Page 158 of A Debt Inherited

“Hill. John Perkins. Mr Darcy’s man.”

“Send for Barty.”

Bennet turned his head, but Hill had already moved.

Barty entered before the silence grew old. He looked as if he had not sat since Darcy rode out. He bowed.

“Colonel, sir.”

“What instructions did Darcy leave?”

“To remain here, await you, sir. The first stone lies at the lower turn beyond the field.”

Fitzwilliam nodded once.

“Is that information of use?” Mr Bennet asked.

“It is.”

“Then—what is your plan?”

Find the place. Break the door. Take Darcy and Miss Bennet out breathing.

“To return Miss Bennet.”

Fitzwilliam turned and left the study.

On the sweep, he gathered a handful of gravel.

The stones lay pale in his palm, damp with mist and ordinary as bread. Common sweepings from a country house drive.

Darcy had made them into dispatches.

Villiers came to his shoulder. Harris and Simms had already taken the lane with their eyes, and their horses. They had followed worse signs under worse skies.

Fitzwilliam held out a handful.

“Check the road. Mark every stone.”

Villiers closed his fist around them.

“Miss Bennet first. Darcy second,” Fitzwilliam said.

He pulled Perseus round.

“No one else is of consequence.”

Chapter 55

Redbourn Heath, before dawn

Darcy judged that less than an hour of night remained. The darkness had thinned, and the air lay cooler against his skin. Dawn would come soon enough.

He had not slept. Pain had seen to that.

His ribs pulled tight with every breath; his left eye throbbed. Dried blood stiffened the corner of his mouth. Wickham had struck like a coward and persisted without skill, spending his strength upon spite.

His wrists had fared worse. The rope had bitten through skin during the night, and each small movement drew fire along his hands. He flexed his fingers once, slowly, and felt two answer with pins and cold. Useful still. Not lost.