Chapter Four
That realization, more than anything, pushed her into action.
Her mind screamed that she must run. Her legs propelled her toward the house, although she could not perceive if anything pursued her.
She pushed through the door and slammed it closed behind her—bolting it for good measure.
Her father’s wards enveloped her like a warm bath.
They were designed to prevent sinister magical beings from entering the house.
Gasping for air, Elizabeth listened at the door but heard and sensed nothing. The rustling creature appeared to have retreated. Thank God!
She sank to the floor on wobbly legs, allowing her heart rate to return to normal.
Finally she was able to stand and stumble her way to her bed chamber.
Her father was abed already, but she resolved to tell him of the encounter in the morning.
Perhaps he would know what the creature might be.
For her part, Elizabeth would prefer to forget about it.
***
Darcy awoke to the sound of someone slipping into the room bathed in late afternoon light.
“Shh.” Miss Elizabeth’s voice came from the shadows.
“Return to sleep.” His eyelids were heavy, and he could not rouse himself despite the desire to speak with her.
As he slipped back into his dreams, he thought her hands touched his bandaged side as warmth seeped through his skin.
Was that her healing touch? He longed to ask but soon drifted away again.
He could not have said how long he lay in that state, waking infrequently and only rousing himself to drink.
Sometimes Miss Elizabeth would be by his bedside, and sometimes it would be a maid applying cool cloths to his forehead.
The wound in his side was inflamed and ached to the touch.
The one on his leg twinged when he moved the limb.
His sheets were soaked with perspiration, and he alternated between too hot and too cold.
In his more lucid moments, Darcy guessed that he had a fever. Other times he dreamt of Pemberley. Of a wight devouring a human body. Of Richard searching for him in the woods. Of Georgiana sobbing. Of a pair of blue-green eyes. Then he slept.
***
Finally, Darcy was alert enough to request tea and broth. Elizabeth arrived immediately behind the maid bearing the tray. “You gave us quite a fright,” she told him.
“I apologize for the imposition. How long was I ill?”
“Three days. Do not apologize. I am only pleased you recovered in good time.”
I have now been missing for nearly five days. Richard would be frantic with worry. And Darcy desperately needed to share what he had learned of the necromancer and his followers. I should have sent a message the first day, while I was still lucid.
“Miss Elizabeth—” His voice sounded raspy to his ears. “Might I send a message to my family? They will be worried about me.”
“Certainly. I will send for paper and a quill. A footman can post the letter for you.” She departed with an admonition to drink liquids and rest.
If Darcy had not been convinced of the necessity for rest, the effort of writing the letter would have convinced him.
Aware that the missive might be intercepted, Darcy included few details.
He merely related his location and requested help.
Although Darcy himself was not capable of traveling, he could give Richard the amulet and the names of the necromancer’s followers, at least those he had recognized. The Agency could work to stop him.
One he had sealed the letter for Matlock House and given it to the footman, Darcy rested more easily. No doubt his cousin would ride for Longbourn immediately upon receiving the letter and Darcy could entrust the mission to him.
That night, Darcy took dinner on a tray in his room, relishing the taste of bread and cheese after days of broth.
The next morning, he insisted on standing and walking despite Elizabeth’s cautions.
She allowed the exercise but insisted that he be attended by a footman.
Darcy was loath to concede the need for the fellow’s presence, but he put a hand on the man’s shoulder for balance.
Otherwise, he was quite unsteady on his feet.
How fortunate none of his friends could witness him reduced to this pitiful state!
The still-healing cut along his ribs ached as he climbed out of bed and protested as he made slow progress along the floor. The cut on his leg pained him even more when he put weight on it. But such aches were the least of his problems.
Every step was a chore because Darcy’s body was as weak as a newborn babe’s.
Moving his head also had a tendency to set the room to spinning.
He gritted his teeth, traversing the length of the room by sheer force of will.
But those few minutes of exertion exhausted him; he fell into bed and slept for hours.
It was galling to be so weak and constantly fatigued.
Darcy had always prided himself on his health and strength.
When he indicated as much to Elizabeth, she smiled and said his frustration was likely a sign that he was healing and encouraged him to eat to regain his strength.
Darcy grumbled but knew it was good advice.
In the evening, she was kind enough to sit by his bedside and read to him.
He was quite enchanted by her low and melodious voice.
She had offered him the choice of Henry V, Byron’s poetry, or a history of ancient Rome.
Elizabeth might not know his real name, but she had accurately guessed his tastes in reading material.
Darcy had selected Shakespeare but would have been pleased to hear her reading laundry lists.
When he was strong enough, he answered her questions about travel—describing Scotland, Derbyshire, Ramsgate, the Lakes District, and many other places to her great delight.
He had seldom met a person who was so fascinated with visiting new and interesting places—and who had traveled to so few of them.
He was unsure if lack of funds was responsible for her circumscribed life or if there was another cause.
The next day, he walked upon two separate occasions, each time becoming steadier on his feet.
The progress encouraged him, although he kept in mind Elizabeth’s admonishment against pushing himself too quickly.
Upon the second occasion, he used a cane for balance and ventured out of his room to explore the home’s upper hallways, not yet ready to attempt the stairs.
Now that he was healthier, Elizabeth’s visits were accompanied by a maid, but he was able to prevail upon her to read to him.
The sound of her voice was very soothing, even when she was reading the most lurid passages in The Mysteries of Udolpho.
When she had wearied of reading, he told her stories about traveling in Kent, Ireland, and Cornwall—always being careful not to reveal too much about his own identity or reasons for traveling.
The following day, he was eager to push himself faster.
He had not heard from Richard and was growing quite concerned.
He had expected his cousin to appear on Longbourn’s doorstep or at least send a reply.
The only possible reasons for Richard’s silence were not good.
Had something happened to Richard? Was there a crisis at the Assessor’s Agency?
More than anything, Darcy yearned to ride to London, but he would not survive a mile on horseback in his current state.
He could only pray that his letter had simply gone astray. Darcy resolved to send his cousin a message by another means.
With that and other goals in mind, he rose from his bed the next day and slowly donned his clothing, which the servants had thoroughly cleaned. A maid had even mended the rips where the knife had penetrated. Darcy was quite pleased to have escaped the indignities of nightshirts and dressing gowns.
However, as Darcy regarded himself in the mirror to tie a simple knot in his cravat, he was unsatisfied.
His garments were shabbier than anything he had ever worn.
And his body was beyond gaunt. In a few weeks he might pass as a beggar on the street.
He had received a shave from a footman, but his hair was growing shaggy.
Worst of all, Darcy’s boots had been lost in the river; he would be meeting the entire Bennet family for the first time while forced to make do with slippers.
It rankled, but there was nothing for it.
Noting that he intended to venture downstairs, the maid had hastily summoned Elizabeth. She arrived with a frown on her face, but her expression lightened when she saw him sitting by the fireplace. “You look well, Mr. Dee!”
“I am much improved. It would suit me to be introduced to the rest of your family.”
She huffed a laugh. “You are accustomed to having your way, are you not? Very well. They are eager to meet you. But pray take your rest when you need it.”
“I will.”
“It is a pleasant day. My family is enjoying the breezes in the back garden,” Elizabeth said.
“That sounds most agreeable.” Darcy had been indoors for far too long.
Over the past few days Darcy had concluded that Longbourn operated a bit differently than the homes of most gentry.
The servants were shockingly informal with Elizabeth and spoke familiarly about the family, although they certainly seemed pleased with their employment.
He heard talk about the Bennet daughters walking at all hours of the day without any escort.
And the family never had visitors. He would expect a house of this stature to receive callers frequently and be an active part of local society, but they appeared to be Hertfordshire’s social pariahs. Although it boded well for concealing Darcy’s presence, their isolation was puzzling.