Darcy's Hope at Donwell Abbey, a WW1 Pride & Prejudice Companion

by Ginger Monette

  The voice of the stretcher-bearer addressing the VAD in the hall drifted into the room. “He came with an envelope of notes and a Dorothy bag with his belongings. I left it downstairs on the entry desk along with his particulars.”

  Footsteps crossed the threshold. “Here’s your apron.” Her counterpart draped it over her head and tied the sash. “What can I do now?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t think there’s anything else to be done until Dr. Scott arrives.”

  “I’ll record his particulars in the log and prepare the notes for the doctor.”

  The footsteps retreated, and Elizabeth turned back to her patient. She lifted the red tag attached to his pyjama button and read:

  Fell inside factory chimney:

  Blind—probable occipital lobe injury.

  Deaf—perforated eardrums.

  Cracked ribs.

  Internal injuries suspected.

  Elizabeth released a heavy breath. The poor man! Why hadn’t he been retained in France? His condition was too critical to have been moved.

  She folded the counterpane over his blue striped pyjamas. Would this be one of those occasions where she was forced to sit and hold the hand of a dying man? She groaned inwardly. Every nurse hated that job.

  She shifted her gaze for a closer look at her patient. White bandages circled his dark hair, and his black and blue face was swollen like a watermelon. A black ring targeted his left eye, and a strip of plaster bridged his nose. Red cuts grazed the peppery stubble on his chin.

  She smoothed a dark curl peeking from beneath his bandaged head and froze. “Fitzwilliam?” Peering closer, fear slammed into her. “Fitzwilliam!”

  She dropped to her knees and drew her face close to his. “What’s happened to you? Don’t give up—live, my love, live!” She caressed his brow as tears filled her eyes. “I love you. Georgiana loves you. I can’t keep you, but your sister needs you.”

  She gazed at his lifeless body, then placed a gentle kiss on his pale lips. “Please don’t go. I love you.” She kissed him again and smoothed her thumb across the only unaffected spot on his cheek. “I know you can’t hear me, but I am here, my love. I love you.”

  Was there a way to get through to him? He was deaf and blind. Braille? No. Fitzwilliam didn’t know braille. Morse code? Yes!

  Leaning close, she raised his bruised hand to her cheek and tapped on his palm, I am here, my love. Live!

  She kissed his fingers, and he shifted. Her eyes flicked to his face. His brows drew together just below the bandages. Was he in pain? His nose twitched. Had she hurt him? No—he was sniffing! His other hand feebly rose towards her. “Elizabeth?” he mumbled.

  With the word still on his lips, quick feminine footsteps crossed the threshold behind her. Elizabeth jerked her head up.

  “Well, my boy, I’m Aunt Eliza to you, but that’s a start.” The imperious Mrs. Knightley glanced over her shoulder at Sarah behind her. “He’s awake. It seems he’s not dying after all.”

  “Elizabeth?” he whispered again, lifting two weak fingers from his chest in a vain attempt to find her.

  The small-statured matriarch took his hand and brushed Elizabeth aside as if she weren’t there.

  Fitzwilliam’s brow creased in confusion at the wrinkled hand that now grasped his.

  Elizabeth whisked her tears aside and retreated to the shadows.

  From the opposite side of the bed, Sarah lifted his hand and tapped something. Fitzwilliam remained motionless.

  Sarah lifted her gaze to Elizabeth. “We heard his condition is grim, but can’t we be encouraged that he was awake and talking—even if a little confused?”

  Elizabeth sniffed and cleared her throat. “Yes. It shows he has cognitive function, but we’ll have to wait for Dr. Scott’s evaluation.”

  Mrs. Knightley held his hand and gently patted his chest with her other.

  “Granny,” Sarah caught the woman’s hand in mid-air, “you could be hurting him.”

  “They’re just love pats, my dear. Perhaps you should try. He’ll be needing a wife, and this is the perfect opportunity for you.”

  Sarah huffed. “Not now, Granny.”

  “Never overlook an opportunity. It’s a splendid match. And with half of our eligible young men buried in France, she who is too picky may find herself unpicked.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t stand it any longer. She should be the one at his bedside holding his hand, caring for him, loving him. Overcome with emotion, she slipped out of the door, then leaned her head against the doorframe. Poor Fitzwilliam!

  The lift down the hall pinged, and Elizabeth brushed a tear aside, attempting to compose herself. What if Dr. Scott discovered her identity? What if Mrs. Knightley discovered who she was? The old bat wouldn’t think twice about turning Elizabeth in. That would be disastrous for both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam.

  Dr. Scott, clad in his khaki uniform with Red Cross armband, strode down the hallway, his eyes focused on the folder spread open across his hand. Reaching her, he stopped short and looked up. “Ah, Miss Thomas, I’m glad you’re here.” He glanced into the room, then drew her aside. Snapping the file shut, he released a gusty breath. “I see you’re as affected by the news of Captain Darcy as I am. How is he?”

  “Alive, but very weak.”

  “I hope I can help him. But I’ll need you to communicate to him during the examination. Can you tap Morse code on his arm?”

  Elizabeth nodded and blinked to dispel her tears.

  “Good. First order of business is to dismiss his aunt. If Darcy’s going to recover and make the most of his situation, he’ll need proven techniques administered by trained professionals. As you know, the process is painful for the patient, and few non-professionals have the fortitude to endure the patient’s struggle. His aunt is genuinely concerned for him, but she has a tendency to think she knows what’s best for everyone.”

  “Agreed.” Elizabeth chuckled with a sniff.

  “So I’ll need you to put on a brave face and stand with me.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Dr. Scott strode into the room. Lifting her chin, Elizabeth followed.

  Sarah exhaled. “Thank goodness you’re here, doctor. He’s moaning and restless.”

  “He’s had quite an ordeal.” Dr. Scott peered closer at his patient’s swollen head.

  Fitzwilliam’s contracted brow creased his forehead. Every breath shuddered with pain.

  Elizabeth swallowed the new lump rising in her throat and forced an unaffected expression.

  Mrs. Knightley drew herself up and addressed the doctor. “He should be moved to Donwell where the family can care for him.”

  “I think it’s best he stays here—for the time being. You’re aware he is deaf and blind?”

  “All the more reason he should be with family. I believe Robert sent him here with Sarah in mind as his nurse. She’s familiar with telegraphy, you know.”

  The doctor straightened and turned to the matriarch. “Indeed, Miss Knightley will be a great asset. But the captain’s immediate situation calls for professional care.”

  The matron raised her chin. “And who would that be?”

  “Miss Thomas. She’s had medical training and worked with the blind at St. Dunstan’s.” He stepped aside revealing her.

  The matriarch’s head quavered in defiance. “I see you’ve already made all the decisions.”

  Dr. Scott levelled his gaze at her. “I appreciate your concern, madam, but Captain Darcy is still under military jurisdiction, and the army has appointed me as their agent. But don’t misunderstand me. If he recovers, I expect the family’s care can play a vital role in his recuperation.”

  Fitzwilliam shifted with a groan.

  Dr. Scott reached into his pocket. “I’m sure the captain is eagerly awaiting morphine so he can rest. Will you excuse us? Perhaps you may visit tomorrow when he awakens.”

  “He’s right, Granny.” Sarah held out her arm inviting the domineering woman to exit with her.
>
  “We’ll be back tomorrow.” With her chin held high, the matriarch departed, her granddaughter following.

  The doctor turned to Elizabeth. “Now, down to business. Tell the captain I’m here.”

  Elizabeth lifted Fitzwilliam’s hand and tapped the message, Dr. Scott is here.

  The red-headed physician cuffed his friend’s other wrist, and the corners of Fitzwilliam’s mouth turned up ever so slightly.

  “Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam whispered “Where’s... Elizabeth?”

  “Elizabeth Bennet?” Dr. Scott looked to her. “Ah, tell him authorities are still looking for her. But his Aunt Eliza and cousin Sarah were just here.”

  Elizabeth’s pulse throbbed in her throat as she tapped the message. Fitzwilliam’s blind but hopeful eyes lowered, accepting the news. She’d been so foolish to reveal herself! In his fragile state, if he thought he’d found her and then she was dragged away and shot for treason—. Well, that wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  Dr. Scott leaned for a closer look at Fitzwilliam’s swollen face. “Tell him I’ll need to ask him a few questions and examine him, but I’ve brought morphine.”

  Elizabeth relayed the message, and Fitzwilliam mumbled, “Morphine first...then questions.”

  The doctor slipped the tiny white pill into his patient’s mouth. Elizabeth tipped the feeding cup to Fitzwilliam’s lips, and he sipped from the attached porcelain straw. Swallowing, his face creased with a grimace.

  He eased himself back against the pillow and exhaled a laboured breath. “How...bad is it?”

  “Cracked ribs and perforated eardrums should heal. A severe concussion resulting in blindness and possible internal injuries. I’ll need to examine you further.”

  As Elizabeth tapped, moisture glistened in Fitzwilliam’s eyes.

  Oh, how her heart ached for him! She steadied her hand and relayed the additional questions from Dr. Scott while he looked into his patient’s eyes and ears, then gently probed his head. Fitzwilliam groaned with every touch and movement.

  “Will you unbutton his shirt?” Dr. Scott lifted Fitzwilliam’s arm, gently feeling along each bone.

  Elizabeth slid the buttons through the holes, careful to keep as far from Fitzwilliam as she could. She couldn’t risk him smelling the lavender water again. How reckless she’d been to kiss and caress him earlier! Hopefully he would think it was just a dream.

  She parted the fabric of his pyjama shirt, exposing the masculine planes of his chest. She gasped. The beautiful chest she’d seen last year was now much leaner and mottled with black and purple blotches.

  Dr. Scott glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

  “I-I’ve just never seen such extensive bruising.”

  “Let’s hope the worst of it is on the surface. Tell him I’ll need to listen to his heart and probe his organs. He should speak up if it hurts. It could be especially painful if there’s internal damage.”

  She tapped the message, and he nodded, pinching his lips in anticipation of pain.

  The muscles on Fitzwilliam’s abdomen contracted the instant the doctor laid his hands there. Dr. Scott watched his patient’s face as he gently palpated.

  Fitzwilliam’s brows drew together, his jaw muscle tightening.

  “Any sharp pain?”

  Elizabeth relayed the message.

  Fitzwilliam released his breath, then winced at the pain in his ribs. “No...just sore.”

  Dr. Scott nodded. “Good.”

  With much moaning from their patient, they rolled the captain onto his side and repeated the probing on his spine and flanks.

  The doctor patted Fitzwilliam’s arm, then gently eased him back down. “Good news. I see no evidence of internal injury. And tell him we’ve contacted his sister. She should be here tomorrow. He can sleep now.”

  With the message conveyed, Dr. Scott motioned her to the other side of the room.

  Once away from the bed, Dr. Scott released a heavy breath. “This is going to be immensely difficult for his sister. She’ll need a strong arm to lean on. Will you do that for her?”

  “I’ll try.” Elizabeth swallowed hard. How could she support someone else when she was barely hanging on herself?

  “I have another favour to ask.” He met her eyes. “Captain Darcy provided the education that made me what I am today, and he is Miss Darcy’s only immediate family. I want the best of care for him. He’s going to need someone to look after him day and night who can communicate with him—to be his whole world until his hearing returns. And after that, he’ll need a blind aide for some time. Would you be willing to commit to that? I can make it worth your while.”

  Elizabeth looked away. As much as she longed to be with him, it was playing with fire. What if his sight suddenly returned, or he recognised her voice? If exposed, she—and he—faced a no-win situation. At worst, she’d be executed, and at best, even if she were to prove her innocence, his future would be ruined by his association with her. Her countrymen had no mercy on suspected German sympathisers. Suspicion or accusation was as good as a judgement of guilt. But how could she say no to caring for him when he needed her so much?

  Perhaps she could compromise. “My heart is set on foreign service, and my London interview is in a fortnight. I will commit until then.”

  “Fair enough. The notes here say that Captain Darcy’s batman has a shoulder wound and Dr. Knightley hopes to send the man here to convalesce. He’s not a medical professional, but he knows Darcy and telegraphy. He could be his eyes and ears. But you’ll do it until then?”

  Elizabeth nodded, steeling herself. “Yes.”

  “All right. I imagine the captain will be asleep most of the time, but in his condition, I want someone with him at all times. Will you mind sleeping in the bedside chair these first few nights? Without the stimulation of light, he’ll be unable to distinguish day from night and may have trouble sleeping. He could wake at all hours.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t have to tell you to keep a close watch that no sharp objects are brought into the room.”

  Their eyes met in mutual understanding. Suicide was all too common for those suddenly plunged into darkness.

  “There’s nothing more to be done tonight. I’ll situate myself in one of the old servant’s rooms and check on you in a bit. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

  The doctor exited, and Elizabeth returned to the bed that held the man she loved. The dim light cast a warm glow over his bruised and battered body, and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She longed to take his hand, gently kiss his lips again, and tell him over and over how much she loved him.

  But she could not.

  

  Elizabeth roused to anguished groans and the rustling of bed linens. Sitting up in the hard chair, her senses snapped to attention and her eyes riveted on Fitzwilliam. With wincing moans and grunts, he shifted restlessly.

  She glanced at her watch. Two a.m.

  With one hand she caressed the only spot of pink flesh on his cheek. With her other, she took his hand and tapped, It’s all right. I have morphine. His motion stopped. He quieted.

  She slipped a white pill into his mouth, then held the porcelain straw to his lips. He laboured for even a sip but managed to swallow, then settled back onto the pillow with a sigh.

  Elizabeth squeezed his hand in acknowledgement, then returned to her chair, her shoes clicking on the plank floor.

  She stared at her beloved with the moonlight spilling over the foot of the bed. Moonlight that he could not see, and footsteps that he could not hear. The lump in her throat erupted into a sob. Burying her face in her hands, her shoulders heaved, and her chest welled with ache for him. The man she’d come to love was not only injured and pulsing with pain but shut off from the world around him.

  She grieved for the depression and despondency she knew would come. She grieved for the frustration and trials he would face. Was she strong enough to help him struggle through the beginning of
the process she had come to know so well at St. Dunstan’s?

  She inhaled a deep breath in an attempt to silence her tears. She’d only committed to two weeks. Surely she could endure that.

  Couldn’t she?

  ~EIGHTEEN~

  The next morning Dr. Scott appeared at the door just as the day’s light illuminated the room. “How is he?”

  Elizabeth rose from her chair and smoothed her wrinkled apron. “His vital signs are slightly improved, and he slept well, although he becomes restless when the morphine wears off. I gave him another dose a few minutes ago.”

  The doctor nodded then directed his focus to the patient. “I had a rather restless night myself. I’m relieved his condition is more stable than yesterday.” He turned back to her. “When he awakens again, I’d like to see how he tolerates something to eat.”

  “Is he restricted to a particular diet?”

  “No. Although we both know that something he can hold in his hand and feed himself will help his dignity—assuming he has the strength to feed himself.”

  “I’ll see about a boiled egg and some toast.”

  “How are you faring?” The doctor leaned against the iron footboard.

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose. I was able to doze in the chair.”

  His gaze circled the room. “I’ll have a small desk and some upholstered chairs sent up from downstairs to make the room more comfortable. I expect Miss Darcy will be here shortly after luncheon. Then, later this afternoon, either Matron or I will sit with him so you can rest. I don’t trust anyone else.” He returned his focus to her. “I think we should assume from the start that his blindness is a permanent condition and treat him accordingly.”

  “I thought it was permanent?”

  The doctor sighed. “It’s quite possible it is. But a handful of patients out of hundreds do regain full sight. Another handful regain sight in one quadrant of vision. The rest remain blind. That’s why we’re wise to treat him as permanently blind from the start. If by chance he regains his sight, he will have lost nothing. But if he’s mollycoddled, it will be that much harder for him to learn to be blind.”