Chapter 12 #2
“We will take care of Mr Darcy, of course! We expect some happy times to occur when Mr Bingley returns, and he surely cannot be happy if his best friend is ill.”
“Mama, we should not make plans about Mr Bingley’s return for the time being,” Jane said in a trembling voice. “He has barely arrived in London, I imagine. I am sure returning to Hertfordshire is the last thing he has in mind.”
“Let us not discuss Mr Bingley’s schedule and instead concentrate upon Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet interjected.
“We must wait for Mr Jones and decide how to proceed further. Mr Darcy is certainly in no condition to be moved, and his family must be informed of the situation. But I do not understand why he was here? On a horse? Why did he not leave with his friends?”
Elizabeth paled, then turned red. She gulped some tea from the hot cup. “He did not look well at all, even last night,” Mr Bennet spoke further.
“Did he not? I did not notice. What do you think, Lizzy? You danced with him, did you not? He looked a marvellous dancer, despite his usual haughty manners,” Mrs Bennet said.
Elizabeth ignored her, so her mother continued. “I say, everybody was astonished that he danced with you–and only with you! You appeared to be almost friends! Upon my word, if it were not the proud and unpleasant Mr Darcy, I would say he favoured Lizzy over everybody else!”
“Mama!” Elizabeth interrupted with an anguished cry. “How can you be interested in such frivolous things when a man is in danger of death?”
Her mother glared at her, while her father nodded to her to keep her temper.
“Mind your words, Lizzy; these are not frivolous things!” Mrs Bennet rebuked her.
“I was only curious to know if you noticed something peculiar, or he told you something since you talked for half an hour. He might have caught a cold that day he saved us. He stayed in the rain for so long, he went to unleash the horses, then we all left, and he remained in the cottage. Any man, even as strong as he is, would fall ill. That was my concern, missy!”
“Forgive me, Mama; I spoke thoughtlessly. I know you are concerned, like all of us. It is just that I found him there on the ground and I thought he was dead. I have never seen anyone in such a situation,” Elizabeth replied holding the cup that burned her fingers.
“Well, for once in my life, I thank God for your wild habit of walking across the fields like a hoyden! No other young lady I know takes pleasure in such an endeavour, but this time you might have saved Mr Darcy’s life.
If not for you, Lord knows when and if he would have been found or would have recovered by himself. ”
Elizabeth found nothing to respond, only moved towards the window, staring outside in tormenting silence.
A little while later, Mr Jones appeared. He looked more distressed than they had ever seen him and he was shifting from one leg to another, clasping his hands together while the Bennets gathered around him.
“Well?” Elizabeth asked.
“Mr Darcy is badly wounded…I would say his ribs are badly bruised, maybe even broken. He has a bad cut on his leg and he seems to have lost blood; his trousers were all dirty from it...”
“Did he recover at all? Did he speak?” Mrs Bennet enquired.
“No. Not at all. He has a very high fever too. He is burning, truly.”
“And? What is to be done? You have hardly told us anything more than we already observed!”
“I confess I am not certain, Mrs Bennet. My knowledge as an apothecary is not enough for his needs. I have cleaned the wound with some aromatic vinegar and I have bandaged it; for the fever, we gave him some medicine that he barely swallowed. But there has been no improvement in his state so far. And we are talking about Mr Darcy. I am afraid I do not feel confident making decisions about his health in such a grave situation.”
“But if you do not, who will?” Mrs Bennet demanded.
“I…I do not know, ma’am. His family…They must be informed at once; we have not a moment to lose.”
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. What was the meaning of such a statement? Surely it could not imply what she feared to admit?
“But his family is not here! What should we do now?” Mrs Bennet continued in a higher voice.
“I will show you what you can do for his fever, ma’am. But Peter and I will not leave the house either, at least for tonight. If you would be so kind as to host us, we would rather stay,” Mr Jones said with obvious concern.
“I shall write to Mr Bingley urgently, by express, and ask him to inform Mr Darcy’s family. I am sure they have a family doctor too,” Mr Bennet decided. “I will send John to Netherfield to obtain Mr Bingley’s address.”
“I know it, Papa. It is 23 Grosvenor Street. I heard Mr Bingley talking about it. And Mr Darcy’s house is 12 Park Lane,” Jane interjected.
“Good. Good. Let us write to both addresses, and I will mention that we sent two letters, to avoid raising more panic than necessary.”
“Papa, for a man like Mr Darcy to be so ill, I believe panic is not unjustified,” Elizabeth said. “Jane, please write the letters with Papa; Mama and I will go with Mr Jones, and see what we can do for Mr Darcy.”
They walked down the hallway, with Mr Jones leading them, and entered the chamber.
From the doorway Elizabeth’s eyes fell on the bed and she gasped: Darcy was lying still, pale, and undressed.
His shoulders and neck were exposed from the sheets and his bandaged, injured leg appeared from beneath the covers.
The fire burned steadily, lighting the room.
At each side of the bed, a candle was burning.
“Dear Lord, he looks almost dead,” Mrs Bennet murmured, as they approached carefully.
“The most important task is to keep his fever low.” Mr Jones told them. “It is already very high, and it will increase during the night. If it grows too high, he might…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, do something to lower the fever, do not tell us what will happen if it grows! This is why we called for you,” Mrs Bennet interrupted the apothecary. Already distressed, the man looked at his assistant and at Elizabeth, as though asking for help.
“Mama, let us stay calm,” Elizabeth pleaded gently. “We are all worried. So, Mr Jones, what should we do to help you?”
“As I said, we have given him some medicine, and we will cool him with some cold water and vinegar. Can you bring us another large bowl and one more sponge?”
Mr Jones was less and less confident, and his lack of coherence brought nothing but more panic.
“He looks so pale,” Elizabeth whispered, gently touching Darcy's hand and his forehead. “But he is rather cold…”
“We should cover him in blankets, then. Perhaps his temperature has dropped too abruptly,” Mr Jones offered, wrapping the blankets around the patient.
“Oh dear, high fever, low fever! Let me check,” Mrs Bennet demanded, annoyed and impatient. She pushed her companions away and, under their astonished gazes, she bent over the bed and touched her lips to Darcy’s temples.
“Mama!” Elizabeth cried. “What are you doing?”
Mrs Bennet silenced her with a wave of her hand. “I am checking his fever. It is what I did with you girls when you were little. If I touch the forehead with my palm it may be misleading but touching the temple with the lips is always accurate. The old Dr. Benson taught me when Jane was an infant.”
Elizabeth was still dumbfounded, and for some strange reason, she blushed. “In fact, that is very true,” Mr Jones approved. “However we should not let Mr Darcy know that someone took such liberties with him while he was unconscious.”
“Well, considering how unpleasant and haughty he is most of the time, that might be the closest thing to a kiss he will ever get,” Mrs Bennet declared in earnest. “Although, he is handsome and wealthy enough to have women kissing him anyway. If only we can keep him healthy too!”
“Mama, please!” Elizabeth cried, filled with embarrassment and distress.
“He is feverish,” Mrs Bennet told Mr Jones, ignoring Elizabeth. “So, what should we do now?”
“I will send Peter to bring some more medicine and teas, but I doubt Mr Darcy can swallow any. I will stay here until morning. And I hope his family will come tomorrow with a doctor from town,” Mr Jones admitted honestly.
“Then–may I help?” Mrs Bennet asked.
“Not for the moment, ma’am.”
“Well then, I will go and take care of dinner. I need to move some of my clothes to another room. God knows how long Mr Darcy will need to stay in my chamber. And what else? Well, let me think…” Mrs Bennet spoke to herself as she left the room.
Peter exchanged a few words with Mr Jones and left too, leaving the apothecary alone with Elizabeth and the patient.
They looked at each other, then at Darcy, then at each other again.
“Miss Elizabeth, you have nothing to do here for the moment either. You should have some medicine and some tea yourself and rest a little. You have had a hard day, and you spent so much time in the cold rain that I am worried about your health too,” the apothecary said.
Elizabeth took the bottle handed to her. “I shall be fine, sir, but I thank you for your concern. I will leave now. Please send for me if I may be of any use.”
“I will. But please promise me you will take the medicine and have some hot tea. And perhaps some soup, to gather your strength.”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement, then glanced at Darcy again and left the room. She felt like she was abandoning him, but could not find a reason to stay against Mr Jones’s instructions.
In the hall she stopped and leaned against the wall, allowing the tears to roll down her cheeks.
She recollected their discussions from the previous night, his jesting answers when she suggested he looked ill, his teasing smiles, his warm hand holding hers during the dance… Did all this occur only hours ago?
Strange and unexpected circumstances had brought him to his present state and kept him to the bed.
She regretted his agony, she felt sorry for him, as she would have for any other person in such a situation. The awareness that he had suffered the accident because he came to talk to her increased her grief.
But there was much more that added to her growing turmoil and overwhelming fear, more than she was capable of recognising and of understanding. The previous night, she thought it was too soon for such considerations. Now, it could be too late.