Chapter 3
Darcy
Having installed Georgiana and Mrs Green at Darcy House, Darcy rushed to the Royal Hospital Chelsea to see Richard with his own eyes.
He had initially been so shocked to get the news of Richard’s injury, he had taken to heart his Aunt Helen’s seeming surety that his cousin was on death’s door. However, in the long carriage ride to London, he had more comforting thoughts.
His aunt had written that Richard was injured when the troop transport ship that had left Portsmouth was attacked; he and other injured soldiers had been rushed back to land to be treated at the Royal Hospital Haslar, and there he had endured a successful surgery of some unspecified sort.
Richard had then apparently been sent to Chelsea.
Darcy was quite certain that a soldier who had survived his initial injury long enough to have surgery at Haslar was already doing better than many.
If that same soldier managed to survive the surgery and to recover well enough to be transferred to London…
. Well, certainly he could die, granted, but Darcy felt comforted by the notion that Richard would not have been sent to the Royal Hospital Chelsea if he was truly moribund.
When his carriage arrived at the hospital, Darcy hurried into the central red-brick building to discover his cousin’s whereabouts.
He counted it as a victory of sorts that he only had to consult with three staff members before clapping his eyes on Richard.
It helped that the Captain of Invalids knew and liked his cousin, and the Matron did not merely direct him to a particular part of the infirmary, but actually walked him to Richard’s bed.
“Darcy!” Richard was recognisably himself, and smiling.
Although his right leg was wrapped with bloodied bandages holding wooden splints on either side, and there were bandages on one arm, despite the visible bruises plus one angry-looking cut on his face, he looked much better than Darcy could have supposed.
Darcy breathed deeply in an attempt to relax the muscles that he had kept bunched up for hours.
“Richard! Thank you for adhering to my strictures of staying alive and coming back to us!” Darcy decided that both of Richard’s hands looked completely uninjured, and he reached out to grasp one of them. “I have barely heard any news of the attack; I hope that your men came through as well?”
A shadow passed over Richard’s face, and he said, “Not all of them. But lucky for me, my batman emerged unscathed—and he would not allow the doctors to take my leg. Grapeshot hit me, and they fished around and found nine little balls in my calf and thigh, one of which impacted my calf bone, breaking it…hence the splints.”
“That sounds extraordinarily painful.”
“I hurt,” Richard said, keeping his report simple. “But I will heal. I will have a limp, but Rogers insisted to three different doctors that they treat the break, remove the shot, and allow me to keep whole.”
“And when they heal, will the army still have you?”
“Actually, no, they will not. I shall have to sell my commission and find something else to do. Work on horse breeding somewhere, maybe.” Richard seemed to be uncomfortable about his future, but Darcy believed that he also detected hope.
Darcy started to say, “You know that I—”
Richard interrupted. “And you know that I will not take charity!”
At that moment a young woman bustled up. She wore a dark blue gown and a white apron that was stained with some gory evidence that she must be a nurse. Darcy was shocked to see Richard’s joyful expression when he spied her.
“Cordelia!”
The young woman smiled back, but her manner was quite businesslike. “Good afternoon, Colonel Fitzwilliam. How are you feeling today?”
“Better now.” He waved his hand towards Darcy and said, “This is my cousin, the one I told you about, Mr Darcy. Darce, meet Miss Garrett. This lovely creature is an angel of healing and mercy—and I know you will not think me in the same category as Bingley, calling a lady an angel, because Miss Garrett has followed me from the ship, where she had bandaged me up, to Haslar, to Chelsea—all in order to ensure my survival.”
The nurse sent a brief glance at Darcy and said, “Good afternoon. I am certain that the colonel is delighted that you came, and so swiftly. Your alacrity does you credit.”
Darcy felt a little jolt of surprise that informed him that he had made an arrogant assumption that this woman, by virtue of serving as a nurse, was of a lower class.
Her vocabulary indicated that she was not only better educated than he had supposed, but that she was almost certainly a gentleman’s daughter.
Elizabeth would be ashamed of me making any assumptions.
He hurried to respond, “I am certain that the entire family and much of the Royal Army is in your debt.”
She nodded her head but turned all of her attention back to Richard. “Now, Colonel,” Miss Garrett said sternly, “I spoke with Miss Greyson just now, and she tells me that you would not do your walk this morning.”
“Knowing my cousin, I knew he would come today, and I had the absurd wish to look mostly alive when he arrived, instead of three-quarters dead.”
“Well, that is absurd, Colonel, and you will just have to take your walk now, with your cousin following your footsteps.”
There was a brief contest of wills, it seemed to Darcy—mostly played out with Miss Garrett’s eyes and eyebrows versus Richard’s, but also via the slanting of mouths and short exhalations of air.
He knew, somehow, that Miss Garrett would win—and he was surprised but exceptionally pleased that Richard’s eyes showed adoration for the lady.
Darcy stood and gestured towards a set of crutches. “Should I bring these to the bed?”
Miss Garrett nodded briskly. “Yes, please.”
Before long, Richard was up and hobbling across the large room, navigating carefully between the many infirmary beds, with Darcy on one side and Miss Garrett on the other.
Darcy briefly wondered if his cousin needed verbal urgings, but almost every man in the room became vocal as Richard started his halting walk.
There was a cheery call “Leg it!” from one soldier, and “Steady, now!” from another; most soldiers called out “Huzza!”
Darcy grinned at the obvious courage and good humour of the men, and he noticed how lively his cousin’s battered face became.
The three walked for half an hour, and during that time Darcy became firmly convinced that Richard was very lucky to have the firm voice and opinions of Miss Garrett to keep him in line.
Soon after he had returned to his bed, a physician made a quick stop to check on Richard’s wounds.
“No untoward heat,” the learned man affirmed. “No sign of infection.”
“I remain most diligent in that regard,” Miss Garrett said confidently. She began to bind Richard’s wounds with fresh bandages, murmuring to Darcy that she had waited until after this inspection to change them.
Richard did not seem to want to speak about the attack or the days after, except to reiterate that his batman and Miss Garrett were due every sign of gratitude that he was alive and still whole.
Instead of sharing details of his horrific experience, Richard enquired about Miss Bingley.
After Darcy updated him on that situation, Richard asked if Georgiana had come to London.
Glancing around at the injured men, seeing another patient having his bandages changed and an apothecary smearing a paste on a rather gory wound, Darcy said, “She came. She wishes to visit if you are well enough, but I cannot imagine bringing her here, into the infirmary.”
“Of course that would not be appropriate,” Miss Garrett said. “When the colonel’s mother comes, I take him out to the South Grounds.”
“Then I may bring her tomorrow?”
Richard said that he looked forward to it, and Miss Garrett suggested an arrival time of one in the afternoon.
At that point, a ward-maid came with a note. Miss Garrett read it, flashed a smile at Richard, and announced, “The Countess of Matlock has arrived and will meet us in the South Grounds. Let me prepare you, Colonel.”
Darcy watched and helped when he could, but Miss Garrett was so swift and competent, there was little enough for him to do. Once again, he and Miss Garrett flanked Richard as they moved slowly towards the gardens.
When he saw his aunt, Darcy took a few hurried steps to greet her first, kissing her cheek and murmuring, “I believe he is doing very well indeed, and that you have little about which to worry.”
She grasped him in a fierce hug and said, “Thank you so much for coming, nephew. And so close to your wedding! I am ever so grateful.”
“Of course I came. Georgiana is in London, too, and I will bring her tomorrow.”
Richard hobbled into the little circle of chairs and awkwardly sat; the countess’s attention immediately transferred to her son, and after a few minutes, Darcy said his farewells.
He returned to Darcy House eager to share mostly good news with Georgiana and to pen a letter to Elizabeth.
He considered sending an express detailing every aspect of his visit with Richard, but considering the hour, he decided not to cause upheaval and worry by having a message arrive at bedtime or even later.
His letter would likely be processed with the evening mail and arrive in the morning, which was soon enough.