Chapter 9
Elizabeth lost track of time as she sat holding her father’s hand.
She looked absently at the tea and the bowl of soup that were getting cold on the small table.
She could not possibly eat anything; she felt numb, and there was an icy hole instead of her heart.
The silence was heavy — only the sound of the fire and her father’s steady breathing. Regular and lifeless.
She had asked Mr Jones to join the family at dinner and dismissed the maid and the footman. There was no point in so many people sitting with Mr Bennet. She felt like they were waiting for something which she did not dare consider.
She wondered what Jane would have to face at Longbourn if Mr Collins remained at Netherfield, how long the doctor needed to journey from London, and — most importantly — if she would ever hear her father’s jokes again.
Mr Darcy’s gesture of calling for his physician impressed her beyond words.
It was indeed proof of consideration and interest in their troubles.
But still, what could the doctor from London do that Mr Jones could not?
Surely, he could not see inside her father’s body.
How could he help her father recover? She looked at him again; he seemed on the edge between life and death.
Could anyone influence which direction he would go, in the end?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door; she whispered for the visitor to come in, then repeated it in a louder voice. She did not have to remain silent, quite the contrary; any sound which might wake her father would be useful.
The door opened to reveal the last man she expected; Mr Darcy took a few steps, then stopped.
“Miss Elizabeth, may I enter?”
“Of course…”
He came a little closer, then stopped again. He was tall, and, as she was sitting down, she had to look up at him.
“Please sit down, sir.”
He hesitated, then took a chair and moved it closer to her. They were alone, and he should not be there, but she was grateful he was.
“Miss Elizabeth, I have come to tell you that Bingley accompanied Miss Bennet to Longbourn. He has not returned yet. I am sure his presence is needed to comfort your family.”
“Mr Bingley is exceedingly kind to us. And so are you, Mr Darcy. I have no words to thank you.”
“As Bingley said earlier, no words are needed. Let us hope and pray that this dreadful situation will have a good outcome. Dr Crawford will certainly know what to do.”
“I pray he will, and I am trying, with all my heart, to keep my hopes high. I cannot believe that this morning all was well, and Papa was in perfect health, and now…”
“You should keep your hopes up. Even you said he was a healthy, strong man. Dr Crawford has served in the army, abroad, for several years. Now he manages a hospital in London. He certainly has seen every possible case — and dealt with much worse.”
She nodded, and he gently, briefly, touched her hand with his, in comfort. Neither was wearing gloves, and Elizabeth felt a shiver across her skin and pulled her hand away slowly.
“Did Mr Collins return with Jane?” she enquired.
“No, he is still here. I dare say he is quite comfortable.”
“He is such a strange, witless man. So single-minded and unable to see anything except his own interest. I wonder how it is possible that your aunt favours him.”
“If you knew my aunt, you would better understand,” he answered with a little smile. “Mr Collins possesses the art of flattery, which my aunt is very fond of. To me, I admit it is a burden to hear him speak.”
Elizabeth recollected Mr Wickham’s claims about Mr Darcy’s resemblance to his aunt, and she immediately dismissed them as untrue.
“As it was to my father.” She smiled with sadness. “And to us… Unfortunately, we are forced to bear his presence, as he is the one who will inherit Longbourn. I would not be surprised if he rejoiced in the success of his journey.”
“What do you mean?”
“When he arrived, he told us he had come to make peace with the family, to become acquainted with the Longbourn estate, and to find a wife. He might not have accomplished all his goals, but he could return as the owner of Longbourn.”
She could not hold back her tears, and, defeated, she began sobbing.
“I do not care about Longbourn,” she whispered. “Without Papa, Longbourn means very little. I am not afraid of what will happen to us. I shall find a way to take care of the family. But I cannot imagine my life without Papa. I cannot…”
Tears were falling down her face, and she tried to wipe them with one hand, while the other was still clutching her father.
She knew she should be ashamed that Mr Darcy — almost a stranger to her and her family — had witnessed such an outburst. Instead, she rejoiced in the comfort of his presence, especially when he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.
She tried to wipe her face, but her fingers were trembling.
He gently took her hand with his, relieved her of the handkerchief, and gently dabbed her cheeks with it.
Slowly, her grief soothed a little, enough for her to be able to look at him.
“Miss Elizabeth, please know that you have my complete support and — I hope you will accept it — my friendship. Anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask me. Now, or later.”
“You have already done too much for us, sir.”
“I have done too little compared with what I would wish. Unfortunately, I must leave now. I should not have been here, alone with you, in the first place.”
“Oh, I hope it is not inconvenient for you…I thought only of myself and did not consider…”
“Miss Elizabeth, if my presence gave you some comfort, I am pleased. I am here because I wished to be, and I leave only because propriety does not allow me to stay.”
He paused for a moment, as if he wanted to say more but changed his mind.
“Should I send a maid to you?”
“No, thank you.”
“I see that you have eaten nothing.”
“I am not hungry.”
“I imagine as much, but you need to keep up your strength — for your father and for your family. I shall send a maid with warm soup, some meat, and bread.”
She was tempted to refuse, but his worry seemed too genuine to be dismissed, so she only whispered, “Thank you.”
“Miss Elizabeth, my room is in this hall — the second door. Anything you need, please send a servant to call me.”
“Of course, sir. I hope there will be no need.”
Mr Darcy left after they exchanged one last glance. When she was alone, despair enveloped her again.
Soon afterwards, a maid arrived with some food, and she forced herself to eat a little, just because Mr Darcy had insisted.
Some time passed, and Mr Bingley came to see her. He had just returned from Longbourn and assured her that her family was as well as could be expected. He said he would return to Longbourn the next day to offer his assistance.
Elizabeth’s gratitude for Mr Bingley’s actions mixed with joy and relief. He could not possibly do so much unless his admiration for Jane had turned into real, deep affection, and he was concerned about her well-being.
For an instant, she wondered why Mr Darcy was also going to so much trouble for them, but that thought tormented her too much, so she quickly abandoned it.
The house slowly fell silent, as the family had probably retired for the night. Mr Jones came to examine Mr Bennet and remained for a while. The footman and the maid assigned to Mr Bennet returned and stayed with her, at Mr Bingley’s specific request.
Late into the night, Elizabeth’s heart and head ached too much for her to rest. She kept stroking her father’s hand, then his forehead, feeling for any sign of fever. Eventually, she felt too exhausted to keep her eyes open, and she closed them, only for an instant.
She woke up sometime later, scared as if from a terrifying dream, feeling hot and shivering at the same time. She glanced around in confusion and reached for her father’s hand. Touching it, she realised it was warmer, and she understood his fever was building.
Then she saw the sheets, all in disorder around him. She leant forwards to touch his forehead, which was warm too. In a hurry, she moistened a cloth in cold water to cool his face and saw that a pillow had fallen from the bed.
She looked at the servants — they were both asleep in their chairs — and her heart raced as she understood there had been movement in the bed.
“Papa?” she cried, touching his face. Her voice awakened the servants, who hurried to her side.
“Call Mr Jones!” she cried, then wiped her father’s face with the cloth again. Drops of water were now falling onto his jaw and his neck, causing him to moan.
“Papa, can you hear me? Papa!”
Another moan and a sharp movement of the head were the responses which made Elizabeth burst into tears.
“Papa!” she called again. She grabbed his hand and brought it to her heart, calling to him again.
As though in a dream, she felt a grip in response to hers and his fingers moving slightly.
She did not dare disturb him too much, only to stroke his face and his hand; his eyes were still closed, but his eyelashes were moving.
It took several minutes — which seemed to Elizabeth as long as hours — until Mr Jones appeared.
“Papa is moving,” she said through her sobs. “He moaned and he moved…” she struggled to explain.
Mr Jones immediately leant over the patient, examining him, while she watched them from a short distance away.
The door was wide open, left so by the servant, and through it, Elizabeth saw Mr Darcy’s worried countenance. He was dressed in his night shirt and robe, his hair in disorder; he had obviously been awakened from his sleep.
He came closer to Elizabeth, looking at the bed, then at her.
“Papa moved…” she said.
“Dear Lord…” he whispered.
“I shall take some more blood,” Mr Jones declared, preparing his needle.
Another moan was heard, and they saw very clearly the patient pulling his hand away.
Elizabeth returned to the bed, and Mr Darcy followed. She cupped her father’s face with trembling hands, asking, “Papa, can you hear me?”
It took a while, and they needed all their attention to hear the whisper which responded hesitantly, “Lizzy?”
Elizabeth’s sadness turned into a rush of tears and sobs, and she embraced her father, crying her grief and her relief over him.
“Miss Lizzy, we must let him breathe,” Mr Jones said. “Please let me examine him,” he asked. Elizabeth tried to move, but she had no strength. Eventually, she felt Mr Darcy’s hands grip her from behind and gently pull her up.
“Miss Elizabeth, come. All is well,” he said gently.
She obeyed his voice, and he continued to help her to another chair.
“If you do not mind, I would like some privacy while I examine the patient. And we should change him too. These clothes are already wet. I would rather have only two servants helping me. The rest, please wait outside the door.”
As Elizabeth was still reluctant, Mr Jones continued, “Miss Lizzy, I promise to call you as soon as I am ready.”
“Come, Miss Elizabeth. We shall have a cup of tea while we wait,” Mr Darcy said, holding her.
Once in the hall, she refused to walk any farther.
“I shall wait here,” she said stubbornly.
Mr Darcy seemed to hesitate, then suddenly said, “Let us go to my room and ring for some tea and coffee.” She glanced at him, stunned, but he continued.
“I know it is improper, but my room is the nearest. We shall leave all the doors open, of course. The maid will be in the hall, and we shall send for Bingley too. He would surely want to know.”
Still confused, her eyes burning from tears, her head aching, she could not judge properly, so she accepted his suggestion. He seemed to have considered everything carefully and, at that time, he surely knew best.
Mr Darcy escorted her to his chamber, which was more of an apartment. The first thing Elizabeth noticed out of the corner of her eye was the bed — the sheets rumpled, revealing the signs of his slumber.
She felt herself blushing, and he appeared slightly uncomfortable too, hurrying to pull some blankets over the sheets.
Then he rang for his valet, asking for drinks and for the man to fetch Mr Bingley.
As soon as they were alone, he did not sit.
He kept walking to and from the hall, so as to be sure he was seen and no accusations could be made in future.
Soon after, Mr Bingley arrived — also in his robe — and he loudly expressed his astonishment and joy.
With Mr Bingley present, and the tray of food, coffee, tea, and brandy on the table, Mr Darcy finally took a seat.
They waited together, with Mr Bingley chatting joyfully and Elizabeth and Mr Darcy mostly listening and exchanging glances. Elizabeth was too scared to allow herself to be happy or relieved, but hope slowly grew inside her, fighting against her fear.
Eventually, Elizabeth was called, and they all went together.
“Miss Lizzy, your father is asking for you. But I warn you, we need prudence and care. He needs to stay in bed, as we still do not know the nature of his injury. He has a high fever, and I expect he has a bad cold, for which I have given him some medicine.”
“A brandy, please,” Mr Bennet mumbled, causing smiles and more tears from Elizabeth, who sat by his side.
“No brandy yet,” Mr Jones replied. “Let us all sleep now. I shall come to see you again in a few hours.”
“Thank you! I shall stay here with Papa,” Elizabeth declared.
“You should sleep too, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Jones insisted. “The servants will stay here.”
“No, thank you,” she refused, adding a smile to her voice.
“Miss Elizabeth, should we send the good news to Longbourn?” Mr Darcy asked.
She smiled again. “You read my mind, Mr Darcy. Thank you.”
“I shall take the news myself,” Mr Bingley declared, and this time Elizabeth’s smile matched Mr Darcy’s.
Then everyone left, and she remained with her father, holding his hand. He rewarded her with a smile too — one that melted her heart.