Chapter IV #2
“A sprained ankle, and a slightly concussed head,” assessed Mr. Jones when they reached the comfort of Mr. Bennet’s bookroom and the gentleman had provided him with a drink.
“Neither injury is dangerous, but she will be immobile for at least two weeks, and she may suffer headaches in the interim. You should change the bandage over the cut on her forehead twice daily. I do not believe it is deep enough to require stitches, so you need not concern yourselves on that score. She should stay in bed for at least a week to allow the swelling in her ankle to subside, and once the week has passed, she may go to the sitting room with the assistance of her sisters. But you must not allow her to walk on her own; the combination of the weakness of her foot and the dizziness she might experience would likely bring about another fall.”
“Ver0y well,” said Mr. Bennet. “We shall do our best to keep her abed, though you know enough of her to apprehend it might be difficult.”
The apothecary nodded, not troubled in the slightest. Then again, he would not need to remain and endure what was certain to be Lydia’s strident howls on the subject.
“Before I depart, I shall leave a bottle of laudanum to assist with the pain. I shall instruct Mrs. Hill on its use, though she already has some notion of it. While it dulls the pain, your daughter should not overuse it, for she may become dependent.”
“A little soreness will not incapacitate her,” said Mr. Bennet. “It is better to endure that than to become a victim to opium.”
“I cannot agree more,” said Mr. Jones.
After a few more minutes, the apothecary went away, promising to return should there be a need to examine her further.
While all was silent for the moment, Lydia and Mrs. Bennet both insensible because of Mr. Jones’s medicine, it was not long before the entire house envied his ability to escape, as the lamentations began, and the wailing of the youngest Bennet rang throughout the house.
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The next weeks were nothing less than a trial. For all Longbourn had long been a place of frenetic activity and constant upheaval, that could not compare to the discomfort the family suffered when Lydia woke to her situation, for she took it upon herself to make life miserable for everyone.
In short, they had denied Lydia her treasured wishes, and everyone around her was to blame for her misfortune.
For a time, she was confined to her room on the apothecary’s orders, and that muted her exclamations of displeasure to a certain extent.
When she regained something of her mobility, however, she took residence in Longbourn’s sitting-room and complained of her trials in a loud and unrele0nting voice.
Soon, they all took pains to avoid her. Mary sequestered herself in the back parlor and the small pianoforte there, spending more hours practicing than even she usually indulged.
Elizabeth walked out whenever possible, staying away from the house for hours at a time, Kitty retreated to her room, and when Lydia was in hers, she went to the back garden, taking up a set of sketching pencils and a pad of paper as she had not done in several years, seeming to find some consolation in the activity.
Mr. Bennet, of course, retreated to his library and would not emerge, sometimes even abjuring the family’s company for meals.
The most surprising, however, were Jane and Mrs. Bennet, for it seemed Lydia’s displeasure affected even them.
Jane, while as patient as a saint, spent long hours attending to Longbourn’s rose gardens, her tight expression betraying even her waning patience with Lydia, while Mrs. Bennet took to staying in her room attended by Mrs. Hill more often than was her wont.
At times, Mrs. Bennet even snapped at her youngest, provoking Lydia to an injured silence that never lasted long enough.
This might have continued throughout the entire summer had Elizabeth not lost patience with her sister and snapped at her. It was more of Lydia’s general complaints, though this time her accusations against her family were nigh incomprehensible.
“You are all jealous of me!” spat Lydia one afternoon while sitting together with her family. For a wonder, she had not yet driven them all away that day. “You are envious of my good fortune, so you all conspired to ruin my summer plans.”
“What nonsense are you speaking?” demanded Elizabeth, unable to hold her countenance any longer.
“Can you produce even one shred of evidence that anyone of us had anything to do with your accident? Did Kitty push you, perhaps? Or maybe Papa greased the step of Colonel Forster’s carriage to cause you to slip?
Did Mary knock the heel of your boot askew in anticipation that it would buckle at the appropriate moment? ”
Lydia glared at her but refused to say anything, an improvement given her recent demeanor. For a wonder, even Mrs. Bennet looked on Elizabeth’s reprimand with approval, she who had never allowed anything negative to be said of Lydia in her presence!
“It was nothing more than ill luck, Lydia,” said Elizabeth, though privately she judged it was the best of fortune for the family’s reputation. “Do not blame it on those who had nothing to do with it.”
“You are jealous of me,” whined Lydia, though some of the self-righteousness of her accusation was absent.
“You are a petulant child,” retorted Elizabeth. “You were the one who was not attending to your business, and you have paid the price for it. Be silent and attempt to improve yourself rather than proving to us all how immature you are.”
Thereafter, Lydia was quieter, though she still moaned her displeasure more than anyone would have wished. It was, however, easier to endure her, and all breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was more than a little blunt,” observed Mr. Bennet when Elizabeth informed him of her reprimand of her sister.
“But not undeserved.”
“No, I dare say she deserved that and more.” Mr. Bennet nodded to her and smiled. “Hopefully it will improve matters for a time. Thank you, Lizzy, for while you will escape her when you travel to the north, we all must remain in her company. Your reprimand may even keep us all from bedlam.”
Thereafter, all Elizabeth’s hopes centered on her upcoming tour of the north country, for while Lydia’s loud recriminations had ceased, her petulance continued.
When a letter arrived from Aunt Gardiner explaining that her uncle’s business would not allow him time to visit all the lakes, the necessity of enduring a further two weeks in Lydia’s company left her feeling out of sorts.
Fortunately, Lydia said nothing of the matter, not caring whether Elizabeth stayed or departed.
Had Lydia deigned to share her opinion, Elizabeth was not certain she would have successfully held her temper.
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Unusual though it was, Darcy found himself disinclined to leave London that year.
Bingley’s words, spoken in jest, were nothing less than the truth, for Darcy had little care for society, and what tolerance he possessed was almost always exhausted by the end of May.
This was with his usual two weeks spent in Kent thrown into the bargain!
The reason for his unwillingness to go to the north was his continued ruminations about Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The scene in Mrs. Collins’s parlor had been difficult to endure, and the rational man in Darcy wondered if he were out of his wits to be considering whether he had any hope of changing her mind.
He could not help it. The discussion he had with Georgiana had fired his imagination, such that contemplating a life without proving to himself that the situation with Miss Elizabeth was beyond repair was incomprehensible.
Darcy knew of her generous nature and understood without a hint of doubt that she would give equal credence to the letter he had given her.
Would the information contained therein change her opinion of him completely, sufficient to induce her to fall madly in love with him?
Even in Darcy’s most feverish thoughts, he did not hope for so impossible an outcome.
Yet should she even allow for the chance of it being the truth, she would think better of him.
A man drowning in a flooded river would grasp at whatever branch floated his way, and Darcy found himself akin to a twig in that raging torrent.
Whatever her opinion of him before, he hoped she thought better of him now.
Hope was a strange phenomenon, prompting him to faith where no such evidence existed.
Could he change her opinion of him? Darcy was uncertain he knew the answer to that question.
But he would not forsake her, resolve never to see her again and live his life without her before first assuring himself of the hopelessness of his situation.
The problem, of course, was that he had no notion of how to go about putting himself in her company again.
The simple answer was to return to Pemberley for the summer, then accompany Bingley to Netherfield in the autumn, as Darcy was certain he had planted enough of a seed to feel secure it would take root in his friend’s heart.
Once Bingley was again in residence, Darcy could perceive the situation and act accordingly.
Where that argument fell apart was the absolute disinclination to wait until late August, or even September before seeing her again.
Darcy had never considered himself an impatient man, for he had often heard comments about his ability to consider every angle of a problem, not moving until he was certain what he should do.
Yet, he felt restless, as if to wait even a moment longer than necessary was to court disaster.
It was a strange feeling, but one that had taken over him, nonetheless.
Thus, he waited in London for a sign, wondering what it might be, and trying to puzzle out some way to put himself in her company again.
In a moment of insanity, he even considered calling at Lucas Lodge, little though he appreciated that gentleman’s company, counting on an invitation from him to remain in the neighborhood.
That path left little possibility of keeping his dignity intact, so he resisted the impulse.
“Brother,” asked Georgiana one evening while they sat together after dinner.
“Hmm?” asked Darcy incoherently and not at all attending his sister.
“Why are we yet in London?”
That caught Darcy’s attention. He regarded his sister, noting the crinkling skin at the corners of her eyes and the hand in front of her mouth hiding a smile. For a moment, Darcy could find no response.
“I suppose I might guess,” continued his sister when he remained silent. “To that, I can only say that I look forward to making Miss Bennet’s acquaintance, for she sounds like a lady well worth knowing.”
“She is,” replied Darcy reflexively. “The issue is I have no notion of how to put myself in her company again.”
Georgiana frowned. “That does appear to be a dilemma. Had Mr. Bingley not gone to the north, you might have accompanied him to his estate.”
“True,” replied Darcy. “But I think Bingley going to the north was for the best at the moment.”
While Georgiana looked at him with interest, Darcy would not approach the subject of his recent failures in advising his friend. He did wish to keep some vestige of his dignity about him after all.
“Then why do you not ask his permission to make use of Netherfield while he is gone?”
Darcy considered the notion, and while it was tempting, he rejected it after a moment’s reflection. It would raise questions on Bingley’s part, ones he did not wish to answer at present, to say nothing of what his sister’s reaction would be upon hearing of the application.
“I would not wish to put Bingley to such trouble,” said Darcy aloud.
“Even at the prospect of introducing me to my future sister?” was Georgiana’s cheeky reply.
“Even then. I would remind you that matters between Miss Elizabeth and myself are not such that I could hope to propose and expect a favorable response.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Georgiana. “Yet I have every confidence in your persuasiveness, Brother. If you show Miss Elizabeth your true worth, I do not doubt you will win her over.”
The praise from his sister was flattering, though Darcy had always known of her esteem for him.
They debated the various possibilities between them, throwing out several laughable notions that would only make him ridiculous.
While Darcy was eager to grasp at any straws, both concluded in the end that something must change before Darcy could act to put himself in Miss Elizabeth’s company again.
So they continued, as the city grew warmer with the onset of summer and all that entailed.
June had ended and the calendar turned to July, forcing Darcy to the realization that there was little reason to stay and every reason to retire to Derbyshire.
Thus decided, the siblings prepared for an immediate departure.
Salvation, however, came from a curious source and in an alarming set of circumstances, such that Darcy was grateful they had not left earlier.
It happened only two nights before they were to depart and without warning.
The first notion Darcy had that something was amiss was the sound of footsteps on the tiles of the corridor outside the sitting-room.
Even then, the door opened to reveal Fitzwilliam as he entered.
Georgiana’s exclamation and quick movement to put herself in his embrace obscured Darcy’s view of his cousin.
Then, however, he noted that something was amiss, for while Fitzwilliam greeted her with all the affection he ever had, his expression when it fell upon Darcy was no less than grim. Soon Georgiana noted it too, for she pulled back and fixed him with a quizzical look.
“Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, after giving Georgiana a brief smile, “We need to talk, for I bring tidings.”
Just like that, Darcy’s plans for the summer changed.