Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Darcy kept himself occupied in the hours that followed Wickham’s apprehension.
He had asked after Elizabeth—as she would forever be to him—as soon as he had finished his conference with Mr Bennet, only to learn that she had been given laudanum and was sleeping.
Her shoulder was bruised, and it was hoped there was no permanent damage; only time would tell.
He returned with Bingley to Netherfield, where he penned a message to his sister to explain his delay; a note to his servants telling them to return to Meryton; and a letter to his London physician to ask if there was any additional relief he could secure for Elizabeth.
Between himself, Bingley, and Mr Bennet, they had agreed on a witness statement that incriminated Wickham without reference to Elizabeth’s plan to meet him in advance.
All the servants of Longbourn had been instructed on what to say if anyone should ask after Elizabeth.
He had already spoken to the magistrate, an acquaintance of Mr Bennet’s, and given him sufficient detail to persuade him of the harm Wickham posed to the gentlefolk of Meryton.
All this he did with his customary decisiveness and speed.
But inwardly he was shaken. He did not like to close his eyes, for when he did all he could see was Elizabeth pinned underneath Wickham, fighting against his assault.
And then those hasty words, spoken to her in the heat of the moment!
He should have been gentler; he should have spoken with more kindness.
Why did he not confess all that was thundering through him—that in that terrible moment, he had realised everything she was to him, and he could not bear to see her come to harm.
A knock to Darcy’s door interrupted his torment. It was Bingley, enquiring after him. “I am well enough. Have you received any news of Miss Elizabeth?”
“Nothing yet. But after you left, I asked Mr Bennet to send word when she wakes, which he agreed to, gladly. He was very grateful to you, although he may not admit it to your face.”
Darcy’s heart clenched. “I am not sure if he has a good reason to be.”
“Whatever can you mean?”
Darcy indicated for Bingley to come inside and shut the door securely behind him. In low tones, he explained Georgiana’s near elopement, Wickham’s threat, and how Elizabeth had inadvertently discovered it. His friend listened carefully, making quiet noises of disgust.
“I must wonder at Miss Elizabeth, placing herself in danger. I always thought her a clever kind of girl, not the sort who would go looking for scrapes.”
“Miss Elizabeth’s intelligence is not in doubt. How was she to know the threat Wickham posed? There is no fault to ascribe to her, the blame must be mine and mine alone—I should have warned the world against him.”
“Did you know him to be capable of violence?”
“I never witnessed it myself, but I do know he has a quick temper, and it was once hinted to me that he does not like to have his wishes refused. There were always rumours amongst our servants that Wickham was not the pleasant young man he claimed to be. However, I never had firm evidence of violence—no one was ever willing to speak against him, and I am not sure my father would have believed it in any case.”
“You cannot blame yourself for not wishing to go against your father!”
He shook his head. “If I had more courage, then Miss Elizabeth would not be lying in bed injured.” He turned from Bingley, trying to conceal the flood of emotions raging inside him.
He had not cried in years, not since the death of his father, but he could still hear her begging Wickham to stop, and tears pricked in the corner of his eyes. “This is my fault.”
“Speak with her,” urged Bingley gently. “You will feel better for it, I am sure.”
Darcy did not trust himself to face his friend and nodded. “I shall think about your suggestion—and thank you for your swift actions today. I shall not forget them.”
Bingley placed a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “It was nothing you would not do for me. Now take some rest, I beg you. I have told my sisters that you returned because the weather made the journey to London impossible, and you did not wish to stay for several days in an uncomfortable inn.”
The news that Darcy would not have to suffer Miss Bingley’s impertinent questioning was very welcome.
Once Bingley left, he sank into the bed, his hands covering his eyes.
His body screamed for him to rest, but his mind would not allow it.
There must be more he could do to make amends for all the pain his inaction had caused.
“Lizzy, does your shoulder hurt you?” Jane’s soft voice called Elizabeth’s attention away from the fire.
“No. I am perfectly well,” Elizabeth lied.
A week had passed since her encounter with Mr Wickham, and the tender line of bruises that remained on her shoulder had prevented her from sleeping the night before.
Her head still throbbed from the silent tears she had shed into her pillow.
“Who are we expecting to call upon us today?”
“Mrs Hardcastle said she intended to visit when I saw her at church, and Mr and Mrs Sanderson expressed a wish to see you—” Jane regarded Elizabeth anxiously, “—unless of course you do not wish to receive them, and I should be happy to explain that you need a little longer to convalesce.”
“No, indeed. I would welcome the distraction.” A dull pain clung to Elizabeth’s heart.
Still no word from Mr Darcy, then. All week she had wondered if he might call upon her, and when he had not, Elizabeth had been required to hide her disappointment.
She spent much of her time by the fire, listening to books read aloud by Mary or Jane.
She could not bring herself to eat much, her appetite squashed by her shame at putting herself in harm’s way and how foolish she must appear in Mr Darcy’s eyes.
How sad it is that I should have lost his good opinion at the very time when I began to feel its value.
As though she could read her mind, Jane reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Mr Bingley said that Mr Darcy has been very busy dealing with Mr Wickham. He has done everything himself. He was due to return to London to see his sister, but he continues to prolong his stay.”
Guilt rose in Elizabeth’s chest. “What a pity. I am sorry to hear that all this unpleasantness has meant a delay to his plans.”
“No, you misunderstand, Lizzy. Mr Bingley gave me the impression that Mr Darcy very much wanted—” A loud knock to the front door interrupted whatever Jane was on the point of revealing.
“Whoever could that be? It is far too early for—” An ear-splitting screech echoed through the house.
Alarmed, Jane rose from her chair and went to the window.
“Whatever is it?”
Jane turned to Elizabeth, her face pale. “It is Mr Vanderbeck, come to stay by the looks of all his cases. Oh, and he has brought another monkey!”