Chapter 2 #2
She hesitated, biting her lip. “It might be a wise precaution to fetch a surgeon. If my attempt to remove the elfshot fails, the next choice would be to amputate her arm, and time is of the essence.”
“Will that save her?”
“Logic says it should do so, but elfshot does not always follow the laws of logic.”
Darcy nodded to Richard, who left the room. He did not even want to think about how his aunt would react if she awoke without an arm. She might prefer to be dead.
Elizabeth glanced down at Lady Catherine and then back at Darcy. “If I am able to remove the elfshot, do you have the ability to destroy it? Otherwise it will seek her out again.”
“Naturally,” he said, stung by the doubt in her voice. “What else will you need?”
“Everything I need is in my satchel, but perhaps I can start without it. A sharp knife and a tourniquet to begin with. An unstarched cravat and a stick will serve admirably as a tourniquet. Forceps, if there are any at hand. Rags for when the bleeding starts. Perhaps her maid could cut away the sleeve of her dress.”
“No servants.” If word got out that he had employed a wisewoman, he would lose the last vestiges of trust from the Collegium. The same would be true if Lady Catherine died suspiciously in his presence, or he would never have resorted to this. “I will fetch what you require.”
Elizabeth looked surprised. “Very well. Charlotte, dear, will the sight of Lady Catherine’s blood trouble you? ”
By the time Richard returned with word that the surgeon had been sent for, Elizabeth’s satchel had arrived, and she had set the tourniquet in place on Lady Catherine’s upper arm. She rummaged through the satchel and removed several objects, including a small metal tin. Her movements were efficient and competent.
Despite himself, Darcy could not take his eyes from her. This was a side of Elizabeth he had never seen before and hardly even guessed at. The stories he had been told of wisewomen always portrayed them as crones who were more than half lunatic, scattering herbs and drawing signs in the air. No one had ever mentioned they could be bewitchingly beautiful with fine eyes. Standing beside her was torture.
Elizabeth stripped off the wire holding the tin closed. Could that thick lining inside the tin be iron? She gingerly lifted out a stone arrowhead. Perhaps this was the start of the lunatic bit.
“What is that?” Darcy asked.
“Inert elfshot.” She did not look at him.
He reached past her. The stone tingled at his touch, and he snatched his hand away.
“Mostly inert,” she said with a slight smile. “Otherwise it would not help me.” She slid the arrowhead along Lady Catherine’s arm until it abruptly stopped as if of its own accord. “Yes, definitely elfshot. It seeks out its own kind. But I suppose you know that.”
He could almost hear the echo of her voice. I resolved long ago never to marry a mage, and nothing will induce me to change my mind. “No. We learn other things in the Collegium.”
She raised her eyebrows at him and then returned the arrowhead to its iron box. She took up her scalpel and wrapped the handle in a scrap of cloth, but then stopped short. She held out the candlestick from the bedside table to Mrs. Collins. “Charlotte, could you light this, if you please?” Her voice was oddly flat.
Darcy flicked a finger. “ Ardescas .” The wick caught with a steady flame.
“Thank you.” The words sounded forced. Elizabeth held the scalpel in the flame until the tip of it glowed.
“Why do you –”
“Elfshot dislikes fire,” she snapped. “It is difficult enough doing this with a mage in the room without having to explain everything.”
Mrs. Collins asked timidly, “Should I hold her arm down?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No need. She can feel nothing while she is under the influence of elfshot.”
Darcy sucked in his breath as Elizabeth made a deep slice in his aunt’s arm. She did not hesitate, though, poking deeper with the scalpel as blood welled around it.
“There,” she murmured. She held out her hand. “The inert elfshot, if you please. Mind the edges of it.”
Darcy hastened to obey. Elizabeth took it without a word and set it directly in the wound. Could that possibly be safe? But there was nothing safe about any of this.
What was happening? She did not seem to be doing anything. But suddenly she had two arrowheads in her hand. She pulled the second one off using the forceps and held it out in his direction. “Do it.”
He murmured the words of unmaking, and the elfshot dissolved into ashes. “Is she safe now?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “There are still traces I must remove.” She leaned over the wound and covered it with both her hands, one on top of the other. Mrs. Collins wiped away the oozing blood.
Since it seemed there was nothing further he could do to assist her, Darcy stepped back. It was safer that way. The immediate crisis was over, and being near her just reminded him of all he had lost. He had offered her everything he possessed, and she had disdained it. He was the last man in the world she could be prevailed upon to marry. And while he might be seeing a new side of her today, his desire for her was unchanged. He ached for her, and she wanted nothing to do with him.
But he could not stop watching her. He settled in a chair where he could see her face. Her fingers were moving near the wound, but her eyes were closed. It must be part of the wisewoman show, but he was surprised Elizabeth would indulge in such theatrics.
As silent minutes passed, a look of strain came over Elizabeth’s face. Her body grew rigid and beads of perspiration began to form on her forehead. Her eyes were tightly shut.
Could something have gone amiss? Were the traces of elfshot affecting Elizabeth? Dear God, he could not bear it if something happened to her! Perhaps he should put a stop to this.
Mrs. Collins asked, “Lizzy, are you unwell?”
Elizabeth shook her head almost imperceptibly but remained silent.
Finally, after what felt like hours, she lifted her hands and opened her eyes. “Charlotte, would you bandage the wound? I am too...” Her voice trailed off, and she collapsed into a nearby chair, her hands still covered with blood. She sighed heavily and looked straight at Darcy. “You might have warned me she had magic of her own.” Her voice was accusing. “She fought me every inch of the way.”
“Magic?” Darcy bristled at the implication. “My aunt has no magical abilities.”
“You may believe that if it gives you comfort.” She sounded exhausted. It was unlike Elizabeth to give in so easily.
Richard frowned and laid his fingertips on Lady Catherine’s throat. Surely he was not taking this ridiculous allegation seriously! He straightened, his face losing its color. “Miss Bennet is correct. Ice cold Fitzwilliam power.”
How could it be?
His cousin shook his head in disbelief. “I apologize, Miss Bennet. We had no idea. Either she herself is unaware of it, or she disguised it very well.” He crossed to the side table, poured water from the ewer into the basin, and carried the basin and towel to Elizabeth.
She seemed confused by his offering. Richard knelt beside her, dipped the towel in the water, and began washing the blood from her hands.
“Thank you,” she murmured, as if too tired to speak aloud.
Richard was staring at her hand. “Darcy,” he said evenly. “I don’t suppose you can do anything for burns.”
That was enough to rouse Darcy from his stunned state. He hurried to her side. Her fingers, her beautiful fingers that he had admired as they moved across the piano keys, were covered with red, angry blisters. Gently, reverently, he took her hand in his own, careful to touch only where the skin was intact.
“What are you going to do?” she asked wearily.
He could not give the answer that sprang immediately to his mind, so instead he said, “I cannot heal the burns, but I can encourage your skin to grow quickly.” Taking her lack of protest as consent, he muttered the words to spur healthy growth. It made no visible difference, but he could feel it working, the throb of growth, the rush of healing blood under her skin. It was dizzyingly intimate.
“That does feel better.” She sounded surprised – and more alert. How had she recovered so quickly?
Of course. He should have known. Richard was on her other side, his fingertips on the inside of her wrist. He must be feeding her power, replenishing what she had exhausted.
Mrs. Collins said, “Lady Catherine is stirring!”
Elizabeth’s expression brightened. “Good. That means all the elfshot is gone.”
“She will be well again?” asked Richard.
“Eventually. The other person I know of who survived elfshot babbled meaningless nonsense when he first awoke, and it was more than a week before he was himself again. Some residual influence of the elfshot, I assume.”
Richard’s lips quirked. “But how will we know if she is babbling meaningless nonsense or is merely being her usual self?”
Elizabeth started to laugh and covered it with a cough, but her eyes sparkled.
And Darcy still cupped her hand in his. He said huskily, “That is the limit of my ability to help. I am sorry I can do no more.”
Elizabeth tentatively stretched her fingers and then closed her hand. “It hardly hurts now, and I feel much better. I thank you.”
Darcy looked away, already missing the touch of her hand. “That is Richard’s doing, not mine. Restoring strength is his gift.”
Richard took his fingers from Elizabeth’s wrist and straightened. “You seemed in need of it.” His cheeks bore a telltale flush. “And now we should feed you. Between what you did and Darcy’s healing, you must be hungry enough to eat the counterpane.”
Elizabeth gave a half smile. “I was thinking of starting with the bed curtains, actually. They look more appetizing.”
WHAT HAD SHE DONE?
The colonel had been correct when he said she would be hungry. Elizabeth had never been so famished in her life. Of course, she had never used so much magic at once, either. It was all she could do not to attack the tray of pastries and cold meats with both hands. Picking delicately at her food like a lady was out of the question, so she settled for eating at a steady pace, even if in an unladylike amount. The colonel ate just as heartily. Fortunately Elizabeth could leave the care of Lady Catherine to Charlotte for the moment.
Colonel Fitzwilliam kept up a steady stream of conversation between bites, but Mr. Darcy had excused himself as soon as the food arrived. At first it was a relief not to have to worry what he thought of her at every moment, but now she feared where he might have gone. Was his willingness to tolerate women with magic not as great as his letter had implied? Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam was merely keeping her here while Darcy took steps to prepare a binding spell. Oh, she could not bear it, especially not from him!
Why, oh, why had she done it? She could not have exposed herself more completely if she had made a deliberate attempt. He already had reason to believe she might have magic, but now she had shown it without a shadow of a doubt. Why had she not told Mr. Darcy there was nothing she could do? She could have stopped her efforts rather than use her powers when Lady Catherine’s magic had attacked her. Lady Catherine might have lost her arm or even her life, but Elizabeth would not be at risk of losing everything she cared about. If she had stopped, Darcy would have thought her no more than another harmless wisewomen employing charms she did not understand.
And to expose herself to Mr. Darcy, of all people! The man she had insulted gravely only two days ago, the man who had no reason to think kindly of her or to protect her. She might as well have thrown herself off a cliff.
To make it worse, she could not even claim that the cause of her downfall had been a desire to heal Lady Catherine. It had been her pride, her ridiculous, dangerous pride. Mr. Darcy had insulted her abilities, her family, and herself. When he had needed her help, she could not resist the chance to show him her skills were not useless. And then, after it was too late, she had not known when to stop.
But Colonel Fitzwilliam had been so kind to her. He had shown no shock or dismay and had treated her as if it were a natural thing for a woman to have magic. Was there a chance he would defend her?
She swallowed down a bite of pastry. “Colonel, you do not seem troubled by what I did.”
“Saving Lady Catherine?” he teased. “No doubt I will regret it someday when she is chastising me for breathing improperly or some other sin, but I could not have left her to die.”
“But you did not expect how I would do it, and I am a woman.”
“A very lovely one at that!”
She hesitated. “The Collegium of Mages takes the position that women cannot be trusted with magic because their weaker characters and lack of reason would make them too susceptible to the temptations of sorcery.”
The colonel’s lips twitched with amusement. “I believe there is also something in there about women’s poor moral judgment and inability to tell right from wrong, but you are in general correct. I do wonder how the men who think that way permit such deficient creatures to raise their children! As for your use of magic, well, I have a sister. I am aware many women have the ability. It appears you use your powers for healing. Why should I object?”
“Many mages would already have put a binding spell on me.”
He shook his head. “Many mages still have their heads in the Middle Ages. I take a more scientific view. All the Fitzwilliams do. We have seen how power so often goes from parent to child. It does not favor the eldest son nor the youngest daughter.”
Relief trickled through her. “That is indeed modern thinking. I had not realized anyone held such views.”
“If you look at the evidence, it is clear. Your father is a mage, is he not?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “He rarely uses his powers, though.”
“Even so, as soon as I knew that, I assumed you were likely to be gifted with magic. Darcy confirmed it when I asked him after our first visit.”
Shock riveted her in place. “Mr. Darcy knew ? ”
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. “You thought he did not?”
“I was terrified he would guess! How did he find out?” And he had proposed to her anyway!
“Something about your effect on his elemental magic. I do not remember the details.”
Her magic affected him? Then he must have known all along, all those months when she had been so frantically worried he would discover her secret! “I had no idea.”
“Even without that, he knows magic is often inherited. My grandfather noted the pattern, and when he realized my father had unusually strong abilities, he made a point of marrying his other children into families with powerful mages. Darcy’s father was an expert at manipulating the elements, and my grandfather hoped his daughter would produce a son with both elemental powers and the ability to create spells. Alas for Darcy, he got only the elemental powers, but with the strength of the Fitzwilliam magic. The poor fellow cannot create even the most basic spell, but he always has to be careful not to inadvertently cause a flood or set a fire. Lady Catherine denied having any magic, but my grandfather married her off to a strong mage anyway. Perhaps he knew she was not telling the truth. I myself have only the abilities that run in my mother’s family, not my father’s.”
Elizabeth’s tea had cooled. But now that there was no need for secrecy, she might as well have hot tea. She wrapped her hand around her teacup and willed the temperature to rise. “If Mr. Darcy cannot use spells, how did he heal my hands?”
“He can employ spells designed by another mage. He simply cannot create his own.”
“If it is not improper to ask – if he can heal, why did he not offer to mend Lady Catherine’s wound?”
The colonel shook his head. “Healing a blood relative is dangerous. Too often it turns out badly, usually in some unexpected way.”
Was that why her remedies always seemed to make Jane sicker instead of restoring her health? If only she had known! “What sort of power did you inherit from your mother?”
“Me? I am a source. I can provide power to another mage. I can sense spells – what they are, who made them, that sort of thing. Most mages can do a bit of that, but not as easily as a source. Nothing dramatic, I fear.”
“But very useful on occasion, I imagine. I certainly appreciated your confirmation about Lady Catherine’s magic.”
“Yes, there was that.” He tapped his finger on the side of the table. “What troubles me is how it has gone unnoticed for so long in a family like mine. Why have I never sensed it from her before?”
Elizabeth considered. “Might she have a way of covering it up? She was unconscious when you checked her. Perhaps if she had been awake, you would have found nothing.”
“That, my dear, is an interesting thought. I must ask my father about it. Lady Catherine’s hatred of being touched may play a role. I cannot remember the last time she offered me her hand.”
“Truly? She does it frequently with Mr. Collins.”