“Yes,” he replied. “It may.”
He reached up to the leather case above the door and drew it open. Elizabeth heard the faint clink of metal. He took out a pistol, checked the priming with practised care, and set it upon the seat beside him. The movement was so controlled that Elizabeth knew at once that he haddone such things before, and not merely as an exercise in a gentleman’s education.
“You are armed,” Mrs. Hobart whispered, clasping her hands together.
“I am not fool enough to travel without a means of defence,” he said. “Miss Bennet.”
She realised he was addressing her and dragged her gaze from the pistol to his face.
“This is likely nothing more than the storm having felled a tree. However, if I ask you to lie upon the floor of the carriage,” he said evenly, “you must do it at once, without question. Do you understand me?”
Mrs. Hobart snorted. “We will not lie on the floor like dogs.”
“Then Miss Bennet may lie there like a princess,” he returned, with a flash of that sardonic humour. “But youwilllie there. A ball does not distinguish by rank.”
His eyes were steady. Whatever Elizabeth thought of his temper, she did not doubt that he knew more of such dangers than she did.
“I understand,” she said quietly.
The carriage had come to a halt now. She could feel the horses fidgeting in their traces, the small, uncertain shifts of weight that spoke of their impatience. Outside, Anders said something in a low, warning tone. Johnson’s deeper voice joined Anders’s in some brief colloquy.
Elizabeth strained to catch the words but could not.
Mr. Darcy slid the window down an inch. “What do you see?”
“The limb is clean cut, sir,” Johnson called back. “Not torn like it fell from heavy snow. Someone laid it here across the way.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. Mrs. Hobart choked upon a little cry and clapped her handkerchief to her mouth.
Mr. Darcy’s hand closed about the butt of the pistol. The movement was slight, but Elizabeth saw the sinews in his wrist tighten.
“Anders,” he said out the window, his tone all command now, without any of the dryness she was accustomed to. “Do not move forward. Hold the horses. Johnson, look to the banks. If there is anyone lying close, we must see them before they strike.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a moment’s pause. The entire world seemed to hold its breath. Even the horses, restive a moment before, stood still, their harness chinking faintly.
Elizabeth could hear her own pulse beating in her ears.
“Sir,” Anders said suddenly, his voice hard. “There is movement up yonder, on the ridge to the left. Behind that gorse. I could have sworn—”
He broke off. A different voice, unknown and rough, rang out nearby.
“Stand where you are! Do not touch those reins!”
Another answered from the opposite side, too near the carriage for comfort. “Hands up, lads, nice and slow, or the first man moves will be the first man shot.”
Elizabeth’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. Mrs. Hobart seized her arm with a grip that was surprisingly strong.
“Down,” Mr. Darcy said quietly.
For one instant Elizabeth hesitated. Then she dropped from the seat to the floor of the carriage, pressing herself into the narrow space between the squabs and the opposite seat, her pelisse tangling about her ankles. Mrs. Hobart, with a small moan, followed suit, collapsing beside her.
From her low vantage she could see only the bottom edge of the window and Mr. Darcy’s boots. The carriage door nearest him creaked as he set his hand against it.
Outside, the unknown voice spoke again, nearer now, with an ugly note of satisfaction. “That is it. Gentlemen do as they are told, and gentlemenlive. You there in the carriage—open your door and step out slow, with your hands where I can see them.”
Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy’s legs shift. He lifted the pistol from the seat and slid it out of sight, though where, she could not tell.