Travel No Evil （Exposition Only）
The winter and early spring months were full of journeys.
These voyages were of many types, durations, and natures—physical, philosophical, emotional, spiritual, and occasionally, literal.
As is the nature of journeys, most travellers had no idea upon what type they embarked, and might not know for some time.
Miss Charlotte Lucas began her journey the day after meeting Mr Darcy at the inn where the young lady set herself the task of undoing years of damage to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
Miss Lucas’s motivations were not mercenary per se, but they possessed a practical air.
She went from being a member of a team who followed orders and thought only of the health of her charges, to a place where she must devote all her time and energies to a single man who seemed to have nothing to recommend him, nor anything to indicate he should receive special treatment, save that he had many powerful friends.
The general, Mr Darcy, his father the Earl, and others cared for his welfare; his care was to be her journey.
The general tasked her to look after this specific colonel, and she imagined he was likely to be as good or bad a patient as any; otherwise, she began her journey with the colonel serving mostly as a means to an end.
Taking care of him was her duty, but also the thing that would set her up for life, and she was by no means unappreciative of how much effect this particular task would have on her future.
Her journey to spinsterhood would redirect to a more amenable direction, much to her approval.
She would occasionally divert herself with the idea that she was taking care of an army legend, but soon tamped her pride to a reasonable level—he was just another patient.
The first part of her task proved relatively easy.
The colonel had physical injuries that required tending like any other wound, and she certainly knew how to manage those.
The difficulty lay in the close contact with the man for days at a time; she was far from certain she knew how to deal with that.
Mr Darcy placed them in what he called a small hunting lodge at Pemberley.
It was not a grand house, but neither was it a hovel.
Charlotte knew perfectly respectable tradesmen with six children who were quite comfortable in a house half as big and a tenth as grand.
By Mr Darcy’s standards, however, it was practically a shack in the woods.
It had only three footmen, two maids, and a cook to handle a patient and a nurse.
The stables could handle a half-dozen horses and a single carriage.
Charlotte’s first small journey started with wondering if she would ever accustom herself to the company of the very rich.
The colonel bore a V-shaped scar and rope burn on his neck, typical of those hanged.
The tension of the rope where the noose is tied caused the shape.
In the colonel’s case, more by chance than anything else, the inverted “V” pointed at his right ear.
Mr Darcy, for reasons known only to himself, brought the rope for her inspection.
When asked why, he suggested he had no idea if it would help or not.
All Charlotte learned from the inspection was that the colonel must have taken great care.
It was tied neatly, every strand of the noose placed with no overlaps, twists, or blemishes.
Neither Mr Darcy nor Miss Lucas understood that the colonel had placed the offending knot behind his right ear.
The choice was likely arbitrary, yet that decision no doubt spared the colonel’s life, as the weight and strain were sustained mostly on the less vulnerable left side of his neck.
That choice, along with the decision not to do a hasty job with what the colonel in his confused state considered his last task of importance, saved him.
Had he made a faster or sloppier job with the noose, or placed it under his other ear, Mr Darcy’s intervention would have been too late.
It would be some time before either understood that, and for the colonel, even longer before he would appreciate the hand fate had dealt him.
Whether fate or chance was involved, these two choices delayed the colonel’s appointment with death long enough for his cousin to either save him or condemn him to a life of abject misery, shame, and guilt.
The start of their shared journey left Charlotte wondering if she had taken on a task larger than she was capable of, and the colonel, more often than not, wallowing in self-pity and self-reproach over his inability to manage a simple killing.
Over the first few weeks, he determined that he was to survive for the immediate future, and thus reckoned it prudent to try to live—or at the very least, try to keep out of Miss Lucas’s brown books.
Nurse Lucas began with at least the relatively simple task of treating the man’s wounds, which naturally festered since the bed ropes and Rosings had not been cleaned in some time.
That was simple wound care, and easy enough to do.
The colonel’s throat was also heavily damaged, so he had an exceedingly difficult time speaking.
In the first part of the journey, Charlotte was ambivalent about whether this was a blessing or a curse, as most of what he eventually managed to croak out was either offensive, rude, whiny, paranoid, vulgar, defeatist or her all-time favourite—tears.
After two weeks of this Charlotte was certain she was very much in well over her head, and nearly drowned.
She also saw that bringing the man back to health in a month was an impossible task, and wondered what would happen when time ran out.
She still had obligations back at the hospital, and the colonel was not the only victim of the war who needed assistance.
She wrote immediately to the matron at the hospital for advice and instruction, and awaited the reply with anxiety.
In the meantime, she simply did her best. The colonel woke two or three times every night imitating a scream, which was no doubt quite terrifying in his own mind, but to the rest of the household sounded more like a cat drowning in a tub.
He would thrash violently, so Charlotte, often with Barrow or Salina, would enter several times a night to shake him awake.
Once awake, they tried various remedies to return him to sleep, or keep him awake for the few hours remaining.
Charlotte believed sleep as the sovereign remedy, so she resolved to find a way to make that happen.
Every medication anybody could devise was tested, including coffee, tea, brandy, whisky, laudanum, willow bark—and quite unknown to themselves—Mr McKeen’s favourite: gin.
They tried various concoctions from the apothecary, and some suggested by the physician.
Charlotte kept careful notes of every treatment and result, but eventually decided it was a futile effort.
She had no idea what she would do once her month was up, and hoped the matron who had been at it for twenty years would have advice.
~~~
10 October
Macmillan’s Hospital, London
My dear Miss Lucas,
It seems you have volunteered to undertake a most difficult task, and I hope you volunteered and were not appointed by the general. He is accustomed to giving orders, and would not scruple to do so, but you must know if you find the task too difficult, I will send assistance or a replacement.
When a man is damaged in his mind and his soul, it proves difficult for his nurse because I know of no treatment that is consistently efficacious.
Some men respond well to a task that helps others, and some additional responsibilities, as this helps give them a sense of purpose.
Other men cannot stand the idea of assuming responsibilities, and must be allowed their ease and comfort.
They feel they have been running and fighting their entire lives, and simply need peace and quiet to order things in their own minds.
Some men long to return to the battlefield, because at least there they know what to do, and they have a good chance of having the decision of how to live made for them.
In the end, I believe more men respond well to additional responsibility than rest or more violence, but that is for you to determine because the man himself will be of little assistance. He is unlikely to know his own mind.
You may find that your man suffers from what some of the leading men of science begin to call paranoia.
The men of science love using Greek words for maladies, in the apparent belief that it makes them sound like they know what they speak of.
In this case, it is a feeling of being persecuted, hounded, chased, beset on all sides by enemies far and near.
They will irrationally believe the most innocuous child or acquaintance is bent on harming them; and they will sometimes lash out with words or deeds at those closest to them.
Be on your guard, as sometimes these moods strike suddenly and without warning, so ensure you are never alone with him.
Naturally, he will be filled with shame and mortification at what he perceives as either a mortal sin, weakness, or bad judgement.
These feelings may be the most difficult for him to overcome.
This may well be the hardest thing to conquer, because he will eventually have to forgive himself if he is ever to heal, and a life of self-flagellation does nobody good.