Page 94 of Cousin Conundrum

Darcy shrugged. The point seemed moot. He and Hurst had overruled Fletcher, and Sir William agreed with them as well. The men of the local community were gathered. Now they must deploy them in such a way that the ladies weren’t put in danger, and no one attempted the roles of jury, judge, or, especially, executioner. Justice, not vengeance, was the order of the night.

They reached the others and Darcy took in the question and worry on Hurst’s face. He had to admit, he would have put Hurst firmly alongside Mr. Bennet, a man who would not venture out into the danger and the dark. It seemed there was a great deal about Hurst that Darcy didn’t know.

“Well?” Hurst asked, voice low and tense, Sir William’s face expressing similar emotions beside him.

“We need at least four men who can climb a rope,” Fletcher replied. “You and Sir William will surround the house and call for their immediate surrender, while Darcy and I lead a group in through an upper window to catch them unaware.”

“What if they threaten to shoot the ladies if we do not depart?”

Fear clenched Darcy’s gut at Hurst’s words.

“Start negotiating over the ransom. That will buy us time.”

Hurst nodded, the gesture belying the lines of uncertainty etched into his brow. Sir William’s head bobbed up and down beside him.

Raising his voice slightly, Fletcher called, “Who has the rope? Who are the best climbers?”

Several men pressed forward. Fletcher quickly sorted the men and issued commands, including giving Hurst a firm count for when to start his diversion. After Fletcher set everyone moving, he turned to Darcy, proffering a pistol.

Darcy eyed the weapon. Miss Kitty said the Archer women were armed. The best defense against a pistol may well be a pistol, yet Darcy did not know if he could shoot a woman.

“If one of them were about to shoot Miss Elizabeth, what would you do?” Fletcher asked quietly, obviously guessing the source of Darcy’s reluctance.

Jaws clenching at the idea, Darcy accepted the weapon. He checked it wasn’t cocked, then shoved it as far as it would go into his coat pocket. He couldn’t very well climb with a pistol in one hand.

They quickly reached the hillock atop which the farmhouse stood, the stacked stone walls gilded by moonlight. Under the direction of Hurst and Sir William, men fanned out beneath the shelter of the trees. The farmer’s son still trudged along, his gaze on the ground. Fletcher led the men he’d selected to join him and Darcy east around the house.

They waited for the lad to pass by and disappear around the corner, then, ducking low, raced from the shelter of the trees. At a gesture from Fletcher, the two men he’d assigned the duty ran to the edge of the house, ready to grab Johnny Walters if he came back around the corner rather than staying at the front of the house to witness Hurst’s distraction.

Darcy reached the wall and cupped his hands, knowing time was short. Fletcher’s boot hit his palms and Darcy heaved, launching the other man upward. Fletcher, rope draped around him, caught the windowsill. His feet scrambled, finding purchase. One hand grasping the sill, he used the other to pry at the window. For a moment, the warped glass didn’t move, but then it swung open.

Arms straining, Fletcher dragged himself over the sill.

All went quiet. His breath held, Darcy heard no alarm from within. No light shone out. The men about him shifted. Seconds ticked into maddening eternity.

A rope snaked free of the window, the end dropping to coil on the ground. Fear for Elizabeth propelled Darcy up easily. The other men followed.

A rectangle of moonlight dimly illuminated a bedroom, the large bed to which Fletcher had tied the rope suggesting they stood in the chamber belonging to the farmer and his wife. Fletcher already waited by the closed door, an ear pressed to the stout wood.

The final man came up. One of them pulled in the rope, not untying it, while another closed the window. Fletcher pulled free his watch, peering, but Darcy doubted he could see the time in the dim light. Around him, men breathed rapidly. From the climb, anticipation, or fear, Darcy didn’t know. More seconds ticked by.

“Ho the house,” Hurst’s voice called without, muted, but loud enough to hear.

Outside the room in which they lurked, footfalls pattered. Darcy exchanged a look with Fletcher in the dim light. Someone had stood guard in the hallway on the other side of the door. Alone, or with a companion who remained?

Unintelligible words sounded below. A woman’s voice. Hurst replied, still shouting, but not loudly enough now for the words to be distinct. With a deep breath, Fletcher eased open the bedroom door.

A hallway met Darcy’s gaze, empty save for two more doors, one with a key protruding from the lock, dimly seen in the light filtering up the staircase.

Fletcher eased into the hall. Darcy winced as a floorboard creaked, the expression echoed on Fletcher’s face. Outside, voices called back and forth, at least one of the Archers on the porch, arguing with Hurst. Darcy moved after Fletcher, too impatient to hang back. Behind him, the other men eased from the room until they lined the hallway leading to the locked door.

Fletcher moved to the far side. His gaze checked with Darcy before he slowly turned the key. An audible click heralded the release of the lock. Darcy’s heart slammed into his ribcage, but no alarm sounded below. Slowly, Fletcher pushed the door open. Darcy stepped inside.

And leaped backward, arms flailing, as the feet of a stool swept by his face, nearly connecting with the side of his skull. Hands caught him, shoving him upright before he could topple to the floor in a clatter.

Stool brandished, Elizabeth blinked at him with wide eyes. “Mr. Darcy,” she breathed.

He put a finger to his lips, though she already seemed to grasp the need for quiet.