Chapter 26 #2
Mrs Barrow opened the door to let Richard in, but his words of greeting died on his lips with shock.
Colonel Barrow’s health seemed to have worsened greatly over the past weeks.
His skin was almost grey, and he barely managed to stand at Richard’s arrival before collapsing back into his chair.
There were hollows about his eyes which had not been there before, and his voice lacked its former resonance.
Still, he brushed off all Richard’s concerns once more, as well as Richard’s offer to consult a doctor.
“I am well enough,” Barrow chastised. “You and Emily take the air. I am merely tired by the excessive heat. My lady wife will care very well for me here.”
There was nothing else to be said, and with Mrs Barrow’s assurances that everything was well in hand, Richard and Emily stepped out for their stroll.
Instead of risking the wagging tongues of Hyde Park, the two decided to take a hack to the plot of ground further north, where the Prince Regent planned to establish a new park.
It was a wilder area now, less tamed and less overrun by the lords and ladies of the first circles.
Furthermore, its less formal air allowed Richard to remove his coat and roll up his sleeves, the better to enjoy the sultry weather of late summer.
When Emily took his arm, her gloveless hands caressed the bare skin of his forearms, making every hair stand on end from the intimacy of it, bringing great pleasure and great anguish in one divine sensation.
There was no denying what those dreams had been telling him, and this touch, this seemingly innocent connection, brought every one of them fresh to his mind.
It was torture, and he wished it would never end.
How hard it was, walking and conversing as if his every nerve were not on fire.
Emily, too, seemed affected, for she kept her eyes straight ahead under the broad brim of her bonnet.
But she talked with an even tone, of this and the other, of the weather and her concerns for her father and the book she had borrowed from the lending library, not touching at all on their previous subject—theoretical though it might be—of marriage.
It was Richard who brought up the topic, although not in the way he would have thought.
“The wedding is tomorrow,” he said with no preamble. “I feel there will be little joy in it, but it must be done.”
“Your cousin’s feat, whereby he saves the reputation of this young woman?” She had remembered it all.
“And her sisters, more to the point.”
“Are these sisters the true reason Mr Darcy was diligent in this office?”
“One of them, certainly.”
She was silent for a time.
“I have been thinking about your cousin’s task and this young woman. It is a sad matter that we women have so little agency over our own lives, but perhaps, in a way, I envy her.”
Richard stopped in his steps. “You wish to marry George Wickham? You must be jesting!”
“No, no, not that at all.” She laughed, and Richard’s heart danced at the sound.
“But I have been thinking about her prospects. I cannot wish any woman bound forever to a brutal man, or to finally be free from a father’s tyranny only to find herself subject to a husband’s.
But if Wickham is not cruel, merely… merely wandering, such might be a worthwhile price to pay.
This young woman might spend her life wed to a cad, but she will be mistress of her own home.
She will have a position and a future, and she will no longer be dependent on her parents.
To have one’s own establishment and security of body and fortune, that is something not to be disdained. ”
They continued walking. “But she will be subject to her husband’s whims, no less than she was to her father’s. That is not always good.”
Emily pondered this. “That is true. But as a dependent daughter, she has no control over her life. As a wife and maybe a mother, she just might. This is, perhaps, exchanging one dependency for another, but as a wife she will have a certain authority and place in the world.” She was silent for a while.
“I have been thinking of setting up my own home. I do have my competence; if I am careful, I may live quite comfortably. I love my parents, and they are good to me, but I am long past the age when most women have stepped beyond the family bounds.”
“You are thinking of doing this soon?” What did this mean for Richard’s prospects?
“No. Not immediately. But sometime, I think. I am only considering it. Father’s income is not great, but he will not hear of me supplementing it with my own small means.
” She lapsed back into silence and fell against his side as they continued to walk through the rough paths that would one day be the regent’s new park.
This topic, so tentatively broached, lay gaping at their feet.
They returned to the busy streets near the Barrow’s accommodations.
The more they walked, the more Richard grew determined.
He was a soldier, not some spineless fop.
He would screw his courage to the sticking plate and stride forth to say his piece.
He resolved to spend some time this evening making plans, and tomorrow, after Lydia’s wedding, he would return to Emily and offer for her.
Her words, her tone, her fingers on his arm, all strongly suggested that she was not averse to the notion of matrimony, and he knew he could offer her what she desired, namely the respectability of marriage and the independence of her own establishment with a husband who cared for her well-being.
He hoped and prayed that his actions would be welcomed and would not destroy the deepest friendship he had ever had.
A flower girl sat by the side of the road as they approached the Barrows’ home, and on a whim, he bought a bunch for Mrs Barrow. But all thoughts of the blossoms disappeared the moment they entered the house.
Colonel Barrow was standing by the small sofa at the far end of the room in obvious distress.
The cause was most definitely not merely the heat.
His face was even more grey than before, and now was beaded in perspiration, and as Richard and Emily stepped into the room, he staggered backwards to collapse upon the seat.
He remained as he fell, half sitting and half lying down, gasping.
For a moment, Richard was unable to move as his mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.
Then, in an instant, as Mrs Barrow lunged forward towards her husband, the immediacy of the situation crashed over him.
He had seen this before, out on the training fields when men who did not know they had weak hearts fell in the middle of exercises.
He had to act at once; there was not a moment to lose.
“Emily, take care of him!” That was all he could say. He threw the flowers on the floor and rushed out the door. “I shall return,” he called out as it closed behind him. With no time to waste, he yelled for a fast hack and ordered the driver to make for a certain address with all possible haste.
Richard did not attend Lydia Bennet’s wedding the next morning.
Instead, he paced up and down the small sitting room at the Barrows’ abode, rubbing at the back of his neck to relieve the stiffness borne of a night on the floor with his coat as a pillow.
Mrs Barrow sat on the small sofa with tears dampening her cheeks and a vacant look in her eyes, and Emily fussed about at nothing in particular, desperate for something to do.
Eventually the door to the bedchamber opened, and a slight man with a fine profile and a head of dark hair, lightly streaked with grey, exited.
“Dr. Jacobi!” Richard turned to the physician. “What news?”
Dr. Jacobi was Italian by place of birth, having come to England as a young man from Venice some twenty years before, and the finest physician Richard knew. Jacobi was his parents’ doctor when they were in London, and there was none better to see to Colonel Barrow.
The doctor squeezed his eyes closed for a moment.
Blue shadows lurked under his dark eyes, and his mouth was tight.
He looked as exhausted as Richard felt. “I cannot say if he will live, nor can I say if he will die. It is in the hands of God now. This is not his first seizure of the heart, and he is very weak. Very weak indeed. If he is to have any hope, I insist on absolute rest. There must not be the slightest exertion. He cannot even feed himself. Neither can he experience any excitement, be it for reasons good or bad.”
“But his duties…”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Barrow. His military duties must be considered over. He cannot return, even to his desk.” The doctor’s stare was stern.
Richard cleared his throat. “I shall talk to Hastings to arrange for half pay. Although the colonel cannot return to duty, even if needed, perhaps they can do something for him.” It seemed so little, but it was all Richard could do at the moment.
If he dared… if Emily would agree… but this was no time to speak of such things. Not now.
Mrs Barrow looked about to cry. “Half pay… that is only three hundred and fifty a year, and with the medicines that Henry has needed...”
“We shall manage, Mother.” Emily rose to put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “If we economise, and if I use my gift from Uncle, we shall manage.”
The doctor looked quite uncomfortable at this discussion of very personal matters.
“I have left a bottle of laudanum for the pain and to help him rest. Only the very smallest amounts, I insist. Too much can further weaken his heart. I can recommend an attendant to be with him all day, if…” he glanced at Mrs Barrow in her plain dress and red eyes.
“I shall bear the expense.” Richard did not wait for the doctor to finish his sentence. This was the very least he could do.
“But Colonel...” Mrs Barrow began, her voice thick with tears. “I cannot allow that.”
“Nonsense. Your husband is my friend. You are all my friends. I may not have the wealth of kings, but I can well afford this. I am still on full pay with few expenses, and I have some of my own money that could not be better spent.” His eyes flickered over to where Emily was fussing at her mother’s fichu.
“I insist. Doctor, please send your bill to me at Darcy’s house. I shall attend to everything.”
“May I see him?” Mrs Barrow asked.
“He is asleep. Do not excite him at all. You may sit with him and feed him some broth when he wakens. I shall send an assistant shortly and shall return in the morning.”
The doctor offered a small and precise bow and departed, leaving Richard alone with Emily.
Such had been his distress at Barrow’s sudden illness that he had quite forgotten his scheme.
It was all moot, regardless. He could not speak now, not whilst Emily’s father lay so grievously ill.
If he lived—and Richard prayed mightily that he would—it would be months before Emily was in any state of mind to consider his offer, and if he died, she would be in mourning for half a year.
That, too, would be a poor choice of a time to celebrate an engagement, if indeed she regarded his offer in a favourable light.
Perhaps she would refuse him outright for daring to speak whilst her heart was still sore from the loss of a beloved parent.
He returned, therefore, to his camp the following morning with the distress of his friend’s heart seizure fresh on his mind, and with no prospect of joy to dampen the pain.