Chapter Sixteen
Three days had passed, and, though Mr. Darcy’s fever had lessened at times, each return was marked with cruel intensity. “I do not understand it,” Elizabeth told her sisters, Miss Darcy, and Mr. Sheffield. “By now, I would expect his fever to have disappeared.” In her mind, Elizabeth heard Captain Kinsel’s warning, “ I am not confident Mr. Darcy wishes to recover .”
“Mr. Sheffield,” she said, “I would like for you and Mr. Thacker to examine Mr. Darcy’s body, inch by inch. Misses Mary and Georgiana and I will step into the hallway. Look carefully to determine whether there is another small cut or scratch that is inflamed—something that is infected and causing the gentleman’s body to continue to be rocked with a fever.”
Elizabeth had actually conducted her own search last night, while the rest of the household slept. She had inspected his arms and legs and the trunk of his body. Her face and ears had known great embarrassment, and she would never speak of her boldness to another. However, if she could save him, her private shame would be a secret to take to her grave.
“Yes, miss,” Mr. Sheffield said with the authority of an upper servant. “We will see it done properly. You find yourself some place to sit and rest. Thacker and I will also wash him, will we not, Thacker?”
“Yes, sir. We will execute whatever is necessary to save the young master. There are cakes and cheese and bread in the morning room, ladies. All of you appear as if you could use a few minutes to reclaim your energy. The staff is most grateful for your diligence. It speaks well of your loyalty to Mr. Darcy.”
“Come, Elizabeth,” Jane motioned from the open door and waited for Elizabeth to obey. She wrapped an arm about Elizabeth’s shoulders to lead her away from his room. “It will take Mr. Sheffield and Mr. Thacker at least a half hour to execute their task. You have dark circles under your eyes and require a few minutes to know a bit of attention directed to you.”
Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy was suffering from more than a lack of sleep, but arguing would serve no purpose, so she permitted Jane to do what her eldest sister did best—tend to everyone else, but the man who was to be her husband. Descending with the others to the lower level had been the first time Elizabeth had been downstairs since their arrival at Darcy House. It was truly a beautiful house, one of which to know great pride.
“When Uncle Gardiner came to call on us the first time,” Jane was saying, “he told us that this very table had come from Grandfather Gardiner’s warehouses.”
Miss Darcy added, “My mother chose it when William was seven years old, long before I was born. Mr. Thacker says, initially, my mother polished it herself, for she was so proud of it. Papa had presented her permission to remodel several of the rooms of Darcy House, which was quite a compliment, for nothing had been changed in years.”
“Are there other pieces from Grandfather Gardiner’s stock?” Mary asked as Elizabeth listlessly ate one of the lemon cakes the younger footman had placed on her plate while Jasper poured tea in the cup before her place setting.
“The bed in the mistress’s chambers,” Miss Darcy provided with a bit of pride at knowing her family’s history, “as well as the wardrobe and tables and such.” The girl continued, “When you marry my brother, Miss Bennet, you shall use something from your own family in your quarters.”
The slight pause said that Jane had shot a glance of alarm to Elizabeth, but Elizabeth had purposely put her head down on her arm not only to hide her eyes, but to recite another prayer for Mr. Darcy’s survival.
The others talked around her; however, she no longer listened to them. Elizabeth knew Mary’s hand rested upon her to keep Elizabeth from sliding from the chair in exhaustion. Yet, she could not sleep, not until Mr. Darcy was on his way to recovery.
Eventually, Mr. Sheffield sought her out with the others. “I am, the whole house, is most grateful for your diligence, Miss Elizabeth,” he said as she raised her head to hear the valet’s news. “Mr. Thacker and I rolled Mr. Darcy to his side to review the exit wound.”
“Where the bullet passed through Mr. Darcy’s body?” Elizabeth was on her feet immediately. “I have not washed that area. Was it bad?” she pleaded in fear.
“Pus around several of the stitches,” Mr. Sheffield explained. “Inflamed.”
“I should have . . .” she began.
“Do not blame yourself, miss,” Mr. Sheffield cautioned. “All of us knew of the bullet’s path,” the valet explained, “but none of us thought of that wound being more than a nuisance.”
“Have you . . .” she began.
“Mr. Thacker sent Declan to fetch Mr. Rheem. Captain Kinself sent word yesterday that he is attending to a general and a few others within his regiment, but Mr. Rheem holds an excellent reputation. We will have Mr. Darcy fit and fine soon.”
Elizabeth felt as if her knees might buckle. “You will assist Mr. Rheem when he arrives?” she asked the valet.
“Absolutely, ma’am. Now finish your tea and have another cake and then you may return to Mr. Darcy’s side. Thacker has several men changing out the master’s sheets and blankets so they might be properly laundered.”
Elizabeth wanted neither the tea nor the cake, but she followed the man’s directions.
In less than a half hour, she returned to Mr. Darcy’s suite and was restocking the towels and soap when Mr. Thacker showed a man with a bag into the room. “Mr. Rheem, miss,” the butler said.
With a simple glance to Mr. Darcy’s person, lines of concern furrowed the man’s brows. “You should leave us, miss.”
Elizabeth planted herself at the side of Mr. Darcy’s bed. “I choose to stay, sir.”
Mr. Rheem chuckled. “Exactly what those below thought you would say. I see you have set up what I might require.” He busied himself by shifting what she had set out for him to suit himself. “I assume you will not faint.”
“I shall not,” she said stubbornly.
The surgeon smiled again. “I often deal with willful women, but I find them to be the best sort.” He washed his hands thoroughly and dried them on a clean towel.
Mr. Sheffield appeared in order to assist the man. His jacket had been left behind and his shirt sleeves were rolled high on his arms.
“Wash well, sir,” Rheem ordered. “Between the fingers and around the fingernails.”
“What do you require of me, sir?” she asked.
“When we turn Mr. Darcy to his stomach, he will wish to fight us. It is to be your occupation to keep him from doing so,” the surgeon said with a wink.
“I am not the gentleman’s betrothed,” she explained.
“Yet, according to Mr. Sheffield and your elder sister, you are the one who has tended to Mr. Darcy since the incident. No matter how long or how little Mr. Darcy has been conscious over the last three days, his mind will associate your presence with the idea of survival. Do you understand?” the man asked.
Elizabeth was somewhat taken aback by the man’s frank manner of speaking, but she swallowed her objections. At last, she nodded her agreement and placed herself on the opposite side of Mr. Darcy’s bed from where the surgeon worked.
She watched as the man examined all the stitches Captain Kinsel had placed across Mr. Darcy’s chest before motioning Mr. Sheffield to assist in turning Mr. Darcy over to the man’s stomach.
A soft hiss escaped the surgeon’s lips when he viewed the wound in Mr. Darcy’s back. “I have seen worse,” he said, but Elizabeth’s eyes noted how inflamed one particular area appeared, and she cursed herself for a lack of diligence. “We must remove the stitches presently in Mr. Darcy’s back, drain the area and add new stitches. Mr. Sheffield, you must keep Mr. Darcy in place while I make the necessary incisions. He will likely be of the nature of a bucking horse, at least at first.”
“I am prepared, sir, when you are,” Mr. Sheffield announced.
Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy’s hand and placed herself beside his head, where she might stroke his hair and whisper close to his ear.
“Ready for the first cut,” Mr. Rheem said, and Mr. Darcy bucked just as the man had described when the blade cut into his skin.
“Shush,” she whispered as she wiped his cheek with a cool cloth. “I am here. I mean to see you well, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Sheffield is here, as is your sister, and two of mine. And all who serve you.”
The hand she held tightened ever so slightly about three of her fingers.
“Hold onto my hand, William,” she said close to his ear so the others could not hear her endearments. “I shall not leave you, and you do not have my permission to leave me.”
She looked up to where the surgeon performed his repair of the wound. When she glanced down again, Mr. Darcy’s eyes were on her face. “Elizabeth?” he rasped.
“Yes, my dear boy,” she said as tears filled her eyes. “I am here. I shan’t leave you.”
The moment was gone as fast as it had arrived, and Mr. Darcy said no more. However, she continued to murmur her reassurances as she studied Mr. Rheem’s skillful administrations.
Mr. Rheem said as he continued to place his stitches ever so exactly, “Evidently to assure his survival, Mr. Darcy’s mind has placed a barrier between the pain he suffers and your hand, miss. His fingers still encircle yours, but he does not clutch them in pain, but rather with care. He has absorbed the painful procedure without reaction beyond the occasional tick of his index finger against the back of your hand. He means to protect you, just as you do him.”
With his brief response to her plea, Elizabeth had known hope, but his battle was not over, nor was hers. Two more days passed. She should have permitted the others to assist her, but, for the life of her, Elizabeth could not consider leaving him, even for a few minutes.
“His breathing does not sound so labored,” she told herself in hope that her observation was accurate. She sat heavily in the chair and at the same table which held her supper. It was cold, but Elizabeth took several bites out of each dish so as not to worry her sisters. Yet, she soon returned to Mr. Darcy’s side, again claiming his hand. She leaned forward to rest her forehead on the edge of the bed. Such had been how she had slept for the last few nights.
Elizabeth did not know how long she had remained as such. Generally, she tended to doze off for a quarter hour or so, and then her body would slump downward until she was in such an awkward position that it woke her, and she would begin the process once more, but this time when she jolted awake, there was something holding her head in place. She had briefly thought to swat at it, but then she realized the “weight” was Mr. Darcy’s hand: He had lifted his hand to touch her head.
Immediately, she caught his hand and raised her head to look once more into the face she had come to adore. His eyes were upon her, and there was an awareness, not present previously.
“You have come back to us,” she declared in delight.
“Ta . . .” he began, but closed his eyes in apparent frustration.
“Permit me to give you a few spoons of water,” she said as she reached for the pitcher to pour a glass of water and scurried across the room to claim her spoon. Just as quickly she returned. Filling the spoon, she gently touched his bottom lip to force his mouth to open wider, then she permitted the water to trickle across his tongue. She repeated the gesture at least a dozen times before he lifted his hand to cease her efforts.
“Came . . . back . . . to . . . you,” he said.
Elizabeth wished such could be true, but the man was to marry Jane; yet, she did not contradict him. Instead, she placed the back of her hand against his forehead.
He reached for her arm and tugged it down beside him. “Thought . . . I . . . dreamed . . . you . . . but . . . you . . .are . . . truly . . . real.”
“I should order you some broth,” she said, thinking to pull away, but his grip was stronger than she had expected. “Miss Darcy shall be so happy,” she said as she stroked the rough beard marking his cheek. “And, of course, Jane and your staff and even Mary, who has assisted me greatly.”
“Miss . . . Bennet . . . is here?” he asked.
“Naturally,” she repeated. “Where else would she be?”
“But you . . .” he began.
“Jane is not the type to tolerate blood and other body fluids well and . . . those duties have always fallen to my shoulders or to Mary’s.”
She took his hand and kissed the back of his knuckles. “We received an express earlier today from Colonel Fitzwilliam. He has finally located Mr. Wickham and has placed the lieutenant under arrest, but all that can be addressed once you are up and about. Lord Lindale has called daily, as has Mr. Bingley. If you wish, I could write to both Lord Matlock and Lady Catherine to inform them of your recovery.”
“Lindale will . . . speak to . . . the earl. Matlock . . . will inform . . . his sister. Do not want . . . her at . . . my home. Too demanding . . . wants me . . . to marry . . . Anne.”
Elizabeth stroked the hair from his forehead. “I have heard much of your aunt and the indomitable Miss de Bourgh from my father’s cousin. As to the lady and your marriage, I doubt Jane will step aside for your cousin.”
She looked up when he turned his head into the pillow. The corners of his mouth had turned down. “But . . . you will.” He expelled a ragged breath. “Must rest.”
Elizabeth took a clean cloth and dipped it in lavender water. “Just take one step at a time. Soon though, you may reclaim your life and my sister. Jane has worried over you excessively.
“It seems . . . every time . . . I woke . . . it was you . . . not your sister . . . tending me.” He closed his eyes then, and Elizabeth had the sinking sensation that he, too, had come to accept what could not be changed.
The next time Darcy woke, Georgiana was in the chair last occupied by Miss Elizabeth. The woman had kept her promise. She had seen him on the “road” to recovery, and now she meant to absent herself from his life. Carefully, he squeezed his sister’s hand to wake her.
Immediately, Georgiana was on her feet. “William!” she said with a start. “It is wonderful to see you awake. Might I bring you some water?” She rushed towards the nearby table. “Miss Elizabeth says . . .”
“Georgie!” he said with emphasis. “Ring . . . for . . . Sheffield.”
“I can truly tend you myself,” she declared with a bit of “hurt” in her tone.
“Not with . . . personal . . . needs,” he said without emphasizing the words. Odd as it would be to say the words aloud, though he would have asked for Sheffield even if Miss Elizabeth was tending him, he knew Miss Elizabeth would have recognized his needs without being told.
“Oh!” his sister gasped and darted away. Within seconds, he could hear her tapping on a nearby door. Evidently, Mr. Sheffield was closer than Darcy had anticipated. Mumbled words were exchanged seconds before Sheffield rushed into the room.
“Permit me to assist you, sir.” His valet came around to the side of the bed to brace Darcy to a seated position. Then he fetched a chamber pot. “Can you manage from there, sir?” Sheffield asked. “I am not confident you should attempt to stand.”
“Neither am I,” Darcy admitted. “How long have I been here?”
“A bit over a week, sir,” his valet explained. “We were all excessively concerned. However, once Miss Elizabeth insisted you had an additional infection and insisted that I turn you over so we could examine your back, your fever quit being a nuisance.”
Darcy sat back, bracing himself to remain in place while Sheffield removed the pot. “Where is the lady?” he asked with as much casualness as he could muster. “I owe Miss Elizabeth my gratitude.”
“Miss Mary insisted that her sister claim her own rest. Miss Elizabeth watched over you quite exclusively, in fact, until her own near collapse. She foolishly allowed herself to know exhaustion,” Sheffield explained as he lifted Darcy’s legs to return them to the bed. “If you like, sir, I can rub your legs and arms to restore the feeling.”
“Permit me to reassure Miss Darcy I will survive and then you may return. Perhaps a towel bath and a shave,” Darcy suggested.
“Gladly, sir,” Sheffield said with a smile. “You frightened all of us.”
Darcy ventured, “Where is Miss Bennet? Perhaps I should also speak to her.” Like it or not, Darcy was convinced he could no longer honor his word to Miss Jane Bennet. Though he knew his decision would not sit well with the lady’s family, he could not spend a lifetime worrying over Miss Elizabeth’s future while bedding the lady’s sister. He was not built for such deception.
Sheffield glanced at the still open door of Darcy’s suite. He bent over Darcy to straighten the sheet and blanket covering Darcy’s person. “If I may make an observation, sir?” he asked softly.
Darcy nodded his permission.
“Mr. Bingley has called upon Darcy House daily not only to inquire of your progress, but to sit with Miss Bennet, with their heads often together. If you wait a bit longer, I suspect the lady will answer your dearest wish and call off the wedding,” his valet suggested.
“In the beginning,” Darcy said with equal slealth, “Bingley favored Miss Bennet also.”
“Just change the Christian name on the license,” Sheffield suggested with a wink before he stood.
Darcy stayed his valet’s exit. “Do you recall the ball given by Sir Robert and Lady Ellis shortly after I exited my mourning period following my father’s passing?”
“How could I not?” Sheffield said with a smile. “You rarely use so many curse words, especially directed at yourself.”
“The girl Lindale, Fitzwilliam, and I ignored . . .”
“Miss Elizabeth?” Sheffield asked with a knowing nod of correctness and a slight smile. “God does have the habit of placing who He wants a person to know in a man’s path until said man opens his eyes and actually views his future. Obviously, you must never question God’s wisdom again. He knows what you require most in your life, Mr. Darcy.”