessed to tramp through the woods in the dark, especially if it were Sneyd touching my cheek in place of Morgan.

“Where’s Darcy?” he asked suddenly. “Did he forsake you? Leave you stranded in this place?”

“He has gone to the river to fetch water. I could not — that is, my feet hurt, and he wanted me to rest.”

“How gallant! Always the gentleman.” His voice was mocking.

“He is,” I retorted. “And a kind one at that.”

“Ah, do I detect a change in your feelings for the man?”

“I fail to comprehend your meaning. Mr. Darcy is a generous, compassionate . . . husband.”

He laughed softly. “But not
your
husband, Elizabeth, is he?”

His eyes held mine in the steadiest of gazes, and without a doubt, I knew that I could no longer keep up the pretence.

“He was never your husband, and you’re not with child, correct?”

I looked away, refusing to confirm his suspicions, but convinced that nothing I said would persuade him otherwise.

“It no longer matters, Elizabeth. You can speak the truth now.”

“What do you mean? Will you no longer harm Mr. Darcy or me?”

“I never would have harmed
you.
Darcy, well — ” He shrugged and then winced in pain caused by the movement.

“What about the ransom? Have you received your money? Is that why you were shot? Did your men argue over the division of spoils?”

“You might say that. Truth is, that scum, Sneyd, convinced them to turn against me a’fore we even left to fetch it. Last night after you and I parted, I spent far too long with that bottle of wine and more tankards of ale than I remember.”

He drew in a deep breath. “When I stepped out of the cabin, Sneyd and Rufus waylaid me, demanding to know where Darcy’s uncle was to meet me with the ransom. Naturally, I refused to tell them, and that’s when Sneyd accused me of plotting to run off with it all. Said I was besotted with you and planned to take you with me. Well, he was half right — I am besotted, but my life’s not one for a lady like you.”

I was aghast at his statements! I felt little shock at Sneyd’s mutiny, but to hear Morgan actually declare his feelings filled me with dismay.

I could not return his affection, and yet for some unknown reason, my heart overflowed with sorrow for him, for whatever misfortune had rendered him such an angry man, for the ill-fated choices that had brought him to this moment, and for his wasted life. In another time, another circumstance, who knows what he could have achieved?

He went on to relate how his encounter with Sneyd resulted in a brawl, and how it had ended with a pistol pointed at him until he revealed the planned destination for receipt of the ransom. Sneyd and Morgan both ran to mount their horses, and they exchanged gunshots, the results of which Morgan and his horse both suffered.

Then Sneyd and the others rode away, the other men casting their lot with him. Gert had run out to help Morgan, but he took off in pursuit of the gang, unaware that his horse had been shot.

“But not before you gave her the key to our room and told her to release us,” I said.

With a great sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall of the cave. His face contorted in pain, and I was at a loss at how to alleviate it.

I rose and walked to the entrance, scanning the woods for any sign of Mr. Darcy. Oh, why could he not appear? He would know what to do. My search proved fruitless. All I could see was an absence of that brief, earlier sunlight, and all that approached were dark clouds and the beginning of a light rain. I walked back to the wounded man and knelt at his side.

“Mr. Morgan, would you not be more comfortable lying down?”