Loving Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  She did emit a sharp cry as a tug-of-war ensued, Darcy refusing to relinquish his grip even when Victor cocked the pistol and dug the barrel end into the flesh of Darcy's forehead. “Let go or I’ll kill ya and then what good would ya do her?”

  “William, please! Do as he says!” Lizzy shouted, her fear for her husband outweighing her own for the moment. The sight of a gun yet again aimed at him was more than she could take. She was trembling violently, tears cascading down her face and eyes pleading. Darcy hesitated another second then reluctantly released her arm. Lizzy let lose a sob of relief and terror.

  Victor smiled smugly, meeting Darcy's murderous gaze boldly. “Don’t worry about the little wife. I’ll take very good care of her.”

  “You lay one hand on her and I promise I will kill you,” Darcy replied in a tone of pure venom and conviction. Lizzy noted a glimmer of uncertainty in Victor's eyes and then it was gone, to be replaced with arrogance. He led her away a dozen paces with pistol trained on Darcy. The hold on her arm was surprisingly tender and almost caressing. Lizzy shivered in revulsion; Darcy's countenance grim and eyes anguished.

  “Okay, pretty, give me those earrings and the necklace. Not particularly fine specimens, are they? Rich boy don’t share his wealth with the missus, huh? Want you for only one thing, does he, and no compensation for the job? Maybe you need a real man who will appreciate your charms.” He ran the back of one hand down her cheek, Lizzy shuddering and jerking away.

  Darcy released a growl of pure animal intensity and lunged forward, only to be brought up short by Clyde's pistol in his gut. Lizzy vaguely heard a sound to her left from the direction of Phillips, but her eyes were tightly closed with tears streaming.

  “Enough playing!” shouted the leader from his horse. “Get the rings, Victor. Clyde, check the carriage for anything else. This is taking too long.”

  Victor scowled but obeyed. “Give me the rings, pretty. Hurry up!”

  Lizzy's eyes flew open in shock, hands instinctively enfolding to her chest. “My… my rings? No, please, they are my wedding rings! You cannot…”

  “I can and I will. Now hand them over!”

  Lizzy cried in silence, hands shaking so badly that she barely managed to remove the rings, neither of which had ever left her finger since Darcy placed them there. With incredible difficulty she dropped them into the bag, hands instantly covering her face as she dissolved into sobs.

  Glancing to Darcy's stony face and smiling insolently, Victor slid one arm around Lizzy shoulders and stroked her neck while murmuring placatingly and smirking at Darcy, “Don’t fret, pretty lady. Victor knows how to make you feel good. I’ll bring you with me and we can have some fun.” As he spoke, he moved his gun-toting hand upward and brushed his fingers over one breast.

  At that precise moment, several things happened at once.

  Lizzy, in an impetuous explosion of rage and abhorrence, screamed hysterically while pitching her entire upper body into Victor's. He was taken completely by surprise, flailing wildly as he vaulted backward from the force of her shove, pistol flying through the air.

  Darcy was already moving toward Lizzy in manic wrath, Victor's pointing firearm inconsequential at that point, but reacted instantaneously and proficiently to her unwitting diversion. He yelled to Phillips while simultaneously drawing the hidden pistol with his right hand and lunging toward his wife. He was sidetracked, however, by the reemergence of a startled Clyde, who was just exiting from the carriage with his pistol and Lizzy's reticule in one hand and their lunch basket in the other. Darcy latched onto his neck with a strangle hold and viciously smashed the back of his head against the carriage railing, Clyde crumpling in a heap.

  Meanwhile, Phillips and Mr. Anders drew their concealed weapons. Lou was distracted by the antics of Victor and Lizzy, completely unaware of the fist heading his way until Phillips, who was a big and remarkably strong man, connected with an echoing crunch to his jaw. It was an impressive hit and a weaker man would have succumbed easily. Lou, however, was hired for his brawn and not brains. He staggered but rallied quickly, rounding on the amazed Phillips with pistol ready. The tall footman had no time to bring his own gun to bear, instead choosing to rush the smaller man and grab the pistol-wielding right hand. Thus ensued a dramatic, if at times strangely humorous, wrestling match between the two mismatched men.

  The leader responded with the same cold efficiency as Darcy. Immediately, he lifted his rifle and focused on Darcy, deciding he was the greater threat. The shot was well targeted and fired rapidly. Darcy was missed by mere inches, saved when he attacked Clyde. The ball hit the corner of the carriage, wood splintering and showering fragments onto Darcy. Undeterred, the leader pulled one of his two hip pistols and reacquired his target, Darcy rapidly pivoting toward him with gun raised and lethally aimed, the two men in a sudden stand-off dependant on who would pull the trigger first.

  Lizzy was feral, panting and yelling as she unremittingly kicked the fallen Victor—in the ribs, head, back, or wherever else he was exposed—as he flipped about on the ground screaming. Her sturdy walking boots coupled with robust legs and deranged ire inflicted a substantial amount of damage.

  Mr. Anders, a coachman and groom by profession and not well accomplished in the art of marksmanship, nonetheless proved his worth by readily identifying the greatest immediate threat as the mounted leader. He stepped away from the grappling Phillips and Lou, calmly sighted his quarry, who was centered on Mr. Darcy, and fired. The bullet hit and shattered the left shoulder, not where Mr. Anders had aimed but effective. The leader flew off his horse, Darcy's shot missing him completely which was a shame, as it was well centered and would have been fatal. Still, it was providential as the shot fired in Darcy's direction was also precise and it was only the impact of Mr. Anders's ball which lifted the bandit's gun at the last second, his shot erratic and harming no one.

  Lizzy continued to pummel Victor, the man seriously hurting from two broken ribs, a split lip, broken nose, and numerous bruises. Darcy glanced at his raging wife with a mixture of awe and fright, striding briskly to retrieve Victor's gun off the ground and rushing toward the leader who was already rising.

  So far the entire spectacle had consumed barely a minute.

  Once again, Darcy leveled his newly acquired pistol at the leader, who was on his knees with blood soaking the left side of his body but right arm rising with his other pistol steady as a rock. Darcy hesitated nary a millisecond, cleanly dispatching the man with a perfect blast to the heart. Bending to ensure the man was no longer a threat, Darcy claimed the last functioning gun and swung about to assist his wife, the blood rage still coursing through his body.

  Mr. Anders, in the meantime, was torn between aiding Phillips or helping Mrs. Darcy, who was clearly at risk of harming herself in her frenzy. As he had no time to reload, his pistol was useless except—enlightenment dawned on him—as a blunt object. Deciding that Mrs. Darcy was well enough for the moment, he turned toward Phillips just as Lou's gun discharged.

  The shot was random and entered Phillips's left thigh. He screamed, hands instinctively clutching at the area that was promptly slick with gushing blood as he fell to the ground. Mr. Anders swiftly raised the pistol and bashed the wooden grip forcefully onto the top of Lou's head, the man slowly sagging like a sack of grain.

  Darcy rushed toward his wife, the next moments eerily dragging as if time slowed. Every second was as a minute and the clarity of the scene between Lizzy and Victor was bizarrely crisp and all-inclusive.

  A frantic and agonized Victor finally managed to capture one of her flashing ankles. He wrenched harshly with a grunt of satisfaction. Lizzy was unbalanced, legs flying up as she landed on her bottom with a sharp exhale and crunch of her teeth. The impact onto the rocky ground was hard on her tailbone and felt through the stretched muscles of her lower abdomen, Lizzy clutching her belly with a groan. Victor, blood streaming from nose and lip, was no longer smirking but grimacing in pain and anger. He twisted her ankle,
hauling his injured body partially onto hers. His free hand encircled her throat and with a snarl he began to squeeze, Lizzy's screams of terror and pain abruptly cut off. His other hand roughly groped under her skirts, pinching and kneading up her inner thigh.

  Darcy saw it all and his thus far controlled rage boiled over into a blinding, destructive fury bordering on madness. He roared a vile expletive and latched onto the robber's hair, tossing him off Lizzy with astounding force, clumps of hair and scalp ripping painfully. “I warned you not to touch her,” he bleakly intoned to a suddenly white-faced Victor. Without blinking, Darcy fired, Victor not feeling a twinge of pain as the ball penetrated his brain.

  Abrupt calm fell. Clyde and Lou were unconscious; Victor and the nameless leader were dead. Phillips moaned in torment, Mr. Anders at his side attempting to halt the bleeding.

  Darcy was breathing heavily but dropped the pistol and knelt next to his sobbing wife, gathering her into his arms. Neither spoke, words simply unthinkable at this juncture. They only wanted to hold each other. Darcy's hands began roaming all over her body, testing for injury and assuring her existence. He began to tremble, clutching her face and possessively kissing with a soft sob. Both sensed their control slipping, Lizzy's hysteria rising again and Darcy's chest constricting as he was overcome with weakness.

  A cry from the injured Phillips penetrated their fogged minds, Lizzy's head snapping his direction. “Phillips!” she exclaimed, struggling from Darcy's embrace. He helped her up, moving together to the fallen footman. Action was necessary for both of them to regain mastery over their shattered emotions.

  Lizzy dropped to her knees beside Mr. Anders by Phillips's left leg. “William, give me your cravat. Hurry!” The wound was gaping, blackened about the edges from the gunpowder. She examined it quickly, discerning no exit wound, which meant the ball was lodged in his leg, probably in the bone. She grabbed the hole in his breeches and ripped, exposing the entire thigh. Phillips's screams were turning to weak moans and his hands were now loose by his side and face dreadfully pale. The wound continually spurt blood through Mr. Anders's pressing hands. Darcy handed the cravat to Lizzy who immediately and with surprising efficiency tied it tightly around Phillips's upper thigh above the seeping hole.

  Darcy was observing her with deep curiosity and amazement. “How do you know what to do, Elizabeth?”

  “That medical book in your library has a section on emergency treatments. I thought it interesting, although I never imagined having to utilize the knowledge! This is called a tourniquet and halts the bleeding by restricting the circulation. See?”

  She was correct, as the bleeding had fallen to a slow trickle. “Think, Lizzy, think!” she murmured to herself. Phillips was bordering on unconsciousness, a faint bluish tint circling his lips. “Mr. Anders,” Lizzy said, “there are napkins in the picnic basket, as well as water and wine. Bring them to me and give me your cravat as well.” The coachman jumped to the task, Lizzy turning to her husband and whispering, “William, I only know to halt the bleeding and a little about shock. He must get to a physician immediately!”

  Darcy nodded, standing and surveying the mess around them as the mantle of command and decision making fell over his shoulders as a warm, familiar covering. Mr. Anders returned with the entire basket and his cravat. Lizzy formed a wad with the napkins and used it as a bandage over the wound, tying snuggly with the neckcloth.

  “Mr. Anders, find something to place under his feet. The legs should be elevated, I think.” She frowned, mind frantically trying to remember what she had read. She moved to Phillips's head, his glazed eyes open and blurrily focusing on his Mistress.

  “Mrs. Darcy?” he murmured, “Are you… unharmed?”

  “I am fine. Now hush, Phillips. Save your strength.” She lifted his head onto her lap, placing the wineskin at his lips. “Drink slowly, as much as you can. That's it, very good…”

  While Lizzy continued in her gentle ministrations to the stricken man, Darcy pulled Mr. Anders aside. “We need to leave this place as soon as possible, Mr. Anders. Phillips requires a physician. Are we closer to Clowne or Whitwell?”

  “Clowne is nearest and not as remote, sir. If they do not have a doctor there, Staveley and Eckington are both within a few miles.”

  Darcy nodded, thinking. “It is likely unwise to move him, but I do not wish to stay here.” He scanned the area with piercing eyes. “Obviously they were alone, as no others have come to the scene, but I would rather not risk it. Mrs. Darcy must be away from this place.” He paused. “Do you have any rope?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Restrain these two firmly, hog tied and secured to the wagon.” he gestured toward the still unconscious Lou and Clyde. “I will gather the firearms and reload just to be prepared. I will require your assistance placing Phillips into the carriage. Then I want you to take one of the robber's horses and run fast into Clowne. Summon a physician and alert the local constable. We will follow slowly so as not to enhance his injuries.” Mr. Anders jumped to obey his Master.

  He glanced at his wife, softly crooning to the servant while daubing his forehead with a water-soaked napkin. He frowned. As thankful as he was at her calm focus, it seemed odd under the circumstances. His heart was yet racing with the frayed edges of panic barely mastered due to years of dealing with tragedy and stressful situations. A large part of him wanted to collapse with her in his arms, and the effort not to do so was enormous. How could she maintain her composure? He paused to observe her, realizing that nursing Phillips was as much a result of primordial instinct and concern as it was a diversion necessary to forestall crushing shock. He would need to carefully watch her. No stranger to the effects of shock, having seen it dozens of times in wives and families of men killed or injured, as well as experiencing it himself, he knew that it would consume her eventually.

  Mentally adding it to his list, he turned to the urgent demands. Retrieving and loading the weapons was speedily done, Darcy tossing all but one of them onto the driver's bench alongside the sack containing their stolen property. The extra pistol was given to Mr. Anders so that he now carried two. Darcy glanced to the gruesome sight of Victor's body lying near the coach, but there was no time to shield the scene from his wife. A barely controlled sense of panic and fear impelled him to step quickly and vacate this locale as rapidly as possible.

  Moving Phillips was not an easy task. Bodily, he was only two or three inches shorter than Darcy and nearly as broad in the shoulders. Darcy and Mr. Anders together struggled carrying his bulk, not to mention getting him into the carriage. Phillips screamed once when lifted and then abruptly fainted.

  Lizzy discovered that her legs had lost all feeling, moving them a quandary. Couple that with the aching bruise to her backside and the intermittent, sharp pains to her lower abdomen which she continued to ignore, and Lizzy was in misery. With tears of pain stinging her eyes, she sluggishly battled to rise. Darcy, fortunately considering the current crisis, did not see her striving to move. By the time she joined him at the carriage, her legs were functioning and the other numerous aches and pains were tightly controlled and hidden.

  Darcy sent Mr. Anders on his way. Lizzy climbed into the carriage to check on Phillips, who remained unconscious but whose wound was no longer bleeding even when she loosened the tourniquet.

  “Elizabeth?” Darcy was at the doorway, love and desperate concern allowed to nakedly wash over his face. He reached for her bloodstained hands, enfolding them with his warm ones. “Are you well, beloved? You are very pale and trembling still.”

  “I am fine. Just worried about Phillips. We must hurry, William.”

  He searched her face, greatly discomfited by what he saw there but unable to delve into the cause at the present time. “Very well. I will drive as speedily as feasible. Keep the window open and call for me if you need.” He cupped one cheek, drawing her in for a brief kiss. “I love you.”

  She smiled wanly, lips quivering and eyes blinking, and shakily whis
pered, “I love you, too.”

  “I managed to remove the bullet from his leg,” the physician said to Darcy and Lizzy while washing bloody hands in a basin. “It hit the bone but does not appear to have broken it. He is most fortunate in that regard. Unfortunately, he has lost a tremendous amount of blood and the risk of infection is severe. On the plus side, he is healthy and very strong, so should mend well with careful nursing. Your intervention, Mrs. Darcy, was fortuitous. I have no doubt he would have bled to death without the tourniquet.” He smiled at Lizzy, and Darcy squeezed her hand in pride.

  Turning to Darcy, the surgeon resumed, “Your servant will need to stay here for a while, Mr. Darcy. A week or two at the very least, depending on the course of the infection.”

  “Of course,” Darcy said. “We want him to receive the best care possible. However, whenever you deem it safe, we would like him transported to Pemberley. His family is there and it is home.”

  The physician nodded, glancing at a silent Lizzy. “Naturally, Mr. Darcy. If I may have a word in private?” The two men drew apart, Lizzy barely noticing.

  They were in Staveley. Clowne's lone physician was attending to another emergency involving a young boy, so they had been informed, forcing them to drive five miles further. Dr. Welles in Staveley dwelt in a modest home with an attached miniature hospital of sorts. He seemed highly competent with a staff of three nurses. A discriminating Darcy had carefully peered about the place and instantly recognized an efficient facility. For an hour, he and Lizzy had waited inside the small antechamber while the doctor tended to Phillips, cries intermittently erupting from behind the closed door.

  Darcy's concern for Phillips was negligible compared to the growing panic regarding his wife. Lizzy had said few words since arriving, refused to meet his eyes, frequently quivered and clenched her fists in her lap, and avoided physical contact as much as possible. Darcy sat close, watching and worrying, but any attempt to engage her in conversation was met with monosyllables or silence. He must have asked her if she was well a hundred times but she kept repeating she was “fine.” This alone was proof that she most assuredly was not fine because his Lizzy would have snapped at him long ago for his persistent questioning.