A Touch of Night

by Sarah Hoyt

  "But, mama," said Jane, "I have not yet begun my toilette."

  Elizabeth heard the commotion from her room. After a mainly sleepless night she had risen early and was already dressed. She joined her mother and Jane and assured both of them that she would be happy to keep Mr. Bingley company until Jane was made ready, and that there would be no need to rush. She went downstairs to find a harrowed looking Mr. Bingley pacing the drawing room.

  "Miss Elizabeth!" he cried upon her entry. "Just the person a wished to see!"

  The first thing Elizabeth noticed about him was the worry etched in his face and the dark circles under his eyes that spoke of a night of no sleep. "Mr. Bingley! What is . . . Mr. Darcy? Is he . . ."

  "Darcy is in a very bad way. I dare not call in the doctor -- I was hoping you would know how to help us."

  Fear gripped Elizabeth but she stayed calm and managed to get a somewhat coherent report from Mr. Bingley. "I will speak to Hill," she said when he had done. "She is something of a herbalist, and very discreet too. I hope to God she can recommend a cure from herbs she has set by in our stillroom."

  Less than a quarter of an hour saw Elizabeth handed up to Bingley's carriage, clutching a basket of herbs. They were both silent on the drive to Netherfield, Bingley intent with the ribbons as he gave the horses their heads, Elizabeth wishing they could gallop even faster as the carriage careened around the curves in the road.

  "I will need a kettle to boil water, a bowl of some sort, muslin strips, and a teapot," said Elizabeth as she rushed upstairs after Bingley.

  When they arrived at the door of Darcy's bedchamber, Bingley suddenly faltered. "It will not be proper for you to be in a gentleman's chamber. You are an unmarried gentlewoman. Tell me what to do, and I shall . . ."

  Elizabeth pushed his apprehensions aside. "Dash propriety!" she said. "I will nurse Mr. Darcy. He was ready to give his all for me. This is the very least I can do."

  "But he is in quite a state of disarray!" Bingley blurted.

  "May I remind you, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth with some asperity, though a high blush flared on her cheeks, "I have already seen Mr. Darcy naked on more than one occasion."

  She pushed her way through the door into his bedchamber. The room was stuffy and smelled of illness. The curtains were pulled tightly shut on all the windows, a fire burned in the hearth, and candles circled the bed. It might very well have been a wake, with the corpse displayed amid these flames. A bowl and cloth were on the night table, along with a glass and a bottle of laudanum.

  Darcy lay in the amber light, his coverings thrown back to his waist. His head rocked back and forth on a flattened pillow, his body shook with spasms. His right arm was crusted with gold scales and webbing was plainly visible between his fingers. Elizabeth let out a gasp of shock, dismay, and fear, and then flew into action.

  "Mr. Bingley, the kettle at once!" she cried as she ran to the windows and pulled the curtains wide, bathing the room with daylight. She tugged at the window fastenings and raised the sashes, allowing the fresh outdoor air in. Only once she had performed these tasks did she make her way to Mr. Darcy.

  His head was still moving from side to side. Elizabeth was shocked at the pallor on his face, though at her impulsive touch she could feel that he was on fire. His skin was dry and appeared to be stretched over the finely carved bones of his face. Tiny scales gleamed here and there like specks of mica in sand. His lips were parched.

  She reached her hand into the bowl on the table, wetted her fingers, and drew them across his lips. She felt his hot breath upon them as he raised his mouth eagerly to the moisture. She prayed that Bingley arrive soon with the kettle for she dared not give him the water from the bowl to drink. Instead she drew a small bottle of lavender oil from her basket, pulled the stopper, and sprinkled a few drops of the fragrant elixir onto the wet cloth. She swirled it around in the bowl of water, wrung it out, and then tenderly stroked it across Mr. Darcy's forehead in light, even strokes, her eyes never once leaving his strained face.

  The gentle scent of lavender wafted through the room with each loving stroke, kindling with the outside air drifting in from the open windows, and replacing the stale mustiness and overall smell of a sickroom with an aroma both sweet and healing.

  Bingley appeared then, burdened by a large kettle, full to the brim, and all the other things Elizabeth had requested.

  "How is he?" he asked with some urgency.

  "Did he have much to drink during the night?" asked Elizabeth.

  "It was all I could do to get him to take the laudanum," said Bingley. "I tried a glass of wine but he only coughed it up."

  Elizabeth held out the tumbler that was on the side table. "Rinse this out and then fill it with water before you hang the kettle over the fire. He needs to drink, and before I can make the tea, water will be the best."

  Bingley did as he was requested quickly and unquestioningly. "How is he?" he repeated as he handed Elizabeth the glass.

  She looked directly into Bingley's eyes and he could see the despair flowing from hers. "I hardly know. I have nursed my sisters through illnesses but have never seen anything so severe -- so frightening. Look how his body convulses. Look how his skin is caught midway between change. I have not sufficient knowledge of such things; I can only hope with all my heart that the herbs I have brought will be beneficial. I told Hill someone had magical poisoning. I didn't tell her it was Mr. Darcy, though I'm sure that the truth can't long be hidden. Oh, Mr. Bingley! What if I am able to do nothing for him and he should . . ."

  "No!" cried Bingley. "Do not even dare to say it. It is not possible. The best and noblest of men die in this stupid way? Not while there is a providence." He looked down at his best friend and wrung his hands together. "What are we to do?"

  "Georgiana" cried Elizabeth. "She must be told of this. She must be brought to see her brother before . . . in case . . ."

  "I will go for her at once!" cried Bingley. "If you need anything else before I return, ring for my servants. I will instruct them to give you whatever you desire. Just do not allow anyone entrance to this room."

  "Thank you!" said Elizabeth softly. "No one shall see Mr. Darcy like this, I promise you. And I shall not leave his side."

  Bingley took his friend's hand in his and squeezed it hard. This brought Darcy's feverish gaze to him for a moment, and a harsh whisper, "Propose to Jane, Bingley. Go to it. You have my blessing."

  Bingley shuddered, as if this evidence of his friend's erratic thoughts shocked him, then with a parting look at Elizabeth, strode quickly from the room.

  As the door closed behind him she returned to her patient. She seated herself gingerly on the side of the bed and then, with less hesitation, put one hand under his head and raised it. She brought the glass to his lips and tilted it so water trickled over them and into his slightly opened mouth. He sputtered but swallowed a small part of the water. She repeated the action again and again until the pillow was soaked from water that had dribbled out and down his cheeks, but at least she was confident that a third of the water had managed to make its way down his throat.

  Pulling the pillow out from under his head, she replaced it with others she had discovered on the window seat, until she had his upper body propped at a better angle for administering her remedies, then she checked on the progress of her kettle and laid out the herbs that she would need to use, going over in her mind all that Hill had told her of their properties. Blackthorn and pokeroot for fever. Also feverfew. If that did not do it, tea brewed from hyssop, yarrow, liquorice root, and thyme. And no laudanum. She reached for the bottle and tossed it across the room. Hill had warned her that laudanum would only increase his symptoms, not cure them. When the fever finally broke, she had been instructed to administer valerian for a deep and fortifying sleep.

  * * * *

  When Jane's toilette was complete, she made her way downstairs only to find the drawing room empty and Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth nowhere in sight. She was about to look in the
garden when Hill came to the open door and coughed discreetly.

  "Oh, Hill," said Jane. "Did you see what became of Mr. Bingley and my sister?"

  "I was just coming to inform you, Miss Jane," she said. "Someone has fallen ill and Mr. Bingley required your sister's services." If she thought this an odd arrangement, she gave no indication. "I recommended some herbs and saw Miss Elizabeth on her way. Mr. Bingley has left you this note." She handed Jane a folded and sealed piece of paper.

  Jane stood in surprise and shock as she read the first letter she had ever received from her betrothed. The note was short and written in some haste as could be evidenced from all the blots and crossings-out. It was not much in the way of a love letter, but it did tell her what she needed to know.

  My dearest Jane,

  Forgive the sloppiness of my writing. In concern for Mr. Darcy, who is suffering greatly from his injury, I have come for your sister. I thought she was the most proper person to manage the task. I have never seen . . . I pray to God he will recover soon and will keep you informed in any way I can. Make some excuse to your family to explain your sister's absence, but to your father the truth may safely be told, I think. Do not worry. When next we speak I hope to have happier news.

  All my love to you

  When Jane had finished reading the missive, tears were streaking down her face. Poor Mr. Darcy! Poor Elizabeth! Poor Charles! She had no idea what she was about to tell her mama, but she would have to think of something on her way back upstairs, for Mama would surely worry more about Mr. Bingley's disappearance on his first full day of courting than she would think to wonder where on earth Elizabeth had got to. Jane did not imagine she would have the great good luck to encounter her father first.

  * * * *

  Elizabeth had brewed the tea and managed to force some of it through Mr. Darcy's lips. It was foul smelling and most certainly bitter, and he did not swallow it willingly. After administering the beverage, she laid the muslin strips in the clean bowl Bingley had brought to her and layered golden seal, black walnut, and blood root to make a poultice to apply to Mr. Darcy's arm to draw out the poison and reduce the pain and inflammation. She poured boiling water over the whole and allowed it to soak for a bit, wiping his brow with lavender water as she did so.

  His body was still thrashing about on the bed as she attempted to apply the poultice. She had to lie almost across him to still his limbs and pack the hot compress over his injured arm. She had held herself even closer to him while he was in dragon form, but now he was as a man, and though he was ill and wracked with pain, and her heart was almost breaking with worry for him, she could not help but still be affected by the chiselled muscles of his chest and abdomen, made all the more attractive by the glitter of gold scales that pulsed in and out all over his smooth skin. She placed the muslin and herbs as gently as she could, tears pricking through her eyelids as his body flinched even more. She could not lose him.

  She felt helpless and pitiful. Mr. Darcy needed some miracle of medicine or he surely would die, but she doubted how much confidence she could place in the simple herbs she had at her disposal. She wished she knew something of medicine and of the magical forces that were at work in his body fighting with his were attributes. All she could do was follow Hill's instructions and pray for Mr. Darcy's recovery.

  She looked into his face and her heart clenched at the pain and suffering she saw reflected there. His skin was still as pale and taut as it had been upon her arrival. His entire body was still on fire with the fever. His movement had lessened but she feared that it was only because he was becoming ever weaker in his valiant fight. He mumbled some words. "Pemberley, Wickham," were all that she could make out, then he half rose and cried out, "Elizabeth! Forgive me!" stared at her with unseeing eyes, and lapsed into silence again.

  She bathed his forehead in lavender water once more as tears streamed from her eyes so quickly it was as if she were bathing him in her own tears. "It is you who should forgive me, Mr. Darcy," she whispered. "Forgive me for ever doubting you. Forgive me for never having told you how much I love and admire you." She moved from sitting on the side of the bed to lying next to him, limbs matching limbs, snuggling under the curve of his left arm. She put her arms around him, reached up to stroke his rough cheek, and then pressed her lips to the mixture of scale and skin on his chest. "You truly are the best of men. Do not leave me, Mr. Darcy. Please do not leave me. I could not bear life without you. Even if you shouldn't want to marry me, I want to know that you are alive somewhere in the world."

  * * * *

  It was well into the night when Bingley arrived back at Netherfield with Georgiana. He helped her down from his curricle and they hurried into the house. He was up the stairs two at a time, his anxiety and impatience driving him, as she followed behind to the best of her abilities.

  As he reached the bedchamber door, Elizabeth opened it, her face streaked with dried tears and new, fresh ones following the well-worn marks. Behind her he could see into the room that was lit with dozens of candles. Darcy lay still upon the bed, his body no longer a mass of convulsions. There was no movement at all. His face was like a waxen mask.

  Bingley looked from Elizabeth, her tears unstopping, and back to the body so still behind her, and he knew without a doubt that his worst possible fears had been answered. "Darcy!" he cried. "No!!!!!"

  Behind him, Gerogiana had crested the stairs, her breath laboured. "Fitzwilliam?" she called. And then she came closer and looked beyond Bingley and beyond Elizabeth. "Fitzwilliam!" she screamed and ran towards the room.

  Both Bingley and Elizabeth grabbed a hold of her and held her back from entering the room.

  "Please," she sobbed, "Please! I must go to my brother!"

  "Don't you realize?" asked Bingley through his tears. "Oh Georgiana! Don't you realize what has transpired? I am so sorry!" And he took her in his arms and they broke down sobbing together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elizabeth realized that Mr. Bingley and Miss Darcy had got quite the wrong impression. She mastered her emotions and spoke through her tears. "Miss Darcy! Mr. Bingley! I . . . I did not mean. You have completely misunderstood the situation! My tears did not signify what you have . . . Please do not distress yourselves. Mr. Darcy lives! He is . . . he is much improved."

  Bingley and Georgiana looked at Elizabeth, their expressions caught half-way between distress and hope. Georgiana started forward with a strangled sob. "My brother?" she cried.

  Elizabeth stayed her by grasping both shoulders. "Is in a deep sleep, and ought not be disturbed. His fever has only just broken, and I have administered valerian. The healing sleep should bring about his complete recovery."

  "But," cut in Bingley. "You were crying so . . . we could not help but think the worst."

  "They were tears of relief that he had made it through the ordeal. Tears of joy!" Elizabeth said, wiping her still wet cheeks. She beamed bravely at Bingley. "I was so terrified . . . so sure that my potions would do nothing, that the magic would claim his life." She glanced at Georgiana, fearful of further distressing her, but the girl appeared much calmed. "I am . . . so relieved, so . . . I do not deserve this joy." Her tears started again. "I am so happy we . . . we have brought it off, after all."

  "May I sit at his bedside, if I am very quiet?"

  "Of course," said Elizabeth. "I did not mean to deny you entrance, only to make you aware of his condition. He will remain frail a while, still." She watched Miss Darcy walk tentatively into the room and settle herself into a chair close by her brother's bedside. The love displayed openly upon her face as she gazed at him was deeply touching as was the desolate expression of someone who wished she could have saved a loved one pain. Elizabeth had the same sort of feelings about Jane so many times that she felt as though she knew exactly what passed in Miss Darcy's mind and heart. Elizabeth turned her attention back to Mr. Bingley and continued in a low voice. "Mr. Darcy suffered terribly, beyond what should be all human endurance, and yet he h
eld on and so bravely too. He never . . . he never gave up and the fever finally broke."

  "How can we thank you, Miss Elizabeth?" asked Bingley. "The debt we owe you . . ."

  "Oh, yes," Miss Darcy said softly, from where she sat. "What a debt my family owes you, Miss Bennet. We shall forever be in your debt."

  "I owe Mr. Darcy my life," said Elizabeth. "I would do all I did again, and more for him. He is . . . the best of men."

  Bingley took her hand and they both stood there, much overcome. Words could not fully express the emotions that were coursing through them, so they communed in silence. Finally Mr. Bingley stood back. "I should return you to your family," he said.

  "At this hour?" In truth, Elizabeth was not ready to leave Mr. Darcy, though she knew him to be out of danger she could not help but fear that if she left him there would be a relapse. The thought of sleeping peacefully in her bed whilst he succumbed to his injury was more than she could bear. "I must stay," she whispered. "Please? I must."

  "But . . . there is no hostess here. Propriety . . ."

  "It is late to think of propriety, Mr. Bingley," laughed Elizabeth. "And as I have already told you, it is the least of my concerns under the circumstances. I will stay with Miss Darcy. That should suffice. She is a perfect chaperone."

  "But after all you have been through nursing Mr. Darcy, you will need sleep."

  "A cot in Mr. Darcy's dressing room will do for me and his sister. We will take turns watching over him."

  "I should help, too."

  "Mr. Bingley, you have already had one sleepless night nursing your friend, and a day of hard travel bringing his sister to his bedside. You must sleep to have the energy to take over from us on the morrow. Which you must do, since there will be no evading my going home tomorrow."