Chapter 19
Elizabeth stared out the window of Netherfield’s front parlor, watching lanterns twinkle in the darkness as they bobbed around. She could hear the faint calls of the search party members, accompanied by the barking of hunting dogs.
The door opened behind her, and in the window’s reflection she could see Jamie come in from the lit hallway. “Any news?” she asked without turning around.
He limped over and took up a position at her side. “Not yet.”
Her shoulders slumped forward, and he placed a hand on her arm. “Come, you should sit down.”
She numbly allowed him to lead her to the table and accepted the glass of wine he poured for her. “Mrs. Hurst’s maid tells me she is sleeping soundly from the draught Mr. Jones gave her.”
“It won’t hurt the baby?” She looked up sharply at him.
He shrugged and raised his hands. “I have absolutely no idea!”
She let out a short laugh. “No, of course not.”
Elizabeth set the glass on the table next to her, then leaned forward and placed her head in her hands, rubbing at her temples. “They’ve been searching for an hour, Jamie. What if he isn’t found?”
“Well, they were fortunate they had you here. I imagine you’ve had experience with Jane wandering off as a child.”
She shook her head. “Fortunately, no. Jane was too timid to go very far from the house. It didn’t stop me from worrying though—especially after one of the tenant’s children got lost when I was about fifteen years old. I can still remember how panicked everyone was when he didn’t arrive home. For months afterwards, I would lay awake in bed, working out what I would have done to find him sooner.”
“Was he recovered?”
She shook her head. “Not in time. He had fallen into a ravine and hit his head, or so we think. By the time he was discovered, he had lost too much blood from the wound and infection had set in.”
The two fell silent for several long minutes before Elizabeth lifted her head and reached again for the glass of wine. Instead of taking ladylike sips, she drained the glass with several long swallows, then replaced it back on the table before standing once again to pace around the room.
“Could he have gone to one of the taverns or inns and chosen to stay overnight?” She spun around and looked at Jamie, her eyes lit up with excitement at the new idea.
He dismissed the idea with a wag of his head before she even finished speaking. “I believe his valet already made that suggestion to the butler, who sent riders into Meryton and the surrounding towns and hamlets. No one has seen him.”
Her frame wilted with the news. “Jamie, I don’t know what more I can do,” she whispered.
“Honestly, Miss Lizzy,” he said, rising to his feet, “there’s nothing more you can do except pray.”
He clapped a hand on her shoulder, then went out the door, leaving her to resume her solitary position at the window
∞∞∞
As the early morning mist lifted, revealing the undulating hills of Hertfordshire bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn, Darcy and Bingley made their way to Netherfield Park. Their journey from London had been interrupted only a few miles from Netherfield by light rain, and they were forced to stop at an inn. Eager to return to Netherfield as quickly as possible, they had risen with the sun and were only a half mile or so from their destination.
The steady clip-clop of their horses’ hooves against the country road provided a rhythmic accompaniment to their thoughts. Bingley, ever the optimist, was visibly elated to be returning to his angel’s side. The special license that Darcy’s uncle had helped him procure was kept safely on his person, tucked away inside the inner front pocket on the left side of his jacket, resting on top of his heart.
He spoke animatedly about the plans he had for his arrival, his voice carrying on the crisp morning air. “I must say, Darcy, I have missed the tranquility of the country. London has its charms, of course, but there is something about the open fields and the quiet that is most refreshing. And just think—in only a few days, God willing, I shall be a married man!”
He let out a whoop of delight before bursting into boisterous laughter, causing Darcy to allow a slight smile to tug at his lips. He leaned forward on his horse. “Well, then, I guess you had better get to it, then! Last one to arrive pays a forfeit, eh?”
Without waiting for a response, Darcy gave a swift kick to his horse’s ribs, urging him forward. Ignoring Bingley’s startled shout behind him, he leaned forward and urged his mount to pick up speed, the urgency of his sudden departure creating a cloud of dust on the path behind him. The landscape blurred as Darcy focused solely on the road ahead, driven by a sudden yearning to be back under the same roof as Elizabeth Bennet.
“You cheated!” cried Bingley as they came around the final turn that would take them off the main road and onto the drive towards Netherfield.
Darcy merely smirked and brought his horse into a canter, allowing Bingley to come up beside him. As Netherfield came into view, its elegant facade emerging from the morning mist, the younger man’s excitement was palpable. “Ah, there it is! It feels as though it has been an age since we left. I wonder if much has changed in our absence.”
“A week is but a brief span in the life of the countryside, Bingley,” Darcy responded dryly. “I suspect you will find Netherfield just as we left it, though the people may have missed our presence.”
As they approached the grand entrance, however, it was clear that something was amiss. Dozens of men—soldiers, tenants, servants, and even a few gentlemen—were congregated on the front lawn, broken into small groups of three and four people.
As Bingley and Darcy approached, someone shouted, “The master’s returned!”
Murmurs spread throughout the crowd, and one by one, the people turned their heads towards the two horsemen.
“What the blazes is going on?” Bingley asked, bewilderment etched across his face.
“Nothing good,” replied Darcy, his lips pressed together in a grim line.
They urged their horses through the crowd, choosing to bypass the path to the stables and instead immediately make their way to the front entrance, where they were greeted by Mrs. Nicholls and Mr. Grantham.
Darcy stepped forward to demand an explanation, then paused and turned to his friend, motioning for him to lead the inquiry. Bingley, however, was gaping around at the hubbub and appeared to take no notice of his friend’s cue. Sighing, Darcy asked, “Grantham, what on earth is happening?”
The butler exchanged glances with Mrs. Nicholls, who said, “Mr. Hurst went for a ride yesterday afternoon. No one realized he hadn’t returned until it was time for dinner. The stable boy assumed he’d stayed at a pub or an inn for the night, since he’d ridden out so late, but no one has seen him.”
Bingley gasped. “Louisa?”
“Mr. Jones has given her a draught of valerian root to help her rest.”
Four pairs of eyes turned towards the front door, where Elizabeth Bennet was exiting Netherfield. Next to her limped Jamie, and a white-hot flash of jealousy shot through Darcy’s chest at the servant’s proximity to his mistress.
“Miss Elizabeth has been organizing the search parties since the discovery was made,” Grantham informed the newly arrived gentlemen.
“You?” Darcy blurted out.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed at him. “Yes, me. I was the only one here in any position to do so. I daresay a woman can organize as well as any man could.”
“That’s not—”
“I think what Mr. Darcy means is that he is impressed that you were able to do it so quickly, especially with your duties of tending to your sister,” Jamie hastily interjected. “I doubt he meant anything toward your sex.”
“Precisely!” Darcy swiftly added. “Additionally, I cannot imagine that you have had much experience organizing a search of this magnitude all on your own. It is quite remarkable, Miss Elizabeth.”
All of Darcy’s ill feelings towards the servant disappeared when Elizabeth’s stance relaxed. “Well, in that case, thank you, Mr. Darcy. I must admit, it has been quite overwhelming. Your timely return is quite fortuitous; I am not entirely certain what to do next.”
Bingley looked at Darcy. “You’re magistrate in Derbyshire, aren’t you? I imagine you’ve had to do this sort of thing before?”
He nodded. “I think the best thing would be to find out exactly what has been done thus far and go from there. But first, perhaps we should go inside and change into clothes that are less… dust laden.”
“Oh, of course!”
Elizabeth flushed a becoming pink that began at her cheeks and went down her neck and disappeared underneath the neckline of her dress. It was all Darcy could do to keep from staring and imagining just how far down her blush went.
“I cannot believe I have been so rude as to keep you out here. I know I am not the hostess, but I have been acting as such. You must be quite worn out from your ride. Please, come in.”
Darcy and Bingley followed her up the stairs and into the house. “There is a hot pot of tea in the parlor,” she said. “Mrs. Nicholls has been so good as to keep it refreshed for me since this whole ordeal began.”
As she made her way down the hall to that room, Bingley started to follow, but Darcy held back. “I think we may wish to avoid dirtying the furniture and rugs in that room,” he explained when the two turned back to see what caused the delay.
“Darcy, I do not care one jot about the furniture,” Bingley said in an uncharacteristically harsh tone. “I need to know what is being done to find my brother, and I need to know now. Grooming and tidiness can rot, for all I care.” He paused, then added, “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth.”
She waved a hand at him in dismissal. “No need, Mr. Bingley. I quite agree with the sentiment and take no offense at your language.”
Mollified, Darcy followed Bingley and Elizabeth to the parlor, where a large map of Netherfield and the surrounding area was spread out on the floor. “I hope you do not mind, but I took the liberty of taking this from your study, Mr. Bingley. It seemed the most practical way of keeping track of where we have searched.”
“Of course not,” Bingley murmured.
Elizabeth sat on the floor on one side of the map, and for the next quarter of an hour, showed the two gentlemen what areas of Netherfield property had been explored.
Once she had completed her explanation, Elizabeth sat back on her heels. “I am so relieved that you two gentlemen have returned. I wasn’t sure what more I could do. The militia officers had begun to arrive perhaps an hour before you, and I was going to divide them into search groups as well.”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth’s wan face. The shadows under her eyes spoke volumes of her sleepless night and the toll the stress had taken on her in shouldering so many burdens at once. In her eyes, he recognized the same weariness he felt himself when he took on the care of Georgiana, Pemberley, and all those under his purview, and his heart clenched in empathy.
Her usually bright and vivacious demeanor was tempered by a palpable exhaustion, her movements slower and more deliberate as she had pointed out areas where Mr. Hurst might be found. Despite her fatigue, however, her resolve seemed unshaken—a testament to her strength and generous nature.
Recognizing the burden she carried, Darcy felt a profound urge to alleviate her distress. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said gently, “it is obvious you have done everything exactly right.”
“Truly?”
His heart cracked when her voice did. “Yes, I would have done the same things as you.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped, her eyes filling with tears. He leaned forward and placed his hand lightly on hers. “Miss Elizabeth, I mean no disrespect when I say that you look quite done in. I suggest you retire to your chambers for some rest. I will take over from here.”
He winced inwardly as soon as he finished speaking, realizing almost immediately how his words could be taken offensively. The fact that she didn’t even rise to the provocation was a mark of just how exhausted she was.
She nodded twice, jerkily, then clumsily rose to her feet. He reached out to steady her as she stumbled over the hem of her dress.
“Thank you,” she whispered, gripping his arm briefly to stabilize herself.
Darcy watched as Elizabeth shuffled her way out of the room, then turned to his friend, whose face was set in a grim line. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
∞∞∞
Once upstairs, Elizabeth peeked into her sister’s room. “How is she?” she whispered to the maid when she saw Jane fast asleep.
“Miss Bennet awoke and ate her breakfast, then asked me to play Spillikins with her for about half an hour,” the maid said with a brief curtsy. “She only just now laid back down.”
“Did she ask for me?”
The maid nodded. “I told her you were helping Mrs. Hurst prepare for Mr. Bingley’s return today.”
Elizabeth sighed in relief. “Excellent. We must keep her as calm as possible. Until we actually know about Mr. Hurst’s final condition, I don’t want her to fret unnecessarily.”
“Yes, miss. Mrs. Nicholls was very clear on that.”
“Thank you… Molly, right?”
“Yes.”
“I am going to retire now. Please wake me if Jane needs anything.”
Having gained the young maid’s assurances, Elizabeth closed the door between her room and Jane’s, then crossed over to her bed. Unable to even ring the bell for assistance in undressing, she simply crawled under the covers and was fast asleep within moments.
∞∞∞
Bang, bang, bang!
Elizabeth bolted upright in her bed, looking around frantically. The loud pounding at the door to her room from the hallway resumed, and she hastily stood and made her way to it. She yanked it open just as Darcy’s fist was about to come down again, stopping only mere inches from her nose.
“Just what on earth do you think you are doing?” she hissed at him. “What possible reason could you have for pounding on my door in such a manner?”
“My apologies, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy replied, a strange look on his face. His voice was formal—at odds with his expression—and his arm dropped to his side. “Mr. Hurst has been discovered, and Mrs. Hurst is requesting your immediate presence. I knocked quietly several times, but there was no answer. I was becoming quite concerned.”
She brushed off his answer in favor of the most pressing bit of information. “He’s been found? Where was he? Is he injured?”
Looking around wildly, she noticed the long shadows in the room. “What time is it?”
“It is just after three in the afternoon.”
Elizabeth stared at him blankly. “I slept for five hours?”
“I believe you were quite tired. But come, let me take you to Mrs. Hurst. I can give you more information as we walk.”
She was several steps in the hallway before she realized that she was only wearing stockings. Lifting a hand to her head, she discovered with horror that half her hair had fallen from its pins and was now tumbling in riotous curls around her shoulders, which explained the odd way in which he had looked at her when she opened the door.
“Good heavens, what a mess,” she muttered to herself.
As she twisted pieces of hair back into place, she asked Darcy to tell her exactly what all had occurred whilst she had slept.
“About two hours after you retired, one of the militia found Hurst’s horse. It seems he attempted to jump a hedge or wall that had a small ravine on the other side. The horse was at the bottom of the ravine with a broken leg, but Hurst was nowhere to be found.”
Elizabeth let out a small gasp and dropped the lock of hair she had been securing. “Where was he?”
“Somehow he survived the fall, thank the Lord. We’re not entirely certain what happened, but he made his way about half a mile to the north, where he took shelter in an abandoned cottage of some kind. He was found about an hour ago, unconscious. Mr. Jones is seeing to him now.”
Having arrived at the doorway to the Hursts’ bedchambers, Darcy bowed. “This is where I will leave you, Miss Elizabeth. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to be of assistance.”
His hot gaze bore into hers, and she flushed at the intensity of his stare. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then—feeling suddenly bashful—she darted into Louisa’s room and pulled the door closed behind her.
“Oh, Elizabeth!”
She scarcely had time to take in her surroundings before she was engulfed by desperate arms.
Louisa clung to her friend, weeping pitifully. “He’s going to die, Elizabeth! My Reggie is going to die, and it will be all my fault. I’ve killed my husband!”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she fought to get a breath of air, but Louisa’s tight embrace constricted her lungs. She settled for patting her friend on the back reassuringly a few times, which was enough to allow Louisa to finally let her go.
Sucking in a lungful of air, Elizabeth guided Louisa to the bed. “Now, let’s have you lie down and rest. All this stress cannot be good for the baby. Now, then, what’s all this nonsense about you having killed your poor husband?”
For the next half hour, Louisa poured out every single event and emotion that had occurred over the last several weeks, especially with regard to Hurst’s discovery of the pregnancy and the alcoholism pamphlet.
“If only I had spoken to him about the baby sooner. Or never even accepted that stupid pamphlet in the first place,” Louisa moaned into her friend’s shoulder. “You should have seen his face. He looked so… so hurt, so betrayed. I’ve never seen him like that before. I should have stopped him from riding out. If he dies, it will all be my fault. I’ve killed my child’s father.”
“Ahem.”
Both women looked up to see Mr. Jones standing at the door between the two rooms. As she waited to hear what he would have to say, Elizabeth began to pray. Dear Lord, please don’t let it be too bad.