Chapter Fifteen
Mr. Bingley stepped down and assisted each of them to the sidewalk while several footmen claimed their trunks.
“I should send word of our arrival to Uncle Gardiner,” Jane said.
Elizabeth did not respond, but Mr. Bingley said, “I can call on the Gardiners if you wish. Obviously, they are likely worried about your family’s arrival and not receiving word will make their fears more prominent.”
The colonel exited the house to greet them. “Ladies,” he said as he bowed. “We should all go inside before we attract more attention than we have already.”
Elizabeth ignored the others. “Your cousin? What might you tell us?”
The colonel caught her arm and led her inside. “The surgeon has removed fragments from the bullet and strands of material from his clothing and bone chips. Now it is a matter of time. I have a dozen men searching every inn and gaming hell in London for Mr. Wickham.”
Always the practical one, Mary informed the colonel, “Mr. Wickham retrieved our sister at eleven of the clock today. They were to leave together on the afternoon coach headed north. Mr. Wickham styled himself as an outrider, for, somehow he has taken possession of a fine horse, which he claimed to have won in a game of cards, but . . .”
“I wish you were a soldier, Miss Mary. If so, I would present you with a promotion on the spot, for you are clever and sensible in all matters. Mr. Thacker,” he turned to the waiting butler. “This is Miss Bennet’s sisters, Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary. If either of them ask you to jump, respond with ‘How high, miss?’ and then execute their orders.” To them, he bowed again. “Ladies, I must send men to overtake the coach headed north.”
“Though she is silly, it would break our mother’s heart if Mrs. Wickham knew harm,” Mary instructed, “but be aware Lydia will fight like the proverbial she-cat to protect Mr. Wickham. Do not turn your back on her.”
The colonel smiled widely upon the young woman. “Mr. Ericks has outwitted half of England, for he has quietly chosen a jewel among the female populace.” Fitzwilliam presented Mary a deep bow.
Elizabeth had waited longer than her anxiety could permit. “Might I view Mr. Darcy now?”
The colonel glanced at Jane for her permission. “I faint at the sight of blood,” Jane said with a small smile. “Now, Colonel, I would suggest you lead Elizabeth to Mr. Darcy’s quarters, or I shall guarantee you will find yourself chasing after her, for when she has set her mind to a task, few are foolish enough to stand in her way.” To Elizabeth, Jane said, “When Mr. Darcy wakes, tell him how much you esteem him.”
“Mr. Thacker, please lead the lady to Darcy’s quarters,” the colonel instructed, but an unusual look of knowing crossed his features.
“Come, Mary,” Elizabeth instructed. “Bring the items we brought with us from the still room,” Elizabeth said as the butler hastened around her to lead the way. Even as she climbed, she heard the conversation below and approved.
“Would you care to call upon the Gardiners for a few minutes?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“I should stay,” Jane said, “but I would be glad if you returned afterwards.”
Elizabeth entered the gentleman’s private chambers to find it worse than a vault at a family crypt. A young blonde girl who reminded her of Jane sat in the corner working a handkerchief through her fingers. Evidently, she was Mr. Darcy’s sister. The room was as still as if death itself had taken up residence.
She glanced to the bed and stared closely to search for the rise and fall of Mr. Darcy’s chest. Though shallow, it was there. “Thank God,” she murmured.
The girl stood and asked with a trembling voice, “Miss Bennet?”
“My sister,” Elizabeth responded as she crossed the room to the window and drew the drapes aside. “I am Miss Elizabeth. The young lady still by the door is my sister, Miss Mary Bennet.” She opened the window. “Mary, would you open the other one?”
“What are you doing?” the young woman asked.
“Attempting to save your brother,” Elizabeth remarked as she put out the candles with a bit of spit on the tips of her fingers. Then she removed her bonnet and tossed it on a chest in the corner of the room.
“How is opening the windows going to save William?” the girl demanded.
“ Good ,” Elizabeth thought. “ At least someone other than me means to defend Mr. Darcy .” She told the girl, “I cannot imagine your brother has ever preferred a dark room and putrid air.” She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “Too much fever.”
“William prefers the outdoors,” the girl said meekly.
“Excellent,” Elizabeth declared, attempting to keep her eyes from Mr. Darcy lying unmoving on the satin bed linens. “We will, therefore, welcome no more signs of death in this room, Mr. Thacker.”
“Yes, miss,” the butler said with a slight nod of approval.
“I will require towels and cool lavender water, changed out at least every two hours.”
Elizabeth felt the room spin as she approached his form again, for it was so wrapped in death’s grip she feared she was too late.
“Do you truly mean to save him?” the girl asked.
“I mean to make the attempt,” she said. “Mary and I could use your assistance,” Elizabeth offered, for she thought Mr. Darcy might respond well to the girl’s voice. “But you must do more than weep over him.”
The girl shifted her shoulders into a more formidable stance. “Tell me what you require of me.”
Mary remarked as she set several vials on a tray across the room. “Do not worry, Miss Darcy, Elizabeth is quite adept in telling people how things should be carried out. The fact she is rarely incorrect is part of her saving grace.”
“Lavender water, miss.” Mr. Thacker returned with two full pitchers followed by a footman carrying a stack of folded towels.
“Wonderful,” Elizabeth assured. “Place the towels on the table near the vials. Then, if you would, sir, fill the two bowls about half way full of the lavender water.” She turned down the bedding to expose the gentleman’s chest where part of it was heavily bandaged, and then she tugged the bedding loose at his feet. “Miss Darcy, if you would, take the small bowl of water and a hand towel and wipe your brother’s feet and ankles and a bit of his legs.”
“His feet?” the girl asked in dismay.
Elizabeth smiled upon the girl, for she had suspected Miss Darcy’s reaction. “We must bring down your brother’s fever. I would not ask you to wash his body as will Mary and I. That being said, cooling his feet will aid in relieving his body of the fever, will it not, Mary?” she asked, urging her sister to respond in the affirmative.
“Cold feet, warm heart,” Mary repeated as she adjusted everything so she and Elizabeth could work together as they had done in the past while tending Mr. Bennet’s tenants and, once, when tending their own father. “We want the only warm part of Mr. Darcy to be his heart. In that manner, it will be filled with love and not despair.”
Though the words were directed to Miss Darcy, Elizabeth knew them also meant for her.
“Pardon, Miss Elizabeth,” a very proper gentleman’s gentleman said from the still open door. “I am Mr. Darcy’s valet, Mr. Sheffield. I have served Mr. Darcy since he was a young sapling. I pray to be of assistance to you.”
“Do you know if and when the surgeon will return?” Elizabeth asked. “I understood he was a surgeon for the army. Must we locate another man for the future?”
Mr. Sheffield stepped further into the room. “Captain Kinsel promised to return tomorrow morning. He has alerted another surgeon, a Mr. Rheem, to assist if he is not available because of his duties to his superiors.”
“And you are aware of how to reach Mr. Rheem if a need occurs?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, miss.”
“Then you might assist Miss Mary and me with cooling your master’s body while Miss Darcy does the same with his feet.” Elizabeth noted the lift of Mr. Sheffield’s brows, but he took up the towel in the bowl and began to wipe his master’s body. The man had quickly understood her ploy, while Miss Darcy mimicked the valet’s actions and wiped her brother’s feet.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Thacker said from the doorway. “Your room and those of your sisters are being aired out. Your bags have been placed inside. I will assign two maids to attend to you and your sisters.”
“You are most kind, sir. If you would ask Miss Bennet to oversee the unpacking, I would be exceedingly appreciative, sir,” Elizabeth instructed as she took a cloth to wash Mr. Darcy’s face.
Mr. Sheffield ordered, “Ask Hannah to be one of the maids to assist the lady, Thacker. She will do well by the Bennets.” Mr. Thacker nodded and disappeared again. “Hannah,” the valet explained as he wrung out the towel again, “is also from near Lambton. No offense, Miss Elizabeth, but Hannah is less likely to gossip about your ‘country’ ways of attending Mr. Darcy, nor what those in Town would consider scandalous for an unmarried woman.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sheffield, for performing so diplomatically. There will be enough gossip to go around with this affair.” Elizabeth could not say more, for Jane appeared in the doorway, but she did not cross over the portal.
“Mr. Bingley ha departed to call on Uncle Gardiner, but I do not know what to do about the church and the rector,” her sister said.
Elizabeth looked to Mr. Sheffield to impart the necessary information. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the valet said with a question in his tone, for the whole household knew tending Mr. Darcy should be Jane’s domain, “asked me to speak to the rector on Mr. Darcy’s behalf. There is no expectation of a wedding ceremony on Thursday. The rector has added Mr. Darcy to his prayer list.”
Her back ached from standing over him for hours upon end. Elizabeth had sent Mary and Jane and Miss Darcy to bed at a respectable hour. Mr. Sheffield had stayed longer than the others, but she finally convinced him to sleep for a few hours, while denying herself the same time to rest.
Somehow an idea had lodged in her soul that if she left him, Mr. Darcy would die. The tray of food sent to her by Jane remained untouched.
Each time Elizabeth wiped his face with the cool water, Mr. Darcy fought her. His fever raged, and he turned his head from side to side, as if fighting not only the fingers of death, but also her. Frustrated, Elizabeth finally jerked his chin to the side where she might speak to his beloved countenance. “Stop fighting me, Mr. Darcy!” she ordered. “I am here to save you. I cannot bear the idea of losing you!” His eyes flickered open and shut a few times, and, though she knew he did not see her, she could view herself in his eyes. Elizabeth knew her hair was a mess and there were dark circles forming under her eyes, but, in that moment, for the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Her heart stuttered as if in a foot race, but then he closed his eyes and rested more easily.
She had eventually permitted Mary to watch over him, but Elizabeth had not gone far. She had a quick bath and a meal in her quarters, thanks to the kindness of the maid Hannah, to whom she had taken an immediate liking. Then, she had gathered pillows from the beds of several of the empty bedrooms along the hall and had made herself a “bed,” of sorts, on the floor behind the screen, where she dozed more soundly for a few hours than she had expected until she heard a man addressing her sister, along with Miss Darcy.
“I appreciate your efforts, ladies,” a man in uniform was saying when Elizabeth stepped from behind the screen while straightening the braid in her hair.
“My sister, Miss Elizabeth, Captain. Elizabeth tended Mr. Darcy all night.”
“Captain Kinsel, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a bow of respect. “I do not see how Mr. Darcy may not recover with three such lovely ladies to tend him,” the man said smoothly, only to remind Elizabeth of Mr. Wickham’s style of placating.
Elizabeth, therefore, cocked one eyebrow. “Perhaps such platitudes impress those in London’s ballrooms, sir,” she warned, “however, I would tell you neither my sister Mary nor I have known society, and Miss Darcy is too young to have done so. Miss Mary and I are accustomed to tending our father’s tenants, not an aristocrat. Speak honestly and without all the flattery. Do not, however, offend us with foul words to mark your authority over us.”
The captain glanced to where Miss Darcy looked on, and, though Elizabeth suspected the girl was only as strong as a butterfly, even a butterfly was sturdy enough to fly in a storm: A butterfly is a divine creation that propels the caterpillar within and cheats an array of predators. Therefore, Elizabeth said, “Miss Darcy wishes to know the truth of her brother’s recovery.”
Mary stepped up beside the girl and slid an arm about Miss Darcy’s waist.
“I am more accustomed to battlefield injuries,” the captain began.
“We are not asking you to amputate Mr. Darcy’s leg or arm,” Elizabeth scolded. “We are asking what we must do to ‘encourage’ Mr. Darcy’s recovery.”
“I had to remove several bone chips and splintered parts of the bullet, though it passed through Mr. Darcy’s shoulder. There was also the matter of threads of the clothing he wore. We will know in a day or two if I missed a thread of the fabric of his coat or the shirt he wore. We rinsed out the wound several times before we closed it the first time.”
Elizabeth had not realized the bullet had pierced Mr. Darcy’s back along with his chest, but she waited patiently for the captain to finish his evaluation. “The manner in which the bullet moved through Mr. Darcy’s chest caused him to lose a great deal of blood, and his fever has remained higher than I would prefer, but he is a young man—capable of healing and recovering . . .”
“But?” Elizabeth asked.
“But, I am not confident Mr. Darcy wishes to recover.”
“That is ridiculous!” Miss Darcy declared. “William would not purposely leave me nor would he abandon Pemberley. He is to marry and produce an heir for the family estate.”
Miss Darcy’s words struck Elizabeth powerfully, but she said nothing to contradict the girl.
“Could we not ask Miss Bennet to come and to speak to William?” Miss Darcy pleaded, and Elizabeth looked away, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out against the injustice of their situation, but she made a silent promise to continue to fight for his life, nevertheless. She could not imagine a world in which he was not a part of it.
“We thank you, Captain,” Mary said while looking beseechingly at Elizabeth. “It is best we know what must be executed to save Mr. Darcy’s life. A reason or rather reasons for him to fight to survive. Reasons to recover.” Mary nodded to Elizabeth in a knowing manner. “If you are finished, Captain, Miss Darcy and I shall show you out and seek out my older sister, Miss Bennet. Elizabeth, you should ring for fresh lavender water.”
The captain looked oddly upon Elizabeth, but he made no comment. Gathering his instruments, he motioned Mary and Miss Darcy to lead. With their exit, Elizabeth wrapped her arms about her waist, fighting the need to cry. For a minute, she remained bent over and permitted her sobs to shake her to her very core. But she could not waste the precious time Mary had purposely orchestrated. Therefore, she pulled the straight-backed chair beside Mr. Darcy’s bed to claim his hand.
She brought the back of his knuckles to her lips and kissed them. “Mr. Darcy,” she whispered. “Fitzwilliam. You must hear me. Must understand me. I cannot conceive of a world in which you do not exist. In which you are not here. You must . . . must fight to recover. You are my heart. Do not leave me broken. You must . . . Please do not leave Miss Darcy or Pemberley or me. We all depend upon you.” She kissed his knuckles a second time. “Please, William.”
She closed her eyes and began to repeat a prayer while her tears flowed down her cheeks until she realized Mr. Darcy had tightened his grip about her fingers.Her eyes sprang open to view his were open as well. Grey orbs stared at her with such intensity that Elizabeth knew he truly did not see her, but he had made the attempt to look upon her again. “Elizab . . .” he rasped.
“Yes, William. I am here and watching over you. I shall not leave you. I warrant it. Come back to us.”
The moment passed too quickly for her to know true comfort: He was again thrashing about in the bed, but this time, she thought he was fighting his demons, and, therefore, she would continue to fight them also. Her world could not exist if he was not alive and somewhere in it.