JAFF Create Your Own Adventure – Post 19

Thanks for joining me on our Create Your Own JAFF Adventure! Just starting? You can catch up on previous posts collected here: https://austenvariations.com/category/sarah-courtney/ .

Feeling a little lost?  You can read a summary of what has happened so far in the story here: quick summary.

It’s time for the trap! Last week, we ended with an evening entertainment in which the Netherfield party were invited to the Gardiners’, and an agitated Miss Darcy turned up as well. During the evening, Mr. Hurst left the room. Is he just looking for somewhere to relieve himself, or is he the villain? Mr. Bingley also stepped out of the room, but he returned when he ran into Colonel Fitzwilliam. Now it’s up to Elizabeth to track down Mr. Hurst and find out if he’s the culprit–or who is.

If you’d prefer the third person version, 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!

You creep quietly down the passage, listening intently. Where would Mr. Hurst have gone? Aunt Gardiner keeps a bourdaloue for the ladies, but you have never given much thought to what the men use.

A crash from overhead startles you into a yelp. Mr. Darcy!

You race for the stairs. At the far end of the passage, you can hear the pounding feet of others following you, but you do not turn to look. You have to get to Mr. Darcy!

The upstairs passage is dark, with only a little light from a window at the end to keep it from being unrelentingly black. Two men grapple together, one slamming the other against the wall until he emits a grunt, but you can see little but shapes and deep shadows.

Before you can even attempt to determine which is friend and which is foe, a shot rings out.

For a moment, both men freeze in a horrifying tableau. Then one of the combatants drops to the floor.

As he does, a patch of soft gray light from the distant window falls across his face, and you gasp at the impossibility of it. It is Mr. Darcy.

“No!” you cry, hurling yourself to the floor at his side. “Please, no! Mr. Darcy!”

He cannot be shot! He cannot! You had a plan, and the plan had been for him to stay far, far away from the room where he was supposed to be so that if the villain did get by your guard, he could not fall afoul of his plans. What has Mr. Darcy been doing here?

Sobbing, you grab Mr. Darcy’s hand. It is still warm, and his fingers close around yours.

He cannot be dying, not after all of your careful planning, not after . . . not after you are finally ready to acknowledge your feelings to yourself.

You love Mr. Darcy. You love his stubbornness, his occasional foul tempers . . . his kindness, his humour, his integrity, his diligence, his protection of those he loves—an honour you have hoped to be worthy of someday. You love him, and you cannot—will not—lose him!

Mr. Darcy rolls his head toward you, and you gasp and pull away. This is not Mr. Darcy.

“Miss Elizabeth?” the man on the floor says on a groan. It is Mr. Wickham!

In the next moment, you are against the wall, staring down at the dying man in horror. If this is Mr. Wickham, then who . . .

“Get away!” the other man shouts, waving a pistol in the air. “I’ll shoot the rest of you if you come closer!”

He backs down the passage toward the window at the far end, and as he does, the passage suddenly brightens. Somebody has brought a candle with them up the stairs.

You dare turn your head. There is just enough light to make out Colonel Fitzwilliam, who has moved to stand at your side, two guards flanking him. Just behind them, pressed against the wall and looking terrified, is Georgiana Darcy, holding a candle.

The shadows move behind her, revealing Mr. Darcy standing at the top of the stairs, glowering at the man who has felled Mr. Wickham.

Swallowing, you turn back to face the villain. Mr. Hurst.

You are unsurprised, yet your heart sinks at the realisation. Mr. Hurst, friend of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, has been the villain all along.

Mr. Hurst’s face has always tended toward the red, but now it looks almost purple as he stares, eyes wide and jaw hanging loose, at Mr. Darcy.

“Darcy!” he exclaims. “How?” His gaze flicks from Mr. Darcy to Mr. Wickham on the floor. Then he blanches.

“Wickham,” he spits. “It has all been for naught, then.”

“Subdue him,” Colonel Fitzwilliam barks.

But the colour has returned to Mr. Hurst’s face. “Take one step, and I will shoot.” He lowers the pistol until it points directly at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s chest.

“You already shot Mr. Wickham,” Mr. Darcy says, taking a step forward until he stands next to his cousin. “You have used your bullet, and we have no intention of allowing you to reload. It is too late, Hurst.”

“Darcy,” Mr. Wickham groans.

Still hugging the wall, you edge a little farther down the passage, closer to Mr. Hurst but more out of the way in case the colonel and his guards make a sudden move to grab him. You do not want to hamper their approach, but there is nowhere else to go.

Mr. Hurst shifts the pistol from Colonel Fitzwilliam to Mr. Darcy and back, then to Mr. Darcy again. Neither of them shows fear, only the caution of facing down an angry enemy, but there is still a tight ball of panic in your stomach. Perhaps it is left over from your initial despair when you thought Mr. Darcy was the one shot.

No. There is something wrong. Mr. Hurst is too confident for a man holding an empty pistol that his enemies know is empty. You are missing something.

“Darcy,” Mr. Wickham hisses, and your attention is caught. Mr. Wickham is trying to roll onto his side. What is he . . . oh no.

There is another pistol on the floor, trapped under Mr. Wickham’s body. He has been shot with that pistol, not this one, which means that Mr. Hurst holds a loaded weapon and nobody else knows it.

Mr. Hurst has chosen his target at last. His finger slides onto the trigger.

What should you do?

Should you . . .

throw yourself at Mr. Hurst to disrupt his aim

or

shout a warning that the pistol is loaded and hope it isn’t too late?

The bad guy is revealed at last! But can they stop him before he succeeds in his plot? And what is Mr. Wickham doing here? Vote in the comments, and feel free to share your theories!

Also, if you’re curious what a bourdaloue is (first paragraph), it’s a small pot that looks remarkably like a chamber pot used for women to relieve themselves in semi-public situations. Want to know more?