Chapter 21 Convalescence #2
Mary smiled. “Yes, sir. She woke about two hours ago and took her willow bark tea, nearly two cups, and the herbal draught. She tires easily, let me rouse her for the treatment.”
Mary went to the bedside. “Lizzy, wake up. Can you hear me?”
“Yes.” It was little more than a whisper.
“Turn to your side. Mr. Darcy is here to give you a treatment.”
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, my dear. I have not the strength to perform it alone, and we judged you would prefer the assistance of a friend to that of a footman.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth turned as directed, and Mr. Darcy drew near.
“Miss Bennet, pray tell me if I cause you pain.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mary took her place on the other side and supported her sister, while Mr. Darcy gathered Elizabeth’s curls and laid them over her shoulder, that he might not pull upon her hair as he performed the treatment.
“Mrs. Collins, I do not wish to cause Miss Elizabeth pain.”
“Lizzy is awake, sir. She will tell you if the cupping proves too vigorous or causes discomfort.”
Hesitantly, he began the percussion along the length of her back, and almost at once a cough seized Elizabeth and continued until she could no longer bear it.
“My sides pain me.”
Mary leaned close. “Your sides, Lizzy? They pain you?”
“Yes, from coughing.”
Mr. Darcy stepped back. “Perhaps it would better serve Miss Elizabeth if I return in two or three hours and perform a shorter session. Do you believe that would answer?”
“Yes, sir, I believe it may.”
“Mrs. Collins, her skin is flushed.” Mr. Darcy turned to Mary in inquiry.
Mary placed her hand upon Elizabeth’s forehead. “She needs more Willow Bark tea.”
Miss Anne poured a cup of the tepid tea and offered it to her friend.
Darcy watched as she took the light amber draught. She returned the half-filled cup to Mary.
“Lizzy, my dear, pray finish it. You are feverish, and this is Willow bark. It will make you more comfortable.”
Elizabeth did not resist but drank the remainder, then slipped beneath the coverlet.
Darcy regarded her with concern. “Mrs. Collins, her lips have a bluish cast.”
“Yes, sir, yet she improves. Each treatment clears her lungs a little more. To my eye, she appears better.”
It was arranged that he should return in three hours, and the two cousins withdrew.
When they entered the library, Georgiana rose at once. “How is Lizzy?”
Darcy was grave. “She is ill, Georgie. I am concerned about her. She can scarcely speak and remains feverish. Her lips bear a bluish cast.”
“No, Fitzwilliam,” Anne said. “Dr. Miller assured us she is young and strong. You must not distress yourself, nor Georgiana. Lizzy will recover. Did not Mary tell us she sat up this morning and took two cups of tea? She has already improved.”
“But her lips are blue, and her skin looks gray...”
“You must not brood. She is better. Go out and ride. Richard, go with him. When you return, cousin, we shall take a light luncheon, and then you will attend to Lizzy’s treatment. You will see for yourself that she is recovering.”
He rose. “Yes, of course. I shall go up and change. Georgiana, come with us. I fear I have distressed you, but a ride upon Daisy will restore you.”
Two hours later, Darcy tapped upon the door.
He was afraid. Would Elizabeth improve? She appeared wholly altered.
This was not the same woman whose songs had carried him to the heights of delight and then cast him into the depths with their haunting words and melancholy strain.
This was not the same woman who could run for miles along the bluffs, her curls loosening and falling down her back.
The door opened quietly.
Mrs. Collins stepped aside to admit him. He followed her to the bed. His cousin prepared the bitter tea, but his attention rested only upon Elizabeth. She lay with the coverlet drawn to her chin, her cheeks flushed and her forehead damp.
“Is she worse, Mrs. Collins?”
“No, sir. Dr. Miller was here and reports improvement in her lungs. He hears air throughout, even to the lower parts. He has brought a stronger preparation of the expectorant, a blend of three herbs.”
She indicated a jar of syrup upon the table.
“Will she take it in her tea?”
“Yes, sir. He appears satisfied with her progress, for as he observed, her mind no longer wanders, and Lizzy takes all the fluids I offer her.”
“Has she taken any nourishment?”
“No. She declares she has no appetite and feels too fatigued to eat.”
“Mrs. Collins, I nearly forgot. I have received an express from my coachman. He expects to arrive late this evening. They would have come sooner, but your sister delayed the journey.”
He took a note and a letter from his jacket pocket and offered them to Mary.
Her eyes ran down the short note. “Sir, Miss Bennet sent a servant to Harpenden for a length of woolen cloth, squill syrup, and tincture of senega root. We took a meal in the kitchen while the lady packed her trunk, and the medicines were sent for. Mr. Bennet has enclosed a letter for Mrs. Collins.”
She raised her eyes in relief. “Thank goodness Jane will be here today.” She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. “Thank you, sir. I feel greatly comforted with this news.”
“Shall we begin the treatment, ma’am?”
“Yes, sir.” She set the letters aside and went to her sister.
“Lizzy, Mr. Darcy has come to perform your percussion.”
Darcy saw that Elizabeth did not answer. “Is she very ill, Mrs. Collins?”
“No, sir, but she passed a difficult night, and neither of us slept well. I believe she is only fatigued. Still, we must proceed. Pray come, sir, I shall hold her for you.”
“Lizzy, my dear, I shall turn you upon your side.”
As Mary moved her, Elizabeth woke and complied.
“Miss Elizabeth, I shall begin.”
Darcy commenced the percussion, and a cough soon seized Elizabeth. She endured for nearly ten minutes, but then Darcy heard her groan.
“My ribs pain me.”
Mary looked to Mr. Darcy, and he ceased. “Lizzy, you say the muscles along your ribs are painful?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Mrs. Collins, shall I return in two hours for another treatment?”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Miller was firm about this.”
He stepped back from the bed, uneasy. Elizabeth lay curled, and she winced each time the cough racked her body.
“Ma’am, she is suffering.”
“Yes, sir. She says her lungs pain her when she coughs. They burn. I am boiling water to prepare an onion poultice, which seems to afford her some relief.”
“I shall leave you then. Pray, inform me if you have any need. Have you sufficient elecampane syrup?”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Miller has provided all that Lizzy requires. Mr. Darcy, he assures me her lungs have shown improvement.”
Anne came near with the willow bark tea and offered it to Elizabeth. She struggled to rise, and before he considered the impropriety, Mr. Darcy stepped forward and supported her back and shoulders with one arm as he raised her. She did not appear aware of his assistance. She took the cup and drank.
“The tea does not appear hot, cousin. I see no steam.”
“Fitzwilliam, she must take it all at once, for she tires easily. She has asked that it be served tepid, so we prepare it in advance and let it sit until she needs it.”
“I understand.”
When she finished drinking, he eased her back upon the pillows, then withdrew from the room.
Alone in the hall, a powerful feeling overcame him, a fear of loss. Tears rose at the thought that he might lose her. He must act. He could not stand by while she declined from this illness.
He hastened down the stairs and called to the butler. “Drake, send for the physician. I fear Miss Bennet requires his care.”
“Yes, sir, at once.”