Darcy By Any Other Name

by Laura Hile

  His left arm, which was very painful, was bound with cloths, and he decided not to move it. He was able to lift his right hand, however. Carefully he brought it nearer in order to see. And then Darcy felt a wave of panic. Here was the frayed cuff of which Miss Lydia spoke!

  And his hand—what had happened to his hand? His long, elegant fingers were now thick and squat—as fat as sausages!

  In a panic Darcy strained to see his left hand. His signet ring, worn by his father and grandfather, was gone! And was that a wart forming on the back of his hand? A wart?

  There were brisk footfalls in the corridor and the door came quickly open. “Well, well,” said a hearty voice—Mr. Jones’? Darcy turned his head to see.

  “You’re awake. Very good, yes.”

  Mr. Jones was one of those bluff country fellows—stocky, grey-headed, and cheerful. His eyes looked Darcy over with professional interest.

  Darcy found his voice. “Good—morning,” he rasped.

  “Good afternoon,” supplied Mr. Jones. “You’ve slept rather a long time, you know.”

  “Have I? How long?”

  Mr. Jones held up two fingers, as if Darcy were a child. “Almost two days.”

  As long as that? Darcy drew a ragged breath. Who had seen to his needs? Surely not Elizabeth or her sisters!

  “However, now you are out of danger and on the mend, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Jones. “Let’s have a look at that arm, shall we?”

  3 Hit or Miss

  When Elizabeth came into the bedchamber, Mr. Collins was awake, and Mr. Jones was holding his wrist. “Ah,” she heard Mr. Jones say. “Yes, yes. Very good. Very nice.”

  He moved his hand to Mr. Collins’ forehead and then bent to peer into his eyes. “Quite,” he said.

  Elizabeth thought she heard Mr. Collins say, “Quite what?” This sort of response was typical of her cousin, but the dry tone he used was not.

  Mr. Jones went on with the examination. “So the wrist was not involved,” he remarked. “A disastrous injury, the broken wrist. Cripples one for life.” His fingers began probing Mr. Collins’ left arm. Presently Elizabeth heard a gasp.

  “I take it this hurts, yes?”

  “Rather,” said Mr. Collins, between shut teeth.

  “Don’t mind me,” encouraged Mr. Jones. “Shout and carry on all you wish. Helps with pain, don’t you know.”

  “I rather doubt that,” said Mr. Collins.

  Elizabeth studied her cousin. His face was set and pale, his eyes were narrowed. This hardened expression was something new. Mr. Collins, who sighed over every little thing and multiplied sentences into paragraphs, should be wailing with impunity. Why wasn’t he?

  Elizabeth leaned against the wall beside the door. Should she go out or should she remain? Curiosity took the upper hand and she stayed. Then too, hadn’t Mr. Jones requested her presence?

  But she must have made a noise, for Mr. Jones looked round. Over the top of his spectacles he twinkled at Elizabeth. “Don’t mind Miss Elizabeth,” he said cheerfully to his patient. “She’s an old hand at bone setting. Eh, Miss Elizabeth? Ha-ha, that’s rather good. A hand at bone setting!”

  Elizabeth did not know how to respond. Mr. Collins was looking both vexed and embarrassed, and Mr. Jones’ grin seemed out of place. She felt a stab of pity for Mr. Collins. “I am,” she said.

  Mr. Collins cast another look in her direction. “Happy thought indeed,” he said bitingly. “Might we get on with it, Jones?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Mr. Jones’ fingers continued probing. “Collarbone looks fine.” He pushed up the sleeve of the nightshirt, exposing Mr. Collins’ bare arm.

  It was a large expanse of flesh. Elizabeth turned her gaze away.

  “The humerus is bruised, but intact,” Mr. Jones observed. “It will be some time until the swelling and discoloration disappear.” He continued prodding. The examination must have been very painful, for several times Elizabeth heard a quiet moan.

  “I hear you are quite the hero, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Jones said conversationally. “Apparently Mr. Darcy, as is staying up at Netherfield Park, has you to thank for his life. You took the brunt of his fall.”

  Mr. Collins grimaced and said, “Huzzah for Mr. Darcy.”

  “And what is more, by breaking his fall you kept him out of harm’s way. That toppled keystone is rather massive.”

  “Keystone?” said Elizabeth. She quickly closed her lips. She had not meant to say anything.

  Mr. Jones was not put off by her interruption. “Indeed, yes,” he said. “Part of the Folly was knocked clean down. The arch between John the Baptist and Moses, they say.” He paused his examination to say, “Ha-ha. There’s a theological profundity for you, Mr. Collins. Betwixt the old covenant and the new.

  “And what would old Lady Mustow think?” he went on. “She’s the one as had the Folly built, you know, with biblical characters all round. No Grecian gods and goddesses for her! Can’t think how it came to fall. The wind would not account for it.”

  “It was struck by lightning,” said Mr. Collins. “Twice.”

  “Was it indeed?” Mr. Jones looked at Mr. Collins over his spectacles. “That’s quite a feat. Not supposed to strike twice in the same place, lightning. Or so they say.”

  “So they say,” repeated Mr. Collins. “I take it that Mr. Darcy has made a full recovery?”

  Mr. Jones hesitated. “Early days for that,” he chirped. “Now then, about the business at hand.”

  Mr. Collins lifted his head. “Mr. Darcy will recover?” he repeated.

  “In time, perhaps. Shall we just have a look at that shoulder?”

  Mr. Collins glared at Mr. Jones. “I am not accustomed,” said he, in a tone that brooked no argument, “to having my questions brushed aside. What of Mr. Darcy?”

  Mr. Jones looked uncomfortable. Elizabeth held her breath, waiting for his answer. What had happened to Mr. Darcy? And why was Mr. Collins so insistent?

  “As of this morning,” said Mr. Jones, “Mr. Darcy has not regained consciousness. This could be a good omen, a sign that his body is healing—like yours, Mr. Collins.”

  Mr. Collins spoke slowly. “Is he expected to live?”

  “We have every hope.” Mr. Jones was now examining the contents of his apothecary bag. “I was not aware that you were acquainted with Mr. Darcy.”

  “Ah, but I am.” Mr. Collins’ lips twisted into a wry smile. “Rather intimately, in point of fact.”

  Elizabeth’s heart leaped into her mouth. What new disaster was this? Would her cousin begin babbling on about Mr. Darcy?

  “What Mr. Collins means,” she said hastily, “is that he serves as rector to Mr. Darcy’s aunt in Hunsford. And naturally, he is concerned—for the family.”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Jones. “A professional interest; I quite understand. If Mr. Darcy takes, shall we say, a fatal turn, you’ll have of plenty of time.”

  “Time for what?” Mr. Collins wanted to know.

  “Why, to compose your funeral sermon. Or perhaps Dr. Bentley will do the honors. Now then.” Mr. Jones resumed his prodding. “Ah-ha,” he crowed. “Yes, it becomes clear. A dislocated shoulder is what you have and not a broken bone, Mr. Collins.”

  “Please stop calling me that.”

  Mr. Jones looked surprised. “Eh, very well,” he said. “With this sort of injury, Mr. Col—eh, a-hem! —a fall or a blow causes the top of the arm bone to pop out of the shoulder socket.” Mr. Jones’ fingers pressed a sensitive spot, and Mr. Collins gasped.

  “The shoulder is incredibly mobile, but the joint is, unfortunately, prone to popping out of place.”

  Elizabeth winced. She did not like the way Mr. Jones said the word popping.

  “I am familiar with the injury.” Mr. Collins’ tone was grim. “I fell from a horse as a boy. Our farrier put my shoulder back.”

  “Handy fellows, farriers,” Mr. Jones remarked. “Then you are aware of what must happen next. The pain, while severe, is short-lived.”


  “I quite understand.”

  Mr. Jones was now rubbing his hands together. “Right-ho,” he said. “Miss Elizabeth, this is where you come in. If you would kindly fetch a tumbler? Not a teacup, but a nice large glass. Yes, there’s a good girl.”

  Elizabeth hesitated. From the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Jones bring a bottle from his apothecary bag. “Now then, we’ll do something about that pain.”

  “With brandy?” Mr. Collins sounded skeptical.

  “Oh, yes. We’ll get you properly dosed.”

  “Dosed,” repeated Mr. Collins.

  “Three sheets to the wind, as the sailors say. Plucky breed, sailors.”

  Elizabeth went quickly out. She found Jane waiting in the corridor.

  “Mr. Jones is asking for a glass,” Elizabeth whispered. “And Jane, it is rather dreadful, for Mr. Jones must jest and tease. I almost feel sorry for Mr. Collins.”

  Jane went at once for the glass.

  When Elizabeth returned to the bedchamber she found a situation. Mr. Collins had his chin up, with a mutinous expression in his eyes.

  Mr. Jones held the bottle aloft. “Now then, Mr. Col—ah, my good fellow,” he said. “Shall we have at it?”

  “I say again, brandy will not be necessary.”

  “You may well say that now. However, once I begin—” Mr. Jones winked.

  Mr. Collins spoke with cold dignity, his words clipped and precise. “It has been my experience that as a deadener of pain, alcohol is vastly over-rated.”

  Mr. Jones looked at him over his spectacles. “You’d prefer laudanum? Very well, I can accommodate that.”

  “No laudanum. And she,” he paused to nod to Elizabeth, “must go out. Her services will not be needed.”

  Mr. Jones stood gazing at his patient. To Elizabeth’s surprise, he crossed to where she stood and took the glass.

  “Did you not hear what I said?” Mr. Collins demanded. “No brandy!”

  Mr. Jones laughed uneasily. “This is not for you, my dear fellow,” he chirped. “This is for me!”

  g

  Jane was still in the corridor when Elizabeth came out. “The most perplexing thing,” Elizabeth confided. “Under the duress of honest suffering, Mr. Collins reveals an entirely new personality. I marvel that he is the same man.”

  Jane linked her arm through Elizabeth’s and together they descended to the ground floor. “What do you mean?”

  “He is reserved instead of prosy and—how shall I say it? Courageous, if you will. Mr. Collins!”

  Jane looked amused. “No compliments? No tedious speeches?”

  “Not a one. He ordered Mr. Jones about—not that he doesn’t deserve it! —and told him, bold as you please, to get on with it.”

  “Mr. Collins?”

  “The very same. And he refused the brandy, as well as the laudanum.”

  “Perhaps we have misjudged him?”

  Elizabeth’s steps slowed. “I do not see how that is possible, for his character was clear. And now it—isn’t.”

  She went on to describe the examination. “What is more, this is not the first time Mr. Collins has dislocated his shoulder. He said he fell off a horse as a boy.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “But Jane,” said Elizabeth, “did he not tell Father that he’d never learned to ride? He said so at dinner that first night, I know it.”

  “There must be some mistake,” said Jane.

  “There must be,” echoed Elizabeth, but she continued to frown. “Can a man be so changed by a blow to the head? I think not. And yet—”

  4Barefaced Questions

  As soon as Elizabeth and Jane came in, Lydia slewed round. “Is the bone set? Did he squeal like a pig?”

  “Lydia,” said Mrs. Bennett with dignity, “I do not think that is a proper way to speak of your cousin.”

  “You know he did, Mama!” Lydia turned back to Elizabeth. “How was it? Deliciously gruesome?”

  Elizabeth turned to close the door. “Mr. Collins is now awake. He has dislocated his shoulder. Mr. Jones is putting it back into place.”

  “Poor Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet, with another look to Lydia. “Such a fine young man. And what a miserable time of it. Confined to his bed, with nothing but beef tea.”

  “I wonder when he will be up and about.” This was from Mary.

  “If we are lucky,” chirped Lydia, “not until it is time to return to Hunsford.” Her grin became impish. “So much for his plan to find a wife!”

  “It is a fine plan, Lydia, and a noble one,” said Mrs. Bennet. “The poor man is in no state to issue a proposal. Yet.”

  “I wonder if Mr. Collins honestly wishes to take a wife,” said Jane. “Remember his letter to Papa? He wished to heal the breach, to make amends for the injustice of the—.”

  Kitty interrupted. “Of course he wishes to marry! He wants Lizzy!” She and Lydia dissolved into giggles.

  Mrs. Bennet was unmoved by their mirth. “What better way to make amends?”

  “So we must put up with him, oh lord, for weeks and weeks!”

  “That is quite enough, Lydia. Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet, “is welcome to remain as long as his recovery requires. I daresay he will not be fit to travel for a very long time.”

  Elizabeth wandered to the window and looked out. “Father ought to write to Lady Catherine,” she said. “I wonder if he has.”

  “Can you imagine the letter?” said Lydia. “My Dear Lady Catherine, we are keeping your favorite rector, who is rather the worse for wear, having survived a crushing blow from Mr. Darcy’s person.” Lydia put up her chin. “You needn’t look at me like that, Lizzy. Hill said that’s what happened.”

  “A terrific blow it was, according to Hill,” said Kitty. “At Netherfield they are wondering whether Mr. Darcy will survive.”

  “And,” added Lydia, “they’re laying odds ten-to-one against him, er, according to Hill.”

  “Of course Mr. Darcy shall recover,” said Kitty, around more giggles, “as it was he who fell on Mr. Collins and not the other way round.”

  Elizabeth found a seat on the sofa beside Jane. “I daresay our cousin will not soon forget Mr. Darcy,” she remarked. “He has made, shall we say, an indelible impression?”

  Presently the door opened and Mrs. Hill came to say that Mr. Jones would like a word.

  “Please do not get up, Mrs. Bennet,” said he, coming in. Mrs. Bennet motioned for Jane to procure a glass of sherry.

  Mr. Jones held up a hand. “No, I thank you,” he said pleasantly. “Mr. Collins is resting and should sleep for most of the afternoon. His arm is sound, but he’s had a nasty knock on the head. Now injuries to the head, they are a bit difficult. The patient will sleep quite a bit and will wake feeling confused and out of sorts.”

  Elizabeth listened intently. Mr. Collins had certainly been out of sorts!

  “Upon rising, he will have a headache. He will also be easily fatigued and will have difficulty remembering people and places. These effects are common and will subside.”

  Jane turned to Elizabeth, a question in her eyes.

  “He knew me, sure enough,” Elizabeth whispered.

  “He will also have difficulty concentrating,” Mr. Jones went on, “will feel mentally foggy, be more emotional, and more irritable.”

  Mr. Jones paused to smile at Elizabeth. “Our patient has certainly been exhibiting the latter, no?” He turned back to Mrs. Bennet. “Keep him quiet; feed him as much beef tea as he will take. If he desires something more substantial tomorrow, that will be fine.”

  “Hill,” said Mrs. Bennet, “is adept at making gruel and blancmange.”

  “Very good, very nice,” said Mr. Jones. “Mind you, physical and mental exertion could bring a return of any of the symptoms I mentioned. I advise a slow return to duties.”

  “Will Mr. Collins be able to travel soon?” said Mrs. Bennet. “His parish is in Hunsford.”

  “That remains to be seen. I will call again tomorrow, if I may. And
do not hesitate to send for me if his condition worsens.” Smiling, Mr. Jones made his bow and went out.

  There was a short silence. “Your father won’t like paying his bill,” said Mrs. Bennet, “but it cannot be helped. Now then, of what were we speaking before he came in? Ah, yes, Mr. Collins and marriage. A most agreeable subject!”

  “Mama,” protested Elizabeth.

  “No, we were speaking of Mr. Darcy,” said Kitty, “and whether or not he will live.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” scoffed Lydia, smiling at her mother. “What care we for Mr. Darcy?”

  “Not a whit,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But all the same, Mr. Darcy is Mr. Bingley’s particular friend.” She looked at Jane. “You might take the opportunity to call on his sisters.”

  “But Mama,” Jane protested, “surely the household is in disarray.”

  “Indeed it is. But you are an excellent listener, Jane, and in times of trouble, people enjoy speaking of their worries and complaints.”

  “Would not a note of sympathy be in better taste?” said Elizabeth.

  “I daresay it would.” Mrs. Bennet became occupied with thinking. “And yet,” said she at last, “the situation ought to be used to advantage. Jane, this afternoon,” she paused to glance at the clock on the mantelpiece, “no, tomorrow, you will attend morning prayer. Mr. Collins—and Mr. Darcy too—are in need of prayer.”

  Jane’s face flushed. “Very well, Mama,” she said.

  “A wearing task, I daresay, but you will not mind,” continued Mrs. Bennet. “It is the right and proper thing to do.” Her lips curved into a smile. “And we shall hope that word will come round to Mr. Bingley that you have interceded on behalf of his poor friend.”

  Jane sighed but offered no protest.

  “You will accompany her, Lizzy, to pray for Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet went on. She paused to gaze at each daughter in turn. “My girls,” she announced, “piety is a most endearing virtue.”

  “Then perhaps, Mama,” said Elizabeth, “you ought to join us.”

  “Oh, I am quite overcome with seeing to Mr. Collins’ care, thank you. No, you girls will do very well without me. And Jane,” she added, “wear the periwinkle gown.”