Chapter 28
“ M r Darcy.”
“Mr Darcy! Sir? Are you well?”
Why were they harassing some poor sod when I was trying to sleep?
Irritable and seeking to roll into a tighter ball and shut those voices out, I tried to curl away from the noise but discovered I could barely move.
Lord, now what? What was that ungodly bleating?
Had a sheep got caught in a fence somewhere?
By degrees and with great resentment—because the world would not be quiet—I began the long journey up into wakefulness only to realise that it was I, not some poor sheep, who had been moaning, my companions were standing over me desperate to rouse me, and I ached from head to toe.
“Mr Darcy, are you well?” Carsten asked anxiously and with his brow in an ominous knot as he examined me.
“From the look on your face, I am not,” I croaked.
He put his hand to my forehead and glanced at Donaldson, then I closed my eyes and sank back into a murky state between aching misery and black unconsciousness.
Eventually, they roused me again, and had I an ounce of will left to me, I would have raged at them.
Instead, I groaned off and on as they sat me up, forced a cup of tea to my lips, and eventually managed to get me dressed and raised me to my feet.
“Can you walk, sir?” Carsten gently asked.
“No,” I said glumly, and with that, my right foot moved against my will. Thus, leaning heavily on him and in a state of high moral resentment, I stumbled forwards.
We were roughly twelve miles from Carlisle when we had stopped, which should have made for a reasonable day of walking, but as things stood, that was a worrisome distance.
After a mile, even in my semi-conscious state, I understood that a walk of that duration was impossible.
I could see the concern etched on Donaldson’s face as he scoured his map, mumbled to Carsten, and stared at his map again.
They commiserated, and I caught some of what was said as I sat on a boulder at the side of the path with my head drooping.
For a few moments, it seemed they seriously considered leaving the pack saddle behind so that I could ride the mule, but this, they ultimately decided, was too great a risk.
They were simply too uncertain of the state of the rutted track we followed.
We could reach a washed-out ravine not marked on the map and find ourselves stranded with no provisions and no shelter, in a place abandoned and far from settlements, and worse, with no clear water to be found.
After a moment of silence in which they came to terms with what must be done, they glanced pityingly at me with the consciousness I would simply have to be forced to walk.
I was so dull by this point, and cared so little about anything, they might as well have been speaking about the fate of a stranger.
In the end, we limped into a little hamlet, and I soon found myself sitting like a child on a bench holding Trusty’s reins, only vaguely aware that my friends would return—which they must have done—but I had no recollection of anything that took place for many, many hours.
In a dim and fractured light, I again awoke to find Carsten standing over me, speaking to me in a low voice. “You are very restless,” he said, lifting me up to arrange a pillow, and while I was sitting up, he put a spoon to my lips.
I was willing, but my stomach was not, and thus began a spell of painful retching which must have eventually passed, for I again cracked open my eyes deep in the night, damp with sweat, parched, nauseous, aching, and only vaguely curious.
Was I dying ? Strangely, I did not have enough fight left in me to care.
“Where are we?” I half-whispered in a rasping voice of complaint.
“Brampton. We have been here for two days, sir,” Carsten said. He must have been sitting in a chair beside me, for I could just make out a murky figure as he sat forwards, and I then felt the reassurance of his touch as he gently pulled back the blanket.
“Come,” he said. “I am going to sit you up briefly, so I can change your sheets.” This operation was so painful, I longed only to lie back and pass into oblivion.
The hours passed, but in fact, I did not die. I did, however, take my time in recovering even a particle of strength or understanding. My appetite was equally unwilling to hurry itself along, my single ambition being to return to the incomprehension of sleep.
“How long have we been here?” I asked at one indeterminate point. And, “Where are we again?” Then, “Where is Donaldson?”
I do not rightly know how many times Carsten had to patiently answer these pitiful questions.
Eventually, I was able to cobble together a picture of my situation.
We were ten miles from Carlisle, Donaldson had himself ridden as express rider to Pemberley, and now, days later—and at any moment—Keller was expected to arrive with my coach and my cousin.
There was a regrettable fuss made, and the next morning, I endured a thorough wash, a shave, and many remonstrations to eat what little I could—which was half a piece of toast and a few sips of tea.
I was then dressed in fine, fresh linens and a suit I recognised as my own.
Thankfully, I was spared the discomfort of a neckcloth and given slippers instead of tight boots for my feet.
I was then shepherded down some stairs, out briefly into a drizzling morning, and then up into the luxurious darkness of my own coach with the shades drawn.
In all likelihood Fitzwilliam had come to my room and looked at me the night before, but if he had, I was not aware of it.
Thus, I had dreaded seeing him and enduring his blustering remonstrations on the order of, ‘Well, have you had your fun, then?’ But this did not come to pass.
Instead, I was met with one of his tender smiles and an uncommon circumspection on his part.
“We hope to make it to Richmond Castle,” he said as he and Carsten took the rear-facing seat.
Lord, was I to see more ruins?
I must have blinked at him in my incomprehension of his plan, for he then said, “I have a friend who lives nearby. He is now retired and is expecting us. That is, if we can safely go that far.”
“How far?”
“Some seventy-odd miles.” He put up his hand to deflect anything I might have said, which was unnecessary since I found speaking so terribly taxing. “Keller has left horses all along the way, for we believe it best to get you home as quickly as possible. That is, if you think you can endure it?”
I had nothing to say as he and Carsten peered at me with their evaluating stares, and instead of reassuring them of my willingness, I made use of a bolster that had been put next to me for the purpose and promptly fell asleep again.
My rest was brief. I could not find a comfortable position and thought I might go mad with the desire to stand up, only to discover on our occasional stops that doing so was exhausting and made me desperate to lie down again.
My companions gave me many opportunities to complain by offering up such questions as ‘How may I make you more comfortable? Are you hot? Would you like to take off your coat? Are you cold?’
I was unwilling to give them what they wanted, however, for I could not be helped, my aches could not be eased, and further, I refused to be coaxed into delineating my multiple miseries.
I was in the mood to emulate our mule, who mutely endured without questions or thoughts of his own relief.
Anything beyond that would have required too much exertion.
We arrived at our destination late at night, and in what seemed less than half an hour, I found myself in a bed in a strange room with Carsten on a cot beside me.
I had no expectation of rest, but in fact, I fell into a profound sleep of more than six hours duration.
This was not the same fretful unconsciousness of my most recent days, but something more restorative in nature.
I even ventured to look at my breakfast, which had been sent to me on a tray, and made an attempt to chew a few bites of solid food.
I presume Fitzwilliam expressed the proper degree of gratitude to the host I never met, and shortly, we were again rattling our way at a slightly reckless pace towards Pemberley.
Only on account of the extent of my stables were we able to accomplish what would reasonably be a four-day journey in only two, for we relied entirely upon my own teams, which were in top condition.
I remained mostly withdrawn that day, rousing from time to time to sit upright and pretend to be interested in what was passing by my window.
By this time, however, Fitzwilliam and Carsten had no expectations I would be sociable, and with some surprise they looked up when I finally spoke an entire sentence.
“I would rather not arrive home in some apparent state of emergency,” I said. “Might I go in quietly through a side door without a fuss?”
“Of course,” Fitzwilliam said.
“And Georgiana?”
“If you are asking if she is frightened out of her wits for you, she is not. I only told her that your expedition is at an end because you have a cold, and you had sent Donaldson to ask Keller to bring you home.”
“Thank you,” I said, but after a moment in which a thick silence hung in the air between the three of us, I irritably asked, “What is it that you do not want to say?”
“You look a touch unwell, sir,” Carsten remarked with great diplomacy.
By this I knew I looked shockingly gaunt or pale or both. In other words, my sister would soon know what I did not want her to know.
“I see,” I said wearily. After a few moments, I at last said, “Even so, if she wishes to see me in the morning, you must allow her to visit.”
After the exertion of managing to think rationally and to speak aloud, I settled back in search of that somnolent state that reminded me of Trusty. This prompted me to drowsily ask, “What of your mule, Carsten?”
“I sent him to Pemberley, sir. He may be nearly there by now.”