Chapter Seven
A small plump woman came out from behind the bar and spoke gently but firmly.
"Now then, sir," she said, taking in the situation at a glance.
"I am Mrs Goose and I run this establishment with my husband.
Oh dear, your wife looks very unwell indeed.
Let us get her dry and warm before we do anything else. "
"Martha," she shouted. "A bath in the green room as quick as you please."
A maid bobbed a curtsy and rushed through a door at the back of the room.
"This way, sir, if you please," said Mrs Goose beckoning Darcy to follow her through a passageway and up a narrow staircase. His arms burned, but he cradled Elizabeth tightly.
"Here now, the green room. You are lucky sir, this is the last room I have available with this weather. Now just put… forgive me, your name, sir?
"Darcy," he said cradling Elizabeth’s head under his chin.
"Well you just lay, Mrs Darcy here, sir, and me and Martha will set her to rights while you warm yourself downstairs."
"She is not…" he began, but Mrs Goose shooed him away. "This is no place for a gentleman, sir. Not while we are getting her out of those wet things. Downstairs with you. I shall send word the moment she is fit to be seen."
Darcy looked at Elizabeth helplessly. He had managed difficult tenants, legal wranglings, and Caroline Bingley.
None of it had prepared him for this. He felt utterly useless, and although Mrs Goose barely reached his shoulder, she had the authority of a battle-hardened naval commander.
She prodded him with a plump finger in the chest with more force than he would have guessed she possessed.
"Mrs Goose—"
"Downstairs, Mr Darcy."
Burke, who had followed them up carrying Elizabeth’s small trunk and several blankets, gave a cough from the doorway. "Best do as she says, sir."
Darcy had no choice but to obey. Mrs Goose closed the door in his face and for a moment he stood in the passage staring at it. Burke waited beside him. "You heard the lady," he said firmly. "Downstairs."
Darcy looked down the passage, jaw tight. "There is only one room."
"Yes."
"And she believes Miss Bennet is my wife."
"Yes," said Burke. "But right now there is a lady in there who is very unwell. One problem at a time, sir."
???
They returned to the taproom, where the occupants had mostly resumed their conversations but continued to glance towards Darcy whenever they thought he would not notice.
Mr Goose was a broad, cheerful man with thinning hair and a waistcoat that strained at the buttons.
He assured Darcy that his horses had been stabled, rubbed down and fed, and the coachman was already in the kitchen with a bowl of hot stew.
Burke’s arrangements were also, apparently, being seen to.
Mr Goose had found him a small attic room, which Burke accepted with a regal nod of his head.
Darcy heard and saw very little of this. Burke pushed a tankard into his hand. "Drink," he commanded and Darcy drowned the ale quickly before glancing for the third time in as many minutes at the door that led to the bedrooms.
For several minutes neither of them spoke. Rain beat against the windows and the taproom door opened twice to admit men soaked almost as thoroughly as they had been. Each time the wind swept in, Darcy felt his shoulders tighten at the thought of Elizabeth upstairs, pale and still and far too cold.
At last Burke leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You should know, sir, I sent young Thomas back to Barley Cross as soon as the horses were settled."
Darcy turned to him.
"To ask after Mr and Mrs Frost," Burke continued. "And to find a doctor if there is one to be had. The road will be slow, but he knows what he is about. He is a canny lad, and strong."
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you."
Of course Burke had already done it. He possessed an almost supernatural talent for anticipating precisely what would be required several minutes before anyone else.
It was one of the reasons Darcy trusted him with almost everything.
It was also one of the reasons he occasionally considered strangling him.
A short while later Mrs Goose appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Darcy rose so quickly his chair nearly toppled. "How is she?"
Mrs Goose came towards him wiping her hands on her apron. "Warmer than she was, but not as warm as I should like. She has taken a little broth, though I cannot say she knew much about it, poor dear. She is not properly awake, but she is not as deathly white as when you carried her in."
"May I see her?"
Mrs Goose hesitated only a moment. "You may, but quietly. And do not go upsetting her. She has had quite enough excitement for one night."
Darcy nodded and followed her upstairs.
The green room was now close and hot. A fire roared in the grate and steam lingered in the air from the bath that had been dragged behind a screen.
Elizabeth lay in the bed beneath a great mound of blankets, her damp hair loose around her shoulders and her face still pale against the pillow.
She looked very young and very vulnerable.
Mrs Goose checked the bricks at the foot of the bed and tucked the blankets with brisk efficiency. "She keeps shivering. That is not always a bad sign, mind, but I do not like how cold she still is. You may sit with her if you wish, Mr Darcy. She should not be left alone tonight."
Darcy did not turn his gaze from Elizabeth. "I will sit with her."
He thought of correcting Mrs Goose as to their relationship.
But the words died in his throat. To explain that Elizabeth was not his wife, had never been his wife and would likely rather marry a cooper than become his wife, seemed both necessary and impossible.
The inn had one room. Elizabeth required care.
Everyone below had seen him carry her in shouting like a madman.
Whatever truth he announced now would only make matters worse.
Mrs Goose left him with a bowl of broth, a cup of sharp-smelling tea and strict instructions to call if the lady worsened.
Darcy sat in the chair beside the bed and watched Elizabeth sleep, though sleep did not seem quite the right word for it.
She stirred now and then, turning her head restlessly against the pillow, her lips moving without sound.
Once she shivered so violently that he rose at once and pulled the blankets higher around her shoulders.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said quietly.
Her eyes fluttered but did not open.
"It is only Darcy," he whispered, before realising this was unlikely to reassure her.
She made a faint sound and turned towards the warmth of the fire.
Her hand had slipped free from the blankets.
He touched it cautiously and found it still too cold.
For a moment he only looked at her fingers..
Then, telling himself that this was a matter of necessity and nothing more, he took her hand between both of his and began to rub warmth back into it.
She sighed.
"There," he said, though he had no idea whether she heard him. "You are safe."
She shifted again, brow furrowing. "Jane?"
"No. Darcy."
Her frown deepened. It seemed even half-conscious, this answer unsatisfactory.
"Of course," she murmured.
Despite everything, Darcy nearly laughed.
The room grew quieter as the hours passed.
The noise from the taproom faded until only the storm remained, rattling the window and sending occasional gusts down the chimney.
Burke came once to report that there was still no doctor, but Thomas had reached Barley Cross and had learned nothing of Mr and Mrs Frost. The road had been almost impassable so he had not lingered, but more enquiries would be made the next day.
By midnight Darcy had abandoned the chair and sat on the edge of the bed to keep her from throwing off the blankets in her restless sleep.
By one o’clock he was chafing her shoulders to try and warm her further.
By two, when another violent shudder passed through her and she turned instinctively towards him, he tugged off his boots, his coat and cravat and crawled on the bed next to her.
Elizabeth Bennet was tucked against his side, her head resting near his shoulder, while he lay stiffly on top of the counterpane with one arm around her and blankets drawn up over both of them.
Gradually the violent trembling subsided, until the only movement he could feel was the slow rise and fall of her breathing against his shoulder.
Darcy lay awake for a long time staring into the darkness above the bed. Every sensible part of his mind informed him that he ought to sleep. But each time he closed his eyes he found himself listening for the sound of Elizabeth’s breathing beside him.
She shifted slightly in her sleep and burrowed deeper against his shoulder, seeking warmth even while unconscious.
Darcy closed his eyes again. This was torturous.
He had spent weeks trying to put distance between himself and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, had left Netherfield specifically to place many miles between them, and now found himself sharing a bed with her while the storm rattled the shutters outside.
Somewhere beside him she made a small sound of contentment and settled again. Darcy stared back at the ceiling. Sleep did not arrive for a very long time.
???
Elizabeth woke slowly and struggled into consciousness with a strange sense of unease.
At first she could not understand what it was.
She was warm, curled beneath a heavy blanket in a comfortable bed.
It sounded as though a merry fire crackled in the grate.
But it was not her bed. And her head ached fiercely.
She was in a bedchamber she did not recognise.
The curtains were green and the wallpaper decorated with small yellow birds which flew cheerfully across a clear sky despite the sound of heavy rain pattering on the window.
There was also, improbably, an arm about her waist. Close inspection revealed a tanned forearm covered in dark hair.
She stifled a scream and turned over, the arm drawing her closer still.
Beside her, in only his shirt and breeches, lay Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth pushed herself upright with a gasp.
The movement woke him instantly. He sat up so quickly that the blankets slipped from his shoulders and stared at her with alarm.
His hair stood in every direction and there was a crease pressed into one cheek from the pillow.
The sight was so unexpected that Elizabeth's indignation faltered for a moment.
"Mr Darcy," she said, in a voice that did not sound nearly as commanding as she had hoped.
"Miss Elizabeth."
She looked down at the bed. Then at him. Then at the bed again.
"Why are you in my bed?"
Mr Darcy closed his eyes. "Miss Elizabeth," he said carefully, "before you become alarmed, there are several things you ought to know."