A Gentleman's Honor: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Rachel Melanie

Author:Rachel, Melanie [Rachel, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2021-04-13T05:00:00+00:00

As she raced up the stairs, Elizabeth heard a set of tinkling bells being pulled three times, very distinctly. She hoped that it was Mr. Slipworth summoning aid. As she reached the servants’ floor at the top of the house, all was quiet below. There were more doors along the corridor here, but one was smaller than the others. It was stuck. She threw her entire body against it, squeezing through when it gave way a little, and shoved it closed behind her.

There was another set of stairs inside, only half as long as a normal flight, the treads smaller and narrower. Elizabeth’s head ached. Her breaths were short and shallow. She stepped up carefully but with haste and found herself in a dark room the length of the entire townhouse. The ceiling was low, and there were no windows. It was an attic of sorts. At the far end, she could make out a chimney in the center of the wall. As she carefully picked her way closer, she saw that the hearth was surrounded by wooden boxes stacked three high and three across on each side. Several dozen trunks were stacked haphazardly throughout the room.

Where to hide? There was no obvious place. The wooden boxes were too small and appeared to be stuffed with files. Elizabeth tugged at the lid of the trunk closest to her. Locked. She dragged herself to the next one and shook the latch. Locked. She tried a third. Locked.

Downstairs she thought she heard a man shouting.

“Who locks trunks in an attic?” she asked as her fear and frustration grew. Sixth trunk. Locked. Seventh trunk. Locked. Perhaps she could hide behind them?

Finally, on the eighth try, when her distress had nearly consumed her, she tugged on a trunk and the lid lifted. Elizabeth stepped inside and curled up, pulling the lid shut.

Inside, it was dark and quiet. Her legs were cramped, and the clothes were musty, though there was a faint odor of citrus. Elizabeth tried to slow her breathing. She focused on the pleasant scent and the rhythm of her breaths. Her heart was beating so hard that the sound of it filled her ears, making it impossible to hear whether anyone was entering the room. Elizabeth touched the wooden lid only inches from her face and tried to recall happier times, when hiding in trunks was a game, one at which she excelled. As she imagined playing with her sisters, her breathing slowed, and her heart calmed.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She held a hand over her chest, but it was not her heart making the sound. Someone was ascending the stairs.

“Miss Elizabeth?” called a voice she recalled, low and menacing. “I know you are hiding somewhere.”

Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth and shivered.

The floorboards creaked, and she swallowed, closing her eyes tightly. The footsteps stopped. Then there was another step. Another pause.

“We saw the broken bushes. We saw the bits of cloth you left in the brambles,” the male voice sang. “And Darcy’s coachman is very distinctive.

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