Chapter 23
“Mr. Collins, I must insist that you leave Hertfordshire at once.” Darcy crossed his arms, the mere sight of the groveling toad stirring his blood and overwhelming Darcy with the desire to strangle the buffoon.
Richard moved closer, be it to restrain Darcy should he give in to his urges or to assist in his attack, he did not know. He did not really care.
The clergyman bowed, as was his wont. “Is my cousin much improved? I said as much to Lady Catherine when she inquired—”
Flashes of red colored Darcy’s vision. He prayed God witnessed his tremendous restraint and would remember him with favor should his path ever again cross with Mr. Collins in this lifetime.
Speaking through clenched teeth, Darcy interrupted, “She is as well as can be expected after the trauma of her accident and the betrayal of you, sir.”
“Wha—?” Mr. Collins sputtered.
“How dare you crawl at the feet of Lady Catherine when she viciously opposes your own cousin.” He could not call her his aunt any longer. She was as distant to him as a stranger.
“But—”
“Do you deny it? Just as you attempted to set Lady Catherine against Elizabeth when you prattled senselessly that we were engaged, interfering where you had no right and turning her into the target of Lady Catherine’s animosity?”
“Mrs. Collins’ heard word about your engagement in a letter from her family.”
“You would blame your wife and her family for your indiscretion?”
“Lady Catherine inquired directly—”
“And you felt it imperative to answer to her? You are a man of the cloth, Mr. Collins. You would do better to answer to God.”
Mr. Collins had sense enough to clamp his mouth shut.
Darcy, however, was not quite finished. “Did you or did you not agree to spy on Elizabeth for Lady Catherine?” He heard Richard gasp beside him, and when his cousin took another step forward, Darcy was certain where his inclination leaned. He would not hold Darcy back.
“It was hardly my intention—”
“Speak plainly, man,” growled the colonel, his hand at his hip. He did not wear a sword, but the effect was the same.
Mr. Collins squeezed his eyes shut, too cowardly to face them. “Not a spy. A mediator. Like Moses.”
“What did you tell Lady Catherine?” Darcy pressed.
“Only the truth. That Cousin Elizabeth does not yet remember you but appeared in every other way as healthy and sane as she ever was.” He peeked through the slits of his eyes, raising his hand to his throat and sighing as though relieved to find his head still attached.
He ought to be grateful. Not since Ramsgate had Darcy felt so murderous. Only his care for Georgiana had restrained him from calling out George Wickham.
Stabbing his finger into the center of Mr. Collins’ cravat, Darcy said, “If Lady Catherine acts against Elizabeth, if she does anything to distress her, I will hold you as accountable as I will hold Her Ladyship. Your punishment will be swift and thorough.”
Darcy spun away from the clergyman to the horses and galloped off as soon as his seat hit the saddle, needing distance from that despicable excuse of a relative and determining to foot the cost of breaking the entailment on Longbourn to sever all ties between the Bennets and that deferential sycophant.
It must be done. If there was a way — and in archaic legal matters, there always was — he would find it.
His blood cooled to a canter when Netherfield Park came into view and to a walk by the time they reached Bingley’s gravel drive.
“You are decided to end all association with Lady Catherine?” Richard asked. He was perceptive.
“Had she attacked me, I would bear it, but she aims her strikes at Elizabeth. If I am unwilling to put my betrothed’s protection before the wishes of my family, then I do not deserve her love and my vows would be reduced to a lie.”
Richard nodded, dismounting and tossing his reins to the stable boy, his steps slowing as they neared the front steps.
“You said in your message that she does not remember you.” He stopped, his hand gripping Darcy’s.
“I hate to ask, but how can you be certain she loves you if she cannot even remember you?”
Because I love her enough for both of us. Because if she does not, I would feel her loss like a death. Because I refuse to give up on her while there is yet hope. And I will always hope for Elizabeth. Darcy continued up the stairs, the words too painful, his throat too tight to speak them aloud.
Bingley strode out to them, his arms wide. “Colonel! I am delighted to see you!”
They clapped each other on the back, their greeting dampened by the gravity Darcy could not shake. He strode toward the stairs, intent on his mission to write to his man of business regarding the termination of the entail.
“Darcy, a moment, please,” Bingley called after him.
The colonel cautioned, “Best allow him to cool down. He came this close to bashing a brethren.”
Bingley coughed and convulsed, waving his hand at them while he recovered from his shock. “All the same, you will want to see what was delivered while you were away. Sent from Dr. Chambers.”
That caught Darcy’s immediate attention.
“I had the porters set it in the front parlor,” Bingley added, stepping into the room and handing the letter laying on top of the large, wooden crate to Darcy.
Darcy tore the paper in his haste to break the seal.
Inside was a drawing of the contents of the crate, along with instructions regarding its use.
His doctor’s handwriting filled both sides of the folded paper, and tucked inside was another letter from a Mr. Giovanni Aldini, who claimed to be the inventor of the device.
He read the instructions while Bingley rang for a servant and Richard impatiently pried off the lid. Shoving the packing aside, littering straw over the Turkish rug, Richard and Bingley stood over the crate, jaws open and speechless.
Having seen the illustrations and read the meticulous instructions, Darcy thought he was prepared to see the mechanism.
He was wrong.
A thick leather strap held with a silver buckle protruded with wires like the legs of a squid he had seen as a boy at an exhibition.
The strange sea creature had given him nightmares for months.
This machine, which was connected to a coiled rod, was rigged to send electrical charges into the brain. Transcranial electrical stimulation.
Was stimulation a kinder word for shock? The rough leather straps, crude wires, and bulky, rigid rods belonged inside Bedlam, not Bingley’s cheerful cream and yellow front parlor.
“This produces the ‘spark of life?’” Darcy asked incredulously.
Richard swallowed hard. “What do we know of this thing? Of its … creator?”
Bingley mumbled. “Blast if I know, but I have seen this before.”
Darcy shuffled through the papers. “Giovanni Aldini is the creator. An Italian physician and physicist, former professor of physics at Bologna, and currently residing in London … with strong ties to the Royal College,” Darcy answered, repeating the first paragraph of Mr. Aldini’s letter wherein he had established his credentials and handing the bulk of the papers to Richard for further examination.
“I remember!” Bingley exclaimed, snapping his fingers.
“His uncle was the one who did all of those experiments on dead frogs. I never saw it myself; it was before my time, you know, but my uncles took an interest in his machinery.” More finger snapping.
“Galvanizing … Galvinate … Galvani! Galvani was the uncle’s name. ”
Richard rifled through the papers, reading aloud, “Dr. Luigi Galvani, Italian physician, physicist, biologist, philosopher, and member of the Academy of Sciences. Aldini’s uncle.”
“Ha! And sworn enemy of Volta,” proclaimed Bingley, waving a finger in the air and very clearly enjoying his moment of superior knowledge.
Darcy’s brow furrowed. Volta. He knew that name. “The inventor of the battery — Alessandro Volta?”
“One and the same.” Bingley rocked back on his heels and up to his toes.
Richard raised his eyebrows. “You are quite the expert. What else can you tell us about this Aldini and his confounded contraption?”
Twirling to the door, leaning out and looking both ways, Bingley quietly closed the barrier behind him. “Just in case,” he whispered.
Darcy and Richard exchanged a worried look.
“I do not wish to disturb Jane,” he explained further, heightening Darcy’s apprehension.
Rubbing his hands together, Bingley began, “Aldini’s uncle discovered what he called ‘animal electricity.’ He did several experiments where dead frogs appeared to come to life when attached to his machine. As you can imagine, this caused quite a stir and earned him a bevy of critics and enemies.
“Ever the loyal nephew, and having taken an interest in his uncle’s experiments, Aldini moved beyond frogs’ legs to reanimate larger livestock. Given the opportunity to observe the grotesque, people flocked to his laboratory to watch. He was all the rage.”
A shiver shook Darcy to his feet. Grotesque, indeed.
“But his story gets better!” Bingley declared.
Richard grimaced, Darcy groaned, and Bingley continued chattering like an excited schoolboy.
“He soon began experimenting on human bodies. He would go to the Piazza Maggiore, wait for the executioner, and cart his beheaded prisoner back to his laboratory. Is it not the stuff of a gothic chapbook?”
Darcy questioned the soundness of his physician for sending this monstrous device.
“Unfortunately for Aldini,” Bingley continued, “his battery depended on body fluids to work, and the cadavers would be bled out by the time he reached his laboratory. He needed a corpse with a head.”
Glancing at the door to make certain it remained closed, Darcy mumbled, “That was how he came to England? The promise of whole cadavers?” He shivered again, his stomach twisting.