Chapter 23 #2
“Exactly! Unlike our friends on the continent, who beheaded their criminals, England disposes of their criminals more … civilly. He would hang around”—Bingley chuckled—”Dear me, not that kind of hang.”
“Of course not,” Richard agreed dryly.
“He dawdled around the gallows,” Bingley said, “befriending the executioners so that they would hand over the bodies once their feet stopped twitching.”
Darcy shook his head at Bingley. Seeing how animated his amiable, sweet-tempered friend became over the macabre forced him to see Bingley in a whole new light.
“What is the matter Darcy?” Richard teased. “Aldini only did what any self-respecting doctor in need of dead patients would do.”
Bingley nodded. “That was how he chanced upon George Foster.” He glanced at the door, dropping his voice. “I saw it myself, though my uncle swore me to secrecy. Said my mother would stab him with all of her sewing needles if I let it slip he had taken me with him.”
Darcy had heard quite enough, but Bingley was on a roll.
“It was mid-January, just before the start of Hilary Term. I remember as clearly as if it were yesterday. The day was cold, but the room was stifling. Word had spread that the executed criminal was to be delivered to the Royal College of Surgeons. Quite a procession followed the porters inside. I had to stand on my toes to see anything. Strangers pressed all around, everyone staring at the body on the table. A few fainted.”
Pulse racing, Darcy hung onto Bingley’s every word. He had read about the spectacle in the papers years ago — Though the details had faded over time, who could completely forget such a sensational story? — but Bingley’s eyewitness account was more enthralling.
“Aldini connected Foster to the machine, and I swear on my life that what I am about to tell you is the honest truth. Foster’s jaw quivered and his face twisted and contorted.
I nearly lost my breakfast when his left eye popped open and he looked straight at me.
I swear I saw him take a breath before his hand raised into the air as though he proclaimed victory over death, then did a celebratory jig before the battery died …
and he died … again. It was a miracle. That was what the doctors called it, and I believe them. ”
“That is quite a story,” Richard said, rubbing his chin. “Chambers says Aldini has used this machine with great success treating melancholia and amnesia. He guarantees it is safer and less painful than other brain stimulation methods.”
Bingley, much more subdued, cleared his throat and rubbed his chin, too. “If the battery could spark a man back to life for a time, it is capable of resurrecting Elizabeth’s memories.”
Darcy clutched his stomach. “I cannot expect Elizabeth to try this.” He peered down at the unwieldy apparatus symbolizing Elizabeth’s most promising treatment.
This was the best modern science and medicine could do?
He shook his head, voicing his decision before he changed his mind. “I will test it first.”
Richard gaped at him. “You mean to strap that contraption to your head?”
“How can I ask Elizabeth to if I am unwilling to try it first? We have the instructions. It does not appear difficult.” Darcy said, sounding more stoic than he felt.
Bingley took a deep breath. “Allow me, Darcy. I am not near as clever as you are and will hardly notice if any damage is done if the machine malfunctions.”
“You are a braver man — and a better friend — than, I, Bingley,” mumbled Richard, studying the pages in his beefy hands.
Bingley was a good friend — the best — but Darcy could not accept his gallant offer. Elizabeth would never forgive him if his machine harmed her sister’s new husband, nor would he be able to forgive himself.
No. He was decided. He would be the first patient … or victim.
“Are you well, Darcy?” Richard asked for the twenty-sixth time since setting out from Netherfield.
Mrs. Bingley pressed her lips together and discreetly looked down. Once she realized what they were up to, and Bingley gave her a splendidly edited account of the machine and how it came to be in her parlor, she had insisted on joining them.
Bingley, too, watched him from the other side of the carriage. They had taken Darcy’s horse away, forbidding him from riding the short distance. Which explained his foul mood … in part.
He scowled. “If I were not completely well, we would not be on our way to Longbourn with that … thing.”
Bingley and Richard shared a look, their shoulders shaking and their guffaws loud.
Addle pated jackanapes. Darcy glared at them for good measure, taking solace in anger when his stomach tied in knots the closer the carriage drew to Longbourn.
He had bigger concerns than his strong reaction to the incredible machine.
Would Richard find Elizabeth changed? Would she remember him?
Descending from the carriage, seeing the crate safely settled in front of the door, Darcy prayed for a miracle.
Lively chatter and laughter burst through the door when it opened.
Someone played the pianoforte, and judging from the liveliness of the tune, Darcy knew it was Elizabeth.
What she lacked in technical skill, she more than made up for with charm and enthusiasm.
She rose from her piano stool as soon as they were announced, and Darcy waited with bated breath for her reaction. Did she recognize Richard?
Picking a path around the overly furnished room, she held out her hands, a warm smile reflecting in her rosy face. “Colonel Fitzwilliam! How wonderful to see you.”
Darcy’s breath exhaled in a slow hiss. How could Elizabeth remember the colonel, a man she had only met briefly at Hunsford, and not remember him?