The Darcys of Pemberley (35 page)

Back at the house, Georgiana and Charlotte
anxiously awaited news. Though they did not know all the
particulars, Henderson had been able to relate enough of the story
to raise alarm. So, when the carriage pulled up to the door, the
ladies hastened to meet it. Darcy’s face immediately conveyed the
gravity of the situation. Next they saw Elizabeth, still cradled in
his arms, badly injured and in a deep stupor.

Georgiana nearly fainted at the sight, but
Charlotte took charge. “Carry her upstairs, Mr. Darcy,” she
instructed. Then she sent a maid to fetch warm water from the
kitchen. Under Charlotte’s expert direction, Elizabeth was washed,
dressed in clean night clothes, placed in her bed, and given a cold
compress for the lump on her head. Everything that could be done
for her was done.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had made his way to
Kympton with all haste, interrupted in turn both Mr. Poole and Mr.
Thornton from their dinners. At his urgent bidding, each set out
for Pemberley straightaway, and the colonel continued on to
Heatheridge.

Mr. Poole arrived first and was sent up to
Elizabeth at once. After hearing the facts of the case, the surgeon
dismissed everyone but Charlotte from the room and set about his
work. Darcy and the others left reluctantly and came downstairs in
time to see the rector enter.

“Mr. Thornton,” he said, reaching out to take
his hand. “Thank you for coming. Your help and comfort is most
grievously needed just now.”

“How does your wife do, Mr. Darcy?”

“She is badly injured,” he groaned, “and
unconscious. Mr. Poole is with her now.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Pray for her … and for the child,” said
Darcy.

“That I began as soon as I got the news, and
I will continue until the danger is past,” said Mr. Thornton. “Is
there anything else?”

Darcy’s head was pounding. He closed his eyes
for a moment, rubbing his temples as he forced himself to consider
what next should be done. Then he remembered Lydia.

“Yes, there is one more thing you can do for
us, Mr. Thornton. Someone really must tell Mrs. Wickham what has
happened. I cannot possibly leave Mrs. Darcy, and presently there
is no one else to go.”

“I am honored to be of service. What would
you have me tell her?”

“Give her the truth as gently as possible, I
suppose, but without detail. Then bring her here where she can be
with her family. Elizabeth would not want Lydia’s distress
forgotten.”

After giving his friend some words of
encouragement, Mr. Thornton departed on his somber errand, leaving
the others to await Mr. Poole’s report in much perturbation of
spirit. Finally the surgeon came down.

Darcy snapped to attention. “Tell me, sir,”
he begged. “How does my wife do? Will she recover?”

“These things are very difficult to predict,”
replied Mr. Poole directly. “In truth, it could go either way.”

Darcy turned his head aside and pressed a
clenched fist to his lips, stifling a cry of protest by sheer force
of will.

“Come now, Mr. Darcy, take heart,” Mr. Poole
advised more cheerfully. “There is good cause for optimism in your
wife’s case. She has not sustained any serious injuries that I can
discover other than the blow to her head, which is responsible for
her loss of consciousness. Yet even in that there are positive
signs – some involuntary movement and normal reflex of the eyes.
Furthermore, she is young and strong, which gives her the very best
chance to come through this with all her faculties in tact. By
tomorrow, I expect that we will have a much better idea.”

“And the child?” Darcy choked out.

“All I can verify for you now is that it
lives. We cannot rule out the possibility that some harm has been
done – by the accident itself or by your wife’s unconscious state.
We must hope Mrs. Darcy revives in time to deliver the child
without further complication, and then we shall see.”

“What can I do for her, Mr. Poole? Give me
some useful occupation if you can.”

“Well, sir, you might talk to her, rub her
hands, and so forth. The stimulation may help her to wake. If she
does come round, keep her quiet. Do not let her move about or leave
her bed. She will have a devil of a headache regardless, I’m
afraid. I will come again at first light. If there were anything
more I could do for her, Mr. Darcy, I would willingly stay, but it
is simply a matter of waiting now.”

“I understand. Thank you, Mr. Poole.”

They shook hands and the surgeon departed.
Darcy returned to Elizabeth’s side, and at once undertook the work
with which Mr. Poole had charged him. He held and squeezed his
wife’s hand, stroked her face and hair, and spoke to her gently,
but with strength of purpose. He reasoned that if Elizabeth could
hear his voice, she would do everything in her power to follow it
back to him; she was lost and he must guide her home.

Georgiana and Charlotte also took their turns
at Elizabeth’s bedside. Although Darcy gave way to allow each of
them to care for their friend, he refused to leave the room for
either food or rest.

Colonel Fitzwilliam returned with the
Bingleys just before dark. After receiving a brief report on
Elizabeth’s condition from Georgiana, Jane immediately went up to
her sister. Mr. Bingley followed upon hearing that his friend kept
to his wife’s room as well.

“Come and sit with her, Jane,” said Darcy,
rising as the Bingleys entered. “Let her hear your voice. The
surgeon said it might help.”

Jane complied, and Darcy moved away a little
to stand with Mr. Bingley.

“My dear fellow, I cannot tell you how sorry
I am,” said Bingley, clasping Darcy’s hand.

“Thank you for coming, Charles. You have
heard the whole story then?”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam told us everything he
knew, and Georgiana has added the surgeon’s report, but I still
cannot believe it. How could this have happened?”

“We have put together what we can, but it is
an incomplete picture. With Wickham dead, Elizabeth is the only one
who can provide the missing pieces to the puzzle. I pray she will
soon be well enough to do so. For now, though, her safety is all
that matters. She simply
must
recover, Bingley,” finished
Darcy, his voice thick with emotion.

Both men turned their attention toward the
sickbed again, watching Jane’s tender ministrations there.

When Darcy was master of himself once more,
he asked his friend, “Has Lydia come yet? Mr. Thornton kindly
agreed to break the news to her, and I suggested he bring her here
to be comforted by her sisters.”

“In point of fact, we stopped at the cottage
on our way here. Jane was afraid Lydia would be alone, and thought
we could be of service by collecting her ourselves. We found that
Mr. Thornton had been unable to convince Lydia to leave her home.
Since we had no success either, Kitty volunteered to stay with her.
I hope that arrangement meets with your approval, Darcy. There
seemed nothing else to be done.”

“Yes, yes, just as she likes. I do not mean
to force her to come. How did she seem to you? I imagine she was
hard hit by the news.”

“Distraught, naturally. Still, by the time we
arrived, she was tolerably calm, thanks to Mr. Thornton.”

“What a senseless tragedy this is!” said
Darcy miserably. “That so many lives should be devastated by the
treachery of one man… I confess it is all too much for me,
Bingley.”

Answered Prayer

Elizabeth may have been the only one at
Pemberley who slept soundly that night. Most of her family and
friends did eventually take to their beds, but no one rested well
with her life still in jeopardy and the final outcome unknown. Jane
would not quit her sister’s room; she slept only fitfully on the
paisley sofa at the foot of the bed. Darcy remained at his post,
sitting by his wife’s side throughout the night, although he
ultimately lost his battle to stay awake on her account.

That is where Elizabeth found him when she
woke from her strange slumber just after dawn. It seemed only
natural in the first hazy light of her awakening that her dear
husband should be there. He was slumped over sideways in his chair
with his head resting on the edge of the bed next to her, still
holding her right hand. As she made out the familiar planes of his
face, the sweep of dark lashes resting against his cheek, a flush
of tenderness rushed through her. She began to reach across to
stroke his hair, an idea she instantly abandon when her first
movement unleashed a terrible throbbing in her temples and at the
back of her head.

Lying absolutely still again, Elizabeth
closed her eyes and tried to sort out in her muddled mind what had
happened, how she had come to be in this situation. She must be
very ill or seriously injured, she decided; the violent pain and
the evidence of what she now recognized as an all-night vigil round
her were proof of that. Yet trying to remember was peculiarly
exhausting.

The baby
! Panicked at the thought,
Elizabeth risked moving her free hand again to confirm that the
child was still safe within her. She held her breath until she felt
a familiar flutter of movement. An audible sigh of relief passed
Elizabeth’s lips, and she simultaneously squeezed her husband’s
hand.

Darcy stirred, opening his eyes to the
beautiful sight of his wife’s marred but reasonably alert face.
“Elizabeth?” he said, questioning whether or not the vision was
real or a dream.

“My love,” she murmured.

“Oh, thank God! You are come back to me!”
Darcy whispered with no less intensity than had he shouted the
words. He moved to take her into his arms, but broke off the
attempt at once when she gasped in pain as soon as he disturbed the
bed.

After a minute to recover, Elizabeth said
weakly, “Apparently, I am not at all well. You say I am come back
to you, Darcy. I must ask you, where have I been?”

“Do you not know what has happened then?”

“I have not the least idea, I assure
you.”

“Yes, Mr. Poole said you would likely not
remember. My darling, you were in a carriage accident yesterday and
have been unconscious these many hours since.”

“What? I do not understand. How …?”

“Hush, Lizzy. There will be time enough for
explanations. Rest now, and concern yourself only with getting
well.”

Her minimal reserves of strength already
exhausted by these small exertions, Elizabeth had no will to
oppose. She shut her heavy eyelids and slept again.

When next she awoke, Mr. Poole was with her.
After seeing his patient so materially improved, he was pleased to
pronounce Mrs. Darcy out of danger. The excellent report flowed
rapidly like a wave to every corner of the awaiting household,
flooding friend and servant alike with joyous relief.

“However,” cautioned Mr. Poole, “recovery may
be tediously slow. And, Mrs. Darcy, you must be prepared for the
possibility that you shall always suffer some lingering effects of
this misadventure. Early on, you may experience some mental
confusion, along with the headaches and memory loss, which will
likely be much more persistent. Keep strictly to your bed at first.
I expect you will be able to resume your normal activities in time,
progressing by small degrees. Take a little mulled wine, a lot of
rest, and by all means avoid becoming overexcited. That is my
advice, and I charge you, Mr. Darcy, with making sure it is carried
out.”

“It shall be done, sir. Depend on it.”

Mr. Thornton, who had spent the night
maintaining a vigil of prayer on the family’s behalf, was allowed
the next audience with Elizabeth that morning. He bowed and smiled,
and came alongside her saying, “I must be getting back for Sunday
services. Still, I could not be satisfied to leave without seeing
you first, Mrs. Darcy.”

Carefully, she opened her hand to receive
his. “How good you are, Mr. Thornton,” said Elizabeth in little
more than a whisper.

“Sometimes the answers to our prayers are not
what we expect, or they are very long in coming. On this occasion,
however, God has graciously given us precisely what we asked for
and as immediately as we could possibly hope. I am most gratified
to see you looking so well again after the scare you gave us
yesterday.”

“It seems that I have had quite the easiest
time of it. Everybody else apparently suffered a great deal of
worry and distress on my account, and all the while I was sleeping
peacefully, completely unaware of my own peril.” She smiled feebly.
“Even now, I am kept in comfortable ignorance of just exactly what
has happened.”

“It amazes me that you are able to joke about
your present circumstances, Mrs. Darcy. But then, that is one of
the things I have always admired about you – your ability to find
humor in nearly every situation. I believe we would all be better
off if we could take ourselves, and even our troubles, less
seriously. Well, I really must be off to church now, or they will
have to start without me. I shall keep you in my prayers and come
back to see you again in a day or two.”

“Thank you again, sir, for all you have
done,” said Elizabeth, warmly.

Mr. Thornton bowed and said good-bye.

One or two at a time, other visitors
succeeded him: Georgiana, Charlotte, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Jane and
Mr. Bingley in turn, all under Mr. Darcy’s watchful eye. Their
stays were kept short as Mr. Poole had instructed, but Elizabeth’s
friends would not be denied the felicity of witnessing her
improvement for themselves.

With practice, Elizabeth soon learnt the art
of lying perfectly still, of speaking without too much exertion or
volume, of turning her eyes toward someone without turning her
head, all in an effort to avoid any exacerbation of her
ever-present headache. As long as her visitors sat, or preferably
stood, close by, Elizabeth found that she could carry on a fairly
comfortable conversation in hushed tones.