Chapter 5

K itty and Lydia continued to chatter about what they had witnessed, but Elizabeth disregarded them. She ran towards the house, gasping for breath.

“Where is Papa? Is he in the library? I need him right now!” she shouted the moment she entered, frightening Jane and Mary, who hurried after her. Mr Bennet startled at her appearance, standing up so quickly that he dropped his glasses and book.

“Lizzy, what has happened to you? Where are your mother and sisters? Are you hurt?”

“No, Papa, but Mr Darcy is injured and frozen. He might even die. I have come to fetch help. Mama is with him, and Lydia and Kitty should arrive soon.”

Her words sounded barely coherent, causing Jane and Mary to gasp in panic. Fortunately, after a moment of stupefaction, Mr Bennet composed himself and took control of the situation. He requested that John prepare the carriage and sent Hill for the apothecary. Their footman, Tom, went with them too, for additional help.

Less than half an hour passed between Elizabeth leaving the injured gentleman and her mother and returning in the carriage. However, in that time, the rain had intensified, and the cold could be felt in one’s bones.

Mrs Bennet was soaking wet and shivering, her lips blue. Mr Darcy was moving his head, moaning something, whispering something, a streak of blood on his cheek.

With much effort, the two manservants and Mr Bennet managed to lift the injured gentleman into the carriage. Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth entered too, and only then could Elizabeth breathe a little more freely.

Mr Darcy continued to moan, and his lips moved. She knelt next to him, calling his name.

“Mr Darcy, can you hear me, sir? You have been injured. We are taking you to Longbourn now.”

She was surprised to hear him mumbling her name, and then he reached out his hand towards her. His fingers grabbed hers, and he whispered her name again. The gentleman’s gestures, whilst clearly unconscious, were disturbing for Elizabeth, but she felt relief to at least observe a sign of his recovery, however weak.

“Should we not take him to Netherfield?” Mrs Bennet suggested.

“Netherfield is too far,” Mr Bennet said. “The road is in poor condition, and the weather is terrible. His clothes are all wet and dirty — he must be freezing. Let us go to Longbourn for now and see what Mr Jones says. I shall send word to Mr Bingley.”

“Yes, I think that is best,” Mrs Bennet replied. “I am frozen already, and he must have been out in the cold much longer.”

“I shall ask Mr Jones to examine you too. You look very ill,” Mr Bennet said. “And you too, Lizzy.”

“I am well, Papa. I wonder what could have happened to Mr Darcy. What if we had not walked by?”

“I am shocked to see him in such a state. Mr Bingley called on us earlier, and he mentioned Mr Darcy had gone out for a short ride but expected him to already be back at Netherfield.”

“Mr Bingley called?” Mrs Bennet asked enthusiastically. “Did he speak to Jane?”

“Yes and yes. He stayed about half an hour.”

“Oh, how kind of him! I am so glad to hear that. The poor man will suffer so much to see his friend injured. Dear Lord, I hope Mr Darcy will not die before the ball. That would be disastrous for Mr Bingley.”

“It would surely be more disastrous for Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet uttered. “But let us pray that will not be the case.”

“We do not even know the nature of his injuries,” Elizabeth said. “Papa, where should we put Mr Darcy? In which room?”

“In my room,” Mr Bennet responded after a brief hesitation. “It is close to the library and a door to the garden so will be easy to access. We shall decide further after Mr Jones examines him.”

The carriage stopped in front of Longbourn, and all the Bennet sisters appeared, as well as Hill. Mr Darcy was lifted out, still not properly conscious.

Jane took Mrs Bennet inside to help her change and warm up; Elizabeth withdrew to her chamber to do the same.

As she took off her dirty clothes and brushed her hair, Elizabeth’s mind was a tumult of sentiments and questions. Mr Darcy had seemingly suffered a riding accident. But if so, what had Mr Wickham been doing near him? And whatever the reason for his presence, why had he departed when they approached? The officer had left without a word or indication that there was a wounded man who needed help.

She — as well as her sisters and mother — had clearly observed Mr Wickham’s position; he must have been very close to Mr Darcy. It would have been impossible not to see him or his horse. And again, the same question returned: Why had Mr Wickham hurried away from them when the previous evening at Lucas Lodge he had been all warmth and friendliness towards them? The only logical, though disturbing, answer was that Mr Wickham had deliberately abandoned Mr Darcy there — injured, in danger of dying either from his wounds or the cold. Such a notion caused Elizabeth disgust, resentment, and rage. No human should be allowed to display such cruelty towards other living beings.

A knock on the door surprised her, and Mary entered carrying a small tray.

“Hill has prepared some soup and herbal tea for you and Mama.”

“Thank you. How is Mama? And Mr Darcy?”

“Jane is taking care of Mama. All I know of Mr Darcy is that Papa and John are with him. What a tragedy, Lizzy! I wonder what happened.”

“I wonder too, my dear. I shall take a few sips, then let us go downstairs. I wonder why Mr Jones is taking so long. Did Papa inform Mr Bingley?”

“I am not sure, Lizzy…”

Her questions were answered a few minutes later when she and Mary went downstairs, encountering the apothecary in the hall, who passed by her with a brief nod. Mr Jones looked exceedingly troubled, which increased Elizabeth’s own agitation. She waited for her father to appear, but he did not, so she and Mary went to the drawing room, where Lydia and Kitty soon joined them.

“I have never seen a dying man before,” Lydia whispered.

“Let us hope he is not dying,” Elizabeth replied.

“He did not look proud and arrogant any longer. I felt sorry for him,” Kitty added.

“Of course you did, my dear. We all feel sorry for him. Even though we do not always appreciate his manners, Mr Darcy is a gentleman with many qualities, and he deserves our concern and prayers. In truth, anyone would deserve concern and prayers under similar circumstances.”

In the middle of their conversation, Mr Bingley arrived, pale, alarmed, his hair and neckcloth in disorder, breathing erratically. With him was another man, silent but equally troubled.

“Where is Darcy? What happened? How is he?”

“He is with my father and Mr Jones the apothecary,” Elizabeth answered gently. “Please take a seat. We should have news soon.”

“No, thank you. I cannot sit. This is Stevens, Darcy’s valet. He has come to take care of him. I could not make him wait at Netherfield.”

“I must be with Mr Darcy. Can you take me to him immediately?” Stevens asked.

While John showed him the way, Mr Bingley continued his enquiries.

“But what happened? Your servant told me he had an accident. What accident? There is no better rider than Darcy! And he fell? I have fallen from a horse a hundred times with barely a scratch!”

“Mr Bingley, please calm yourself. We know nothing more except that we found him unconscious, his foot caught in a stirrup. We do not know the nature or the seriousness of the accident.”

“Why…why not call me sooner? Why did you not take him to Netherfield?”

“There was no time. We sent you word as soon as we could. We were walking home from Meryton when we found him. Mama remained with him while I ran to get help. Longbourn was the closest place to shelter him. He was already cold, and it was raining, and—”

“Yes, of course… You did well. Forgive me. I am lost, shocked—”

“Mr Bingley! You are here!” Jane’s voice interrupted the gentleman. He turned to her, and his expression immediately softened. Jane approached him and stretched out her hands, which he took. The simple, genuine gesture seemed to provide him instant comfort, so he finally took a seat, with Jane by his side.

Against her will, Elizabeth recollected Mr Darcy whispering her name and holding her hand when he was barely conscious, and a strange warmth enveloped her. She had previously held men’s hands while dancing, but she did not remember feeling anything so intense before.

Mrs Bennet joined the group a few moments later, and the discussion resumed, then ended abruptly when the apothecary appeared, his countenance still disquieted. Behind him was Mr Bennet, looking equally anxious.

Mr Bingley jumped to his feet.

“How is he?”

“I am not sure,” Mr Jones replied. “He has regained consciousness and even recognised us.”

“He has? Thank God! This is wonderful!” Mr Bingley exclaimed.

Elizabeth breathed deeply with a profound sense of relief.

“I hope it is a good sign, but there are plenty of reasons for concern,” the apothecary added. He paused to take the drink offered by Mr Bennet.

“What reasons? What concerns?” Mr Bingley insisted.

“Mr Darcy has some pain in his foot, but it does not seem broken, which is good. Also, a few of his ribs are sore, and I expect to see many bruises by tomorrow.”

He paused again for a sip of brandy.

“There is a strange injury on his temple. It is as if he was struck with a small rock, perhaps. There is also another wound on the top his head. It was likely hit quite hard by a branch. He must have been riding at a gallop and failed to see it. I believe the impact made him dizzy and caused him to fall.”

“It sounds worrisome, but it is not so tragic, is it?” Mr Bingley asked.

“My knowledge is limited. I cannot know for sure. I cannot estimate the seriousness of his head injury, and he was out in the cold for some time. He might develop a fever. I do not know…”

“So, what should we do?” Mrs Bennet asked, sounding like she was losing her patience.

“I shall give him some medicine and stay with him through the night. We should not move him until we know for sure. Perhaps some tea or a little soup if he is awake.”

“Of course. We shall do as you say,” Mrs Bennet replied.

“Mr Bingley,” the apothecary continued, “I imagine Mr Darcy has a doctor in London. A true physician. I recommend you send for him. I cannot make a decision alone about Mr Darcy’s health.”

“Yes, of course! He does have a doctor, but I am not acquainted with him. I shall write to Miss Darcy immediately. I shall send an express. With luck, by tomorrow night, the doctor can be here.”

“Please do so,” the apothecary uttered.

Mr Bingley was highly agitated, and he glanced about, seemingly confused.

“Mr Bingley, I may provide you with paper and pen,” Mr Bennet offered. “Or you would prefer to return to Netherfield, perhaps?”

“No…I would rather stay if it is acceptable to you. I shall write to Miss Darcy and dispatch a note to my sisters to let them know Darcy is well enough. Can you send someone with it?”

“Of course. It seems there are only a few things we can do for Mr Darcy, so let us do them properly,” Mr Bennet concluded. “Mrs Bennet, is dinner ready? We shall all have a restless night, and some food might be helpful. And we must adjust our living arrangements for these peculiar circumstances.”

“We shall take care of everything, Papa,” Elizabeth replied. “Mama needs to rest, but we shall help Hill.”

She preferred to have something to engage her time and her mind to avoid any thorough consideration of the facts — and Mr Wickham’s involvement or lack of it in the accident. If they had not arrived at that very moment, would Mr Wickham have sought help or left Mr Darcy to die there? And if he had wished to offer help, why not do it even after they approached the scene?

Was it possible that she was judging the officer too harshly? Could he truly have not seen them and was hurrying to seek help? What if he had returned but Mr Darcy had not been there any longer and he had heard they had already saved him? Could there be any excuse for what seemed like cowardice and cruelty? She hoped there was; otherwise she would be a ridiculous simpleton who had trusted a deceitful man for no other reason than his handsome face and pleasant manners.

She remembered how readily she had believed Mr Darcy guilty of cruelty and wickedness and had accused him — at least in her mind — of being a disloyal son and a dishonourable man. If she was proved wrong, she would be forever ashamed of her unfair judgment.

If only Mr Darcy would recover — that was the most important thing. But his situation seemed truly grave.

Elizabeth had known Mr Jones since she was a child and had never seen him so disconcerted. It could be because the wounds were life-threatening or simply because he had never treated someone so important before. Either way, he seemed confused about the injuries and unsure about the treatment — and that could not have been worse for Mr Darcy. The arrival of his own doctor would be his salvation.