Chapter Two
It was some thirty minutes later when Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam came striding down the path, whistling a jaunty tune.
The storm had blown over as fast as it came, leaving blue skies behind, and he thought that he might as well take his daily walk in the direction of the parsonage and bid farewell to the ladies there before their departure on the morrow.
He had looked for Darcy to go with him, but Darcy had apparently been caught in the storm and needed a change of clothes.
He waved Richard off, saying that had already made his farewells.
Purest chance caused the Colonel to glance down into the stream he walked beside; he spotted a glimpse of white and squinted curiously, moving nearer to the edge of the bank to take a closer look.
Realising suddenly that the white belonged to the dress of a lady, he let out a cry of horror and scrambled hastily down to the water.
Elizabeth Bennet lay half-in, half-out of the water, her cheek on the muddy bank, blood trickling sluggishly from a laceration on the side of her head. Swiftly, the colonel placed two fingers beneath her jaw, feeling for a pulse, letting out a gasp of relief as he found it.
“Thank God!” he said fervently, looked around and debated for a moment what to do.
There would most likely be no one within earshot if he shouted for help, and he could not possibly leave Miss Bennet alone in this state.
Swiftly he made a decision, leaning down to lift her limp body from the water.
As he turned her over, her dress gaped away from her body, and he realised it was badly torn.
Averting his eyes, the colonel carefully laid Elizabeth on the grass and stripped off his coat. Wrapping the thick woollen fabric around her exposed torso, he gently lifted her back into his arms before scrambling back up the bank again.
“Rosings may be slightly closer,” Colonel Fitzwilliam murmured, glancing both ways along the path, “but considering how Lady Catherine will likely react to the situation, I think the parsonage to be the better option. Besides, the doctor’s residence is the next house along the lane.
” Looking down at the unconscious woman in his arms, he sighed and set off at a swift pace.
She was light enough to be little burden for the fit, battle-hardened soldier.
The colonel arrived at the parsonage just as Mrs. Collins and her sister came walking along the lane together, returning from their morning call. Charlotte’s eyes widened at the sight of Elizabeth unconscious in his arms.
“Lizzy! What in the world has transpired, sir?” She hurried to open the gate for him.
“I know not: I came upon her fallen in the stream and feared she had drowned, but she breathes yet.”
“Thank the good Lord you found her, Colonel! Please, if you will bring her inside…” she hesitated at the parlour door.
“Would it not be easier for me to take her straight to her bedroom?” Fitzwilliam enquired pragmatically. “Surely she would need to be swiftly moved to a bed anyway.”
“You are quite correct, sir,” Charlotte shook off her misgivings and gestured to the stairs. “This way, if you please.” She glanced at Maria, who was standing in the hall wide-eyed. “See if Mr. Collins is in, if you please, Maria, and then ask Betsy to begin boiling water.”
“Yes, Charlotte,” Maria obeyed her older sister’s commands instinctively.
The stairs were narrow, but the colonel manoeuvred up them deftly, careful not to bump Elizabeth’s head against the wall. In a moment he was laying her on the bed, backing hastily towards the door.
“I shall fetch the doctor directly, Mrs. Collins!”
“Thank you, sir!” Charlotte was already grabbing a towel, dampening it at the ewer on the dresser and tenderly wiping at Elizabeth’s bloodied face.
Fitzwilliam ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and rushed out through the still-open front door.
The doctor lived at the very next house along the lane; he had been there often enough to speak to the man regarding Anne’s health, since Lady Catherine would never permit him to speak to the doctor at Rosings.
He only hoped Dr. Trent was at home and not out on calls.
“The doctor is just returned, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the housekeeper informed him. “He is upstairs changing. Is it Miss De Bourgh, then?” she gave him a concerned look.
Mindful of his sweating, coatless state, Fitzwilliam steadied himself before shaking his head. “No, ma’am. It is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, one of Mrs. Collins’ guests at the parsonage. She has suffered a nasty accident…”
“Oh, not that nice young lady!” the housekeeper was moved to instant action. “I’ll have the doctor there directly, sir!”
Reassured by her concern, Fitzwilliam returned to the parsonage, but found himself pacing the parlour, irritated that he could not be of more use. The doctor came in a few moments later.
“Dr. Trent, thank God!” He shook the man’s hand. “Miss Bennet has suffered a nasty accident. I found her fallen in a stream along one of Rosings’ paths, she has suffered a head wound…”
“I shall go up directly,” Trent promised with a nod, following an anxiously hovering Maria Lucas up the stairs.
Wringing his hands, Fitzwilliam resumed his pacing.
Darcy will be devastated, he could not help but think.
His cousin was a reticent man, but Fitzwilliam hadn’t missed the symptoms of regards Darcy had tried so hard to hide, evidently for fear their aunt’s eagle eye would light upon Miss Bennet as a target for her wrath.
Really, he should go to him at once, but to go without any positive news or at least a report from the doctor would likely lead to unnecessarily great suffering for Darcy. Thus, he would wait.
“How else may I be of service, Mrs. Collins?” he begged Charlotte, when she came downstairs to give instructions to her maid.
“Elizabeth is injured and her family will wish to know at once; her sister is in London and could be here quickest. Can I beg you to dispatch two Expresses for me, if I write down the directions?”
“At once, of course!” She directed him into Mr. Collins’ study, where fortunately there was a goodly supply of paper, pens and ink upon the desk, so that he did not have to go rifling through the man’s papers.
Charlotte plucked a pencil from a pocket of her apron.
“Mr. Bennet is Elizabeth’s father, of course,” she said, writing a Hertfordshire address on a scrap of paper, “but I cannot help but think that her sister Jane will want to be by her side as fast as possible, and she is much closer, visiting with their London relatives.”
“I shall send them both as expeditiously as I am able, Mrs. Collins,” Fitzwilliam promised, and she gave him a tight little smile before hurrying out again.
Bending to his task, the colonel wrote swiftly and succinctly, trying not to be alarmist but doing his best to convey the urgency he felt, that Miss Elizabeth should have family by her side at this time.
He had seen men die from lesser wounds than she had sustained; head wounds were not to be taken lightly.
He soon had the letters done and sealed, hurried out to get to the post office.
Lady Catherine’s name and a handful of coins soon impressed upon the clerk the urgency of the errand and two fast riders were swiftly on their way.