Page 19 of Not Without Me, Miss Elizabeth

"No, they have not touched me, nor harmed me. I believe we are currently stuck in a rut, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth responded gently.

"Thank goodness for that," he said, relief plain in his voice.

Elizabeth heard their captors redouble their efforts. The wagon lurched violently as they pushed and strained against its weight, only to slide backward once more, the stubborn wheel refusing to gain purchase. Each attempt ended in the same miserable fashion, accompanied by a chorus of curses that grew louder with every failure.

Above them, Wickham's temper finally broke. “Push harder!” he snapped, berating the men for their useless efforts. “Have you no strength between you?”

The men answered with another furious shove, but the wagon groaned, shifted scarcely an inch, and settled back into the mud.

It struck Elizabeth, oddly, as very like a birth she had once attended among the tenants, old Mrs. Clark, labouring with her third child, the midwife's voice rising each time:Push. Push harder.The final effort, though it cost the poor woman the greater share of her pain, had brought a child safely into the world.This effort, Elizabeth thought grimly, promised only further pain, with no such reward at its end, at least not for the captives.

Another oath drew her from the recollection. The men had returned to their labour with renewed will.

While they worked noisily, Mr. Darcy leaned over and whispered, "I am forming a plan to escape. If I succeed, I will come for you, so be ready."

Elizabeth drew a sharp breath at his daring. "Are you certain of this, Mr. Darcy?" A hundred thoughts rushed through her mind at once. The danger was considerable; the consequences of failure, worse still. And, despite herself, one particular thought occurred to her, whether the confinement and exhaustion had rattled his facilities.

She could hardly hear his response above the cursing and straining that grew too loud for further speech, and some minutes later the wheel at last came free.

***

Darcy went quiet again, not wanting the captors to hear any part of his plans. He had awoken in a fright, worried that Elizabeth had been harmed. And, now, he lay still, listening to the men labor, as he wished his heart to settle its rapid beating.

A quarter-hour's delay will scarcely trouble their progress,Darcy thought, with some frustration, having hoped for a longer stoppage, time enough, perhaps, to be seen by some passing soul in daylight.

Blast these ties.He cursed inwardly at the leather binding his wrists. He might have attempted something against the men while their attention was fixed upon the wagon, however ill-conceived a notion it might have proved; it was, at least, the only scheme that presented itself.

He felt himself growing nearly frantic with confinement, sore from his bonds, prisoner to a man he had once called friend, and powerless to watch over Elizabeth Bennet as he wished. His wrists, arms, and shoulders ached fiercely, for unlike Elizabeth, he had been kept bound through nearly the wholeof his captivity, save for the briefest intervals allowed him for necessity and a plain meal.

He shall not remain in England when this is over.Darcy resolved, whatever else befell them, to see Wickham transported to the colonies once he was free of this business.

The wagon rolled on for several hours more, Darcy turning over, again and again, where they might be bound, and how much longer before they reached whatever destination Wickham had in mind.

***

Not long after, the wagon drew to a halt, and Wickham's voice rang out. "Here we are, lads!" A ragged cheer went up among the men, glad enough to have another long night's travel behind them.

Darcy felt the blankets pulled away, and their guards directed them once more out of the wagon. They climbed down as clumsily as every morning before, caught by waiting hands and guided along some path toward their day's confinement.

Although, this morning proved different from the rest. The house before them was considerably smaller than their previous lodgings, and Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves guided, for the first time, into a single shared room. The door opened, they were pushed within, and it shut and locked behind them at once.

Almost as soon as they entered, Mr. Darcy asked, "Are you well?"

Attempting to grasp their newest lodgings, and exhausted from another abysmal night, Elizabeth replied none too kindly. "No, Mr. Darcy, I am not well. Her tone was curt, and she almost let out a loud huff.

Darcy heard movement beside him and understood she was working the sack free of her head; he did the same, and, lifting his eyes at last, beheld Elizabeth Bennet for the first time in a full week, having known her until now only by touch and voice.

She looks, he thought,remarkable still, her hair loosened and disordered about her face, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion, and yet handsome for all that.

He suddenly worried again that she had been harmed. And, distracted at the vision presented before her, he asked, "Are you hurt?"

It seems the only question the man knows how to ask,she thought, with some private exasperation.Of course I am hurt, wearied, aching, entirely worn through.

She held her tongue, grateful past measure simply to have someone to speak with at last, and shook her head. "I am exhausted, Mr. Darcy. But no, I am not hurt."

His face eased with visible relief. "Thank heaven. I have been exceedingly anxious for you."

She could not entirely suppress a small smile, at the look of relief in his warm eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”