Chapter 27
Liminal Spaces
In some time less than three hours, their cart reached a small hamlet that was several villages inland from the main highway to London.
Elizabeth gaped as they passed a minuscule square with a single inn and one general store, plunked right next to a rather miserable looking smithy.
“The accident occurred near Dunhill bridge, did it not?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said.
They had passed it sometime ago.
Elizabeth wondered how many more villages they might pass before Colonel Fitzwilliam brought their cart to a halt.
And why so far inland?
Would it not have been more advisable to keep the injured closer to the highway?
But what did she know of what Mr. Darcy’s family had on their mind. Elizabeth rested her head against the window.
Perhaps she was overestimating the distance.
Perhaps it only seemed so because their cart was crawling forward at a pace that Lydia and Kitty might outstrip on foot.
Perhaps she could–
“Ho boy!”
Elizabeth startled out of her thoughts as the cart suddenly came to a grinding halt, nearly flinging her to the opposite side.
She steadied herself and looked out of the window.
A quaint two-storey cottage home, surrounded by maple trees, stood to one side of the road with what looked like a small farm beyond it. But it was too dark to see anything clearly.
“This must be where they are caring for Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte said, eyeing the house and the yard.
The cart door swung open just then. Colonel Fitzwilliam was framed beyond it.
He looked grim.
“We are here, ladies.”
If Elizabeth had thought that she would see Mr. Darcy right after disembarking from the rickety old cart, she had thought wrong.
They would have to wait until morning.
Or so the Colonel had told them.
She sighed and tried to pay mind to whatever the matron of the house—a Mrs. Ronald—was telling her and Charlotte as she led them upstairs to a guest room. The woman appeared to be of the same age as Mrs. Bennet, with greying hair at her temples and a heavyset bearing.
“This is the room I was telling ya about,” the lady said, ushering them in.
It had a basic bed that they would have to share, and a few other bare furniture. There was also a small window to one side. It would do.
“Ye will be comfortable here. But if ye need anything, call out for Bessie. She will hear ya.”
Then it was just her and Charlotte.
…and then just her, lying awake in bed while Charlotte slept soundly beside her.
Despite the warm and comfortable house and their more than solicitous hostess, all Elizabeth could think of was how Mr. Darcy was right then resting somewhere close. Only some doors away.
Mrs. Ronald had informed them (on Charlotte’s urging) how Mr. Darcy’s valet and her younger son were charged with keeping an eye on the gentleman. They took turns at it so the other might sleep.
Apparently, Mr. Darcy jolted awake every so often, every day, for a few moments. Only to promptly lose consciousness once more. The physician was concerned about it because he did not know what was causing it. But someone needed to be there to fetch him if anything changed.
Nevertheless, since the pattern had persisted for a few weeks by then, none of them were hopeful it would get better. It worried Elizabeth.
It was too eerily close to her own experience with Mr. Darcy’s apparition. But in a different way.
After a long time of simply staring at the ceiling and thinking, Elizabeth got out of the bed.
Then, she wrapped a shawl around herself and left the room.