Darcy drew a deep breath that caught in his chest. His eyes opened upon the dim shape of his chamber, the soot-stained mantel, the dying embers in the grate. The candle he had set upon the side table had long guttered out. His neck ached; his legs had gone numb. He was still in the chair where he had sat down after his meeting with Miss Bennet.
“Sir, I beg your pardon, but you must wake.” Anders’s concerned face resolved itself above him. Behind him, the latch of the parlour door hung open. The rattle of harness and shouted orders drifted in from the yard. The man’s hand lay upon his shoulder.
“What is it?” Darcy’s tongue felt thick. His own voice sounded strange in his ears. “Has something happened?”
“It is gone nine o’clock, sir.” Anders’s hand fell back, but he did not step away. “Miss Bennet and her party set out near an hour past. I have been trying to rouse you, but you would not stir. I thought you might be taken ill.”
For a moment, the words hung in the air without meaning. Then they struck all at once.
“Gone?” Darcy pushed himself upright. His body protested. Blood rushed to his head, and the room swayed. He caught at the back of the chair and blinked until the room ceased its slow turn.
“It is not possible. I gave orders to be called at six and no later.”
“I know, sir. The manservant came to tell us that you could not be roused. I came before seven. When I could not wake you, I thought you wished to sleep longer. But when Sir Reginald’s coach left, I grew uneasy and asked after Miss Bennet. She appears to have gone with the others. I have been back and forth to you since then, but you have not stirred ’til now. I was about to send for a physician.”
Darcy pressed his fingertips to his temple. His mind lagged, as if it moved through treacle rather than air. His limbs were heavy. His mouth tasted sour.
“What did I drink?” he mumbled.
“Sir?”
“The tea.” He tried to recall the previous night. The stair, the quarrel on the landing, Miss Bennet’s eyes bright with anger and hurt. His own voice, harder than he had intended. The chill of the passage when she left him standing there. The tea he had requested waiting for him in the room.
He had once been given laudanum as a boy. He knew the dull heaviness that followed. Darcy looked at Anders.
“There was something in that pot.”
Anders’s expression darkened. “I thought of that, sir, but the manservant took the teapot away.”
“Find it.” Darcy pushed himself to his feet. The effort set the floor tilting again, but he stood. “Bring it to me. At once.”
Anders hesitated only a heartbeat, then vanished through the open door.
Darcy’s hand shook. He closed it into a fist.
An hour. She had left an hour before. At this rate, with the roads in their present condition, they would be at least five or six miles along the road to London. In Sir Reginald’s carriage. Without him.
He saw her as she had stood upon the landing, face lifted, chin set in defiance.You still believe that I am not who I say I am.
The door crashed back. Anders reappeared with a small earthenware pot upon a tray. Mr. Lowell followed, red-faced and breathless, with a boy close behind.
“Mr. Darcy, sir,” the man puffed. “Your servant is in the greatest taking. He will have it that there is mischief in my tea. I swear to you, it was nothing but—”
Darcy took the pot from the tray. A sticky ring clung to the inside. He lifted it to his nose. The scent rose, not strong but unmistakable. He would never have missed it had he not been so distracted.
“Laudanum,” he said. Not a heavy dose, but more than enough to render a man into a dead, insensible sleep.
He lowered the pot. “You served this to me?” His tone was level. Mr. Lowell's colour, already high, rose further.
“My wife told me Mrs. Hobart did so. Said it was naught but willow bark. That you had taken a chill on the road, that you would not own to it, and she would see to it herself.”
Darcy knew he should be angry, but he could not summon the energy. “And you never thought to alert me that there was something in my tea?”
“You were travelling with the lady, Mr. Darcy.” He frowned. “The quality have done many a strange thing here. We dare not interfere.”
He had no sympathy for the man. “Was Miss Bennet’s tea altered in any manner?”
“She took her tea plain, sir. Naught in it.”