Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory

Chapter Four

“Miss Elizabeth, wake up. Our rescuers are near. I hear them approaching without.”

Mr Darcy’s hand was on my shoulder, softly shaking, mildly rubbing as he whispered in my ear. With a rush, I was awake. All the languor of sleep was instantly replaced by the stiffness of discomfort due to our positions, the impropriety of it all, and my ever-present aches. He reacted to my tension and thankfully moved to a place of some distance, however little was possible. I could tell by the stifled sounds he tried to hide that movement for him was just as injurious as it would be for me.

I did not open my eyes, for it had not mattered whether they were open or shut since light did not exist in our mausoleum of sorts. And given my frequent bouts of both unconsciousness and exhaustion, keeping my eyes shut tight brought its own measure of comfort. But as I opened them then, I found to my delight that slight shapes and perimeters were taking form. It was still dark, but my eyes could see Mr Darcy, marvel at the stones surrounding us, and make out that the source of light was through a gap in the top of our enclosure, where blessedly, I could see the grey-blue early hour sky!

This discovery brought me immeasurable relief. The blanket of doom, of uncertainty, that carpeted us the entire time, seemed to become thinner all because of that small patch of sky! It was but perhaps the size of my hand, so it was hardly a means of rescue, but it was something. It was freedom. I turned towards my companion and exclaimed, perhaps too brightly, about what I could see.

“Sir! There is a hole right there. Can you see it?” I turned towards the gap then, hearing laboured voices, presumably from those who had come to unearth us as they trudged up the steep incline to the ruins. “Hallo!”

Immediately, I regretted my volume as pain surged through my side again.

“Take care, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr Darcy’s voice was low and full of warning. I blushed to recollect the consequence of the last time I had lost thought for my injuries and he was required to secure my ribs in order for me to gain a measure of relief. The realisation that with the light, the security of having my blushes disguised from Mr Darcy was gone, which set my cheeks flaming again. I turned stiffly towards him, chin high, ready to confront whatever his reaction might be.

He remained in the same position, though he was rubbing his eyes and had an almighty scowl upon his face. With every minute, the light grew brighter and I could detect more aspects of his expression, and it only fuelled my frustration. I recalled as I looked at him that his warning about my injuries was unnecessarily gruff. For all the gentleness, for all the controlled compassion he had demonstrated to me during the night, it would seem that in the light of day, Mr Darcy was Mr Darcy still: aloof and full of a selfish disdain for the feelings of others.

Suddenly, I could not suffer another minute with him, and it was clear he had used up his store of patience for me. Luckily, I had greater things to think on for the others had reached us.

“Hallo! Darcy? Miss Elizabeth?”

“Mr Bingley!” I cried, tears forming in my eyes unbidden. “We are both here.”

The relief was evident in his voice. “Oh, I am glad to hear it, Miss Elizabeth. Come, men! Gather around.” His voice was infused with a particular measure of control and authority I had not heard in it before. I spared a thought for my sister, and was glad for his ability to take a stand in a situation. It had privately been a source of worry to me, for I knew Mr Bingley’s friend held a certain ability to sway.

“Miss Elizabeth, your father is here. He is just making his way up now. Where are you speaking from? I do not see the gap.”

For a brief moment, I could not speak. I was struck with the intense desire to be in my father’s arms once again. My delay in speech caused Mr Darcy to speak for me.

“Bingley, what is the situation out there?’

“Darcy, my friend! I am relieved to hear your voice and know you are alive. By the by, are either of you seriously injured? I have called the apothecary, and he is here with us. Though little good it will do until we get you out.”

“Bingley—”

“My God, if I did not think the whole damned slope had slid off! Pardon, Miss Elizabeth. Darcy, the rains must have compromised the soil. A section of earth slid down into the ruins and pushed them atop of you both. If I can just find where your voices are coming from…”

The running way that Mr Bingley spoke split my face into a grin despite my disbelief at his explanation. I tried to picture the terrain we viewed yesterday and could not fathom what he described. Nevertheless, the restlessness brewed inside me and I could spare little care for the cause of our entombment; rather, I rejoiced that soon we might be brought swiftly out of it. In my amusement at Mr Bingley’s rambling manner, I turned to Mr Darcy to share it with him. I suspected it must be just as comforting to him to hear another familiar voice. Oddly, Mr Darcy was lying flat on his back, his eyes wide and searching. His expression was not one of amusement but of controlled panic. It made little sense, for surely, we were shortly to be free.

I turned once again to Mr Bingley. “There is a gap in the rocks. I cannot describe exactly where it is as I cannot see what you see, sir, but from what little I can tell from the growing light, it may face the east.”

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. That is helpful.”

I heard Mr Bingley instruct the others. Gravel scuffled as bodies moved and men searched about. Suddenly, I realised I might guide them to it myself, and I chastised my ignorance for not thinking of it sooner. The dull throbbing of my mind must have been to blame, but nevertheless, I lifted my arm and wormed my hand and wrist through the gap as best I could. Despite my determination not to show it, the pain split me in half and manifested itself with a low moan.

Mr Darcy sat up, his hands splayed out in supplication. “You ought not strain yourself, Miss Elizabeth.”

I gritted my teeth through the sharp stabs and answered him, jaw tightly closed as I murmured the words. “I am showing Mr Bingley our location.”

The glare I turned towards him seemed to bother him little, for he acted as if my actions were careless rather than necessary for our rescue. Something about the wild look in his eyes, though, kept me from voicing any further biting retorts. His hands reached for me, but in that haphazard manner of one who does not know where to reach. I imagined he was just as embarrassed as I was about any touch experienced in the dark of night and hesitant to add to them by daylight.

My focus was not long on my companion for I heard a shout as someone saw my meagre fingers poking through the rocks. Soon, warm, gloved hands clasped them and I choked with my tears.

Mr Bingley pressed my hand and called for my father, who was shown where he might carefully stand to reach me safely.

I looked up, blinking at the dust that dislodged from the hole, and the sight before my eyes as soon as I was able to see clearly, was that of the worry-worn face of my father, half obscured by the smallness of the gap. We both expelled watery laughs. He pressed my fingers with love, and I pulled my hand free in order to see more of him.

“Well, my Lizzy, what scrapes have you found yourself in this time?’

My lips lifted at his usual laconic wit. I wiped the tears from my face, feeling them smear dust upon my cheeks. My gloves were ruined, naturally, and just as dirty, so I was sure the gesture only added to the grime.

“Just a bit of the usual, Papa.” Joy was a third presence in our tomb then, pressed into the small space. The pain in my ribs was ignored for the greater measure of hope that seeing my father produced.

“And Mr Darcy, you are in there too?” My father’s voice was changed; gone was the affection of a parent, replaced with a mixture of concern and dislike.

“Yes, sir.”

I did not look to see Mr Darcy. I could not tear my eyes away from my father, who then grimaced and spoke to me.

“Well, I suppose we ought to see about getting you both out of there. Take care if you can. I am told the rocks in places are unstable and further collapses are possible. We shall do what we can to move quickly, but we may have to be measured in our attempts.”

“Yes, Papa.” I stared up at him, loath for the moment his face would be replaced by the sky when he moved to begin with the others to unearth us. He must have recognised my feelings—surely, they were clear for any to see—as he hesitated a moment.

“Take care, Lizzy. And here, you might wish to take some of this; I can see the pain in your eyes.”

He lowered a hip flask down the small gap for me, and I attempted a bit of levity as I saw it. He would never have permitted any of his daughters to partake of such a gentlemanly drink as brandy. He smiled sadly, and I caught a glimpse of what he did not wish for me to see: his worry for me and apprehension for a successful rescue. Then his face transformed into a scowl.

“Mr Darcy, do what you can to keep my Lizzy from further harm.”

Mr Darcy’s expression displayed little emotion as he answered in the affirmative to my father. His eyes settled in my general direction but did not have the courtesy to make contact with mine. With a silent huff, I turned to my father.

We bid an overly cheerful goodbye, and that hated moment came when his face was replaced by the sky. I heard the efforts of the men outside, and I wished them all quick work.

Dust and minor debris began to be shifted out of their resting places for we were rained down upon by small pebbles, wet earth, and verdure. Mr Darcy encouraged me to take shelter near him, and while I would rather not have done so, I conceded, seeing he was likely in the safest place of our small enclosure. He was next to the solid wall of the ruin, above which another part of the wall had broken off as one piece, forming the roof over his head. Mr Darcy was sitting in the nook of this tenting of rock wall pieces. The rocks there were still firm in their mortar joints—secure and solid. Whereas in my location near the opening, I could see they were just a haphazard piling of loose stones, apt to give way at any time.

Making my way carefully over to his side, I settled next to him with as much space between us as possible.

His sigh drew my attention. “You might wish to…It might be more prudent if we were to…”

His hand brushed my arm haphazardly at first, pulled back, and then with more measured movements, came around my shoulders. I wanted to protest right away the need for such measures, and indeed the words were hot upon my lips, but I saw a few of the smaller rocks on the other side of our space shifting and occasionally falling. The idea that we could be buried further inside here and never get out had me pressing myself against his side despite the impropriety. His arms rose and his hands protected my head whenever we were peppered with any significant amount of dust. His efforts were laudable, but if he were to protect my head from any falling debris, who was going to protect his?

My eyes were glued to him, feeling in some ways as if I were seeing him for the first time. He was turned towards me but his gaze was averted. There was a determination on his face that was not unfamiliar, yet not the same as what was usually there. His eyes had a distracted aspect to them that I could never forget. Perhaps he felt the same measure of fear that I did. Tentatively, I lifted the flask that was locked tightly in my grip up to him. He did not so much as acknowledge my offering, but continued to grimace and stare to the side, lost in his own thoughts, I presumed.

“Mr Darcy, here is a bit of my father’s flask. It will…it may…”

“I thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” His hands were uncharacteristically clumsy as he reached for it.

I was a little astonished, truth be told, with how disconcerted Mr Darcy seemed by the circumstances of our rescue. Until that morning, he had acted assured and calm. I would have thought him more a man of action, less anxious and bewildered by it all. His agitation seeped into me like a sickness, and I was infected with it.

Mr Darcy opened the flask, but to my surprise, he offered it to me first with unexpected gallantry. I nodded, reaching to take possession of the metal tin once again and slowly brought it to my lips. Thirst from long going without made me imprudent and I tipped it high, swallowing a large dose. The fiery burn clawed down my throat like a beast and caused me to choke violently. Mr Darcy was binding my ribs before I could so much as gasp at the agony of it. When the beast’s cut abated and I was able to draw breath enough to speak, he loosened his hold.

“Easy, my dear girl. Easy.” His crooning voice was unfamiliar, yet expected somehow. I managed to nod inelegantly and pushed the flask into his hand.

His large, capable fingers surrounded mine as he took the flask from me. His eyes bore through me with a question on his face for my well-being. Once I spoke of my relative ease, he lifted the container to his lips.

I do not know what possessed me then to watch his every movement. His eyes were closed so I was assured of some measure of secrecy for my actions, but I could not help but take in every movement of his face as he took a pull from the drink. The way his firm, full lips pressed against the edge of the spout creating a seal forced me to swallow at the intimacy of knowing the last things to touch that very spot of the flask were my own lips. Mr Darcy, unlike me, must have been accustomed to the burn of the spirits for he did not so much as flinch as he drank. The cravat hanging limply around his neck had long been loosened from its normal restriction, and I could see his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. Unconsciously, I mimicked the action and swallowed down a heavy measure of…some emotion.

My throat felt parched again.

Mr Darcy was a handsome man. His character had never diminished that quality in my thoughts, though I did not allow myself to think of it much. Now, while I unabashedly watched him rest his head back against the rocks behind us, eyes still closed as he savoured the drink, I thought I must admit that his features had a bewildering draw about them. As much as I disliked sharing a roof with him a se’nnight ago when Jane was ill at Netherfield, I was now honest enough to acknowledge that part of the allure of arguing with him—of expressing opinions that were not always my own—was to see the spark in his eyes when we sparred. It gave me an excuse to cast my eyes upon him, to return a little of the examination that he always dealt to me with his impervious stare. Unlike when his gaze would seize into me, I did not look upon him to find fault. No, it was much more shameful. For I looked upon Mr Darcy for the simple pleasure of it.

He opened his eyes, and I averted my gaze immediately. I hoped he would attribute the pink in my cheeks to the aftermath of the spirits. And I hoped I could convince myself that the warmth I felt in that very same area was also due to the brandy.

Despite the sounds and shifting debris falling about us, our rescue was not accomplished for many hours. Progress without was communicated at times to us through my father or Mr Bingley. The earth was excessively wet still, the mud that slid from the gaping wound in the slope was heavy and cumbersome to move. The rocks of the ruins also were at times a source of delay, as parts of the old chapel walls would crumble more, and our rescuers were forced to stop to consider where they might safely proceed.

Mr Darcy and I did not exchange any more words. I did not partake of any more of the brandy even though its warmth was welcome. By silent agreement, we sat side by side, my frame tucked securely next to Mr Darcy’s as we waited for release. Eventually, directly in front of us, a gaping hole opened up with the grunts of many accompanying it. Soon, Mr Bingley, covered in soil and a little dishevelled from assisting the other rescuers, could be seen crouching down and peering in.

“Well, I suppose you may wish to come out now?” he said with breathy laughter. The physical work required for this last portion was evident in the way his shoulders heaved deep breaths. He reached in as if he were assisting me down from a carriage, “Miss Elizabeth?”

I paused only a second because I could not believe we were actually free. My eyes spared a glance over at Mr Darcy, who, while shifting to his knees to follow me out, had an expression upon his face that was unreadable. His eyes were still unfocused in that way that suggested he was uncertain as to what his next actions must be.

It mattered little for I was free to go, and I reached a hand to allow Mr Bingley to pull me securely from the semi-darkness of the rock tomb and out into the bright sun of a near-noon day. Instinctively, I covered my eyes to the light while they adjusted. In the process, I found myself engulfed in the familiar, warm strength of my father’s arms.

He gingerly moved me away, and I could hear Mr Darcy murmur something to his friend and make his own tentative way towards the opening. When we were some twenty paces removed, I turned to where we had spent the night, only to gasp at the sight. The wall—that had extended some fifteen feet into the heavens when we stood beside it seeking shelter from the rain—had broken in thirds. The middle section of the chapel had fallen at an angle against the portion still standing, providing our small cave, and the last third had crumbled around the rest, sealing us in. All about it, rich dark soil spilled upon the ground in thick, reaching arms. Up the slope, a gash cut through the hill like some divinely wielded sword had slashed downward in godly vengeance. With the earth cut open, its bowels had spilled upon the chapel ruins. I did not know, looking at it then, how it was possible that we had survived such an act of God. My eyes sought out the man to whom I owed my life, and who had likewise escaped the impossible.

He was just emerging from the rubble. His arms splayed out and caught his friend as the two stumbled a little in the effort to put Mr Darcy upright.

He stood then but held fast to the support of Mr Bingley. I supposed, short of having a family member near with whom to rejoice, a good friend was just as welcome a sight. I was glad for Mr Darcy to have such a friend with him. Something did not seem right, though. Something about his actions as he was leaving our rock enclosure struck me as strange, and I could not decide right away what it was. Mr Bingley led Mr Darcy off some ways to rest upon a small boulder, and I continued watching them, mesmerised, for I could not shake the feeling there was something I was missing about it all. By this time, my father had helped me to sit and rest myself too, as Mr Jones made his way towards me.

I turned my attention away from Mr Darcy and his friend, trying to shake loose what my sluggish mind was not grasping. Mr Jones began his examination, first, of the many abrasions and cuts I bore. By rote, I answered his questions, allowing him to make a preliminary conclusion about my fitness to endure the carriage ride home, and gratefully received the morsel of bread and cup of water provided for me by my father. Still, all the while, my mind whirled over and over the memory of seeing Mr Darcy emerge from the rocks. It was such a silly thing, but I could not help recount it a few times. My eyes found him and locked there. After seeing to my most pressing and initial needs, the apothecary had left me with my father and gone to see to my former companion. Mr Jones spoke to him now and although Mr Darcy replied, his manner seemed a little odd. Then it struck me with the force of a pile of rocks to my chest. When Mr Darcy had emerged from the darkness of our shelter, he had not grimaced at the light. He had not so much as reacted to the brightness of the sun in his face. His eyes remained wide, lost and unfocused.

Why? Then the horrific truth became exceedingly clear. Mr Darcy could not see. Somehow, impossible though it seemed to be, Mr Darcy was blind.