Chapter 10
Darcy
Darcy had never before seen Elizabeth looking ill. Weak. Fragile.
It frightened him, but he felt an overwhelming desire to protect her—even from bad air and unseen “seeds” of disease.
It was not his house, therefore not his place to give orders, and yet he almost instantly began giving orders to Bingley and Miss Bennet, and when the servants and housekeeper arrived, he gave orders to them as well.
The results of all those orders, an hour later, were many and varied.
Miss Bennet and Elizabeth were installed in guest rooms at Netherfield, wearing nightgowns borrowed from Georgiana; Elizabeth was fast asleep.
The Bennet carriage had returned home to let the family know Elizabeth had fallen ill; the driver promised to return in the morning with trunks of clothing for the two ladies.
The apothecary had come and gone, having stated that he was almost positive that Elizabeth would be well—was well, already, just very tired.
However, the man had seemed a bit worried or distracted, which Darcy could not like.
His pointed further questioning of the apothecary had elicited no additional information.
Darcy only left Elizabeth’s side when two maids had promised not to leave until he was back, even on orders of the mistress or master of the household.
They had looked sceptical about that order, and Darcy had written out a promise that, if they had stood by his lady, as he requested, and on that basis were let go, he would hire them at whichever of his properties they wished.
Then Darcy had hastened to his room, dressed for bed with the help of his valet, and gave him orders for even more scrutiny and care than usual.
Darcy then went back to Elizabeth’s chamber and asked the two maids to take turns sitting up with him and his intended, for propriety’s sake, and sleeping in the next chamber, which he had already ordered made ready for the purpose.
All of that done, Darcy kissed his beloved once—and of course, given the fact that Elizabeth was deeply sleeping, it was more of a chaste peck on the lips than what he considered a real kiss—and then Darcy sat in a comfortable armchair, holding one of Elizabeth’s hands, and settling himself for a sleepless night.
What does one do when holding a vigil by the lady one loves, who may be ill?
Some men might drop off to sleep, despite their intention of remaining awake. But Darcy’s brain was racing, and he felt less and less like sleeping as the night wore on.
Multiple points of concern had risen in his consciousness.
The first was that Elizabeth’s kiss tasted wrong.
Could she have been poisoned? But the apothecary insisted that her breathing and heart sounded regular; she was just sleeping very deeply.
Could she have been given a sleeping draught? Laudanum, perhaps?
Every few minutes, Darcy took Elizabeth’s pulse and listened to her heart and lungs.
The maid on duty, an older woman named Hanson, looked a bit scandalised the first time put his ear on Elizabeth’s chest to listen to the comforting regularity of her heart.
He had explained that he had taken several biology classes meant for medical students, but he was unable to train to be a physician because of his position as his father’s heir.
From then on, Hanson had seemed quite positive about him, and Darcy finally asked her if she knew what laudanum smelt like. “Bitter, just like the taste,” she replied.
Darcy shook his head. What he had smelt did not seem bitter. As a matter of fact, it smelt a bit like molasses cookies.
He asked Hanson to smell Elizabeth’s breath, telling her that he sensed something was wrong, but he was not certain.
The maid leant forward and seemed to make a serious attempt to smell Elizabeth’s breath, but she said that she did not think it smelt anything like laudanum, and she was fairly certain that poison would not smell like that, either.
“And would not the apothecary have said that there was something suspicious, if someone had poisoned or stupefied her?” she asked.
That was an excellent point, but of course Darcy had seen Mr Jones looking concerned. If the apothecary suspected that someone had given Elizabeth a sleeping draught, would he suspect the groom-to-be of doing so, hoping to spend the night under the same roof as his bride?
Darcy blushed at the thought of being so suspected, but then he wondered, Well, who other than I would benefit from Elizabeth having to stay at Netherfield?
He had vowed to suspect Miss Bingley if anything strange happened to anyone while she was in residence, but he could not quite picture her wanting Elizabeth to be closer to him.
He had suspected that Miss Bingley might attempt to lure him into some sort of compromising position with herself.
There would be no benefit to Miss Bingley if there was a compromise between him and Elizabeth!
Of course, Miss Bingley was the hostess of Netherfield and was likely to have been the one to have prepared each person’s tea. Could the woman have slipped something into Elizabeth’s tea? Aside from the mystery of why she would choose to do so, it seemed very possible that she could have done so.
Another thought arose: he wondered if the teacups would have been washed already. He addressed Hanson again, asking if the tea service would have been washed that night or left until morning.
“They would definitely have been washed almost immediately,” the woman said.
“Even with the extra work with Miss Elizabeth feeling poorly?”
“Yes, even then. Is that wrong?”
“No. All is well.” He nodded at the woman and went back to churning his thoughts and questions around and around…and around.
Darcy sat up straight and shook his head.
He knew he would be unable to sleep while he was worried about Elizabeth, but he also knew that the late hour was making his thinking less sharp.
He still had not come up with any other sensible idea, other than the introduction of a sleeping draught, presumably in her tea.
No other theory could explain the strange taste of Elizabeth’s kiss, plus her extra-heavy and extra-early need to sleep, plus the anxiety he had seen in the apothecary’s eyes.
This odd occurrence happening when Miss Bingley was in residence made it feel imperative that it must be connected to her—but why would she do it?
He still had not thought of a possible explanation.
To alleviate his worry, he checked Elizabeth’s breathing and heart yet again, counting the heartbeats while he watched the hands of his pocket watch, grateful that he had chosen the expense of a watch with a second hand. His beloved’s heart seemed as stable and regular as ever.
He asked Hanson to find some writing materials in the room, if any were to be had, and he wrote a letter of warning to Elizabeth, outlining his fears and bemusement.
Re-reading the letter, he hoped he was persuasive. It was very late, but he had no wish to sleep; he decided to read some poetry aloud as Elizabeth slept. Keeping his voice soft, he read Shakespeare’s sonnets from the pocket-sized volume that lived in his robe.
He had just read Sonnet 121 when the second maid, Newman, came in to relieve the first. Newman seemed quite fresh and declared that she had slept easily.
A footman who routinely stayed awake on guard duty each night had performed the wake-up knock.
Darcy made a mental note to reward the servants who were working above and beyond their usual duties for Elizabeth’s benefit.
He drank some water, checked Elizabeth’s breathing and heart rate, and then resumed reading. Every so often he lit a new candle and tended the fire—occupations that kept him awake but did nothing to sharpen his mind.
Finally, the room grew marginally lighter, and Darcy startled in his chair as he heard a knock. Before he could stand, the maid had gone to the door and opened it. Miss Bennet stood there and looked in shock at Darcy. “Are you—have you—”
“I wished to make very certain that Miss Elizabeth was well, so I and a maid remained here all night, sitting vigil and keeping to propriety. Your sister never woke but seems to be well other than this heavy sleep.”
“Oh! Well, sir, I have slept for many hours and can watch Elizabeth now. You should try to get some sleep.”
“Thank you, I will be grateful to be able to do so. But please do me the courtesy of reading this note of warning, and then giving it to Elizabeth when she wakes. You—your sister has explained to me that you choose to see the good side of people, but please believe me when I say that some people cannot be trusted with the well-being of others. I need your help to keep your sister safe.”
He pressed the letter into her hand, then trudged down the corridor to his own chambers. He hoped he would not sleep for a week!