by Sarah Brown
I lost track of the rest of the battle as I focused on Wickham. Our horses circled as our blades met again and again. At last, I managed to unseat him. I dismounted as well and reached him just as he regained his feet. There was no toying with each other this time, no warnings. We met with all the fury and hatred we each held for the other, our swords clashing loudly with all the strength we could muster.
I realized that Wickham had been holding back that day at the regiment’s fencing practice in Meryton. Tonight his foil flew through the air with all the skill of a true proficient, his anger adding strength and speed. Neither of us could gain an advantage and we circled, locked in combat. Wickham taunted me as we dueled, telling me how sweet Elizabeth tasted and how much he had enjoyed her company. I knew he was lying and kept focused on deflecting his blows.
I could see him growing frustrated when I refused to respond to his baiting. “Whatever happens, Will,” he ground out, “I still win. Your Elizabeth is dead.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elizabeth still lying motionless on the frozen ground. The thought that Elizabeth might indeed be dead or dying redoubled my rage. The thought of losing her just as I had found her again filled me with an anguish I had never known. My sword became a blur in the night.
I launched into the most complex combination I knew, my sword veritably flying through the air while my feet sped over the landscape. I parried and thrust and attacked, each blow coming faster and harder than the last. Wickham could not keep up. With a final assault, I knocked Wickham’s blade aside and buried my own in his gullet. His eyes went wide as he fell to his knees. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he gasped. I pulled my sword from his stomach and he fell, dead, to the ground.
I stared at his unseeing eyes, the briefest flash of sadness for the boy who was almost like a brother passing through me. As quickly as it came, it was gone as I turned to find Elizabeth. As I ran back to her side, I vaguely registered that Fitzwilliam and his men were tying the hands of two men who had apparently surrender while John had Billings on his knees at sword point.
“Elizabeth!” I cried as I dropped my sword and fell to the ground beside her. I tore open my coat that she was wearing so I could see the damage. “Oh, God!” Her left shoulder was covered with blood where the bullet had hit her, and she was lying at an awkward angle from the fall. “John!” I tore my cravat from my neck and pressed it to the wound.
John brought the hilt of his sword down on Billings’ head, knocking him unconscious, then joined me at Elizabeth’s side. “Lizzy,” he whispered. He tore off his own cravat and ripped it in half. I carefully lifted her as he pressed half of the cloth to the exit wound on her other side and wrapped the other half around her shoulder, bandaging the wound to stop the bleeding. At least the bullet had gone clean through her shoulder and had not lodged inside her.
I grabbed his shoulder. “Ride to your father as quick as you can. Bring the carriage back. We must get her to London.”
Without a word, he was gone, galloping into the darkness toward where the carriage was waiting with Jane, Charles, and Mr. Bennet.
I leaned down close to Elizabeth and whispered, “Elizabeth? Lizzy, can you hear me? Please, my love, open your eyes.” As carefully as I could, I untangled her limbs and straightened her body. As I moved her arm from underneath her, trying to move her shoulder as little as possible, she groaned. “Elizabeth? Please wake up.”
Her eyelids fluttered then opened. She looked around uncomprehendingly, her eyes glazed with pain and confusion, until she finally settled her gaze on me. “Will?”
“Shh, my love. You are all right,” I told her, as much to convince myself as her. “You were shot and you fell from my horse, but you are going to be fine.” I could feel a lump rising in my throat, making it difficult to speak, and my vision grew blurry.
“Wickham?” she whispered. She winced and closed her eyes again.
“He’s dead.” She nodded weekly. “Please, my Lizzy. You have to try to stay awake. Open your eyes.”
Her eyes flickered briefly as she whispered, “Cold,” then closed completely as she slipped back into unconsciousness. I carefully lifted her into my lap and wrapped my coat around her tighter, trying to keep her as warm as I could. I added pressure to the makeshift bandage, praying that the bleeding would stop.
I looked around to see that Fitzwilliam and Mr. Gray had tied the men that had surrendered and Billings’ unconscious form to their horses. Fitzwilliam approached me. “When the carriage arrives, I’ll take theses men to the Runners to be held until we can deal with them and then join you at your house.” I nodded, and he asked, “How is she?”
“She needs a doctor,” was the only reply I could make.
Fitzwilliam bent and pulled my coat open to examine the wound and bandage. “It’s a clean shot. Try to keep her warm and as still as possible. If we can keep her from losing too much blood, and get her back to your house where it’s warm, she should be all right. I have seen men survive far worse.” As he spoke, he removed his own cravat and added it to the others, which were becoming soaked with blood.
After what seemed an eternity, the carriage arrived with Mr. Bennet and John riding beside it. Before Bingley and Jane could step out, I had picked Elizabeth up and was loading her inside. As soon as I was settled with Elizabeth safely on my lap, I signaled the driver to make haste to London.
That was the longest carriage ride I have ever taken. Elizabeth shivered the entire way despite the several lap rugs that Jane helped me to wrap her in. She hovered on the edges of consciousness, occasionally moaning when the carriage hit a deep rut in the road. I held her to me and kissed her hair, whispering comfort in her ear, while Bingley held Jane across from me and tried to comfort her as she worried for her sister.
After what seemed an eternity, we finally reached the house. The carriage door was thrown open, and I raced up the steps and inside. Mrs. Glenn was waiting at the door. She followed me as I raced up the stairs. “Bring Dr. Smythe to Elizabeth’s room immediately and bring water and cloths.” She disappeared to do as I asked.
At the top of the stairs I met Georgiana, Lydia, and Mrs. Bennet wrapped in robes and looking tousled from sleep. Georgiana asked, “Will, what happened?”
“Elizabeth has been shot,” I told her as I continued down the hall. Georgiana, Jane, Bingley, and the Bennets followed me, Mrs. Bennet wailing about her nerves. When I reached the Mistress’s chambers, I gently place Elizabeth on the bed. Bingley began stoking the fire to warm the room. Mr. Bennet dragged his hysterical wife back to her bed before she could get in anyone’s way, and John took Lydia’s sobbing form from the room.
The doctor soon appeared with Mrs. Glenn following behind. Jane and Georgiana summarily ejected Bingley and me from the room, so that they could help Mrs. Glenn and Dr. Smythe see to Elizabeth. The door closed in my face, and I was left to wait.
Chapter Twelve
Bingley and I were firmly encamped in the hallway outside Elizabeth’s room when John and Mr. Bennet found us some time later after seeing to Mrs. Bennet and Lydia. Doctor Smythe had yet to emerge and the waiting was driving me mad, as I paced back and forth.
Elizabeth cried out loudly at one point—when the doctor was cleaning her wound, I assumed. I tried desperately to get to her, the pain in her cry tearing through my heart. But the heavy oak door was locked tight, and my pounding went entirely ignored. Bingley dragged me away from the door and ordered—nearly shouted at me—to sit. I sunk to floor, where I had remained ever since, with my head in my hands. I prayed and begged for Elizabeth to be all right.
After what seemed like an eternity, Doctor Smythe finally came out of the room to find the four of us waiting eagerly for news. I scrambled to my feet, and impolitely demanded, “Well?”
“She will be all right,” he said. The relief that I felt left my knees weak, and I slid back down the wall to the floor. John and Mr. Bennet released enormous sighs and engaged in an impromptu embrace.
> From my semi-recumbent position, I asked the doctor to elaborate. “The wound Miss Elizabeth sustained is not a seriously one. The bullet went cleanly through, and I was able to clean and stitch it well. She is weak from loss of blood, but it should heal nicely, given time. She also has a slight concussion due to the fall from the horse, but I do not foresee any adverse effects of that injury. Provided she does not develop a fever due to her prolonged exposure to the cold, I do not believe she is in any danger. However, she will require a good deal of rest and is not to be moved until I authorize it. For now, I have given her some laudanum to reduce the pain and allow her to sleep.”
John and Mr. Bennet offered their profuse thanks for Doctor Smythe’s care. I was too overcome to offer anything. I simply held my head in my hands and thanked God that Elizabeth would recover. It was Bingley who had the presence of mind to ask, “What about any effects of their ordeal? Were either of the girls hurt by their captors?”
Doctor Smythe shook his head. “No, I examined both the Misses Bennet thoroughly and can report that other than a few bruises from being roughly moved about, they were not harmed by their kidnappers. A hearty meal, a warm fire, and some sleep should set Miss Bennet to rights. Miss Elizabeth will require greater care, but she is young and strong and should recover quickly.”
I am not sure how long I sat on the floor, breathing easily for the first time since Elizabeth had been taken. I vaguely heard Doctor Smythe outlining provisions for Elizabeth’s care and instructing the others that she should be kept in bed and made to rest. John, recovering his usual good humor now that his sisters were out of danger, quipped, “Well, that should be interesting. It is nearly impossible to keep Lizzy still.”
At last, I managed to rouse myself when Doctor Smythe indicated that he would take his leave and promised to return tomorrow to check on Elizabeth. “Thank you, Doctor,” I murmured as I shook his hand.
He clapped his hand on my shoulder and assured me, “She will be fine, Will.” Doctor Smythe had been my family doctor since I was a boy, and a finer physician could not be found. He had seen Georgiana and I through the measles and various other illnesses and had done all he could for my mother and father before they died. He was a friend as well as my doctor.
I offered a weak smile and asked, “May I see her?”
“Of course,” he replied. “But she will most likely sleep through the night and, hopefully, much of tomorrow.” I nodded and he departed.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to the others and saw the same relief and exhaustion reflected in their eyes that I was feeling. Mr. Bennet said, “Let us all go in a check on her together and then get some rest.”
One after another, we filed into Elizabeth’s room to see Jane and Georgiana sitting on either side of her bed looking relieved but utterly done-in. They rose as we entered, and the others all held a quiet discussion about Elizabeth’s condition.
Their voices seemed far away as my eyes were riveted to Elizabeth’s reclining form. She had been propped on a few pillows to alleviate the pressure on her shoulder, and her arm had been bound to her side to keep it still. The counterpane had been pulled tight around her to keep her warm and her chocolate brown curls fell haphazardly around her face and across the pillows. Her face was pale but peaceful as her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of deep slumber. She was so beautiful but so fragile. I just stood there with my arms wrapped around myself and stared at her. I had nearly lost her and knew not how I would have survived if I had.
Eventually, I realized that the others had quietly slipped out of the room and left me alone with her. I went and sat in the chair that had been placed near her bed. I took her right hand—her uninjured arm—into my own and softly stroked her knuckles. “I love you, Elizabeth,” I whispered. All the tension and exhaustion of the past two days caught up with me, and tears streamed down my cheeks.
--- --- ---
I was awakened some time later by the feel of a hand running through my hair and someone murmuring, “Will.” Ever so slowly, consciousness returned, and I opened my eyes to find that I had fallen asleep at Elizabeth’s bedside, my head resting on the mattress beside her. Elizabeth had pulled her hand from mine and was playing with my hair as she tried to wake me. Faint winter sunlight peaked in the windows. At last, my eyes found Elizabeth’s, and she smiled. “Good morning, my love.”
I grinned and sat up, slightly stiff for my awkward position. I caught her hand and kissed it. “Good morning, Elizabeth.” I looked her over, trying to determine whether she was well, and placed my hand to her forehead. There was no sign of fever, much to my relief. “How are you feeling?”
“Fairly well, considering,” she replied. She tried to shift her position a little and winced. I helped her adjust her pillows and pulled the blankets tightly around her. “My shoulder hurts quite a lot, and I have a dull headache.” She admitted.
“I am so sorry, darling.” I kissed her hand again. “You need to rest. Shall I give you more laudanum? Doctor Smythe said to let you have some more so that you could rest if the pain was too much.”
She carefully, but vehemently, shook her head. “No, thank you. I hate laudanum. It makes my head fuzzy. Jane will be getting an earful later for allowing the doctor to give it to me. She knows how I detest it.”
I grinned at her petulant expression. “You needed it so that the doctor could tend your wound. And you needed sleep. You still do, and you will not be leaving this bed for quite some time.”
She rolled her eyes at me, but did not respond. Instead she looked around the room. “What room is this? It seems rather grand for a guest room.”
“It is your room,” I told her. When she looked at me questioningly, I elaborated, “This is the mistress’s bedchamber. We ran out of guest rooms so I put you in here. It will be yours soon enough as it is.”
She nodded then looked about again, taking in the pale yellow walls, high windows, and light blue upholstery and bedding. “It is beautiful, Will. So bright and happy.” When I suggested that she could change anything she wanted, she declared the room was perfect as it was. Then she asked to where the three doors leading from the room went. I explained, “One is to the hallway, one to your dressing room, and one to the sitting room that connects my room with yours.”
She looked back to me, absorbing this new information along with the fact that no one else had remained in the room to chaperone us, then smiled just a little, her eyes sparkling. “Oh.”
I grinned back and wrapped one of her loose curls around my finger. “Your father is a very understanding man.”
“Apparently,” she replied. After a few more minutes, I implored her to get some more sleep, but she refused. “Actually,” she said, a little sheepishly, “I’m rather hungry.”
“Oh! Of course you are. How silly of me.” I rose and rang for a servant, directing him to bring up some tea and breakfast for the both of us, then stoked the fire, which had died down during the night. As I moved about, I became conscious of my appearance. I was still in the same clothes from yesterday, my hair a mess and my face unshaved. I felt worn and grimy. “Do you mind if I step into my room for a few minutes to freshen up?”
“No, not at all. I am not going anywhere.”
I grinned and walked through the sitting room to my own bedroom. I found that my valet, as always, had anticipated my needs. A warm bath and fresh clothes were waiting for me. I quickly washed, changed, and let my valet shave me, all in about fifteen minutes—much to his amusement, I am sure, but I refused to be away from Elizabeth for long while I had this time alone with her. The rest of the household was sure to begin inquiring after her soon.
When I returned to Elizabeth’s room, I found Mrs. Glenn had just arrived with our breakfast. I thanked her and took the tray. She curtsied and left us to ourselves. As gently as I could, I helped Elizabeth to sit up straighter and set the tray in front of her. Elizabeth truly seemed to be feeling well, though she was clearly in a good deal of pain from her shoulder. As w
e ate, I answered her questions about the events that took place after she was shot, and she told me of what had happened to Jane and her since they had been kidnapped in Hertfordshire.
Apparently, Wickham and his men had assaulted the carriage as it was taking Jane and Elizabeth from Netherfield to Longbourn. The girls had been bound and gagged and put into an enclosed carriage. They had arrived at the rundown castle in which they had been found sometime in the early morning after the carriage had made several stops, where Elizabeth did not know. Jane and Elizabeth had been divested of their outerwear to discourage escape attempts in the frigid weather—I made a mental note to have Mrs. Glenn procure replacements for both ladies as soon as possible—and thrown into a room on the upper floor of the castle, where there was a working fireplace. They kept as warm as possible, but the drafty castle had provided little insulation.
Elizabeth faltered when I asked her about Wickham and Mrs. Younge. With gentle prompting, she told me that Wickham had appeared in their room the next morning, Mrs. Younge on his heals and arguing fiercely. He had roughly pulled Elizabeth to her feet and tried to drag her from the room. Elizabeth resisted and Mrs. Younge had refused to allow her to be taken. Wickham had become enraged and struck Mrs. Younge across the face before Billings had appeared and pulled him outside. They had not seen Wickham or Billings after that.
Later, when Jane and Elizabeth had been left locked in the room again, they were caught talking to each other. Mrs. Younge had just returned from her excursion to London where Mr. Gray’s men had spotted her. She told the other captors to separate Jane from Elizabeth until Wickham came back so that they could not plan an escape. The men had come to take Elizabeth down to the cellar, and she had created a diversion by stealing one of their swords and keeping them at bay long enough that Jane slipped from the room and down the stairs then climbed out a window on the ground floor, escaping. Once the men had subdued her, Elizabeth had been dragged down the stairs and tied in the corner of the basement where I had found her, and apparently just in time.