Chapter Six
She Was Not Alone
The night deepened, and with it, the tempest that had besieged Pemberley since twilight grew ever more malevolent. What had begun as a mere nuisance, an evening marred by a persistent drizzle and the sporadic growl of distant thunder, had now evolved into a monstrous storm that seemed bent on tearing apart the very soul of Derbyshire. The grand house, though steadfastly constructed and majestic in its bearing, quivered under the ceaseless onslaught of the elements. The wind shrieked and roared like a thing possessed, rattling the casements and shutters, while torrents of rain battered the stone walls with a ferocity that felt almost vindictive.
Elizabeth sat by the hearth in the drawing-room, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her countenance betraying naught of the disquiet that churned within her breast. The flames in the grate flickered and leapt, casting a flickering light that did little to vanquish the encroaching shadows that lurked in every corner of the room. Though she had ever been a woman of unyielding spirit, this night, she found herself assailed by a creeping dread, an unease that she could neither name nor dispel.
Her gaze wandered to the window, where the squall of clashing titans of weather raged with unbridled ferocity. The trees in the parkland beyond were bent and twisted by the relentless gale, their branches clawing at the heavens like the talons of some unseen beast, seeking purchase in the turbulent sky. The very air seemed charged with a baleful energy, a wicked force that insinuated itself into the marrow of her bones, making her shiver despite the fire's warmth.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Darcy entered the room, his mien as grave as the gale that battered their home. His dark hair, usually so meticulously arranged, was now tousled by the elements, and his brow bore the furrows of a man who had been burdened with ill tidings.
"Elizabeth," he began, his voice low and steady, though underscored with urgency. "I must leave you for a time. The storm has wreaked havoc upon the estate and the village of Lambton. Roofs have been torn from their moorings, trees felled like saplings, and some of the cottages are in peril of flooding. The tenants and our neighbours are in desperate need of aid. I must go to them."
Elizabeth rose from her seat, her heart pounding with a sudden rush of alarm. "But, Fitzwilliam, in such a storm as this? It is madness to venture out. Surely it can wait until the light of day?"
Darcy shook his head, his resolve unwavering. "It cannot wait, Elizabeth. Every moment that we delay brings greater peril. There are families who may lose everything if we do not act now. I have already summoned the men to make what repairs we can, and I must oversee the efforts myself. The servants have been sent away to tend to their own families, many of whom live nearby. You will be safe here… alone."
Elizabeth reached out, her fingers curling around his arm, her touch both firm and imploring. "I understand your duty, my love, but I cannot help but fear for your safety. The night is dark and treacherous, and this storm… it is unlike any I have ever known. What if… what if something were to happen to you?"
Darcy's gaze softened, and he took her hands in his, his grip gentle yet resolute. "My dearest Elizabeth, I have faced many dangers in my life, and I do not embark on this task lightly. I would not leave your side were it not absolutely necessary. But these people rely on us—on me—and I cannot abandon them in their hour of need."
Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat, and for a fleeting moment, she could find no words. The shadows cast by the fire seemed to leap and writhe more violently, and outside, the wind howled with renewed vigour, as if it too sought to dissuade him from his course.
"But," she finally whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of her fears, "promise me, Fitzwilliam, that you will be careful, that you will return to me as soon as you are able. I could not bear it if—"
Before she could finish, Darcy pulled her into his arms, holding her close, his embrace a fortress against the chaos that raged around them. "Elizabeth," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, "you are the very heart of my existence. There is nothing in this world that could keep me from you for long. I promise you, I will return, and when I do, I shall tell you everything. There is nothing I would conceal from you, save only that which would spare you pain."
He kissed her then, with a fervour that bespoke the depth of his love and the gravity of the moment. It was a kiss that held within it all the unspoken vows of their marriage, all the promises made and yet to be fulfilled. For a fleeting instant, the storm outside seemed to abate, the world contracting to just the two of them, bound together by love and trust.
When at last they parted, Darcy pressed his forehead to hers, lingering as if drawing strength from her presence. "I must go," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But know this, Elizabeth—I love you more than words can convey, more than life itself. Whatever comes, we shall face it together."
With that, he released her, though his gaze lingered on hers as he stepped back and turned towards the door. The wind outside rose to a fevered pitch, as if in protest of his departure, and Elizabeth felt the sting of tears welling in her eyes. She watched as he left, the heavy oak door closing behind him with a resounding thud that echoed through the room, sending a shiver down her spine.
Alone once more, Elizabeth stood in the now-silent drawing-room, the fire's warmth a paltry comfort against the chill that had settled deep within her heart. Outside, the storm raged on, a cacophony of wind and rain that battered against the house as though it sought to tear down its very walls. The shadows on the walls seemed to stretch and deepen, as if some unseen force was slowly encroaching upon her, biding its time, waiting for the moment to strike.
She moved to the window, her gaze drawn to the tempestuous scene beyond the glass. The trees in the parkland writhed and twisted, their branches like the gnarled fingers of a witch casting a dark and ancient spell. The rain fell in sheets so dense that it obscured all but the nearest objects, and the sky above was a seething mass of black clouds, occasionally illuminated by the eerie flash of lightning that cast everything in a ghastly, ephemeral glow.
A profound sense of dread settled over her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to stave off the creeping cold that seemed to seep into her very soul. The house, which had always been a sanctuary of warmth and light, now felt oppressive, as though the very walls were closing in on her. The storm had transformed Pemberley from a refuge of safety and peace into a fortress under siege by forces beyond human comprehension.
Elizabeth's thoughts turned to Darcy, now out in the night, facing the wrath of the storm with only his unyielding determination and sense of duty to guide him. She had always admired his strength, his unwavering commitment to those in his care, but tonight, she wished with all her heart that he had chosen to remain with her, to weather this storm together, within the safe confines of their home.
As another peal of thunder shook the house to its very foundations, she closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer for his safety. Whatever dark forces might be at work this night, whatever terrors this chapter in their story might unleash, she knew that her love for him would endure, undaunted by wind or rain or the dark shadows that cackled of doom.
Yet, even as she tried to reassure herself, a flicker of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. This storm was no ordinary one; something about it felt unnatural as if it were the manifestation of some ancient curse or malevolent spirit, long dormant but now awakened by some unknown force. And in the deepest recesses of her heart, she could not help but fear that the night held more than just wind and rain—that it harboured secrets and dangers that even her beloved Darcy might not be able to overcome.
She lingered by the window, her eyes straining to penetrate the darkness, hoping against hope for some sign of his return. But the inky blackness outside offered no such comfort, only the relentless storm and the unsettling certainty that the night was far from over.
And she would be right. In less than an hour, she would come face to face with…
A loud crash reverberated from the far side of the house, the sound jolting her out of her reverie and sending a bolt of terror through her veins.
Her head snapped around, her heart pounding with a sudden rush of fear.
Wait!—What was that?
Then she heard it—a scream, piercing, a cry of terror that froze the blood in her veins.
She was not alone.
Thank you kindly for your patience with this slow storytelling. We will (partly) discover the truth in the next chapter.