Chapter 6

M r Jones joined the rest of the family for dinner while Mr Darcy was resting.

Mr Bingley — sitting next to Jane — kept talking about his friend’s accomplishments and wondering about the strange accident. His concern ruined his appetite and revealed his genuine affection for Mr Darcy. The letter for Miss Darcy and the note for his sisters had been sent, but Mr Bingley was still restless, asking what more he could do.

“There is nothing else to do but wait. Mr Darcy’s wounds need rest to heal, and if he has caught a cold, we should know by morning,” Mr Jones said. “I shall watch him overnight.”

“Mr Jones, could you please give Mama some herbal tea and some medicine, just to protect her?” Elizabeth enquired.

“I need no medicine, Lizzy, I am well. Perhaps a glass of port will help me sleep after all this agitation.”

“Mama, you stayed out in the rain with Mr Darcy for a long while. You may have caught a cold too. Let us be prudent.”

“Then you and Lydia and Kitty should also have some medicine,” Mrs Bennet argued. “I hope you will not fall ill now, three days before the ball.”

“I shall certainly take medicine if it will prevent anything that could keep me away from the ball,” Lydia said.

“Oh, the ball…” Mr Bingley interjected, becoming even more distressed. “I do not know what to do…” he whispered, glancing at Jane.

“I dare say it depends on Mr Darcy’s progress,” Jane answered. “We all understand that.” They shared a timid, comforting smile, which Elizabeth noted with delight. As for the ball, cancelling it, given the present circumstances, seemed a prudent step.

“Mr Bingley, what do you mean? You cannot cancel the ball, please!” Lydia cried.

“Lydia, try to use your mind more than your mouth,” Mr Bennet censured her. “Mr Bingley’s friend is fighting for his life, and you expect him to entertain you?”

Lydia was silenced by the severe reprimand and looked to her mother for support.

Mr Bingley continued. “As Miss Bennet said, it depends on Darcy’s improvement. We should know by tomorrow and decide accordingly.”

“I hope Mr Darcy will recover soon,” Mrs Bennet interjected. “In the meantime, please know you are always welcome here, Mr Bingley. You may come and stay all day with your friend.”

Elizabeth easily guessed her mother’s scheme of keeping Jane and Mr Bingley together even in that dire situation. She would smile if things were not so sad.

“Thank you, Mrs Bennet. I truly appreciate all your efforts on behalf of my friend.”

“In truth, Mama was most helpful in attending Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “And very brave. She grabbed the reins of his frightened horse and managed to calm him. Quite impressive, Mama.”

“Your mother was an excellent horsewoman in her youth. Did you not know that, Lizzy?” Mr Bennet asked.

“No, I did not.” Elizabeth smiled at her mother affectionately. “I regret I did not inherit the skill from her.”

“Apparently, only Jane inherited your mother’s enjoyment of riding, as well as most of your mother’s beauty,” Mr Bennet offered in an unexpected compliment to his wife.

“Oh, what a silly thing to say, Mr Bennet! I am sure you only wish to tease me,” the lady said.

“Not at all, madam. I am being as honest as I can be,” the gentleman assured her.

Mrs Bennet’s cheeks coloured with obvious pleasure, and Jane blushed too, glancing at Mr Bingley, who responded with an enchanted little smile.

“I am sure Darcy will be as grateful as I am and will thank you in person as soon as his health allows it,” Mr Bingley uttered.

“Mr Darcy’s full recovery would be enough expression of gratitude,” Mrs Bennet replied with a wisdom that stunned Elizabeth even further. Her mother had surely not been her usual self over the last few hours, which was a delightful change.

“I do not wish to sound presumptuous,” Mr Bingley continued, “but will you manage to accommodate your family, considering Mr Bennet’s room is being used by Darcy? And your cousin is here too, occupying an extra room. Perhaps I could take Mr Collins to Netherfield, so you can use his chamber?”

“That is very kind of you, Mr Bingley, but we shall manage for tonight. I am sure Mrs Bennet will not mind hosting me for a few nights, even if I snore and disturb her rest. Let us see what happens tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir. We shall move Darcy to Netherfield as soon as we are allowed.”

“Such a decision should only be made after Mr Darcy’s physician has examined him,” Mr Jones said. “I strongly advise we let him rest here for now.”

“Of course. As I said, we shall manage for tonight,” Mr Bennet concluded.

After dinner, the apothecary returned to Mr Darcy’s chamber, and Mr Bingley soon joined him. He stayed at Longbourn for another hour, then left with the intention of calling again the next morning.

During the meal, neither her mother nor her sisters had mentioned the fact they had espied Mr Wickham near the injured Mr Darcy, but Elizabeth became more and more concerned about it. She intended to discuss it with her father, but Mr Bennet was too tired for any further conversation. As Mr Jones said, the best thing to do was to wait and pray the night would pass favourably for the wounded gentleman.

The family was about to retire to their rooms when Mr Collins arrived. He had been dining at Lucas Lodge, and apparently the news of Mr Darcy’s accident had already reached Meryton. Mr Collins looked so desperate it was as if he was the one wounded. He would not stop talking about the tragedy that had struck one of the most remarkable young men in all of England and what a loss his death would be.

Lydia, Kitty, and Mary escaped to their rooms, as did Mrs Bennet. Mr Bennet, Elizabeth, and Jane tolerated their cousin’s whining for a while, until it became too much.

“Mr Collins, let us hope Mr Darcy will recover and live a long life, for the benefit of the entire country,” Mr Bennet said with an irony that the clergyman missed. “We should be quiet so he can rest — as can we all. Our apothecary will watch over the patient tonight, and hopefully, his own doctor from London will arrive tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes! I must inform Lady Catherine de Bourgh immediately!”

“I strongly suggest you do not do that until tomorrow,” Mr Bennet replied harshly. “You know too little, and any presumption would only disturb her ladyship. I am sure she would not appreciate that.”

“Yes, but—”

“Mr Collins, as far as I know, patience is an essential virtue for a man of the church. You cannot just act on your first impulse. Even Lady Catherine would agree with that. Let us go to bed now. Hopefully, we shall have a clearer mind after some sleep.”

With that, Mr Collins was dismissed, and the evening came to an end.

In their room, Elizabeth and Jane continued to discuss the day’s events. Jane seemed more concerned with Mr Bingley’s distress than with Mr Darcy’s injuries — for which Elizabeth could not blame her. Eventually, Jane fell asleep, but Elizabeth was too restless. She wondered about Mr Darcy’s health, whether he had regained full consciousness, whether he had a fever… Her curiosity was endless and impossible to satisfy.

Silence and solitude offered Elizabeth little comfort and much torment; distressing thoughts about Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham returned to burden her mind. So many questions without answers, so much self-reproachment without knowing the truth.

The night progressed, along with Elizabeth’s anxiety. She put on her robe and went to the kitchen to make herself tea but, to her surprise, she found Hill there.

“Mrs Hill, why are you still awake?”

“Mr Jones asked me to prepare some medicine for Mr Darcy and to warm him some soup. I am happy to help if I can.”

“Let me take him the tray. I am too tired to sleep, and I am curious to enquire about Mr Darcy’s health.”

“Very well, miss.”

“And go to sleep, Mrs Hill. It is very late, and you will have to rise again soon.”

Holding the tray, Elizabeth took careful steps, a sense of apprehension making her knees tremble. Entering the room where Mr Darcy rested was bold, improper, and uncalled for. They were more enemies than friends, and seeing him so informally dressed would be uncomfortable for both. Even if he was not awake, he might be upset when he found out later.

Still, curiosity prevailed, and she knocked on the door. It creaked a little as it opened, and in the doorway, Stevens, Mr Darcy’s valet, eyed her with confusion. A lady should not enter a gentleman’s room in her nightgown, even if he was hurt. She knew, yet she dismissed such proper and wise reflections.

“Miss Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”

“No…Hill made some hot soup and medicine. I brought it.”

They were both whispering, and she assumed Mr Darcy was asleep.

“Thank you. I am sorry for the trouble. I could have come and fetched it myself.”

“No trouble at all.”

The valet tried to take the tray, but Elizabeth would not release it.

“How is Mr Darcy? Is there any news? Is he any better?”

“We hope so. The master seems to be in some pain, and he has a fever. But he is very much aware of his situation.”

“Oh, is he? How wonderful! We pray that he will be even better by morning.”

“Miss Lizzy?” Mr Jones called to her.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, taking the opportunity to step into the room. “I brought the medicine you requested.”

“Good. Hopefully Mr Darcy will take a few sips. He is just like any other man — a very disobedient patient who refuses any medicine.”

“I agree with that. Papa is the same. So is Mr Darcy better?”

“Better than I feared, but the danger lingers.”

They were still talking in low tones until a loud, clear voice startled them.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“Mr Darcy!”

She finally handed Stevens the tray, then she stepped farther into the room, disregarding the rules of propriety entirely. She stopped, and her heart raced when she saw him lying under the sheets, looking pale and vulnerable.

“Sir, I am so glad to see you awake. Forgive me for disturbing you. I shall leave immediately.”

“I am glad to see you too. Please, stay a moment,” he pleaded. The softness in his voice gave Elizabeth shivers. She looked to Mr Jones, asking permission, and he nodded.

“Miss Elizabeth, I cannot go any longer without thanking you and your mother for saving my life. I hope to have the chance to express my gratitude to Mrs Bennet very soon.”

“Mr Darcy, please do not take the trouble of speaking of gratitude. You need all your strength to recover. You gave us all a fright, including poor Mr Bingley.”

“I am truly sorry. I still cannot understand how it was possible for my horse to throw me. I have been riding him for years.”

“But, sir, do you remember what happened?”

“Partially. I was out riding when suddenly my horse stopped abruptly and reared in fear. I hit my head on something, and I fell. I was fortunate you found me. You truly saved my life.”

“I agree,” Mr Jones interjected. “Being out there in the cold and rain was the most dangerous part. Luckily, you were close to Longbourn, and Miss Elizabeth fetched help remarkably quickly.”

“Miss Elizabeth is a great walker,” Mr Darcy replied, surprising Elizabeth. She gazed at him and noticed a trace of a smile in his eyes and in the corner of his lips. Was he teasing her? If so, he was surely in no danger of dying.

“I am indeed both a great walker and a great reader, I have been told,” she replied and noticed his smile grew a little bit. “And if you are truly grateful to me, Mr Darcy, I expect you to express it by taking all the medicine Mr Jones gives you. Every last drop. I shall accept nothing less.”

“I would by no means wish to be ungrateful, Miss Elizabeth, so I shall do as you request.”

“I am glad to hear that.” She smiled at him. “I shall leave you now, and I hope for a favourable report in the morning.”

“Good night, Miss Bennet,” he said. Elizabeth walked towards the door, then, despite the loud cry of her own reason demanding she leave, she stopped and asked, “Mr Darcy, forgive my boldness, sir. There is something that troubles me. Do you remember anything between the moment of your fall and the time we found you?”

She immediately noticed the change in his expression. He hesitated, their gazes locked, and he seemed reluctant to reply. Finally, he answered, “I have some vague memories. I was not aware you knew of something occurring between those two events. Did you see anything?”

“I did — as did my mother and sisters. We have little doubt about what we saw. The only question is why.”

Elizabeth felt as if she was speaking against her will, against her common sense. She should put an end to the conversation; it should not have even begun. The subject was so delicate she should not have even dared mention it, especially not to an injured man and not in the presence of Mr Jones and the valet.

“Such a question would be better answered at another time and in another place,” Mr Darcy said. His voice was calm, even gentle, but his dismissal was clear.

“Of course. I am sorry for bothering you at such an improper moment.”

“Please do not apologise, Miss Elizabeth. The moment is not proper, but your presence was most welcome.”

“Good night, Mr Darcy. Please take your medicine,” she concluded, then left in a hurry. Outside the door, she halted for a moment to compose herself.

Mr Darcy clearly remembered what had happened, including Mr Wickham’s presence. He had not said as much, but surely the circumstances between the two men were complicated. And something else was clear: she had foolishly granted her trust and friendship to a man who had left his childhood companion to die in the cold and the rain.

She returned to her room, heavy-hearted, and on the way to her bed, she realised she had stood in front of Mr Darcy and spoken to him dressed in only her night gown and robe, with her hair loose and her bare feet in slippers.

A sudden wave of heat enveloped her entire body as if she had a high fever; yet there was no medicine that might cool it.