Chapter Twenty-Two
Dr. Trent had not delayed in his journey back to Hunsford; though he was reasonably confident that Elizabeth should be safe, the shocking likelihood of Mr. Collins being her attacker meant that the doctor felt there was not a minute to be lost before he warned Mr. Bennet, at the very least, that Elizabeth might still be in some considerable danger.
Stopping at the Parsonage gate, he dismounted his horse and pushed the gate open.
He could, he supposed, have gone on to his own house and left his horse there, but a terrible feeling of premonition had him deciding that he did not care to delay the five minutes that would cost him.
Leading his horse up the pathway, he chanced to glance across to one side and saw something dark lying crumpled upon the ground.
For a brief moment, Dr. Trent could not believe what his eyes were showing him, and then he dropped his horse’s reins with a shout of horror and sprang towards the body lying far too still.
Dropping to his knees, he reached carefully to turn over the woman in the dark dress and gave a low cry of distress upon seeing that which he had most feared; the pale, serene face of Charlotte Collins.
“Dr. Trent!” Female cries reached his ears; he looked up to see Jane and Elizabeth Bennet rushing towards him.
“Dr. Trent, what…” Elizabeth stopped abruptly; two steps ahead of Jane, she had seen what Jane had not, the rapidly blackening bruises encircling Charlotte’s pale throat. “My God,” shocked, she swayed on her feet. “What… what…”
Jane clutched at her arm. “Don’t look, Lizzy, don’t look…”
Elizabeth turned a startled look on her sister; she had expected that Jane would have swooned at the sight, but her sister, though pale, looked quite steady.
“Does she yet live, Doctor?” Jane asked.
“I - I know not.” Trent’s hands were shaking, as they had not in many years when examining a patient.
Carefully, he leaned down and pressed his ear to Charlotte’s chest, praying that he was not scandalising the Misses Bennet with his actions.
When he looked up, though, they were both staring at him with only anxious hope on their faces.
“Her heart is beating, but her breath is very shallow. We must get her inside at once and make her comfortable.” Carefully, he eased his hands beneath Charlotte’s body and lifted her into his arms. She was lighter than he had expected, almost frail as he carried her into the house.
“I’ll go and see if Mr. Collins is in his room,” Jane hurried in behind him.
“No!” Trent almost shouted, carrying Charlotte into the parlour. “No, Miss Bennet,” he said, more quietly. “I - there is something I will need to discuss with you, quite urgently,” he flicked his eyes towards Elizabeth, and back to Jane.
“Regarding Mr. Collins?” Jane said, bemused.
Trent ignored her, laying Charlotte gently down upon the couch. “Please, Miss Bennet, do not question me now. I will need my doctor’s bag, from my house next door, I did not have it with me, oh, and my horse…”
“I will catch your horse and take him to your house, and return with your bag,” Jane said, recognising that he was not of a mind to speak to her right now. “Lizzy…”
“Is there anything that I can do here, to make Charlotte more comfortable?” Elizabeth asked hopefully, giving Jane a gentle push towards the door. “Please, Doctor Trent, she has done so much for me; if there is anything that I may do for her in her hour of need, I pray you will tell me.”
“You should probably not be out of bed,” Trent glanced up and gave her a wry look, “but since you are, please go to the kitchen. We must make the swellings on her throat go down, or her breathing passages may become constricted. Cold cloths, ice if there was any more brought down from Rosings for your head…”
“At once, Doctor!” Elizabeth hurried out immediately.
“Oh, Charlotte,” Trent whispered, allowing himself the small luxury of her name, in this brief moment of being alone with the woman he loved.
“Do not die. Please, do not die, I cannot bear to think of a world without you in it.” She was so pale and small; how had he never noticed before how small she was?
She was a woman of such strength of character, even in her quietness, that she seemed far bigger than her true size.
Gently, he unfastened the top button of her dress, examined the positioning of the bruises around her throat. He had not seen such marks since his training in London, but the signs of strangulation were unmistakable, the imprints of a man’s strong fingers clear, darkening on Charlotte’s fair skin.
“I have some cloths soaked in cold well water, Doctor,” Elizabeth said, hurrying back into the room, and Trent startled back.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” he took them from her, placed them carefully over Charlotte’s throat.
“I have some smelling salts here…?” Elizabeth suggested tentatively.
“No, they will make her cough, and we must not risk any more strain on her throat. Have you ever had a putrid sore throat?”
“When I was, oh, ten, I think, yes,” Elizabeth nodded. “I was quite miserable with it.”
“Mrs. Collins will feel very much like that, for some few days, though hopefully she will escape a fever. Soothing drinks; chamomile tea with honey, chicken broth, that will be all that she can ingest, along with an elixir I will give you for her.”
“What is in it, may I ask?” Elizabeth asked, seeing his anxious expression and seeking to distract him. “My mother makes a recipe which tastes strongly of liquorice, which I confess I despise.”
That made a small smile come to Dr. Trent’s face; he nodded to her.
“Some elixirs do contain liquorice, but I have found that there are quite a number of my patients who cannot abide it. The one I prefer contains syrup of violets, oil of almonds, honey and a very small amount of syrup of poppy. That is the same syrup of which laudanum is made, if you did not know.”
“I did,” Elizabeth nodded. “Those sound very soothing and healing.”
“Lozenges made with horehound and oil of oranges are very beneficial too, I have found.” Trent was talking for the sake of making conversation, he know, but he couldn’t seem to stop, his eyes on Charlotte’s face, on the slow rise and fall of her chest. “We must keep the bruising down, as much as possible, or her breathing will become very difficult.”
Elizabeth hesitated before asking nervously “Have you cared for someone who has been strangled, before?”
Trent’s head snapped around, and she came a little closer.
“You recognise the marks?” he asked quietly.
She licked at her lips nervously. “My father’s library contains some works written by medical men.
I confess I did not understand everything in them, but…
the pattern of the bruising does seem to be consistent with the description.
I cannot think of an alternative explanation for such marks as that, in any case. ”
He wasn’t sure what to say. She looked at him with wise, knowing eyes, and said “Do you think it was the same man who attacked me, whoever that was, Doctor Trent?”
“You… know?”
“It seems fairly evident, considering the marks I myself bear.” She raised a hand to her breast. “Jane is clearly terrified that I will one day remember, and I am not entirely sure if I wish to myself, so I must throw myself on your mercy and ask if I was violated?”
“Your courage humbles me,” Trent managed to get out through the lump in his throat, “but no. Mrs. Collins examined you under my direction, and we were able to determine that you apparently fought off and escaped from your attacker before - before he did any more than rip your dress.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully, kneeling down beside Charlotte and taking her friend’s limp hand in her own. “Whoever he was, he did not seem to attack Charlotte in the same way.”
“No.”
“He only tried to kill her. Did she suspect who he was, do you think? Or perhaps she discovered him lurking about the place…”
“I have your bag, Doctor!” Jane came hurrying in just then, cutting off Elizabeth’s musings, for which Trent could only be thankful.
He beckoned Jane over quickly, took the bag from her and dug through it briefly before finding a vial, carefully parting Charlotte’s lips with his finger and lightly tapping a single drop onto her tongue.
Sitting back on his heels, he watched her face anxiously.
It was only a few moments later that Charlotte’s eyelids fluttered, her eyes opening slowly before fixing on Trent’s face.
“Daniel,” Charlotte whispered faintly.
“You must not try to talk, dear Charlotte,” he answered with her name instinctively, before realising what he had just done - what she had just done.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth looked remotely concerned, though, both only leaning closer to assure their friend that they were there for her, that she was safe.
“’Twas William,” Charlotte waved aside their concern, her eyes fixed on Trent’s face. “My own husband - I am so ashamed…”
“Sh,” Trent touched her hand gently. “How could it be any fault of yours?”
“You knew.” It was not a question. Tears trembled on her lashes.
“The Colonel and I deduced it, just a little while ago. I came straight here, hoping to protect… all of you. I was too late, though, Charlotte, and I will regret to my dying day that I did not drive my horse harder coming here.”
She smiled, a twisted, mirthless little tug at her lips. “My own fault. I found the spencer. Confronted him.”
Jane suddenly realised just what Charlotte was saying; gasped aloud. “No. No, it cannot be.”
Charlotte looked up at Trent with a desperate, weary appeal. Lightly, he touched her lips with his finger.
“Do not try to talk any more, Charlotte. Not right now. Your throat is terribly bruised and you may find that breathing becomes difficult; I will not leave you until I am sure you are out of danger.”
Elizabeth was standing close beside the fireplace, her own hand pressed to her throat, staring at Charlotte. Her face was quite white.
“I remember,” she whispered, causing Jane to turn to her. “Oh God, Jane, I remember - he said such terrible things - tried to - oh Jane!” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks and Jane instinctively opened her arms to her sister, held her close to comfort her.
“Our own cousin,” Jane murmured, shaking her head, utterly confounded. She did not want to believe it, indeed could hardly conceive that it was a possibility, but Charlotte and Trent’s words seemed to constitute incontrovertible proof.
A sudden loud sound in the hallway inside made Jane look up; Trent was wrapped up in caring for Charlotte and Elizabeth was crying and shaking in Jane’s arms, so it was she who faced the four men who came barging into the room.