by Lori Light
Mr. Bennet, Mr. Darcy and the rest of the men ran toward the smoke. Elizabeth and a few of the other women followed, still dressed in their wedding finery. They had not gone far when Elizabeth realized that the smoke was coming from the barn on the Smythe family’s farm. Mr. and Mrs. Smythe had one son, Robert, and a three-year-old daughter named Beatrice. Elizabeth had visited the family regularly and had become a favorite of the little girl. On arriving at the farm, the group quickly established a bucket brigade, passing buckets of water from the nearby well. Mrs. Smythe had carried Beatrice from the wedding, but upon reaching the farm, set her down with instructions not to move, before running into the house to collect blankets. The mother soon returned, distributing blankets to the workers, who soaked them with water to smother the flames.
Elizabeth saw little Beatrice, her fist in her mouth and tears running down her cheeks. Elizabeth longed to comfort the child but felt that her assistance was most needed in fetching water. As she passed bucket after bucket, Elizabeth kept her eye on the little girl, as the child inched away, until she finally disappeared around the corner of the house, out of Elizabeth’s sight. With growing concern, Elizabeth dropped the bucket she was holding and ran after the little girl. Just as Elizabeth rounded the corner, she saw Beatrice enter the house. At first Elizabeth was not too worried, as she assumed that the house was safe. Then she saw the flames through the kitchen window. The wind had carried the flames from the barn to the house. Most of the workers were battling the flames from the opposite side of the barn; no one seemed to be aware that the fire had spread. Elizabeth screamed for help before entering the back door. Wortham was closest to her and shouted for her to come back, but Elizabeth either did not hear or she ignored his pleas. Her only thoughts were on sweet little Beatrice.
Just inside, Elizabeth found a wet towel and quickly covered her face and head. The house was already filling with smoke, so Elizabeth crouched down low to avoid the worst of it. She kept calling Beatrice’s name, but heard no reply. Finally, she found the little girl in the back room, hiding under the bed with a doll in her arms. Elizabeth strained to reach the frightened child, gently pulling and coaxing her out. Finally, she succeeded. With the child nestled in her arms, Elizabeth looked around frantically to find something to cover them both. The bed clothes had already been removed to fight the fire in the barn, but a basket in the corner held some cloths that would do the trick. Elizabeth wrapped Beatrice as best she could and turned to leave the room. Unfortunately, the flames had spread quickly through the house. The heat was becoming unbearable, and Elizabeth realized that the flames had reached the door to the room. What was she to do? The small bedroom had no windows. The door was their only escape! Then she noticed that someone else was on the other side of the door, beating down the flames. Elizabeth set Beatrice down and, grabbing more clothes from the basket, started beating the flames as well. Finally, the fire was subdued enough to make it through the doorway. As she turned to grab Beatrice, another pair of hands grabbed her, pulling her quickly out of the burning room. It was only then that Elizabeth recognized the man. It was Mr. Darcy!
Unfortunately, in the front room of the small house, the door frame had also caught fire. As Darcy beat at the flames, Elizabeth huddled over Beatrice. As soon as she saw a chance, Elizabeth ran through the door with Beatrice in her arms. As she made her way out, Elizabeth saw Mrs. Smythe running toward them. As soon as Mrs. Smythe took the crying child from her arms, Elizabeth turned to check on Mr. Darcy. He had made it out of the house but was rolling on the ground just outside the door. His clothes were on fire! Some men immediately came to his aid, putting out the flames. It was then that Georgiana’s scream pierced the air.
At this point, Elizabeth felt as if she were in a fog. As she gasped for fresh air, her younger sisters and several of the neighborhood women surrounded her, repeatedly asking if she was alright. Within moments, her mother reached her sobbing hysterically and pulled her into a hug, heedless of any burns Elizabeth may have suffered. “Oh, my Lizzy – What were you thinking, running into a burning house! How could you do such a thing to your poor mother? Have you no compassion for my nerves?” she shrieked.
Elizabeth struggled to free herself. She was desperate to see what was happening to Mr. Darcy. But her mother, along with her Aunt Phillips and Lady Lucas, insisted that she return home where her wounds could be attended. All Elizabeth could do was to look over her shoulder to where the men attended Darcy, as she was rushed away.
Chapter 16
A wagon took Darcy back to Netherfield, where Wortham and some of the other men carried him upstairs. Mr. Jones, the apothecary, attended to him immediately, having been at the scene of the fire. He cleaned the burns as best as he could, applied some salve and a clean dressing. Darcy’s physician from London arrived early the next morning. He approved Mr. Jones’ work and predicted that Darcy would recover well, as long as an infection did not set in. He suggested that a nurse be hired to help keep the wound clean and dressed. Mr. Jones knew just the person. Her name was Rebecca, and she was from Longbourn village. She had not been formally educated, but she had worked for Mr. Jones on a number of cases and had proven herself to be a very conscientious and proficient nurse. Rebecca was soon called, and she and Georgiana took turns keeping watch over Mr. Darcy.
Darcy slept fitfully. Flames, collapsing buildings and crying children filled his dreams. Elizabeth ran by him, disappearing into the flames. He ran after her, searching and searching, but the flames were too hot. “Come back, Elizabeth! Please do not go there!” he cried, but it was no use. He could not reach her. She was gone. Darcy forced his eyes open. His heart was pounding. Where am I? He struggled to sit up, but hands were holding him down. A woman’s voice shushed him, entreating him to be calm. She was unfamiliar to Darcy. He had to remember what had happened! It was something very bad, he knew, and it had to do with Elizabeth. He had to find her! He continued to struggle, but the hands were surprisingly strong, or perhaps he was unusually weak. As Darcy struggled with his captor, trying to make sense of his surrounding, something nearby caught his attention. On the table by his bed was a vase of flowers. Asters – the ones Elizabeth’s grandmother loved so well! Still not completely awake, Darcy had a vague notion that connected the flowers to Elizabeth’s well-being. If Elizabeth’s flowers were there, Elizabeth must be well; she was not lost! Darcy relaxed. Soon he was aware that the hands were holding a glass of water to his mouth. So thirsty! He gratefully accepted the water, but then winced at its bitterness. Just a sip, mind you, someone was saying –There now, that’s right. Everything is well. Just sleep! Yes, sleep. He was so sleepy. Asters. Elizabeth. All would be well, he thought as he drifted back into a deep slumber.
When Darcy finally came to, he found himself lying on his side, his back in severe pain. Georgiana was seated on a chair next to his bed, her head resting on her hands, which were clasping one of his.
“Georgiana,” he whispered.
“Brother!” she exclaimed, raising her head to look into his eyes. “You are awake!”
“Yes. How long have I been sleeping?” he asked.
“It’s been almost a week since the accident,” she replied. “Mr. Jones gave you a sleeping draught. Then Dr. Manning came from London to examine you. He instructed us to repeat the dosage whenever you started to come to until your wounds had a chance to begin the healing process. But then a fever set in, and you remained unconscious for so long! Brother, I was so worried that we would lose you!”
“I am well, Georgiana,” Darcy said quietly. “You will not lose me.”
“Is the pain terrible?” Georgiana asked.
“It is bearable,” Darcy replied. He looked around the room, wondering which of all the thoughts going through his mind were dreams and which were real.
“What happened, Georgiana?” he asked.
“Do you not remember?” The girl looked concern.
“I remember the fire,” he said as he wrinkled his brow in concentrati
on. “Oh, dear God! I remember seeing Miss Elizabeth run into the burning house. Please tell me – Is she well? Did she escape the flames?”
“Yes, thanks to you, Miss Elizabeth is fine. She suffers from a cough from breathing in too much smoke. But Mr. Jones expects that she will recover completely in due time. And her burns were very minor.”
“And the child? I believe she was coming to the aid of a child.”
“Yes, the child is well, William. Miss Elizabeth and the child made it through the door, just before the roof collapsed. You were right behind them, and some beams fell on you. Your back and shoulder were burned. Oh, William, I was so frightened!” Georgiana could no longer hold back her tears.
“I’ll be fine, Sweetling, truly I will.” Georgiana laid her head down on the bed beside her brother and he stroked her hair, shushing her and assuring her he was well. Very soon, exhaustion got the best of her, as she had slept very little in the days since the fire, and she fell into a peaceful sleep.
As she lay sleeping, Darcy remembered his dream about the flowers. Lifting his head slightly off his pillow, he looked about the room. Just beyond his sister’s head, Darcy saw the vase of asters. They’re there, he thought. They were not a figment of my imagination! But where did they come from? What an odd choice of bloom for the sickroom! Behind them was a bouquet of hothouse flowers attractively arranged in an ornate vase. The asters, short stemmed and delicate, were far less showy – simple wildflowers. Yet Darcy greatly preferred them, as they reminded him of his walk with Elizabeth. She said she had gathered them for her ailing grandmother. Could this bouquet be her handiwork, he wondered? And if so, what did they mean?
Darcy dozed off and on for the next hour or so. Eventually, Bingley came into his room, along with his Fitzwilliam aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Matlock, who had travelled to Netherfield as soon as they had heard of his accident. At their entry, Georgiana stirred. The countess, concerned at how exhausted Georgiana appeared, encouraged her to go to her room to get more restful sleep. Reluctantly, Georgiana agreed and let her aunt lead her away, leaving the men to remain with Darcy.
“Darcy-- So good to see you awake! You gave us quite a scare, Nephew!” the earl said. Your friend Bingley here has been very hospitable, inviting us to stay until you recover.”
“Thank you for coming, Uncle,” Darcy replied. Then, greeting his friend, he asked, “Why are you back at Netherfield, Bingley? I thought you and your bride would still be in Bath!”
“Of course, we could not stay away while you lay here injured! We came as soon as we received the express.”
“I’m sorry to have ruined your wedding trip, Bingley.”
“Nonsense! Jane could not have stayed away, even if I had not been determined to come to your assistance. The express mentioned Elizabeth’s involvement, and wild horses could not have kept my Jane from her sister! Besides, we will get away soon enough. We have our whole lives to spend together, after all!”
“What of your other guests?” Darcy wondered if Wortham was still at Netherfield, and if he were yet engaged. How could he dare to ask directly though? Maybe Bingley would offer the information he so desperately sought.
“Oh, my sisters are still here, with Hurst. They have been very concerned about you, Caroline especially. She has taken special care to see that your needs have been attended to. I think she has quite forgotten that she is no longer the mistress of Netherfield. Jane has handled everything most admirably, but still, Caroline believes herself indispensable in directing your care. Only my strong admonitions for her to maintain propriety has kept her from your sickroom.”
Well, that is comforting, at least, Darcy thought. But would Bingley ever get to the information he so desired?
“And Wortham is here as well,” Bingley said after a pause. “You know, he plans to offer for Miss Elizabeth soon. Everyone else has departed.”
There. So, Darcy had his answer. Suddenly, he wondered if he would have been better off not knowing. At least the worse had not yet come to pass. Not that it mattered. Inevitably, his Elizabeth would be engaged. How could he stand it? Somehow, he had hoped the asters to be a sign from Elizabeth. A sign that she had cared. Well, perhaps they were. After all, Elizabeth – Miss Elizabeth rather – had forgiven him his thoughtless words at Hunsford. Elizabeth is everything thoughtful and kind. But her affections were for Wortham, and soon she would be engaged to him. Suddenly realizing how truly exhausted he was, Darcy made his excuses to Bingley and his uncle, who agreed to leave him to his rest.
Chapter 17
The next fortnight went by in a blur for Darcy. The physician had recommended that his sleeping draughts be continued to dull the pain as Darcy’s burns healed. Normally, Darcy would have refused the drugs, but in his current state of hopelessness, he gave in without protest. Between doses, his sister and Bingley regularly visited his sickroom – Bingley bringing a newspaper to read aloud to Darcy, and Georgiana with a book of poetry. Darcy listened groggily as they read or related the latest tidbits of household gossip.
Darcy’s nurse came in periodically to change the dressings on his burns. Occasionally, he noticed her replacing the asters in the vase next to his bed. Once, he asked her where the flowers had come from, and she nonchalantly replied that they grew on Oakham Mount.
“And you go there to pick them?” he had asked.
“Me? No,” she replied. “But I have a friend who walks there regularly. She’s the one who picks them.”
A friend, Darcy thought, as the nurse gave him another dose of his sleeping draught. He had just determined to ask who this friend was when an upstairs maid came in to tidy his room. By the time she was finished and Darcy was again alone with the nurse, he had drifted to sleep once again.
After the physician proclaimed Darcy out of danger, Darcy’s aunt and uncle had returned to London. Darcy only vaguely recalled their leave-taking. A few days later he was somewhat more conscious when Wortham left, stating his need to attend to urgent business in London. Marriage contracts and such, Darcy assumed morosely.
Claiming the pain had returned, Darcy requested another draught. No one suspected that the pain was unrelated to the burns as Darcy drifted off into a fitful sleep. Unfortunately, even in his sleep, the pain, centered in his chest rather than in his back, continued as he dreamed of Elizabeth. But she was no longer in the flames; she was in Wortham’s arms. Dancing with Wortham. Laughing with Wortham, her eyes full of joy and admiration. How he wanted her to look at him with such an expression of happiness! She turned toward Darcy and the happiness was gone – vanished in an instant!
When Darcy finally awoke, he knew what he must do. Elizabeth was happy. Should not her happiness be his primary desire? He would leave her be. He would return to London, and then to Pemberley, and go on with his life. He would forget about the most amazing woman of his acquaintance. She belonged to someone else – happily so – and he must clear his heart and mind of her forever. Well, of course he could not clear his mind of her entirely. After all, she was the sister of his best friend’s wife. They must meet on occasion. But, certainly, he could hold no feelings for the wife of another man! He would meet her with indifference. He was a man of integrity, of strength, known for his inestimable self-control. As he had for all goals he had set for himself, he would triumph in this as well!
The first step would be to leave this blasted bed! Darcy sat up, surprised at the difficulty he encountered in doing so. Even disentangling his legs from the covers proved to be a challenge and alerted Darcy to how truly weakened he had become. His nurse entered and hurried to his side when she saw his struggle, but her urgings to remain in bed were not a match for Darcy’s determination to escape it.
Chapter 18
A bath and a shave did wonders to restore Darcy’s equanimity, and so the residents of Netherfield were pleased when their friend joined them as they gathered before dinner. Though pale and noticeably thinner, his characteristic calm, strong demeanor was left unchanged by the a
ccident. If Darcy experienced any pain, it was well-hidden.
Caroline, in particular, seemed especially pleased as Darcy entered the drawing room. “Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she gushed. “It’s so wonderful to see you so well recovered!” Darcy stifled a grimace as she hooked her arm through his and led him to the settee. As if he could not have found his way into the room without her assistance, Darcy mused.
Mrs. Bingley’s response, though more subdued, was no less heart-felt. Her smile as she approached him reminded Darcy of her sister’s. He wondered why he had not noticed the resemblance before. “Welcome, Mr. Darcy! I trust you are feeling much improved.”
“I am,” Darcy replied with a bow. “I thank you.” Darcy extended his greeting to Bingley and the Hursts.
At that moment, Georgiana entered the drawing room, rushing to her brother. Careful not to touch his tender shoulders and upper back, she threw her hands around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “I’m so glad to see you out of bed, Brother,” she murmured into his chest.
As surprised as Darcy was at his sister’s public show of affection, he was grateful for it, and was also pleased that her hug effectively separated him from Caroline’s grasp. It was only natural that he offered his arm to his sister as dinner was announced, leaving Bingley to escort both Jane and Caroline. He smiled inwardly as he seated his sister, and then took a seat as far away from Caroline as possible.
Unfortunately, Caroline’s bid for Darcy’s attention could not be so easily thwarted. Throughout the dinner, she continued to fawn over Darcy. “Please give Mr. Darcy and extra portion of soup, as he is regaining his strength,” she commanded a footman. “Are you comfortable in that chair, Mr. Darcy? We can easily retrieve a more padded one from the sitting room.” Her effusions thwarted more meaningful conversations from the rest of the table. When Darcy asked Mrs. Bingley about the well-being of her family at Longbourn, Caroline insisted that Darcy’s health was the only topic worth visiting. When Darcy brought up the subject of returning home, Caroline protested. “Of course, you must not leave us before you have fully recovered, Mr. Darcy! We would not dream of releasing you from our care prematurely.”