Create Your Own JAFF Adventure – Post2

The readers have spoken! Thank you to all of you who read the first part of the Create Your Own JAFF Adventure and voted.  If you missed the first post, don’t worry! You can still jump in any time and vote on the next choice.

We had a fairly even split between those people who would prefer second person and those who would prefer third person. So, I am going to try to make both available! I will post in second person here, as that was the majority vote. (Since I am writing versions in both tenses, I may make a mistake here or there. Please forgive me if so.)

If you’d prefer the third person, you can read it here. There’s a link at the bottom of the intro part that will jump you to the newest part. Just don’t forget to come back and comment to tell me what Elizabeth should do next!

The idea of highwaymen is ridiculous, but something is clearly amiss. Mamma would wave her handkerchief and cry for her smelling salts at the idea, but you cannot sit in the carriage and wait, not knowing what might happen.

Gingerly, you crack the door and peek outside. The coachman is crouched low in the road, and he does not notice you. Slowly, carefully, you open the door and climb down without a footman to help, your eyes on the forest alongside the road. Nothing visible threatens, but that does not mean all is safe.

You go unnoticed until you land neatly on the ground. The coachman looks up with dismay.

“Miss Bennet!”

But you ignore him. There’s something familiar about the shape on the ground.

The dark form rolls and groans, and you gasp. It is not a log. It is a person!

“Mr. Darcy!”

It’s unmistakably him. You recognize the firm jaw, the wavy hair, and the bold eyebrows of your adversary. But his face is pale and sweaty, his clothes muddy and damaged as if he were thrown from his horse.

He squints up at you, as if the weak morning sunlight is too much for his eyes. “Miss . . . Bennet?”

The words are weak, barely above a whisper. Just what has happened to him?

“John, we need to get him into the carriage now,” you say. “Mr. Darcy is ill. Where . . . where is his carriage?” You straighten, suddenly puzzled. Where is Mr. Darcy’s carriage? He must have been traveling to be here, so far from Netherfield, and yet he is alone. Of course, he must have been traveling by horse.

“No sign of a carriage or horse, ma’am.” The coachman exchanges a look with the manservant. “Likely as not he was riding alone and was thrown.”

You nod. It is the obvious explanation. Could his pallor and trembling be from illness? “Let us take him back to Netherfield.”

The coachman nods and shifts to get under Mr. Darcy’s shoulders, but Mr. Darcy’s hand snaps forward and grasps your wrist before you can move.

“Not Netherfield,” he gasps out. “Not Netherfield. Take me to London.”

“London!” The coachman draws back, staring at him in shock. “Sir, we are not so far along the route as you may think, if you were on your way to London. It is still another fifteen miles to town at least!”

Mr. Darcy coughs. “What is fifteen miles of good road?” he says, and you think he may be trying to smile. “It must be London.”

Shaking their heads, the men work together to haul Mr. Darcy up and into the carriage. Mr. Darcy is not a small man, and both are gasping by the time they deposit him on the seat.

“Sorry, ma’am, but we don’t dare put him on top,” John apologizes.

“No, no, of course you should put him inside,” you say. Mr. Darcy is now slumped into the squabs, eyes closed. “Mr. Darcy? Are you well?”

He does not reply.

“Ma’am?” The coachman looks from Mr. Darcy to you. “Should we . . . should we go on to London as he says? Only it really is fifteen miles. Or should we take him to Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park?”

You don’t know why Mr. Darcy refused to be taken to Netherfield. But he was so insistent. Was he desperate to go to London or was there a problem at Netherfield? A falling out with Mr. Bingley, perhaps? It does not sit well with you to override the wishes of an unconscious man. Yet you do not know the severity of his illness or perhaps injuries if he really was thrown from his horse . . . what if taking him to London causes irreparable harm?

Maybe there is another option. You could take him to Longbourn. Papa had wanted you to leave for London, it is true, but he would forgive your change of plans in this situation, and Mamma would be delighted to have a rich, single man taking up a guest room at Longbourn.

What if his business in London is of dire urgency? Either he had been traveling despite being very ill, or his apparent illness is actually injury from being thrown. Given how well he rode, falling from his horse might imply that he had been traveling too fast, and he did not seem the sort to push his horse to ride fast without reason.

The coachman is still looking at you expectantly. You need to make a decision.

Do you:

take Mr. Darcy to London as he insisted

or

take Mr. Darcy back to Longbourn and call for Mr. Jones?

(Feel free to leave other comments as well! I’m writing this story on the fly, so theorizing and anything else might give me ideas!)