Pride and Prescience (31 page)

Elizabeth fought down the bile that rose in her throat at Parrish’s indecent suggestion. Darcy made no reply, but she could see from the tightening of his jaw that Parrish had baited his anger.

“I can hardly wait to find out, Darcy—is your wife as spirited by night as she is by day?”

Darcy’s gaze flickered to Elizabeth. She could read in his expression that he wanted nothing more than to silence Parrish’s offensive utterances. His hands clenched into fists. But the villain’s order to Caroline prevented action—Darcy might risk harm to himself, but never to her.

Loud footsteps clattered in the hall, heading toward the chamber. Parrish looked at the door, then back at Darcy. “I won’t be outnumbered.” He leapt toward him, dagger poised.

Darcy sprang. But not forward—back, to the fireplace. He grabbed the poker and brought it up to block Parrish’s attack. Steel struck iron as he deflected the thrust.

Caroline pointed the pistol at Darcy. Elizabeth struggled against her bonds, but to no effect. Caroline wrapped both hands around the handle and moved her finger to the trigger.

At Darcy’s parry, Parrish retreated a step. He stood between Caroline and Darcy, blocking her aim. Darcy gripped the poker in his right hand like a fencing foil, his stance
en garde
. The two men circled. In another moment, Caroline would have a clear shot.

Elizabeth hurled her whole weight at Caroline, upsetting
both chair and captor. She knocked Caroline to the ground and landed on top of her legs. The pistol flew out of Caroline’s grasp and skidded under the night table.

The fall knocked the wind out of Elizabeth. She labored for breath, helpless as a turtle on its back. Her right hand, yet grasping the watch, had slid from her pocket, but her bonds still held fast. She could do little against Caroline but try to maintain the pin, and nothing to help Darcy. From her present position she could barely see her husband and Parrish.

“Caroline, kindly kill Mrs. Darcy, will you?” Parrish lunged at Darcy, trying to stab him in the gut. Darcy parried the strike. The sound of clashing metal filled the air.

Caroline fought to free herself from Elizabeth’s weight. She kicked and twisted, trying to move out from beneath the chair. She stilled, however, when she caught sight of the watch in Elizabeth’s hand.

The watch! Perhaps it truly did hold power. If so, she could use it somehow. But did she dare? She didn’t want to harm Caroline, only to prevent her from acting on Parrish’s orders.

Caroline resumed her struggle. She stretched her arm toward the night table, attempting to reach the pistol. Her fingers brushed the handle.

The chamber door flew open. Bingley rushed in—accompanied by Professor Randolph. Randolph carried a forked wooden rod.

“Bingley!” Darcy cried. “Help Elizabeth!”

Parrish fingered one of the knots in the medallion at his neck, his other hand still brandishing his weapon. “No—help your sister! Mrs. Darcy is attacking her!”

Bingley stood rooted to the floor, frozen with indecision, his gaze ricocheting from Darcy and Parrish to the women. Elizabeth didn’t understand his hesitation. How could he possibly believe Parrish’s claim? Could he not see that Elizabeth was bound to the chair?

Caroline managed a tentative grasp on the pistol, clawing it into her hand. Randolph hurried forward.

“Mrs. Darcy, the amulet—my watch—touch it to her!”

Why? What would it do? She longed to ask but the gag still silenced her.

Parrish kept his eyes on Darcy as the two yet faced off. “Bingley, now Randolph’s trying to use his hocus-pocus on Caroline.”

Bingley grabbed Randolph, preventing him from getting any closer to where the two women lay sprawled.

Randolph struggled against Bingley. “Mrs. Darcy! The amulet!”

“Caroline, shut him up!” Parrish snarled.

From her angle, Elizabeth could scarcely see Randolph, could not look him in the eye to judge his motives. What harm would the amulet inflict on Caroline? On herself, for using it? She clutched it in her palm. Did she dare trust the supernaturalist? Why had he returned to Netherfield? Wasn’t he in league with Parrish?

Caroline had the pistol firmly in her grasp now. She twisted to take aim at the professor.

There was no more time to think. If Elizabeth was going to act, it had to be now. She pressed the amulet against Caroline’s leg. And prayed she was doing the right thing.

Caroline’s grip on the pistol relaxed. She lowered it to the floor.

Randolph fought to extricate himself, but Bingley’s grasp was strong. “The amulet has reduced the ring’s hold on her,” the professor said to Elizabeth. “Ask her to free you.”

With a howl of anger, Parrish suddenly abandoned his duel with Darcy and lunged at Randolph. Restrained by Bingley, the professor was helpless to defend himself. Just as Parrish was about to sink a fatal thrust, Darcy leapt for his legs. Parrish fell forward, the dagger still in his hand.

He rolled to his back and stabbed at Darcy. Darcy caught his wrist. Their arms shook with the strength of two matched forces in opposition. The blade inched closer to Darcy, coming but a hairsbreadth away from him.

Elizabeth stopped breathing. Her neck ached from the strain of watching from the poor angle, but she could not tear her gaze away.

Darcy never flinched. With slowness that seemed to last an eternity, he forced Parrish’s hand back until it rested on the floor.

Elizabeth choked down a sob of relief.

Darcy disarmed Parrish, checked him for other hidden weapons, and—at Randolph’s direction—removed both his wedding ring and the medallion he wore around his neck. With Bingley’s help, he tied the knave’s wrists to the bedpost. Parrish said nothing the whole time.

The moment Parrish was secured, Darcy hastened to Elizabeth. He tugged at her bonds until she was free and pulled her into his arms. “Elizabeth,” he whispered fiercely, the single word at once an endearment, an apology, a promise. She understood it was all he
could
say. As he had once told her, a man who had felt less might have said more.

Her own heart was just as full. She tried to respond but discovered the gag had left her mouth too dry to speak. She settled for simply resting her head in the crook of his neck.

Randolph, meanwhile, seized Caroline’s pistol and extricated Mrs. Parrish from Elizabeth’s chair. Blinking, Caroline observed the scene groggily, like someone awakening from a long sleep. She glanced, expressionless, from Elizabeth to Darcy to Randolph. Her countenance turned icy when her gaze lit upon Parrish.

“Charles,” she said wearily as she caught sight of her brother, “I don’t feel at all well.”

Elizabeth at last found her voice. “Professor Randolph, will Mrs. Parrish recover from her ordeal?”

“In good time,” Randolph said. “But first, there is something else I must do.”

“Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving any one; and all that I can hope in this case, is that she is deceived herself.”

Jane to Elizabeth,
Pride and Prejudice,
Chapter 21

R
andolph still held the oaken rod he’d carried into the chamber; Elizabeth now recognized it from the London museum exhibit. Though she and Darcy had viewed the display of mysterious articles only a few weeks earlier, that day now seemed half a lifetime ago.

Taking Caroline’s left hand, the supernaturalist touched the rod to her ring and uttered a command. The gem glowed momentarily, then dulled. “There,” he said. “The bond is broken.” He slid the ring from her finger and asked Darcy for Parrish’s companion ring. Darcy hesitated, regarding him warily, but surrendered it.

Randolph withdrew two small silver candles from his pockets. As the assembly watched in disbelieving silence, he placed them before the fire and lit them.
“Ah-bro-GAH-tay.”
He slipped Caroline’s ring over the wick of one candle.
“Abrogate.”
He dropped Parrish’s ring over the wick of the other. “
Abrogate.
As I will, so mote it be.”

He extracted a small leather pouch from one of his breast
pockets, and a thin silver stylus from the other. The stylus he used to lift the rings off the candles and place them into the pouch. He then extinguished the candles with his thumb and index finger. “These rings will never again be used for ill purposes.”

“Where did they come from?” Elizabeth asked.

“Most recently, a pawnbroker’s shop in New Orleans.” Randolph tucked the pouch into his breast pocket. “You’d be surprised at the objects that find their way into such establishments. I spotted this pair and, based on appearance and the inscription, suspected they were a legendary set known as the Halbert Rings—the gift of a sixteenth-century French nobleman to his bride. It is said that the marquis loved his wife but was a jealous man, and feared being cuckolded as had so many of his peers. So he commissioned a pair of rings and had them enchanted by the village wisewoman to ensure his wife’s fidelity. But the wisewoman dabbled with forces she did not fully understand and inadvertently invested the rings with the ability to bind one wearer to the other’s will.”

Darcy’s face drew into a frown of suspicion. “If you were the one who found the rings, how did Parrish come to possess them?”

“I didn’t have the money to buy them. I had just been dismissed from my most recent academic post and was seeking a new position. I had been keeping my eye on the rings for about a month when I encountered Mr. Parrish one day in the pawnbroker’s shop. He noted my interest in the rings. I, taking him to be a gentleman of means, explained my professional curiosity about them in hopes that he might be prevailed upon to patronize my studies.”

Randolph cast one of the candles into the hearth. The wax quickly softened and caught fire, brightening the dim room. “Mr. Parrish agreed to purchase the rings and keep them for me until I had the wherewithal to pay for them myself. He
said, however, that he was leaving the country the next day and did not expect to return for some time. To my surprise and delight, he invited me to accompany him to England. He said he was intrigued by my studies and wanted to learn more about them. Perhaps, he suggested, he might consider financing my next expedition, or could introduce me to others who would.

“I could scarcely believe my good fortune! Indeed, I was so excited I didn’t realize until later that I hadn’t even learned the name of my new benefactor. Having no other prospects or connections, I packed my belongings and met him at the docks the next morning. It was then that he introduced himself to me as Frederick Parrish, owner of a sugar plantation.”

The first candle having liquefied, he tossed the other into the blaze. It, too, was quickly consumed. “During the voyage, Mr. Parrish displayed insatiable curiosity about the rings—their history, what they did, how they worked. His enquiries then expanded to encompass other artifacts and enchantments. He proved a quick student, absorbing even the tiniest details. After so many years of having my work mocked and unappreciated, I was gratified by his abundant interest. I never realized that I was unwittingly helping him develop a most despicable plot.”

“Would it have made a difference, Randolph?” Parrish snickered. “When we met, you didn’t have a pot to piss in. You were at that pawnbroker’s shop to sell one of your other pieces of junk just to pay your rent.”

“That’s true—I was,” he told the Darcys. “Perhaps I didn’t realize what was happening because I didn’t want to. Once we reached London, Parrish established himself in the townhouse while I took a small room in Fleet Street. Concerned about the safety of my artifacts, I arranged for them to be displayed at the British Museum rather than store them in my room or accept Mr. Parrish’s offer to keep them at the
townhouse. He seemed quite put out by my decision, to the point where I feared losing his patronage.

“Mr. Parrish soon became the toast of the
ton,
and I benefited from his popularity. While he courted marriageable young ladies, I courted potential patrons. And so when he came to me with a lock of Miss Kendall’s hair and asked me to teach him how to create a charm I’d told him about, to my shame, I complied rather than risk losing his favor.”

Elizabeth recalled Parrish asking for a lock of her own hair. “What did the charm do?”

“If the lock is freely given, the charm blinds the giver to the wearer’s faults,” Randolph said. “It’s not as powerful as the rings; it doesn’t dominate another’s will, merely discourages one from considering the wearer’s statements and actions too critically. I believe Mr. Parrish fashioned a second charm—the medallion your husband just removed—from locks given by members of this household.”

That explained the lack of resistance Parrish had encountered when he suggested institutionalizing Caroline, Elizabeth realized. He must have invoked the medallion that night, as he had with Bingley just now.

At Randolph’s invitation, Darcy, still holding the medallion, cast it into the flames. The unpleasant odor of burning hair wafted through the room, but all were too interested in learning more from Randolph to leave.

“Did you not wonder why Parrish wanted to create such an item?” Darcy asked.

“I thought he only wanted to aid his suit and secure Miss Kendall’s hand more quickly. By then, I had started to suspect that his financial resources were running low—he hosted fewer parties, spent more conservatively. He still talked about financing my expedition but never advanced any capital. I believed him simply strapped until the sale of his plantation was complete. Selfishly, I thought his marrying an heiress
might restore his generosity, and I yet hoped some of it would fall my way.”

Darcy squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, then released her to approach Parrish. “When Mr. Kendall investigated you and ended the courtship, you had to find another heiress. And you had to act quickly, before Kendall exposed you to all of society.”

Parrish looked at his wife in disgust. “Why else would I have settled for Caroline Bingley? She was an easy mark—licking her wounds over your engagement and unprotected by her brother’s distraction over his. She would have given herself to anyone in breeches.”