Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory
Chapter Two
“Help.” The word was barely a prayer on my lips. I repeated it, trying to draw breath to give it some power. Still, it was but a whisper, and not entirely due to Mr Darcy’s body upon my chest. My panic prevented me from uttering with more conviction.
I began a fevered repetition of the word, still a nearly silent plea on my lips, over and over again. “Help, help, help!”
I pushed against Mr Darcy’s shoulder—all solid muscle and inert mass—and to my relief, he shifted the slightest bit. This small movement caused soil and debris to fall upon me, choking any satisfaction I might have gained by being able to draw in deeper and just a fraction easier. A large stone rolled off the back of the gentleman’s neck onto my hand and then landed with a dull thud upon the ground beside me. I wondered briefly whether this was the stone that dealt the killing blow. Shivers ran through me.
With hope surging through me from my nominal success, I mustered all my strength and pressed again on Mr Darcy’s shoulder while I tried to extract myself from under his body. My entire frame screamed with the effort, bruised muscles protesting the exertion. The space was too limited for me to take much triumph from my efforts, but eventually, I was able to push Mr Darcy onto his side; my battered lungs cried at the release of the weight upon them. My eyes filled with tears as a roaring agony gripped my chest. The restriction of the gentleman’s weight being removed was no blessing at first. I still felt as though I could not truly breathe, for every movement wracked my body with shards of pain. I nearly lost consciousness from it all despite the freedom from Mr Darcy’s weight.
For several minutes, I lay there trying to regulate my heart and slow my breathing, for while I could now breathe deeply, the irony was that it hurt too much to do so. In the quiet, I heard a sound I had not expected that both terrified and thrilled me. A low moan escaped Mr Darcy’s lips, and I froze, wondering whether it had been imagined. Oh mercy! Could he be alive?
“Mr Darcy, sir?” My voice cracked due to my parched throat; it was barely audible even to my own ears.
Tentatively, I reached out a hand to that same shoulder. I could not see it, yet I knew about where it ought to be. There was only so much space, and I was still virtually pressed against his side. Trembles danced down my body, for despite the circumstances, I was not accustomed to touching a gentleman outside the social graces in dances.
I made contact with Mr Darcy, but it was his chest I encountered. I drew my hand back immediately—the feel of it put me to blush—and raised it sufficiently to reach his shoulders. With effort, I gently shook his shoulder while calling his name again.
Mr Darcy groaned in response, and I was relieved as I felt him begin to shift on his own. His efforts were clumsy, and each movement caused him to brush against me, for we were in almost a coffin of sorts. There was no space for one comfortably, let alone two. His accidental contact was too much for me, and I knew I must still his movements.
“Mr Darcy, sir, please…,” I began to plead, trying to put some distance between us.
I could hear him collapse into stillness once again, but this time I could tell he was drifting into unconsciousness. I knew I must say something, but before I could compose the words, I heard his hoarse voice.
“Miss Elizabeth…are you…have you…hurt?”
Mr Darcy, speaking into the abyss, wrapped around me like a too-warm blanket, and I could tell my cheeks heated. It was startling how intimate it felt to see nothing but hear his voice near my ear. His mumbling indicated he was not entirely lucid.
He would have taken the brunt of the collapse.
“I am well, sir. And you? Are you very injured?’
Mr Darcy once again moved such that I felt his arm brush past mine as he inspected his person. The protest clawed up my throat and died there; our position robbed me of coherent thought and permeated me with maidenly awareness.
“My head. I believe I have sustained…a blow.”
“Is it bleeding, sir?”
No enticing voice returned my query, though my companion groaned in the affirmative, the vibrations penetrating my bones. Mr Darcy was battling the same seductive call for sleep that I had earlier.
I retrieved my handkerchief from my pocket. I knew from experience that head wounds could bleed dreadfully. I had had my share of falls from trees when I was younger.
Tentatively, my hand ventured between us, “Here, sir. You must press this against the wound to stop the bleeding.”
I felt his hand clumsily connect with mine to receive the cloth, but then our hands were pressed into the ground between us, his a dead weight upon mine as Mr Darcy lost his fight with consciousness. I pulled my hand out from under his and quaveringly tried to wake him once again.
Oh, for goodness’ sake!Feeling ill-humoured yet unequal to the impropriety of the situation, I knew I must endeavour to discover Mr Darcy’s wound myself and press on it. With careful movements, I tried to sit up and was pleased to find that I could just barely fit in the space if I tightly tucked my knees against my chest, my head against them. Still, the top of our tomb was low and the space notably tight. My faltering hands reached towards where Mr Darcy was, and I cursed the blackness that prevented my movements from being sure and precise. I wished to touch very little of him, but I knew that without being able to see him, I would have to fumble until I could discern where on his person I was touching.
“I apologise, sir, for I must touch you,” I whispered aloud even though I knew he could not hear me. “I am going to try to…I do not mean to…”
My throat closed on me as my hands encountered the warmth of his neck. They stilled upon the skin there, shocked at the feeling. My mind was blanketed with sensation. I could think only about the fact that I had never once touched a gentleman’s neck and the skin there felt impossibly soft. My hands lingered there long enough that it was the detection of his slow pulse that woke me to my task, and with careful movement, my hands journeyed blindly up Mr Darcy’s head.
Rough stubble tickled my fingertips, then the rigid strength of his jaw. I withdrew slightly, swallowing thickly. The dryness in my throat felt unbearable. I was forced to lean closer to reach his injury, but before I did, I tried to draw breath again. Feathery hair caressed my fingers, thick and curling around them. It was velvety despite the grit I felt on his scalp from the soil that had fallen on us both. Tentatively, I allowed my hands to explore upward, the hair parting for my fingers as they brushed through it.
Mr Darcy moaned faintly and my hands retracted sharply. My heart bolted in my chest, and I felt all the shame of a naughty child caught by nanny. I shook my head slightly, dispelling the silliness of the notion with vigour when I heard no more from Mr Darcy. He was injured, and I was merely attempting to help. Nothing of which to be ashamed.
Anticipation coiled in a spring under my breast. It demanded my breath to still. I was further disgruntled to find that contact with the luxurious curls brought a pleasure I did not want to acknowledge. Focusing my ridiculous thoughts on the task, I carefully brushed my fingers through his hair until, reaching to the back of his head, I encountered his wound. It did not surprise me that it felt severe, yet panic surged inside me like an animal barely restrained. I may not have had many charitable thoughts towards the gentleman in general, but I did not wish for him to suffer, or worse, die. The vision of his lowered brow, stern and focused eyes boring into me, before he leapt to protect me from the falling ruin wall came to my mind. This man saved my life!
Dread seeped into the walls of our space, scenting the air so that I choked on it. It threatened to consume me. Driven by it, I placed the handkerchief against the injury. The pressure caused Mr Darcy to groan again in muffled pain while still insensate. When he did not waken, I allowed myself to draw breath. The position I had to hold to keep the cloth against the wound brought me close to him, and it was disconcerting in new ways.
I do not know how long I sat there in the silence with Mr Darcy. I felt the cold creep deeper into me, as he was no longer lying atop of me and I had lost the direct benefit from his heat. I could feel a little of its temptation, though. Enough to always be aware of our proximity.
It must have been an hour or more before I realised I must try to call out for help again. We could not be the only ones. Surely, the others were about. The sucking pain about my chest prevented me from speaking above a whisper; it shot through my side every time I tried. It was the same spasm that nearly caused me to lose the battle with unconsciousness to which my companion had succumbed. But a whisper would not do.
“Help! Is anyone about?” My voice, while hoarse, was at least audible.
My ears were tuned for any sound. I tried again, despite the shards of pain, to call louder for help. It seemed at first that my cries would go unanswered, but then there was the muffled sound of someone’s boots scraping against a pebbled path. The crunching sound was faint but left my heart pounding out of my breast. Again, I uttered my plea, forcing my bruised and battered ribs to expel the sound with more power.
“Help!”
“Hallo? Miss?’
The voice was distant, sounding much too far away for real comfort, but it was sweet musical nectar. Tears leaked out of my eyes and I felt them wet a path down my dusty cheeks. My breath came in shaking gasps as I tried to control my immediate reaction to hearing another’s voice in this murky void.
“Yes! Please help me!” I do not know how articulate I was through my tears, but the distant voice replied, sending my heart pumping strength through my limbs. We are saved!
“Miss…I cannot tell where ye are. ‘elp is comin’. Ne’er ye fear.”
I opened my mouth to give my location, but our space was still pitch black and I could not help him either.
“Mr Bingley, ‘e went to fetch ‘elp, Miss.”
“Jane…Miss Bennet?” I could not help but ask, though I dreaded any news he might give.
“Oh, yer sister went with ‘im, ma’am. Name’s John, Mr. Bingley’s groom. ‘e left me to wait for the ‘elp to arrive, Miss.”
I expelled a breath I had not known I was holding with the news. Jane was all right; she was safe and not locked in this dark nightmare too.
“Mighty glad I is to ‘ear you, miss. Mighty glad.” There was a pause and his voice was more tentative. “And the gen’leman?”
I looked down towards where Mr Darcy was, although I could not see him. “Mr Darcy is with me, but he is injured.”
Relief was evident in the groom’s voice as he replied, “It cannot be long now, miss. They left hours ago. Though I ‘magine the roads won’t be too good fer all the rain.”
The oppression of the blackness made me speak up again despite every word slicing through my ribs in the effort to speak loud enough to be heard.
“Can you give me the time, sir?”
“Oh, I guess it might be about ten night, miss.”
Ten. His answer made little sense, and my mind, feeling the boggy weight of exhaustion pressuring me to close my eyes and succumb to sleep, could not seem to process the impossibility of it all. We had set out for our country ride near half two in the afternoon. We arrived at Bodden Chapel ruins close to an hour later and could not have been touring them long before the drizzle began. Mr Collins had insisted we wait a bit longer. One might suppose that Mr Collins, possessing the same profession for which the old chapel was built, must have felt that it lent him some consequence in his mind, and it was incumbent upon him to enlighten us as to all things spiritual. His obnoxious chatter robbed the fascination of the ruins from everyone around him.
I remembered the angered shame I felt at the suppressed titters of Miss Bingley on Mr Darcy’s arm, and the disapproving scowl on that man’s face every time my cousin pressed his clammy palm to my elbow to point out another prospect and lead me in that direction.
I still did not know what had caused the trembling we felt in the earth, or in what, exactly, I was entombed with Mr Darcy, but I now assumed that the ruin wall had fallen around us. Perhaps the entire slope had too. How long were we both knocked senseless under the rubble? The darkness surrounding me now made me wonder whether it was a lack of opening to the outside world or the natural blackness of the night that blinded us. Ten.
I could hear and speak with John if we both spoke loudly. His distance now made sense if we were speaking through small gaps in the rocks and sodden earth.
Choked sobs wracked my chest, sending shards of pain across my sides. I knew I must steady my breath, but I could not stay the panic seizing me. Hours I had been trapped, hours more, I likely would be. The walls around began to press into me. A part of my mind knew that they were not really moving again, but it felt as if they were. My breath was being stolen from me. I tried to draw in the air, but in our small space, it felt as if it was running out. On my upper lip, I could feel perspiration that foretold the coming of a swoon, the hot clamminess around my lips and neck growing more poignant. I fought it long enough to almost lay flat again before I felt my head fall against the firm warmth of Mr Darcy’s chest, the inky darkness in my mind taking over.