All breath left Darcy’s lungs in a rush. The Temple was the most notorious prison in Paris.
Adele’s voice was panicked. “The Temple? She has done nothing wrong!”
The gendarme chuckled. “Then her husband will have no difficulty retrieving her.”
“It will be several days before he can return!” Adele protested.
“I assure you that she will be fed in the meantime,” the man said dryly.
Darcy’s heart pounded so loudly he thought the gendarmes might hear. Rescuing Elizabeth from the Temple would be nigh impossible; he had to act now. Briefly he considered turning himself in, but Elizabeth might not be able to escape France without him—she might refuse to even make the attempt.
Still, he needed to find some way to prevent them from taking Elizabeth away.
In the growing twilight, Darcy darted up the front path to the street, a plan taking form in his mind. Fortunately, the street urchin he had passed earlier still lingered at the corner. Darcy jingled some coins in his pocket. “Would you like to earn some money?”
A few minutes later Darcy was back in position under the window, listening as Elizabeth and Adele tried their best to delay the process. “Elizabeth,” Adele asked, “do you have the handkerchiefs I purchased for you?”
“Oh! I failed to pack them.”
“I believe they may be in Marie’s room. I will fetch them for you.”
A gendarme growled, “She does not require a fresh supply of handkerchiefs. She is going to prison, not a tea party!”
“Do not be a brute!” Adele admonished.
“I hardly think—” The man broke off with an exasperated noise. “No more delay! You will accompany us now.”
“What will you do?” Adele challenged. “You will shoot an innocent woman because you cannot wait for her to gather a few handkerchiefs? Has France lost all semblance of civilization?”
There were several uneasy coughs from the other gendarmes. No doubt some were uncomfortable arresting a woman.
“Very well.” The lieutenant sighed.
Adele’s retreating footsteps sounded on the stairs. Darcy held his breath. Now would be an excellent time for a distraction.
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant Jardin!” Right on cue, the urchin’s voice sounded on the street.
“What do you want? What is it?” One of the gendarmes shouted at the boy through an open front window.
“Were you looking for that woman’s husband? He was approaching the house, but when he got close, he ducked down the Rue Marvel.”
“We can get him!” the lieutenant cried. “Go! Go!” Feet pounded across Adele’s floors, and the front door burst open. “Luc, you remain here with Madame Laurent,” the lieutenant said before the door slammed behind him.
Darcy had hoped they would abandon the house altogether. Using a convenient tree root as a footstool, Darcy peered through the open window. The sole remaining gendarme had his back to the window, looming over Elizabeth where she sat on the sofa. Anger sped Darcy’s heartbeat. Was such intimidation necessary?
Grasping the edge of the windowsill, Darcy managed to pull himself up without making any noise. As he sat in the window, he pulled out the pistol, tempted to shoot the man. But the gendarme was only following orders, and murdering an officer would compound their problems.
As silently as possible, Darcy crept toward the man’s back. Standing by the fireplace, Adele watched him with wide eyes but made no sound. Just as Darcy closed in on the man, a floorboard under his foot creaked. The man whirled around, but too late. The butt of the gun met the base of the man’s neck with a dull thud, and the gendarme crumpled in a heap on the floor.
“William!” Elizabeth stood in one motion and fell into Darcy’s arms, a warm and gratifying weight.
Adele hurried toward him. “Will! Thank God!”
Darcy embraced her quickly. “We must leave immediately. The gendarmes will not be distracted for long. By now the street urchin will have disappeared.”
Elizabeth nodded, handing him his knapsack. “I knew you would come.” She shrugged in reply to his surprised look.
Pistol at the ready, Darcy led the way through Adele’s back door, moving swiftly but warily past the garden and into the alley, now swathed in evening shadows. It appeared empty, but the darkness could hide anyone.
“They watch all the roads, Will!” Adele huffed as she rushed to follow him. “You cannot leave Paris now. We must conceal you in another location…”
Darcy’s stomach knotted with tension. The longer they remained in France, the greater the risk of discovery, but he saw no alternative.
“I had a thought,” Elizabeth said, her eyes bright as she looked up at him. “They are watching all the roads, but there must be another way to leave Paris. Perhaps the river?”
Adele’s mouth dropped open. “Of course!”
Darcy shook his head in wonder. “That is a magnificent idea, Elizabeth.” She blushed at his praise. He turned to Adele. “How often do boats go north?”
Her answer came in short gasps as they hurried along the alley. “Many depart every day. Barges bring coal and firewood daily to the city from Belgium and Normandy.”
“They return up the river empty?” he asked.
“Yes, or laden with goods manufactured near the city. The gendarmes could not possibly watch all the boats on the Seine even if it occurred to them. Wharfs line the river in many different locations, and boats leave at various times of the day.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “My friend Therese is married to a dockmaster. Perhaps he could find a boat that would take you upriver.”
Darcy nodded. “Lead the way. There is no time to lose.”
***
Adele’s friends, Mr. and Mrs. Girard, were surprised to receive visitors so late at night but were eager to help. Naturally she did not relate the entire story, merely explaining that her friends needed to reach the coast quickly. The couple might have guessed William and Elizabeth were fleeing from the authorities, but they did not ask questions. Many people in France, it seemed, were eager to defy the government.
Mr. Girard indeed knew of a barge that was departing for Rouen in the morning. No doubt the captain would be amenable to taking passengers—for an exorbitant fee. Elizabeth was relieved to have a plan, although she would not rest easy until they were safely on the barge—and probably would not sleep soundly again until they were back in England.
Darcy gratefully accepted the Girards’ offer to occupy their guest chamber for the night. All that remained was to bid farewell to Adele.
The older woman had tears in her eyes as she said goodbye to Elizabeth and William. She embraced Elizabeth first. “How fortunate we had an opportunity to meet! You are exactly the sort of woman I would have chosen for Will.”
“A woman with amnesia?” Elizabeth joked.
Adele shook her head, her eyes serious. “Even with amnesia, it is clear you are a woman of character who will not always allow him to have his own way. This is what he needs, whether he knows it or not.” Over her shoulder, she gave William a fond look; he merely shook his head, as if he had expected her to say something of the kind.
When the former governess released Elizabeth, she pulled William into an all-consuming embrace. “I knew you would mature into a fine man. Your father would be proud.” She pulled a letter out of her reticule. “Here, I have written a note to Georgiana. I pray you, deliver it for me.”
William carefully put the note in his pocket. “Will you be safe after we depart?”
She waved away the anxious expression on his face. “I will stay with friends for a few days. Once the gendarmes realize you are gone, they will chase after some other ‘spy.’”
William took both of her hands in his. “If they give you any trouble, please write to me. I will ensure that you and your family may leave the country. We would be most pleased to have you at Pemberley.” Elizabeth realized he meant they could host Adele and her family at his country estate…forever. The idea of such wealth was quite overwhelming.
“Yes, and you must write to me when you arrive home,” she insisted. With another swift hug, she was gone.
***
Elizabeth dreamed. She played the pianoforte in a drawing room she did not recognize. The house was very grand, with chairs upholstered in silk and gilt décor verging on gaudiness. Some instinct told Elizabeth that it was too ostentatious to be Longbourn. A sandy-haired man sat on a chair near the pianoforte, listening to Elizabeth play. His appearance tickled her memory, but Elizabeth could not recall his name. Mr. Darcy’s sudden appearance at her right shoulder startled her, causing her to strike the wrong key. As she recovered from the faux pas, the master of Pemberley positioned himself so he could view her face while she played.
By the end of the piece, Elizabeth was fighting a rising irritation. “You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me?” She gave him a poisonous smile. “But there is a stubbornness about me. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”
A small smile played about Mr. Darcy’s lips. “You could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own.”
Elizabeth suppressed a desire to roll her eyes. She had told him he intimidated her; her request for him to desist could not have been any plainer. And his response? He assured her that she was joking, as if she did not know her own mind! Did the man understand no subtlety at all?
Covering her irritation with a polite laugh, she directed her next comment to the man who sat beside the piano. “Your cousin will teach you not to believe a word I say. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous of you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire for it is provoking me to retaliate and such things may come out as will shock your relations to hear.”
“I am not afraid of you,” Mr. Darcy said. Of course, he was not. His position insulated him from whatever criticism his unpleasant demeanor so richly deserved.
“Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” said the cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam: the name rushed into Elizabeth’s mind. “I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.”
For a moment Elizabeth was tempted to tell the truth: that the man was rude, condescending, and aloof. Oh, it would be so lovely to voice such sentiments. But her triumph would be brief. She would be sent away from Rosings Park, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins would suffer the consequences of having invited such an ill-mannered guest.
Instead Elizabeth fixed an insincere smile on her face. “Prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him was at a ball and what do you think he did? He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce and more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner.”
The colonel’s knowing smile suggested that Mr. Darcy had behaved this way upon other occasions. Mr. Darcy himself grinned as if Elizabeth had paid him an immense compliment. Infuriating man. Yes, she had said it in a teasing manner, but he should be ashamed of his rudeness; instead he appeared to be proud of it.
Elizabeth pulled herself up through layers of sleep until she lay gasping and staring at the low ceiling of the Girards’ cottage. There was barely space for a bed and washstand in the room, and the bed was so small she was pressed quite close to William’s body. Slow, regular breaths demonstrated that his sleep was undisturbed by memories of past conflicts.
Elizabeth increasingly was certain that this dream—like the last—was the record of a memory and not random images from her life jumbled together in a nonsensical narrative in the usual way of dreams. These visions were too linear, logical, and sensible to be anything other than memories—although she would have preferred otherwise.
When musing about the first dream (assuming it was a memory), Elizabeth had supposed that she and William quickly overcame the negative feelings about their first encounter. She had imagined that William apologized, and they laughed over the misunderstanding before embarking on their courtship.
But this memory—from some months later and in a completely different place—suggested that they were still very much at odds, even if William did not recognize it. Sitting at the pianoforte, Elizabeth’s thoughts about William had been extremely unfavorable. Her words had been bitter, even if she concealed her anger with a teasing tone.
In Saint-Malo, William had suggested their acquaintance was short before their marriage. How had she gone from disliking the man to accepting his hand? It was a puzzle. She shivered despite the heat in the room. I am missing something, an important piece of information; without it I am groping for answers in the dark.
She cursed the holes in her memory. William’s concern for her wellbeing was indisputable; he had risked his life on her behalf many times. But she had the persistent sense that he was concealing something from her. A fundamental rift? A mutual disdain? Some kind of forced marriage?
Staring into the dark, she listened to the thumping of her racing heart. What would she do if the one person she relied upon completely was the one person she could not trust?
William rolled over in his sleep and threw his arm around her, pulling her close against his body. The sensation of his hands on her arms made her skin crawl, but Elizabeth did not struggle lest she awaken him. She expected to remain awake for the rest of the night, but she soon fell into an uneasy sleep.