Page 19 of Until My Last Breath

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The jolt of the carriage awoke Elizabeth. She brought her hand to her sore face, struggling to see in the darkness. Then, she heard muffled voices.

“Yes, I’ve a plan for ’er. Go back to London and wait for my instructions. I need to arrange somethin’ for you. Quick, you can’t be seen with us.”

The door opened. The bright light dazzled Elizabeth as the silhouette of a man shadowed over her. “So, our lady’s awake. Good. Take this.” The man threw a large bag on the seat. “Make sure he doesn’t bleed to death,” he said, shutting the door.

A moment later, the carriage was on its way.

The sudden movement made Elizabeth wince. Still a bit dizzy, she touched her right cheek again; the corner of her mouth was swollen, and her lower lip was bleeding. She frowned, confused by the man’s words.

“Oh, no. Mr Darcy,” she shouted as she remembered what had happened.

With her eyes adjusted again to the dim light inside what she now understood was a carriage, Elizabeth looked up at the seats, but saw nothing. Perplexed, she tried to sit up, when her fingers felt something on the floor beside her. Mr Darcy’s dark hair and green coat had blended his still body with the shadows on the floor. Tears stung her eyes as she carefully tried to turn him onto his back, praying for his life. She did not need light to see the large stain of blood on his once white shirt.

“Mr Darcy,” she whispered, caressing his dirty face with trembling hands.

He was so cold.

A shiver ran down her spine.Please be alive, please!She quickly lowered an ear to his mouth and released a deep sigh when she heard his weak but steady breathing. A mixture of feelings — disgust, rage, fear and despair — engulfed Elizabeth. “Cowards,” she finally shouted, hot tears finding their way down her face, burning the cuts on her skin.

The realisation of their situation hit her hard; they had been kidnapped and Mr Darcy was seriously wounded. She could not contain her emotions any longer and surrendered to uncontrollable sobs, wondering what she could do for him.

The horrible man’s words echoed in her mind. “Make sure he doesn’t bleed to death.”

The bag.

With some effort, she reached for it. It contained bandages, a smallbrown bottle on which she managed to read ‘laudanum’, three other bottles, which by the smell she concluded were water bottles, and, surprisingly, a loaf of bread.

She used the back of her sleeves to dry her face, while trying to remember what she had learnt about caring for a wound — although most of it for animals.

Pulling back one of the curtains to let light flood the interior of the carriage, the blood stain on Mr Darcy’s shirt turned into a vibrant shade of red. She felt dizzy. But that was not the moment for weakness. Inhaling deeply, Elizabeth began to open Darcy’s coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat. Starting from the burnt bullet hole, she tore the fabric of his shirt, opening her way into his wounded flesh. Once the injury was at last exposed, she tried to understand what she was seeing.

Her face softened as she passed a hand over her own neck and shoulder, comparing it to his body.Not his heart!Despite the fortunate position by which the bullet had passed through Mr Darcy’s body, he was still bleeding.

A sudden movement of the carriage bounced their bodies, and he moaned and mumbled incomprehensible words.

Elizabeth cupped his cold face. “Mr Darcy? Please, can you hear me?” At his lack of response, she decided to do what was necessary. “Forgive me, but this will hurt…” she murmured. Then, counting to three, she held her breath and pressed the front wound with a piece of bandage.

Darcy gasped, grimacing as he cried out in pain, quickly reaching for her wrist with so much strength that she did not know if she should be happy to see him very much alive, or scream in pain.

A moment later, he loosened his grip, relaxed his body and started breathing again.

“Mr Darcy,” she whispered, taking his face with her other hand. His forehead was wet with his perspiration. “It is me, Elizabeth. Please, talk to me.”

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Once Richard and the other men reached the end of the path, he dismounted and started looking around, telling the other men to do the same. He walked towards the grove and something on the floor caught his attention. It was a lady’s bonnet — with a hole in it. He brought it to his nose. The burnt smell was still fresh.

“Colonel, over here!” one of his men shouted, pointing to a dark puddle on the grass.

Richard crouched down and touched the damp area with his finger.Blood. “Good Lord. Poor Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered.

It did not take them long to find the bullet; but it was the second object, in fact two sodden wads of cloth, that froze Richard’s heart as he separated the red-stained handkerchiefs and saw the initials of his cousin on one of them.

Without turning his head, he addressed the stable boy. “Please, go back to the house as fast as you can and find out if Mr Darcy is still there. Go!” Then, he asked a footman to go to the village to try to find any information he could about anything suspicious or unusual.

After a short time, while they were still searching the area for more clues, the stable boy returned, panting from the exertion of his efforts, and confirmed Richard’s deepest fear.

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