by Robin Helm
Isaiah 6:1, 3
Mrs. Bailey was most resourceful, quite successful in concealing the events of the early morning from the rest of the household.
After Mr. Bingley arrived with Jane and told her what had happened, she sent him back to Netherfield and took Jane upstairs, escorting her to the room she shared with Elizabeth. After calling for the maid and sending her straightaway for hot water and towels, she helped Jane to quickly undress, don her nightclothes, wash herself as best she could, and return to bed.
Knowing that Elizabeth would soon follow, Mrs. Bailey hurried back down the stairs to await her at the servants’ entrance. Before long, Darcy arrived, holding Elizabeth in front of him on the saddle.
He jumped down, turning to help her dismount, cradling her in his arms to keep her from falling. “Elizabeth, I am sorry, but I must go. Mrs. Bailey will care for you, and I shall return in a few hours. We shall do whatever you want. I have a special license. We can marry today if that is your desire.”
She made no reply, though she clung to him.
His expressive eyes spoke his sadness as he looked at Mrs. Bailey. “She is badly hurt. As much as I hate to leave her now, I know that I must. Please, be careful of her arm. It may be out of joint. I dare not call for the local apothecary, but I shall send to London for my physician. Elizabeth is well acquainted with Mr. Beckett, and he knows how to be discrete. I will return at a proper time to call, for I must speak with Mr. Bennet.”
Darcy gently set his betrothed on her feet, kissing her cheek tenderly and staying until Mrs. Bailey assured him of her ability to lead Elizabeth indoors.
Within a very short time, Elizabeth was in her room with Jane, allowing Mrs. Bailey to help her undress and wash.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth made any protest concerning the ministrations of their housekeeper. Mrs. Bailey clucked her tongue at the bruises which had already begun to form on the sisters. Their ankles and wrists showed the signs of being bound, and Elizabeth’s face bore the marks Wickham had inflicted when he hit her. She flinched as Mrs. Bailey attempted to wash all the blood from the scratches and the blow she had suffered to her nose, but she said nothing as silent tears streaked her cheeks.
“There now, my dear,” said Mrs. Bailey as she made a sling for Elizabeth’s arm. “I shall prop you on pillows and arrange your arm so it does not give you pain. If Mr. Darcy sends an express to London this morning, the physician may be here by this evening.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters had not yet made an appearance, for the state of the elder sisters’ clothing and hair upon their arrivals could not have withstood close inspection. The dishevelment and dirt would certainly have led to questions.
“You shall both remain in this room today,” she said firmly. “You ladies have been through a terrible ordeal, and I shall tell your mother you are ill, for ’tis the truth. I fear you may be truly sick if you do not rest, and you are to be wed soon. There will be no walking this evening or tomorrow morning.”
When neither young woman argued with her, she continued. “I must go see to breakfast, for your parents and sisters will be down soon. Try to sleep, my darlings. I shall bring up tea and hot porridge for you both as soon as Cook has no further need for my help. You are chilled to the bone.”
She built up the fire before she left the room. “Penny must come with warming pans for the bed. Your feet are too cold.”
When she brought food to them a half hour later, the sisters were fast asleep. She set the tray on the table by the bed, and then hurried back down the stairs.
Darcy rode from Longbourn to the encampment, grimly anticipating speaking with Colonel Forster.
His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood just outside a large tent. Darcy joined him.
“Where is Wickham? Did you kill him?”
“There was no need to kill the man. He is in this tent with the other afflicted soldiers. I fear he will not live long. Should he speak, no one would believe him. He is mad as a hatter, talking out of his head.”
“What do you mean?” Darcy opened the tent flap and strode in, stopping as the sight before him struck him dumb.
A cursory glance informed him there were at least five other solders within, and Mr. Jones, the local apothecary, was going from one bed to the next, examining each of them.
Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke from behind him. “I brought him to the tent to be treated for the damage to his hand, fully intending to leave him here while I spoke with the colonel of this regiment. Mr. Jones was already here, having been called in before the sun came up. He looked at Wickham’s bloody hand and told me to remove his coat and shirt to provide him with ease in treating his injury. When I did, the apothecary and I saw the evidence.”
Darcy’s eyes flashed. “What evidence?”
“Come with me. Mr. Jones is still looking at him.”
The men joined the apothecary by Wickham’s cot. He appeared to be asleep.
Mr. Jones was shaking his head. “His body is covered with a rash, several sores, and a great many abscesses. He has a fever. I have never met the man until today. You seem to know him. Has he lost weight? Does his hair seem thinner than it was?”
Darcy looked at Wickham critically. “He is leaner than the last time I saw him, and I now notice a bald spot on the crown of his head.”
“Mr. Wickham,” said the apothecary.
The patient opened his eyes, staring vacantly.
“Is your throat sore? Does your head hurt?” Mr. Jones asked.
“Everything hurts,” croaked Wickham. “I am tired. Always tired.”
“How long have you had these sores?” Mr. Jones continued, pointing to several ugly spots on his body.
“A year or two, but they do not bother me. My bones and muscles hurt.”
“The sores do not hurt?” Mr. Jones’s expression was concerned.
Wickham shook his head, trying to sit up. “They never have, but they are unsightly. Just do something for my hand. I wish to put on my shirt and go to the officers’ tent for breakfast.”
“I fear that will not be possible,” answered Mr. Jones, pushing him back down. “You must remain in here with the other men. You are very likely contagious.” He proceeded to clean and bandage Wickham’s injury, ignoring the patient’s loud cursing, and then gestured to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy to join him outside the tent.
The gentlemen followed him.
“What illness does he have?” asked Darcy.
“I have seen it many times,” he replied, lowering his voice to a whisper. “The French disease, the great pox. An advanced case. The man has had the disease for several years now. I cannot imagine he did not know what it was, as it is common.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam cocked a brow. “Is he healthy enough for a sea voyage?”
The apothecary shook his head. “I fear he would not survive a voyage of weeks or even days. I expect he shall succumb to the disease before long. He was ranting nonsense when you brought him here. In the final stages of this condition, the mind is often affected.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment. “Is there nothing you can do for him?”
Mr. Jones shook his head. “There is no cure for this. Not even any medicine to help the afflicted to bear it. Some try mercury, but it does more harm than good. If he is your friend, tell him goodbye now while he still breathes.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed his arms. “He was a childhood friend of ours, but no longer. It seems his life of debauchery has finally caught up with him. If he dies, we shall bury him here in Hertfordshire. Wickham has no family left.”
“How did his hand come to be in such a state? I had quite a difficult time removing his glove. In fact, I had to cut the leather away. The wound looks very much like it was caused by a gun,” added the apothecary, eyeing the gentlemen.
The colonel shook his head. “I cannot tell you. Do you think he was cleaning his gun and it accidentally went off? I found him on the way to Oakham Mount and brought him here.”<
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Mr. Jones looked from one man to the other. “Perhaps. I suppose no one will ever know for certain.”
“Be sure your sins will find you out,” Darcy muttered as he walked away.
Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Bingley, having changed clothes and eaten, rode back to Longbourn to speak with Mr. Bennet.
The gentlemen waited in the hallway while Mrs. Bailey went to the library door to announce their arrival, and they heard him tell Mrs. Bailey to show them in.
Darcy introduced Colonel Fitzwilliam to Mr. Bennet, and then took his place by a window. The colonel and Mr. Bingley sat in the two chairs in front of the gentleman’s desk.
“You are early this morning,” said Mr. Bennet, looking from one solemn face to the other. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Darcy walked back to face him. “There is no easy way to say this, sir, so prepare yourself. Your two eldest daughters were attacked by Mr. Wickham this morning while they were walking. Fortunately, we three found them before the ladies suffered permanent injury. They are both safely upstairs in their room now, though I feel sure they will require several days to recuperate.” He looked away, taking a deep breath.
After a moment, he continued, returning his gaze to Mr. Bennet. “Miss Elizabeth, particularly, will have bruises and discomfort. I must beg you to keep this information to yourself. Though I would happily marry her today, she may not wish for our plans to change. There will be speculation if we move our wedding date up. I leave it completely to you and your daughters, for Bingley and I have talked. We are both at your disposal.”
Mr. Bennet stood to face him. “Mrs. Bailey told me they are ill. Why was I not consulted immediately?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke. “I took custody of Wickham after Darcy shot his hand. He was my prisoner until I handed him over to his regiment. Because of the wound from the gun shot, I took him to the apothecary’s tent. However, Mr. Jones was much more concerned about Wickham’s disease than he was his wound.”
“His disease? Is he contagious? Are my daughters well? What illness does the blackguard have?” the elder gentleman asked, alarmed.
“Your daughters could not have caught the illness,” answered Darcy. “He is dying from the French disease as we speak. Wickham tied your daughters, and he struck Elizabeth, but he did not molest them in any other way. Mr. Jones says he is in the final stage of the illness. He can no longer hurt anyone.”
Mr. Bennet sat down, lowering his eyes to the top of his desk. “You told me in your letter to forbid my younger daughters to leave the house, but none of us thought to keep the two elder sequestered. Their good sense was supposed to be enough to protect them. How did you not know of the danger to them?”
Darcy put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “He led a debauched life, but he had never attacked anyone. He never tried to force a woman to go anywhere or do anything with him against her will. Wickham always used his abundant charm, and I thought Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth would be safe from that. They knew what he was. You must know if I had thought there had been any chance of him hurting the woman I love more than my own life, I would have told you that he was a danger to her. Mr. Jones questions his sanity, as do I.”
“Yes, I think you would have warned me,” he answered, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “I need to talk with my daughters. Come back this evening, and we shall discuss this further. My inclination is to leave everything as planned, but if they wish to marry earlier, I shall agree to whatever they ask.”
“Mr. Beckett should be here from London by then. If you agree, he shall examine my betrothed’s arm. When she fought Wickham, he used her roughly, and I fear her arm may be dislocated,” said Darcy.
Mr. Bennet wiped his eyes. His words were choked. “My Lizzy struggled with him? I am not surprised. I am glad you shot him. I only wonder that you did not kill him. Go now.”
The gentlemen, along with Thaddeus Beckett, returned to Longbourn that evening. Mr. Beckett, accompanied by Mrs. Bailey, went directly to examine his patients, and the other three men were ushered immediately into Mr. Bennet’s library.
Mr. Bennet looked up at them, gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit down. This shall not take long, and my wife insists that you all stay to dine. Though I know it will be difficult for you to pretend my Jane and Elizabeth are simply confined with colds, it will do much to allay any suspicion on her part.”
“They have not left their rooms?” asked Darcy, as soon as he was seated.
“They have not, nor will they until their bruises fade,” said Mr. Bennet. “My daughters hope you will understand, but they do not wish to wed earlier than was originally planned. They know their mother would argue with such a change to her plans. Besides, they want to have as much time to heal as is possible.”
“May we see them?” asked Mr. Bingley anxiously. “I just want to know Miss Bennet is well.”
“Then you shall have to take my word for it,” said the elder gentleman with firmness. “They do not wish for you to see them until they heal. The discolouration grows worse with every hour, and Elizabeth’s shoulder pains her greatly. Perhaps Mr. Beckett can help her.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned forward in his chair. “Beckett examined Wickham before we came here, and he agrees with Mr. Jones. Wickham will likely not survive the next two weeks. I had him moved to a private tent, so he shall have no one to talk to.”
“Thank you for that,” answered Mr. Bennet. “And thank you for all you did for my daughters.”
“They were walking to meet us,” said Darcy, barely keeping his composure. “If not for that, they may have stayed safely at home.”
“’Tis not your fault.” Mr. Bennet looked at him with sympathy. “Lizzy told me a good while ago you met her each morning and evening. She keeps very few secrets from me. I knew it all along, and I was glad of it, for I always feared something might happen to them. And as the girls were together, neither you nor they did anything improper. They would have walked with you or without you. Jane had been taking her exercise alone for many years ’til Lizzy joined her.”
“Very kind of you to say so, but I do not think I protected her well enough. I promise to do better after we wed.” Darcy stood. “I should like to speak to Beckett once he completes his examination. Otherwise, I shall have to wait until after dinner to hear news of her condition, and I cannot bear it.”
Mr. Bingley nodded in agreement. “Please.”
“If you remain in here, I will send for the physician. He can tell all of us at once,” replied Mr. Bennet.
Darcy nodded, and Mr. Bennet quickly scribbled a note and sent for his manservant.
Within a few moments, Mr. Beckett walked through the door. “Both ladies should be well enough in time for their weddings, if they rest between now and then. Miss Elizabeth’s shoulder is sprained, but not dislocated. I have bound it to her side to prevent her from moving it. I shall return tomorrow, and if she is better, I shall fashion a sling to allow her a bit more freedom. Provided she follows my instructions, her shoulder should be significantly stronger and less painful in a week.
“Both she and Miss Bennet have bruising and swelling, but no permanent damage. The swelling will go down quickly, but the bruising will be worse before it is better. By the time of the wedding, it should be mostly faded away. Most of it will be hidden under long sleeves. They may need longer gloves to cover their hands and wrists,” he finished, directing his gaze to the floor.
The room was quiet with the knowledge of what the young women had suffered.
Darcy stared at his clenched fists, speaking hesitantly. “What of her face? It was already turning blue and purple when we arrived here this morning. She shall be most distressed if she views herself in a mirror.”
“I have no comfort for you, sir,” answered Beckett, turning his head to look back at him. “Her nose and cheek are swollen, and the colour darkens by the hour. It will be much better, but not comp
letely healed in time for the ceremony. I have directed Mrs. Bailey to use cold compresses until the pain and welts are gone, but Miss Elizabeth has very fair skin. The bruises will certainly show, but they will be faint.”
“Perhaps we should postpone our nuptials. She will want to look her best. I must think of her and not myself,” Darcy said unhappily.
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I know my daughters, and they will not put off the wedding. Lizzy and Jane will find a way to make it right. They will think of something.”
He leaned toward Darcy, speaking softly. “You did your best. Elizabeth herself told me the damage was done before you arrived. She does not blame you at all, and she would be quite saddened to hear you claiming the guilt in this situation.” He sighed as he stood. “Meanwhile, it is time for dinner. Do your best to have a pleasant countenance, gentlemen. Shall we go?”
He left the room, and the men followed after him.
Therefore, a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.
Genesis 2:24
I can stand it no longer.
After a week without seeing Elizabeth, Darcy was morose. He had sent her daily gifts – several books, bouquets from Netherfield’s hothouse, sweets, a lovely necklace, gloves, and letters – but not being able to chart her progress or speak with her himself left him imagining the worst.
Though she had written short notes thanking him for his kind attention, she had not commented on her appearance or suffering. She did not mention her eagerness for their impending nuptials.
Darcy had written of his love for her, but she had not returned those sentiments.
He feared she held him responsible for her present condition, and he was distraught. Is she in terrible pain? Is she angry with me? Does she regret her decision to wed? Does she no longer love me?
It ate at Darcy that Beckett saw her every day, and he did not. As much as it wounded him to think it, if she had decided against him and in Beckett’s favour, he would withdraw his suit.