Page 11 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"The wine cellar," Richard nodded. "Or rather, the space adjacent to the wine cellar. The coal store. It is the most secure room in the house. Thick stone. One door. No windows."

He opened the door. A draft of cold, earthy air rushed out to meet them. Darkness yawned inside, broken only by the faint gleam of coal.

"It is very dark." George clutched his skirts.

"Darkness hides you." Richard took a lantern from the wall, lit it, and handed it to George. "Take this. There should be a cot. A blanket. And a bucket."

"A bucket?"

"Nature calls, George. Even for fugitives."

George stared into the abyss. "How long?"

"Until we remove the threat." Darcy stepped forward, his conscience warring with the necessity of the lesson. "We are going to find the Butcher. We will retrieve the box. But until we return, you must not make a sound. If the French know you are here..."

"They will burn the house down," Robert supplied helpfully.

George swallowed hard. He looked at his friends, at his grey woollen dress, and then at the dark cellar.

"You will come back?" he asked, his voice small. "You will not leave me with the coal?"

"We shall return," Richard promised. "When the campaign is complete."

George took a breath. He adjusted his mob cap with a tragic dignity.

"Very well," he said. "For the box. For Mr Darcy."

He entered. His boots clomped on the stone floor. The light of the lantern barely lit the piles of coal.

Richard closed the door and threw the heavy iron bolt.

Thunk.

The sound was final.

Robert let out a long, loud exhalation and sagged against the wall.

"I need a drink," he announced. "A large one. That was the finest performance of my life. The 'French Spy' narrative held together by a thread."

"He is terrified." Darcy glanced at the bolted door. "Is it too much, Robert? The coal cellar? It is cold."

"He has a wool dress," Richard shrugged. "He will be warm enough. And he has time to think. Time to consider the consequences of pawning family heirlooms."

"Come," Robert pushed himself off the wall. "We have deposited the package. Phase One is complete. Now comes the difficult part."

"The Butcher," Darcy said.

"The heist," Robert corrected. He led them out of the scullery, towards the main stairs and the promise of Lindon's brandy. "George is in his box. Now we must go and get yours."

Darcy followed his cousins. He felt a strange vibration in his chest. His heart was racing. His palms were sweating. He was a Darcy. He was a scholar.

And tonight, he was going to rob a gaming hell.

He realised, with a shock that nearly stopped him on the stairs, that Robert was right.

He was not bored.

Chapter Four: The Cellar of Penance