Darcy’s pulse leapt. The first toll would be their earliest certain measure. Any carriage bound for London on this road must pass here. He glanced at his watch. The hand had crept further than he liked, but not so far as he had feared. If Sir Reginald’s coach had indeed left an hour before his own, and if they had travelled at a more moderate pace, not wishing to stand out, they might already have begun to make up the lost distance.
“Get us through as quick as you may,” he said. “I must speak to the keeper.”
“Yes, sir.”
The carriage rolled forward at a walk. Darcy looked out the window to see the low white tollhouse by the side of the road, its small windows staring out upon the traffic. A pole-bar, striped black and white, barred the way across the turnpike. Before it stood a waggon piled high with bales. Behind that, a light gig waited, its driver stamping his feet upon the ground as he spoke to the man at the gate.
When it was near their turn, he flung the door open before Anders even knew what he was about and swung himself to the ground. His legs protested at being so abruptly required; the road came up harder than itought. He caught himself against the side of the carriage and straightened, forcing his body to obey him.
The air cut at his lungs, sharp with the mingled scents of horse, mud, and wood smoke from the toll-house chimney. He strode past the waggon, ignoring the driver’s muttered complaint, and came up to the small hatch where the tollkeeper sat ensconced, like some gnome at his treasure.
The man looked up, startled, as Darcy’s shadow fell across the little opening.
“Your toll, sir,” he said, his voice wary. “Your carriage must come up in its turn.”
“It will,” Darcy said shortly. “I shall pay for it. But first, answer me: has a small coach passed this way this morning?” He described Sir Reginald.
The man’s eyes widened in the gloom. “Why, now, that is a particular gentleman if ever I heard one.” He scratched his cheek beneath a week’s growth of beard, squinting past Darcy as if the coach might yet be visible upon the road. “Aye. Aye, there was such a turn-out. Had the impudence to toss the toll at me as they went.”
“When?” The word came out sharper than he intended.
The tollkeeper jerked back slightly, then peered at the small clock behind him on a desk as if it might assist his memory. “Now, let me see. The London mail went through just afore sunrise. This one came after the York stage, but before old Jacobs’s waggon.” He craned out of the hatch and shouted, “Jacobs! What time was you here before?”
The waggoner, who had been listening with every appearance of indifference, grunted. “Half after nine, Jem. You know it, for you was complainin’ as how I was late and would have all the world comin’ at once.”
“There, you have it,” Jem said, turning back to Darcy. “The other coach was through a good three-quarters of an hour ago.”
Three-quarters of an hour.
Darcy’s heart, which had leapt at the first confirmation, now eased into a steadier beat. An hour’s start at the inn; forty-five minutes here. They had taken back a quarter of an hour in scarcely ten miles.
“Did you note the company?” he asked. “The occupants of the coach?”
“One gentleman, one lady, that I saw plain. There might have been another woman inside; I cannot swear to it.” The man’s brow creased as he searched his recollection.
Elizabeth.
“You will take my toll now,” he said more evenly.
“Another officious gentleman,” the man muttered, rummaging in his drawer for the toll-book. “That will be—”
Darcy paid him without really listening to the amount. Johnson had brought the coach up by then; the pole rose, the heavy bar swung aside. Steam puffed from the horses’ nostrils as they stamped, eager to be gone.
He turned back as Anders jumped down to open the door.
“Well, sir?” Anders asked in a low voice.
“They passed here not long before nine,” Darcy said, climbing in. “We have gained upon them.”
Anders’s eyes narrowed with grim satisfaction. “Yes sir.”
They had made up time. Fact. Measurable.
Yet the laudanum still lay like lead at the base of his skull. His muscles still ached with a slight heaviness. His thoughts, though clearer, were still not what they ought to be. And however ill Sir Reginald managed his team, he had the advantage of that first hour, and of Miss Bennet in his carriage.
Darcy closed his eyes for a moment, feeling each jolt travel up his spine. He would ride this carriage into the ground if need be. He would spend every horse on the road between here and London. He would strip himself to the bone before he allowed them to carry her beyond his reach.
They were gaining.