Chapter 20
Mr Bingley remained with them for another hour, then he left; Mr Bennet moved to the library with a glass of brandy, and Jane withdrew to rest in her room.
Finally alone, Elizabeth tried to put some order to her torment.
Anxious, with no one to talk to and advise her, she wandered aimlessly from one room to another, peering through the windows and straining her ears to catch sight or sound of a carriage that did not appear.
She was tempted to ask her husband’s valet about his whereabouts, but she felt ashamed to admit the servant might know more than she did.
Questions kept coming, one after another, with no answers.
After a while, the distress worked itself up into a pounding headache, so she lay down to rest; she fell asleep and woke up suddenly when sounds from her husband’s chamber startled her.
With a quick look in the mirror and a brief adjustment to her appearance, she knocked on the adjoining door but entered before he responded.
She found Mr Darcy sitting on the edge of the bed, his valet tending to his left hand.
Her husband looked uncomfortable and ready to protest, but she still stepped closer, until she observed the back of his hand was discoloured and bruised.
One more step revealed an ugly laceration on his forearm, caked with clotted blood, the wound still oozing.
He was pressing a piece of fabric against the cut to stop the bleeding, with no immediate success.
Elizabeth gasped in shock, then burst out, “Dear Lord, what happened? You are hurt! That wound is deep! We must fetch the doctor immediately!”
“Elizabeth, calm down! It is certainly not as bad as it looks. It is a flesh wound, and it is only bleeding. I shall fetch the doctor, but I wished for no commotion about this, from either the servants or your father and sister.”
“No commotion? Did you fear I would provoke a scandal, sir?” she enquired, offended by his patronising tone.
“I simply expressed my concern for your suffering, but I can see it was not needed. I am simply not accustomed to seeing someone in my family leave for business in the morning and return in the afternoon with a bleeding wound — probably from a knife.”
“I understand and I thank you for your concern, but discretion is of the utmost importance.”
“Yes, discretion and secrecy, I am well aware of that. You should think of using those words on your family crest — ‘Disguise and Conceal’,” she replied bitterly, turning round and returning to her room, slamming the door.
Irritating, hateful man! She was concerned for him, and he had treated her with such superior arrogance!
He wished for no commotion? Did he indeed?
Did he assume she wanted that? He wanted discretion?
What had she been but discreet and unobtrusive since he proposed the marriage contract to her?
Was she not discreet enough when she allowed him possession of her fortune without requesting his motives?
Her anxiety increased, fuelled by her constant pacing that stopped only at a knock on the door and his voice asking permission to enter.
“You may enter, of course. As I said before, it is your house,” she uttered icily.
“Elizabeth, may I ask why you are so angry with me? What have I done to upset you?”
His left arm was bandaged, and he held it close to his chest, supporting it with the right one. Through the white fabric, a few spots of vivid red had already appeared; the hand looked swollen and was probably hurting.
“What have you done? You are injured, and even a silly woman like me can guess it is the result of a fight. I suggested you fetch the doctor and you silenced me as if I were a hysterical simpleton.”
“I did no such thing. I appreciate your concern, and I tried to put you at ease. Also, I spoke the truth when I said I would not want to alarm your father and sister. That was all.”
His voice was calm and his countenance composed, albeit very pale, and her anger sounded disproportionate and unjustified even to her, which irritated her even more.
The question about the woman, which troubled her and exacerbated her feelings, seemed impossible to address at that time.
She took a deep breath and make a tremendous effort to speak calmly.
“May I ask what happened? How were you injured? You left home to attend to some business and to see Mr Wickham, you told me. Did you?” she enquired in a calmer voice.
“I did. The injury was an accident,” he answered bluntly, and her irritation increased anew, despite herself.
“Really? You cut your arm by accident, in the middle of the day, in the middle of London? Did your business, that kept you busy all morning, involve cooking, by any chance?”
“Your concern is more appreciated than your sarcasm and mockery, madam,” he responded coldly.
“Your insistence on keeping me ignorant of everything is even less appreciated, sir.”
“Every man has secrets that he is not allowed to reveal even if he wishes to because they are not necessarily his. A reasonable woman should understand that. I never promised you full disclosure of my affairs, so why would you even blame me for that?”
“I am certainly not qualified to meet your definition of a reasonable woman. I am tempted to enquire why you chose to marry me when you certainly could have found someone much more to your liking, but we both know the answer to that question,” she said.
There was a slight change in his stern expression, but she continued, “You are correct — I have no right to request anything that was not mentioned in the contract, and you may be assured I shall not repeat this mistake. However, you cannot fault me for being concerned if someone in this household is badly injured. I would have done the same for a servant.”
“I know you would have, madam. It is generally acknowledged that you are a most considerate and thoughtful mistress of this house,” he answered. They looked hard at each other for several instants, before he offered, “I hope you had a pleasant day with your father and sister.”
“We did. Mr Bingley was an amiable companion. We stopped at his house for some refreshments and were joined by Miss Bingley.”
“I am glad to hear that. Your relatives are resting now, I assume?”
“Only Jane. My father is in the library — he said you gave him permission to use it whenever he wished.”
“Of course. Being your father, he does not need my permission in this house. I shall adjust my appearance and spend some time with him before dinner.”
“Mr Darcy, while I am thankful that you wish to entertain my father, you had better take care of that wound. Whatever your diligent valet attempted, it is a spectacular failure. It is bleeding again, and your fingers look strange. You really must fetch the doctor immediately.”
He seemed about to object, so she added, driven by anger and frustration, “I do not mean to argue with you about the doctor, nor to interfere in your affairs, but you cannot blame me for trying to keep you in good health at least until you repay my me, as you promised.”
At this, he turned white, gazed at her in silence for a few moments, then walked back to his room and closed the door with his foot.
The satisfaction Elizabeth had expected to gain from that cruel statement vanished the moment Mr Darcy was gone, and instead, bitterness and a few tears clouded her eyes.
She had been hurt and offended and had tried to hurt and offend him in return; apparently, she had succeeded, but it had not diminished her anger and frustration.
And she had wasted the chance to ask him about that woman too.
Secrets not his own, indeed! If only he had agreed to summon the physician, something good would come out of the argument.
How could he be more preoccupied with entertaining her father than with his own wounded arm? What sort of man was he?
She breathed deeply, hesitated a moment, then knocked on his door again. After a moment of silence, he asked her to come in. She did so; he was talking to his man and paused, gazing at her, uncertain of her reason for entering again.
“Mr Darcy, please fetch the doctor. That is not a wound to trifle with. It needs proper care,” she said, keeping her voice low in what could have passed as a conciliatory tone.
“I was just asking Marston to fetch Dr Taylor,” he said, and the servant bowed and quit the room. “Thank you for insisting, Elizabeth,” he continued when they were alone.
She took another step forwards and sat on the chair in front of him. She looked at his arm, then touched it gently with her fingers.
“It looks bad. Can we do something before the doctor arrives? For your comfort at least?” she asked.
“Probably not. I doubt we have anything in the house for dressing wounds, except for brandy,” he replied, trying to jest.
“I hope Dr Taylor has experience with such injuries.”
“He must have. He has been with our family for many years, but he also served in the army for a while.”
“Good.”
“Elizabeth, you must know that I have not used your money yet. I am due to use it in a few days’ time, but I shall not if you have changed your mind and are opposed to it.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Mr Darcy. The subject of my fortune was discussed and agreed upon a long time ago. I shall not change my mind on something I gave you my word on.”
“Thank you. I shall inform you when the transaction takes place.”
“If you wish to. On this matter I trust your judgment and do not need further details.”
“I thank you again, Elizabeth. On other matters, I am not able to provide you with the details you want because I am not sure about them myself.”
“Can you at least tell me whether you met Mr Wickham and whether you have news about your sister? I know you were worried about her well-being.”
“I did meet Wickham. As for my sister, she is as well and safe as can be expected.”
His answer was still evasive, and she felt her ire rise again but tried to maintain her composure.