A.N. Dear Sunday friends, here is the double post. Happy reading and remember to review. I live on your comments. Thank you!

Chapter 15

Elizabeth tried to walk as slowly as possible without appearing to be doing so. Dr. Wickham was walking behind her, holding the gun, and Denny was walking ahead of them, holding a map and squinting at the forest a great deal.

Elizabeth was doing an admirable job of remaining calm. She was mostly irritated. They had been so close to capturing Dr. Wickham, but he had managed to cause even more trouble for them. She did not believe that he would harm her actively - but she feared that he might leave her somewhere without food or water. It was not impossible that she might die before she was discovered.

"I must escape somehow," she thought.

She still had use of her hands, and for that she was thankful. She considered picking up a rock and trying to hit one of the men with it, but she knew that even if she was fortunate enough to hit one of them, the other would be upon her before she could make a second attack.

Where were they going? Perhaps to another village somewhere: if so, more opportunities to escape might present themselves - or at least she would not be as far from help as she was here in the forest.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked. She did not expect an answer, but she decided she would rather provoke Dr. Wickham than continue on in silence.

"To a graveyard," said Denny, squinting now at the map.

For a second, Elizabeth thought he meant that they intended to kill her, but Dr. Wickham said, "Don't speak to her, Denny. Be quiet, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth was surprised by the rudeness of his tone. She was so used to him being charming at all times. She had known it was part of his act, but the natural meanness of him still unsettled her. He no longer seemed merely a selfish incompetent: she felt that he might do anything to protect himself. She must be careful not to put herself in unnecessary danger.

"He's afraid," she thought suddenly. "He thought he would get away with everything, and now he's lost his scheme and may yet be captured and tried." She repressed a smirk, feeling a surge of pride. They had nearly thwarted him. It was now up to her to make sure he did not get away again. She needed to get at his gun - but could she shoot them, if it came to it?

"I would not kill them," she thought, "But perhaps I could wound them enough to prevent them from attacking me or traveling far? No, that's not the way. If I wounded them that severely, they're likely to die anyway from infection. I must stop them some other way." Suddenly she had a thought, as if it had dropped on her from above: a perfect, poetic vengeance. "I must make him sick somehow," she thought.

She had been studying a book on plants at Rosings Park which she had borrowed from the library. Most of the herbs were either harmless or poisonous. But there were a few that were only poisonous in large doses. She racked her brains, trying to remember the properties of those plants, and what they looked like. It would not do to make an error which could prove fatal. She looked around at all the plants and trees that they passed, grateful again that she had the use of her hands.

Suddenly she saw a shrub, and her heart leapt up. It was alder buckthorn, the bark of which was used as a laxative. It was just to Denny's right - if they continued going straight she would not be able to reach it without drawing attention to herself. Her mind raced.

Just as they passed it, she pretended to stumble. She lowered herself to the ground, and put her head in her hands.

"Get up, Miss Bennet," barked Dr. Wickham. "Is this another one of your tricks?"

"Please," she said, "I'm so very lightheaded. I think I might faint. Give me a moment."

Dr. Wickham sniffed, scowling at her. He pulled out his pocket watch. "We will give you one minute," he said. "Denny, how close are we?" He walked over to Denny, and they both began to consult the map.

"I wish I had a bloody compass," said Denny.

Elizabeth was too focused to be shocked by his use of language in her presence. Through her fingers, she saw Dr. Wickham occasionally glance back at her - and he was keeping the pistol pointed in her direction. Apparently he thought she was foolish enough to just take off and run. Elizabeth scooted towards the alder buckthorn surreptitiously whenever Dr. Wickham was intent on the map.

They looked at it for over a minute, arguing about the direction, and whether or not they'd already gotten lost. Elizabeth was beginning to think that making a run for it was not the worst idea after all when Dr. Wickham snatched the map from Denny and handed him the pistol instead. "I'll lead," he growled. "You keep an eye on Miss Bennet."

"But I'm the one who found the graveyard," said Denny. "I figured it out, I know more than you do."

"Apparently not," said Dr. Wickham. He pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swig. Denny reached for it, and Dr. Wickham handed it to him. Once Denny had also drunk, and Dr. Wickham had pocketed the flask, Denny pointed the gun at Elizabeth, who was still covering her face in order to watch them without appearing to.

"Get up," Denny barked at her, waving the gun.

Elizabeth was, by now, fairly close to the buckthorn shrub. She reached out and grabbed onto it, pretending that she needed it in order to unsteadily rise to her feet. Once standing, she paused for a moment, still covering her face with one hand and clinging to the branches of the alder buckthorn with the other. The men did not seem to notice, but she was carefully twisting a twig back and forth in order to be able to break it off. When she felt it snap off, she closed her hand around it tightly and moved away from the bush, pretending to still be lightheaded.

They veered slightly to the left, and continued in that direction. Elizabeth broke the twig into three small pieces, and stuck the pieces into her hair - all without the men noticing: they must have thought she was just knotting her hands together and fixing her hair.

After about another quarter of an hour, Elizabeth could see grey shapes through the trees. Soon they were surrounded by gravestones, and then then trees ended, and they were standing amongst numerous tombs. Elizabeth shivered. The forest felt quieter here. She thought of spending the night there, amongst the dead, and her skin crawled.

"I hope I manage to escape before then," she thought.

Dr. Wickham and Denny decided to set up camp behind one of the mausoleums at the far end of the graveyard. It was made of white stone and falling into disrepair. In some places, stones had crumbled away so much that one could peer inside, and a cold air breathed out of the tomb. Elizabeth kept her eyes away from the holes. She had enough to focus on without getting frightened of ghosts.

Dr. Wickham and Denny argued about whether or not to light a fire. Denny said it might attract attention with its smoke, but Dr. Wickham said they would have to eat something, and he intended to shoot something for them which would need to be cooked.

"We're far enough away now from Rosings Park that they won't see any smoke," said Dr. Wickham.

Denny muttered something under his breath, and they passed the flask back and forth again. Elizabeth saw Dr. Wickham put it into his coat pocket.

"I am going to go hunt something," said Dr. Wickham. "Denny, you collect firewood."

"What about her?" asked Denny, speaking about Elizabeth as if she were not standing there.

"Tie her up."

"With what?"

"I don't know. You didn't think to bring a rope?"

"Losing a battle and kidnapping a woman was never part of the plan!" cried Denny.

Dr. Wickham wrinkled his nose. "Never mind," he said. "I need to take the gun with me, but...well, if she tries to run, catch her."

Elizabeth and Denny both raised their eyebrows. There was a pause.

"We could put her in the tomb," said Denny.

Elizabeth whipped her head around, her eyes pleading with Dr. Wickham.

"I won't run," she insisted. "I still feel much too weak."

Dr. Wickham looked at her with a malicious smirk. "I no longer trust you, Miss Bennet," he said. "If you tell me you won't run, I find myself inclined to think that you intend to. Put her in the tomb, Denny."

"How will you get it open?" cried Elizabeth, feeling truly alarmed for the first time since her kidnapping.

Denny walked up to the door of the tomb. There was a latch on the outside.

"Appears to be an old model," he said, "Locked from the outside. Apparently they were afraid the dead would try to get out." He laughed, but Elizabeth did not find it at all funny.

Denny struggled with the latch for a moment, and then tugged the door outwards. It was a metal door, greatly rusted, and it creaked like something from the other world attempting to scream.

"In you go," said Denny, grinning maliciously.

Elizabeth hesitated, and then she had an idea.

"It is cold inside," she said. It was true - they could all feel a cold draught of air from inside the stone enclosure.

As she had hoped, Dr. Wickham took off his coat and gave it to her, although he did it with a very irritated expression. She took it, and did not have to fake the grateful expression on her face.

"Now go inside," said Dr. Wickham.

Elizabeth hugged the coat and walked inside. It was very small. She was relieved to see that the four coffins that were stacked on shelves inside were all closed, but some of the lids had begun to rot away - she did not look. She was now thankful for the holes in the walls, which let in a little light.

"Have a lovely time," jeered Denny, and shut the door. The mausoleum became almost completely dark, and she heard Denny close the latch outside.

"I'll get the firewood now," said Denny. "No point in wasting time taking turns if she's locked up."

His voice moved farther away as he spoke, and she could not hear Dr. Wickham's response.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. This was ideal, she told herself. She could carry out her plan in perfect privacy, and they would return to let her out. They must.

She opened Dr. Wickham's coat and took out the flask. Keeping her eyes away from the coffins, she moved over to one of the holes in the wall in order to be able to see her hands more clearly.

She had read that alder buckthorn was usually dried before being used as a purgative, because fresh bark was dangerously potent. Elizabeth hesitated, considering the amount of dried bark the book had recommended. She held the flask in one hand and pulled one of the twigs from her hair with the other. She stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding. Too much would be dangerous, but if she did not put enough in the flask, her plan would not work at all. And, there was no way to ensure that the men would actually ingest the bark, it might simply steep into the liquor.

Elizabeth inhaled, then tucked the flask under her arm and tore the tiniest strips of bark from the twig. She kept them cupped in one hand, and managed to open the flask with the other. Carefully, she dropped four of the pieces inside, closed the flask, and shook it.

Then she stared at the flask for a moment, imagining the bark twirling around inside, its essence seeping into the alcohol. She shuddered. She feared so to harm Dr. Wickham and Denny - while they had spent many days carelessly feeding rotting tonics to women. She braced her shoulders. Dr. Wickham deserved whatever was coming to him.

Now that her task was done, the ghoulish nature of her situation seemed to surround her suddenly. The smell inside the tomb was not rancid, but it smelled of decay. She tried to repress her imagination. She stepped closer to the hole, and looked out, breathing deeply of the clean air that came through. She tried not to picture things reaching for her from the darkness behind her.

"I must distract myself," she thought. "With what?"

Suddenly she thought of Mr. Darcy. The thought of him no longer filled her with anger, but a sort of admiration, almost tenderness. He had behaved bravely. It was true that he was still stone-faced much of the time: he was not charming, he did not go out of his way to appear pleasant before others.

"But he is honest," she thought. "I admire that. And perhaps he is shy, and that is why he does not speak very often. I had disliked his bluntness, but I prefer his stark honesty to false charm, such as Dr. Wickham's. And he has proved to have an active, compassionate mind."

She thought of what he had said about her parents. It still stung her.

"He did apologize," she thought. "And I forgive him. I cannot expect a man to behave at all times without fault, and his willingness to ask for forgiveness makes up for his initial error."

She was staring at the woods through the hole in the wall, and suddenly found that she felt as if she were no longer in the tomb, but out in the open and surrounded by green. She felt as if she had suddenly been transported somewhere far away.

Denny returned in a few minutes, carrying a stack of sticks. He dumped them on the ground outside, and she could see him grinning unkindly at the mausoleum, little thinking she could see him.

"Have the ghosts eaten you yet, Miss Bennet?" he called.

"Only partially," said Elizabeth.

Denny made a face, surprised by her sass, and went back into the woods for more wood.

Elizabeth waited for at least another half an hour, but then she saw Dr. Wickham and Denny returning together. Dr. Wickham was carrying a dead rabbit in his hand, and Denny had more sticks, most of which were thicker than the ones he had brought back before. Elizabeth was surprised: Dr. Wickham must not be as incompetent a hunter as he was a physician.

For a terrible moment, she thought they intended to leave her in the tomb, perhaps all night. Then Dr. Wickham reached for a pocket that was not there: he wanted his flask and had forgotten he was no longer wearing his coat.

"Let her out," he said to Denny.

She could not hear Denny's mumbled response, but in a few moments she heard the door to the mausoleum being unlatched. She hurried out, thankful for the sunlight and the warmth. It had indeed been cold in the tomb, and after a time she had put on Dr. Wickham's coat, although it smelled of him and she loathed it.

"Give me my coat back, Miss Bennet," said Dr. Wickham. "It is warm out here."

Elizabeth gave it back to him, glad to be rid of it. As she'd hoped, Dr. Wickham immediately took out the flask and took a drink. Denny took one after him. Then Dr. Wickham tossed his coat to the side of their "camp," and took out a small knife. He started to skin the rabbit, and Elizabeth looked away, horrified.

Denny set up a small fire, whistling through his teeth. He took out his tinderbox, and seemed to be about to light the sticks, and then looked at Dr. Wickham, and put his tinderbox away again. Elizabeth smirked to herself. The amount of wood Denny had gathered might not be enough to cook the rabbit thoroughly at all, and certainly not if he started burning it before Dr. Wickham had barely begun to skin the rabbit.

She sighed. They both appeared to be perfectly comfortable, perhaps the alder buckthorn was not working. Maybe they needed another drink, or to actually swallow one of the pieces of bark…

Suddenly, Denny put a hand on his stomach. He groaned.

"What's the matter, Denny?" said Dr. Wickham, and then he paused, staring straight ahead. "I feel terrible," he said. He put down the rabbit.

Elizabeth watched them, her heart racing. Denny clutched his stomach and groaned again. Elizabeth was torn between genuine pity for their distress, and a surge of triumph that her plan was working.

The pistol was resting on the ground near Dr. Wickham, but she did not dare rush over and try to take it - not yet.

"Denny," said Dr. Wickham, "get me some water."

"What?" cried Denny. "Get it yourself!"

Dr. Wickham groaned, and staggered to his feet. He stumbled into a patch of nearby bushes and began to vomit.

Elizabeth saw her chance, and took it. She made a dash for the pistol, grabbed it, and pointed it at Denny. He did not even notice, but lay moaning on the ground. Dr. Wickham turned around and saw her. He snarled.

"I'm going to leave now," said Elizabeth. "You will not follow me. I'll send back someone to help you. Probably Colonel Fitzwilliam, who will also see to it that you are arrested for your crimes."

"You did this?" cried Dr. Wickham. "How?"

"Alder buckthorn bark," said Elizabeth. "In your flask of liquor."

Dr. Wickham's eyes flickered as he realized how she'd done it. He spat on the ground, and then turned back into the bushes and vomited again.

Elizabeth began to back up slowly, pointing the gun at them. Suddenly she heard a shout. She turned.

Mr. Darcy, the Colonel and a young man she had seen in the villager's party earlier were standing there. Darcy was holding a rifle.

"Mr. Darcy!" she cried.

"Miss Bennet," he said, hurrying forward. "I see you have managed to rescue yourself once again."