The rain eased. Elizabeth’s frock was now damp instead of soaking. The sun soon would set, and what little light filtered through the seam of the shuttered window and holes in the thatch above would fade. If Elizabeth meant to stay the night, which she would have to, she needed light.
Perhaps she could start a fire? Papa had shown her once, when they had picnicked overnight in the fields to watch for shooting stars.
Skirting the table and wary mama dog, Elizabeth felt along the wall for a lantern. A third of the way around, her foot hit a sack. She knelt. To her delight, inside were a loaf of hard-crusted rye bread, carrots, and a wedge of sharp cheese.
What luck! If the owner of this cabin returned, Elizabeth might explain her situation and find help. At the least, she would not be alone.
Finding no knife, Elizabeth ripped off a piece of the bread and bit down into the cheese, chewing and swallowing. As she ate, her natural good cheer returned. Elizabeth tapped at the wall above the sack and at the ground beside it. Her fingers touched the edge of a lantern, and she smiled.
The lantern bathed the area around Elizabeth in a soft, yellow light. Aside from the lantern and sack, nothing else in the room showed signs of recent occupation. Perhaps a poacher had used the cabin as a place to rest and hide his illicit hunting? If so, she hoped she could leave before he returned. He would not appreciate her eating his food or using his things.
Elizabeth took another bite of the cheese and stood. From beneath the table, the puppies yipped.
Elizabeth held the lantern up, noting a second door which presumably led to another room. The door was locked with a large, thick iron bolt. Elizabeth pushed her palm to the bolt and pushed. It wiggled but remained shut. Elizabeth tried again, leaning her weight into the push. On the third attempt, she freed it and pulled the door open.
This room held a chair and a rolled up sleeping pallet. The roof leaked. Elizabeth touched her fingers to the damp stone wall. There were no windows or other doors.
Elizabeth shivered. She would be glad for morning to come so she could leave.
Elizabeth bolted the door shut and returned to the sack again. Inside, beneath a canvas cloth, she found a strip of salted meat.
Taking it and the cheese, she approached the mama dog. In the lantern light, the dog’s long, thin form, and the ridge of her ribs and spine were visible.
"Poor thing," Elizabeth murmured. Keeping her voice pleasant, she said, "I brought dinner, mama. You must be hungry."
At the dog’s teats, five balls of fluff nursed. Elizabeth gave the puppies a wide berth, crawling out, a handful of meat and cheese ahead of her.
Mama sniffed at the air, and her jaw opened, revealing the shadowed pink of her tongue. She was a mongrel with black salted fur, stocky bones, long ears and a square muzzle. Beneath short, thick fur, it was difficult to gauge her weight, though Elizabeth suspected, from the definition of her shoulders, she was too thin.
Cold, hungry, and feeding five pups.
Elizabeth put the food down in front of the dog and backed away. Mama sniffed it once and devoured it. Elizabeth took another bite of the cheese and another chunk to the dog, and together they finished the meat, cheese, and half the bread.
Sated, mama put her chin on her paws. Elizabeth held out her hand, and she sniffed it, flicking her tongue to lick Elizabeth's fingers. Feeling brave, Elizabeth dared rest her hand on the dog's head and then, seeing no objection, petted her until the dog’s eyes shut.
Elizabeth smiled. There were worse things and spending the night with a mother and her five pups. Especially now that the rain had stopped and she had both light and dinner.
Crawling out from under the table, Elizabeth explored the rest of her evening abode. It was, perhaps, too much to ask for a working fireplace, but on a low shelf in the corner she found a folded up duvet. It was mismatched squares of fabric sewn together, stuffed with wool. Elizabeth carried it beneath the table and sat down, legs crossed, the duvet over her shoulders.
Though it was a waste as she did not know how much oil remained in the lantern, Elizabeth could not bear to blow it out. The light and slow breaths of her companions, the mama dog and puppies, kept Elizabeth calm. She would have to stay that way to spend the night here. The rain had eased, but Elizabeth would be a fool to wander these woods in the dark, especially since Mr. Grimes still searched for her.
And Mr. Carlisle, whenever he woke from the blow she delivered on him.
Outside, Elizabeth heard a muffled shout. Heart thundering, she blew out the lantern. Another shout, angrier. The words were muffled by the walls of the stone cottage.
Elizabeth held her breath. Hopefully, whoever it was would keep walking. She only prayed it was not the men who pursued her. Perhaps the poacher had returned?
She should have locked the door. If Elizabeth had been smart, she would have bolted it from the inside.
Elizabeth considered the door. It was, perhaps, seven or eight steps from the table. She could slip out, bolt the door, and hide again.
Slowly, Elizabeth lowered the duvet from her shoulders and crawled out towards the door. Her head and shoulders were out from beneath the table when the door opened.
"Carlisle?"
Elizabeth froze. The table still obscured her from view, but if she moved, he would see her.
Mr. Grimes walked across the room towards where Elizabeth had found the sack.
Her hands shook. He would know she was here, or someone was here, when he opened it.
She glanced around. There was a bench on either side of the table, but there were no large branches or other things she could use to strike him from behind.
Besides, he would hear her approach.
He stopped at the sack, feeling along the ground for the lantern.
Elizabeth looked to the second room, bolted from the outside. They had meant to take her here. She had run from the carriage straight to where the men meant to hold her. She would have done better to stay in the woods.
Mr. Grimes cursed. He called out again, "Carlisle!"
Mama growled, and Grimes jumped to his feet. He stepped towards the sound, stamped his foot, and shouted, "Get back!" the mama dog growled again. Elizabeth shrank back.
Mr. Grimes murmured, "Did you, doggie, open my sack?"
He stopped, glanced back at it. "And take my lantern? With what fingers did you untie the knot?"
Elizabeth shrank to the floor, holding her breath.
"Was it you, Mrs. Darcy?"
He had seen her. Elizabeth crawled back as he walked a wide circle around the table, avoiding the barking dog, towards her.
Elizabeth shouted, "Get away from me!"
"This is a fine thing.” He smiled, teeth glinting. “I thought my luck had turned."
His form was a shadow on shadow, but enough light filtered through the holes in the thatch for Elizabeth to follow his movements. His boots scraped the floor.
Mr. Grimes said, "Come out nice, Mrs. Darcy, or I will have to hurt you."
Elizabeth grabbed hold of the lantern. If she let him drag her out and throw her in that second room, she would never escape. She had to fight now.
Mr. Grimes grabbed the bench and yanked it away. Mama barked furiously.
Elizabeth lifted the lantern, and as he knelt, she swung it at him. The base grazed his cheek. He grabbed it and pulled. Elizabeth, panicking, crawled back, and the handle broke. He fell back, rocking on his heels.
"You little—!" Mr. Grimes let out a string of curses. Insults to her mother and her virtue mixed in a flurry of London gutter cockney Elizabeth could not decipher except to know he was furious.
Mr. Grimes crawled towards her, arm extended to grab her. Elizabeth kicked.
The door opened again, and Elizabeth screamed. She could not fight both of them. She could hardly fight one of them!
"Carlisle, get over here!" Mr. Grimes yelled and grabbed Elizabeth’s leg.
Mama leaped at Mr. Grimes, her teeth clamping his arm. He let go of Elizabeth and cursed at the dog.
Framed in the light of the doorway, a second man, too tall to be Mr. Carlisle, bounded towards them. "Unhand my wife!"
"Fitzwilliam!" Elizabeth almost wept from relief.
Mr. Darcy grabbed Mr. Grimes by the collar and pulled.
The dog held fast, digging her claws into Mr. Grimes’ side.
The puppies whimpered. Elizabeth went to them, "Sweet babies, it will be fine, I promise."
The mama, hearing her puppies, let go and bounded back towards them. Elizabeth held her hands out and backed away. She smelled blood.
A thump, fist against flesh.
Mr. Grimes exhaled. He cursed again. "Let me go!"
"To the devil, I will!"
Elizabeth looked at her husband and Mr. Grimes, whom Fitzwilliam had thrown against the wall. Mr. Grimes swung with his right hand, and Elizabeth saw the glint of silver, a knife. But Fitzwilliam was too quick. He blocked the swipe and in a quick motion, wrenched Mr. Grimes’ wrist. The knife fell.
Fitzwilliam punched him in the gut, and Mr. Grimes grunted, folding in on himself. From there, it was a rout. Within a minute, Mr. Grimes was on the ground, groaning.
Elizabeth, remembering the strips of cloth in the sack, crawled out from under the table and said, "Hold him. We’ll tie him up."
Hoist him by his own petard.
For the first time since this ordeal began, Elizabeth wished to laugh.