Chapter 5 - Recovery
Pemberley, Derbyshire
Louisa
Louisa couldn’t sleep. It was nearly morning and she was weary to the core. Yet, sleep eluded her.
George slumbered peacefully beside her. She had insisted on keeping George with her after his escapade the previous night, not allowing her husband to take him back to the nursery. She wanted George close, at least for this night.
But it wasn't George on her mind now. It was Caroline and what she had revealed during their visit to her estate in Hull.
Louisa vividly recalled the guilt etched on Caroline's countenance and the fear reflected in her eyes concerning their brother's potential reaction to the truth.
Louisa understood the rationale behind Caroline's fears, prompting her to implore Caroline to not disclose anything to their brother.
There was no need for further divisions within the family.
Charles and Caroline hadn't corresponded in almost seven years.
Now, reunited after this considerable time, why introduce another matter that might potentially drive them apart once more?
After all, family is more important than friendship.
But she wasn't so sure about that anymore.
It wasn't anyone in her family who had braved a twelve-mile journey in the worst weather she had ever witnessed to summon a specialist healer for Jane.
It wasn't anyone from the Bingley or Hurst family who had fearlessly ventured out on this ominous night to retrieve her son and protect him from a criminal.
What should I do? Should I discuss Caroline's revelation with Charles? How might Mr. Darcy react if he were to find out? Could he insist that everyone leave Pemberley? He would have every right to do so.
Her husband entered the room, closed the door, and lay down beside her. Louisa longed to turn and rest her head on his broad chest, to feel his comforting embrace and soothing presence. However, she hesitated, not feeling deserving of his care. A sense of guilt weighed upon her.
How will Reginald respond to all of this? He has always held Mr. Darcy in the highest esteem. Would he forgive me if my revelation about Caroline's secrets results in another rift between Charles and Mr. Darcy?
She felt her husband's strong arms encircle her, drawing her closer. He planted a tender kiss on the top of her head. Louisa could hear his heartbeat, and in that moment, she felt his boundless love for her coursing through her very being.
Louisa Hurst had a decision to make—one that had the power to estrange her from everyone she now considered her family. She had everything to lose.
Darcy
Darcy, too, found himself weary. He had just endured a twelve-mile journey in the most inclement weather imaginable. Then he had to go through all the emotional drama of trying to save Elizabeth and George from Wickham. The temptation to collapse on a bed and surrender to slumber was strong.
Yet, he resisted the urge. Instead, he settled on a bench along the long corridor adjacent to the invalid chamber, positioning himself at a distance to afford them privacy.
Mr. Archer had requested three hours to observe the effects of whatever medicine he had already administered.
Darcy agreed to wait patiently to hear his prognosis.
When Mrs. Reynolds walked in, he invited her to sit near him on the bench.
She too appeared weary. It was already approaching dawn, and she, just like him, hadn’t slept a wink.
When she leaned back and closed her eyes, Darcy realized that she was falling asleep.
He immediately ascended to his chamber and retrieved a blanket, which he gently draped over her, careful not to disturb her slumber.
Then he sat beside her, ensuring she didn’t fall from the bench.
Elizabeth
Elizabeth had also drifted into slumber. When she opened her eyes after what she believed to be a short time, it was close to sunrise.
Gradually sitting up on her bed, she assessed her ankle.
As Mr. Archer had predicted, the swelling had subsided.
He had assured her that her ankle was not fractured and could mend within days as long as she refrained from placing weight on it.
He had even provided her with a walking companion—an inquisitive Y-shaped stick now resting against the wall.
Elizabeth asked the maid to fetch it for her.
Her initial attempts to support herself with the stick proved challenging.
Nevertheless, she persisted. Within minutes, she succeeded in walking slowly out of her chamber and into the corridor, her left leg never making contact with the ground.
It was then that she saw them. Mr. Darcy reclined in his seat, his eyes closed, perhaps in slumber.
Mrs. Reynolds, bundled in a blanket, lay with her head nestled on Mr. Darcy's shoulder.
She was fast asleep. Mr. Darcy's protective arms encircled the kind housekeeper, ensuring she wouldn't fall from the bench.
Elizabeth stood at the corridor, captivated by the sight before her.
This was the man whom she had once deemed proud and disdainful to those beneath his status.
Yet, this was the same man who took it upon himself to rescue them when they found themselves stranded in the snow with a damaged carriage and no means to escape.
Yesterday, he risked his own life in an attempt to save her sister, someone entirely unrelated to him, someone for whom he had no obligation to care.
Now, he is tending to his ageing housekeeper, his servant, even while being utterly fatigued himself.
He could have easily retreated to his own chamber for a comfortable rest. But he chose to remain here, ever ready to be of service whenever needed.
How could I have misjudged him so? I had observed his interactions with the servants at Netherfield, noticing no trace of pride or disdain.
Not once had I heard any of the servants complain about him in my presence.
In stark contrast, I'd overheard numerous complaints against Miss Bingley.
Why had I ever formed the notion that he held those beneath his station in disdain? How blind and prejudiced I was?
Elizabeth stood there, staring at the gentleman for a long time. When her leg began to ache, she slowly made her way into Jane's chamber, her heart heavy with regret.
Darcy
Darcy was roused from slumber by a gentle tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Mr. Archer standing before him. His movement also stirred Mrs. Reynolds, who greeted him with a smile, grateful for the blanket that covered her.
"Good Morning, Mr. Darcy. I promised to share my thoughts on the invalid after three hours. I will do so now, and you can retire to your chamber for a more comfortable rest after hearing my prognosis."
Darcy stood and stretched his weary limbs. His body ached all over, and the prospect of sinking into a soft bed was indeed attractive.
"The medicine I administered is known to be effective in clearing lung congestion and airways.
However, it induces coughing as a side effect.
Mrs. Bingley will have three most uncomfortable days ahead, with constant coughing and the need to clear phlegm from her system.
Keeping her well-hydrated is vital to ease the process.
Her recovery speed depends on how efficiently she can expel the phlegm.
I must closely monitor her progress, so if you could arrange a chamber for me, I would be most grateful. "
Mrs. Reynolds hastened to fulfil Mr. Archer's request, while Darcy voiced the most pressing question.
“Will she survive, Mr. Archer? How confident are you of her recovery?”
"I believe she will survive, Mr. Darcy. As for confidence, I am quite certain. It hinges on how well we can aid her in clearing the congestion. She requires constant hydration and supervision. Someone must always be at her side."
That was no trouble at all. Since Mrs. Bingley's arrival, she had never been left alone.
"Mr. Darcy, once the chamber is prepared, I shall rest. You should do the same. Her husband and sister are with her now. As for her sister, her ankle is recovering well. It is merely a sprain, and she is already moving about with support."
Something about Mr. Archer’s tone gave him pause. Did he detect my fondness for her?
However, Darcy was in no mood to delve further into such thoughts.
He promptly withdrew to his chamber, nearly collapsing onto his bed.
Yet, a dreamless sleep eluded him. His dreams were free from the harrowing events of the day.
Wickham, his childhood friend turned nemesis, never made an appearance.
Instead, he dreamt of the captivating eyes of a graceful woman and her shapely, white ankle.
Saturday, December 18, 1819
Jane
Jane felt as though she had swallowed an elephant, her throat so constricted that she was having difficulty breathing. She was enduring the most severe bout of coughing she could ever recall.
Opening her eyes, she noticed her husband sleeping peacefully in the chair by her bedside. Despite her coughing nearby, he seemed undisturbed. How can he sleep so soundly with all this noise I'm making?
Lizzy sat in a chair across the room, accompanied by a maid, both of them asleep.
A curious stick was placed between them, piquing her curiosity.
She briefly considered waking Charles, but seeing him in need of rest, she thought better of it.
It was clear that everyone was worried about her.
She wondered how many days had passed since she fell ill.
She gently caressed her husband’s head. Another bout of cough awoke Lizzy. Her sister attempted to rise from her seat but sat back down, seemingly unwell.
Oh no! What happened to her?
Elizabeth
Elizabeth awoke to the sound of someone coughing.
She opened her eyes to find Charles sitting in a nearby chair, his head leaned towards Jane's bed.
Jane, with her eyes open, was slowly caressing his head.
The scene was so tender that Elizabeth gazed intently at the couple.
It took some time for her weary consciousness to grasp the most crucial detail she had missed.
Oh my God! Jane is awake?
Determined to get up, Elizabeth faltered and sank back into her chair. Oh no! Where is my stick?
She grabbed the stick from the wall and hobbled to her sister, who was looking at her curiously. Ah Jane, I have many stories to tell.
She gently touched Jane's forehead and discerned that the fever had abated, precisely as Mr. Archer had predicted the day before. Oh, Mr. Archer, you are truly a visionary.
After another severe bout of cough, that almost shook the entire bed and also managed to wake up her husband, Jane leaned back on to her pillow and closed her eyes. Elizabeth gazed at her brother, who was frantically checking his wife’s temperature, and smiled.
Jane was finally on the path to recovery. It promised to be an uncomfortable and noisy journey, given the severity of her cough.