Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“What did you mean, William?” Her voice came colder than the disdain he suffered at Hunsford. “I may be your wife and your partner in the privacy of this bedroom, but when the public is involved, I remain inferior to your family.”
“Elizabeth, I …”
She furiously pulled her arm from his grasp and picked up her pelisse.
She started for the door’s entrance, pausing to look back at him.
“William, my father warned you I would not be caged by your society’s regulations; yet, you continue to mark me as your inferior.
If I am as you declare, I am entitled to the same privileges you provide your staff: Privacy in my sleeping quarters.
I can no longer bear to look at you. Please do not come to this room again.
” Saying so, she left him to watch her retreat down the hall and into the late afternoon shadows.
Several hours lapsed before Georgiana found him sitting in his study staring at nothing. “William, please,” her voice held her agitation. “Elizabeth has not returned to the house.”
He sprang to his feet. “What? I thought she returned to her quarters.”
“It has been nearly three hours, William. The temperature has dropped, and snow has started to fall. Moreover, Hero returned to the house without Elizabeth. I am worried.”
Instantly, he was on the move. “Tell Mr. Shepherd to saddle Cerberus. Where is the dog?”
“Mrs. Reynolds has it under control in the front hall.”
“Hurry, Georgiana, find Shepherd!” Full of fear, he ran the length of the hallway. “When did Hero return, Mrs. Reynolds?”
“Nearly a quarter hour past, Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy often returns after the dog, but she is never this far behind. Something must be amiss.”
“Keep the animal here, Mrs. Reynolds.”
Grabbing a coat and gloves, Darcy ran towards the stables.
Within minutes, he reined Cerberus towards the abrupt rise his wife preferred on most of her walks.
He hoped she would be a creature of habit today.
The light snow provided him some evidence, for Hero’s paw prints were clearly visible; yet, if Darcy did not discover Elizabeth quickly, the ever-increasing snowfall would soon fill in the dog tracks.
He prayed she had not met with danger, but his instincts told him otherwise.
Elizabeth was too impetuous! But if she were hurt, he was at fault!
Carefully following the dog’s tracks, he urged Cerberus across the pathway.
He scanned every tree, every rock, and every rise of the land, hoping desperately he would turn his head, and she would be there.
Something could not happen to Elizabeth. He would never forgive himself.
At the bottom of a sharp precipice, the dog prints stopped, but Darcy noted the animal clearly ran back and forth on the spot several times. He dismounted the horse and began to call her name. “Elizabeth!”
He climbed, nearly crawling on his hands and knees, across the rock surface, thinking he could see best from the height. “Elizabeth!”
The snow came down steadily now, and the smooth surface of the rock made climbing difficult. Reaching the summit, he turned round and round in a circle—attempting to decide what to do next, while fighting the fear which crept steadily through his chest.
Then his heart stopped. Lying in a clump about thirty feet down on the backside of the climb rested Elizabeth.
She did not move even when he called her name.
Please, God! He quickly pulled off his outer jacket and snaked his way down the slope, holding on to tree limbs and broken rocks, inching his way towards the ball of cloth, which was Elizabeth.
At length, he reached her. “Elizabeth,” his voice sounded calm compared to the tension in his body, “I am here.” He turned her over slowly, not wanting to know if she did not live. Her body shivered, and Darcy presented God his heartfelt gratitude. “Elizabeth,” he said again.
“William. You … you found me.” Her voice was barely audible as the coldness racked her body. Mud and snow and scratches covered her face. A bruise showed at her left temple, and dried blood seeped down the side of her cheek.
“I love you, Elizabeth. I am here because you are my life. I will not lose you again. Stay with me, Elizabeth.” He pulled her close. “I must move you from this place. Put your arms around my neck and hold on no matter what.”
Darcy scooped her in his arms, holding her tightly to him with one arm and using the other to pull the two of them to safety.
He was terrified. He could not rescue her properly, but he must or Elizabeth might die.
Perspiration filled his eyes, stinging them, but he would not blink—would not lose focus.
He moved slowly up the precarious, weather-beaten side of the cliff, using splintered logs and roots for support.
He pulled their weight up—inch-by-inch—often dodging rocks he loosened, covering Elizabeth’s head, as debris whizzed by, like bullets.
Working steadily, he traversed the muddy, narrow pathway leading to the top.
After several intense moments, covered in snow, sweat, and mud, they emerged over the rock’s surface.
Frantically, Darcy ran his free hand up and down each of her arms and legs to look for protruding bones.
Finding none, he held her there, rocking Elizabeth in his arms as he regained his breath.
At length, with tears stinging his eyes and silent prayers offered to Heaven on his lips, he wrapped Elizabeth in his great coat and slid with her down the rock’s flat surface to where Cerberus waited.
She had said nothing since he picked her up the first time, and now she buried her face into his chest as he carried her to safety.
Her heart beat as if in his chest; the pain of it clutched his own.
He wanted to sob for his loss, but he could not give up hope.
He caressed her head and repeated, “I love you.”
He used a downed tree as a mounting block.
Forcibly, he swung up into the saddle and settled her safely in his arms again.
The tightness with which she clung to his neck was the only tension in her body.
Otherwise, Elizabeth’s body drooped in his embrace.
He wrapped the coat around her and turned the horse towards Pemberley.
Georgiana was out the main door when she saw him ride into the courtyard. “Oh, my God, William, is she injured?” she gasped at viewing Darcy’s appearance and the bundled body of Elizabeth.
“I do not know, Georgiana.” He slid off the horse, still carrying his wife.
Irrationally, he lifted her closer to him, afraid if he loosened his grip, Elizabeth might slip away from him.
He quickened his steps as he climbed towards their private quarters.
“Send Mr. Shepherd after the physician. Tell him to hurry! She fell over the precipice!”
Exhausted from his efforts, Darcy leaned heavily against the door, his weight swinging it wide and slamming it into the opposing wall.
Stumbling, he carried her to his bedchamber and laid her gently on the pillows.
He pried her fingers from about his neck so he might examine her. She appeared so fragile.
“Mrs. Reynolds!” he screamed.
He again checked Elizabeth’s arms, back, and legs to search for injuries.
Finding none evident, he removed his neck cloth, poured some water from the pitcher into the basin, and began to bathe her face and hands with it.
His heart raced. She breathed, but Elizabeth had not moved nor had she opened her eyes.
Throughout it all, he gently called her name and repeated his love for her.
Prayers came and went along with anger at how easily he could lose her.
He had lost everyone he ever loved: He could not lose Elizabeth also. God would not be that cruel.
The housekeeper entered the room. “I have her, Master William.” The familiar calling of his name by the woman who raised him after his mother’s passing brought a sense of normalcy.
“Tell them below that I will require lots of clean, hot water and bandages. Now! Move Mr. Darcy! If you love this woman, you must have someone fetch hot water and bandages.”
Before Mrs. Reynolds could even turn her head, Darcy was at a run. Barking orders. Demanding all of Pemberley assist his wife.
In a little less than an hour, Mr. Spencer, the physician, entered the room, followed closely by Georgiana.
While Mr. Spencer completed his examination, Georgiana convinced Darcy to freshen his clothes.
He did so, reluctantly, but he could not abandon the memory of the hurt and the anger, which had passed between Elizabeth and him earlier.
If only he had not allowed her to leave, she would not be injured and lying helpless in his bed.
How could I be so foolish? His insecurities, compounded by those Elizabeth experienced as Pemberley’s mistress, could cost him the woman he loved.
He sat heavily on the floor in the dressing room.
Rocking himself. Attempting to know some comfort, though he assuredly did not deserve it.
He reached for her brush on the small dressing table.
One of Elizabeth’s hairs was still interlaced between the bristles.
Sadness enveloped him and he sobbed as he had not done since his father’s death.
Sometime later, Georgiana knocked lightly on the door. “William, Mr. Spencer wishes to speak with you.”
Darcy wiped his eyes with his sleeve and rose. He followed Georgiana back into his bed chamber.