The Darcys of Pemberley

by Shannon Winslow

  “He has been out all day, if it is any of your concern,” replied Lydia, peevishly.

  With his worst fears substantiated, Darcy’s alarm increased. “It is my concern, and it should be yours as well if you care anything about your sister. So listen carefully. I think something grave has happened to Elizabeth, and that your husband is the cause of it. If you do not wish to be held responsible for the consequences, I would advise you to tell me what you know about the business.”

  Lydia claimed to be entirely ignorant, an assertion which Mr. Darcy was inclined to believe. He enlightened her directly. “Your husband called at Pemberley this morning and persuaded your sister to go with him on the pretense that you were injured and needed her help. Here you stand before me, perfectly sound, and neither of them has been seen for hours! Do you have any idea where he has taken her?”

  Lydia was not particularly quick-witted under the best of circumstances. At present, with such shocking news and such a stormy-tempered man before her, it took a minute for her to comprehend. “Mr. Wickham has taken Elizabeth somewhere? Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Darcy said with forced patience. “Now, for your sister’s sake, please think carefully. If Wickham wanted to conceal himself or someone else, where would he go?”

  Although Lydia still did not follow Mr. Darcy’s premise, she applied herself to the question. After a moment’s rumination, she said, “He would surely make for London if he could, but I still cannot believe …”

  “Is there somewhere else, perhaps some place nearby, that he might go if he could not get to London?” Darcy asked, reasoning that Wickham could not have traveled towards town without being seen by the search party from Pemberley.

  “In that case, he would probably hole up in some out-of-the-way corner of Pemberley. This place is vast enough to hide anything, and I daresay Wickham knows it as well as you do, every pathway, road, and dirt track. Why, only last week, when we were out for a drive in the gig, he took me down a rough lane I had never noticed before. He said he wanted to see where it went and if it could be driven in a carriage.”

  With further encouragement, Lydia described the road and its location in more detail. It was not an overly promising lead, but it seemed as good a place as any to begin the search. Leaving a man behind to keep watch, Darcy led the rest in the direction of the lane about which Lydia had told him.

  The whole party now sensed the more solemn import of their work, the evidence of foul play in this case being far more decided than on the morning’s mission. Into any side lane or path large enough to accommodate the missing gig, Mr. Darcy sent a pair of men to investigate whilst the rest of the party continued down the main road. The men were armed and instructed to signal the others with a single shot if they found anything. Several areas had already been explored without result by the time they reached the road Lydia had suggested. There the appearance of fresh wheel marks in the dirt reinforced Darcy’s intention to investigate this particular lane himself.

  Enlisting Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assistance, Darcy left the rest of the men to await his signal or return. He rode as hard as the rough character of the track would allow, the colonel just behind him. Although he had not come that way himself for years, Darcy recollected that he had once discovered a makeshift cabin, long abandoned, down one such dirt lane. He could imagine that a secluded spot of that sort would suit Wickham’s purposes exactly, satisfying his need for concealment and privacy. Yes, he could imagine the scene only too well. Darcy shuddered and dug his heels hard into his horse’s flanks.

  Chapter 38

  Discovery

  A ride of less than five minutes brought the two men upon the horrific scene of the accident. Before his horse could even be brought to a complete stop, Darcy flung himself from the saddle and began his search. He frantically cast his eyes over the field of destruction, but Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

  The colonel was momentarily arrested by the pitiful sight of the mare, which had been lying still until their approach stirred her to make another futile attempt to stand. It was immediately clear what needed to be done. With a single shot, Fitzwilliam both ended the creature’s suffering and signaled the other men.

  Wickham’s motionless body sprawled just beyond the wrecked gig. Darcy did not stop to investigate. He pressed on, finally discovering Elizabeth hidden in the brush nearby, curled up with her head turned away at an awkward angle. A cry of anguish escaped him at the sight of her small, crumpled form, bloody and battered. He dropped to his knees by her side, desperately seeking some proof that she lived. Darcy felt the pale skin of her cheek; it was frighteningly cool. He called her name without response. No visible sign of respiration stirred within her. With a wrenching sob, he leaned down to gather his wife’s broken body to himself.

  Elizabeth moaned softly.

  Darcy drew in a quaking breath. “She is alive, Fitzwilliam!” he shouted. “Thank God, she is alive!” For the moment, nothing else mattered.

  The two men quickly freed Elizabeth from the tangle of the thicket, which had likely cushioned her fall. Then Darcy ever so gently lifted her from the brush and started back through the scattered debris. “What about him?” he asked the colonel, with a nod toward Wickham.

  Fitzwilliam looked grim and shook his head.

  Leaving the accident scene behind, they continued down the lane to meet the approaching carriage and search party. As the other men looked on in silent respect, Mr. Darcy bore his unconscious wife into the coach with the greatest care.

  “Fitzwilliam,” he said. “I cannot leave her. Could you…?”

  “I am at your service, Darcy.”

  “Then get to Kympton as fast as you can. Summon the surgeon, Mr. Poole, to Pemberley at once. Tell Mr. Thornton also. And someone must get a message through to Heatheridge. Elizabeth would want her sisters with her.”

  “Leave it to me, my friend,” said Fitzwilliam, placing his hand on Darcy’s shoulder. The two exchanged an intense look. Then Fitzwilliam set off on his mission whilst the carriage made for home.

  Back at the house, Georgiana and Charlotte anxiously awaited news. Though they did not know all the particulars, Henderson had been able to relate enough of the story to raise alarm. So, when the carriage pulled up to the door, the ladies hastened to meet it. Darcy’s face immediately conveyed the gravity of the situation. Next they saw Elizabeth, still cradled in his arms, badly injured and in a deep stupor.

  Georgiana nearly fainted at the sight, but Charlotte took charge. “Carry her upstairs, Mr. Darcy,” she instructed. Then she sent a maid to fetch warm water from the kitchen. Under Charlotte’s expert direction, Elizabeth was washed, dressed in clean night clothes, placed in her bed, and given a cold compress for the lump on her head. Everything that could be done for her was done.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had made his way to Kympton with all haste, interrupted in turn both Mr. Poole and Mr. Thornton from their dinners. At his urgent bidding, each set out for Pemberley straightaway, and the colonel continued on to Heatheridge.

  Mr. Poole arrived first and was sent up to Elizabeth at once. After hearing the facts of the case, the surgeon dismissed everyone but Charlotte from the room and set about his work. Darcy and the others left reluctantly and came downstairs in time to see the rector enter.

  “Mr. Thornton,” he said, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you for coming. Your help and comfort is most grievously needed just now.”

  “How does your wife do, Mr. Darcy?”

  “She is badly injured,” he groaned, “and unconscious. Mr. Poole is with her now.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Pray for her … and for the child,” said Darcy.

  “That I began as soon as I got the news, and I will continue until the danger is past,” said Mr. Thornton. “Is there anything else?”

  Darcy’s head was pounding. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temples as he forced himself to consider what next should be done. Then he re
membered Lydia.

  “Yes, there is one more thing you can do for us, Mr. Thornton. Someone really must tell Mrs. Wickham what has happened. I cannot possibly leave Mrs. Darcy, and presently there is no one else to go.”

  “I am honored to be of service. What would you have me tell her?”

  “Give her the truth as gently as possible, I suppose, but without detail. Then bring her here where she can be with her family. Elizabeth would not want Lydia’s distress forgotten.”

  After giving his friend some words of encouragement, Mr. Thornton departed on his somber errand, leaving the others to await Mr. Poole’s report in much perturbation of spirit. Finally the surgeon came down.

  Darcy snapped to attention. “Tell me, sir,” he begged. “How does my wife do? Will she recover?”

  “These things are very difficult to predict,” replied Mr. Poole directly. “In truth, it could go either way.”

  Darcy turned his head aside and pressed a clenched fist to his lips, stifling a cry of protest by sheer force of will.

  “Come now, Mr. Darcy, take heart,” Mr. Poole advised more cheerfully. “There is good cause for optimism in your wife’s case. She has not sustained any serious injuries that I can discover other than the blow to her head, which is responsible for her loss of consciousness. Yet even in that there are positive signs – some involuntary movement and normal reflex of the eyes. Furthermore, she is young and strong, which gives her the very best chance to come through this with all her faculties in tact. By tomorrow, I expect that we will have a much better idea.”

  “And the child?” Darcy choked out.

  “All I can verify for you now is that it lives. We cannot rule out the possibility that some harm has been done – by the accident itself or by your wife’s unconscious state. We must hope Mrs. Darcy revives in time to deliver the child without further complication, and then we shall see.”

  “What can I do for her, Mr. Poole? Give me some useful occupation if you can.”

  “Well, sir, you might talk to her, rub her hands, and so forth. The stimulation may help her to wake. If she does come round, keep her quiet. Do not let her move about or leave her bed. She will have a devil of a headache regardless, I’m afraid. I will come again at first light. If there were anything more I could do for her, Mr. Darcy, I would willingly stay, but it is simply a matter of waiting now.”

  “I understand. Thank you, Mr. Poole.”

  They shook hands and the surgeon departed. Darcy returned to Elizabeth’s side, and at once undertook the work with which Mr. Poole had charged him. He held and squeezed his wife’s hand, stroked her face and hair, and spoke to her gently, but with strength of purpose. He reasoned that if Elizabeth could hear his voice, she would do everything in her power to follow it back to him; she was lost and he must guide her home.

  Georgiana and Charlotte also took their turns at Elizabeth’s bedside. Although Darcy gave way to allow each of them to care for their friend, he refused to leave the room for either food or rest.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam returned with the Bingleys just before dark. After receiving a brief report on Elizabeth’s condition from Georgiana, Jane immediately went up to her sister. Mr. Bingley followed upon hearing that his friend kept to his wife’s room as well.

  “Come and sit with her, Jane,” said Darcy, rising as the Bingleys entered. “Let her hear your voice. The surgeon said it might help.”

  Jane complied, and Darcy moved away a little to stand with Mr. Bingley.

  “My dear fellow, I cannot tell you how sorry I am,” said Bingley, clasping Darcy’s hand.

  “Thank you for coming, Charles. You have heard the whole story then?”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam told us everything he knew, and Georgiana has added the surgeon’s report, but I still cannot believe it. How could this have happened?”

  “We have put together what we can, but it is an incomplete picture. With Wickham dead, Elizabeth is the only one who can provide the missing pieces to the puzzle. I pray she will soon be well enough to do so. For now, though, her safety is all that matters. She simply must recover, Bingley,” finished Darcy, his voice thick with emotion.

  Both men turned their attention toward the sickbed again, watching Jane’s tender ministrations there.

  When Darcy was master of himself once more, he asked his friend, “Has Lydia come yet? Mr. Thornton kindly agreed to break the news to her, and I suggested he bring her here to be comforted by her sisters.”

  “In point of fact, we stopped at the cottage on our way here. Jane was afraid Lydia would be alone, and thought we could be of service by collecting her ourselves. We found that Mr. Thornton had been unable to convince Lydia to leave her home. Since we had no success either, Kitty volunteered to stay with her. I hope that arrangement meets with your approval, Darcy. There seemed nothing else to be done.”

  “Yes, yes, just as she likes. I do not mean to force her to come. How did she seem to you? I imagine she was hard hit by the news.”

  “Distraught, naturally. Still, by the time we arrived, she was tolerably calm, thanks to Mr. Thornton.”

  “What a senseless tragedy this is!” said Darcy miserably. “That so many lives should be devastated by the treachery of one man… I confess it is all too much for me, Bingley.”

  Chapter 39

  Answered Prayer

  Elizabeth may have been the only one at Pemberley who slept soundly that night. Most of her family and friends did eventually take to their beds, but no one rested well with her life still in jeopardy and the final outcome unknown. Jane would not quit her sister’s room; she slept only fitfully on the paisley sofa at the foot of the bed. Darcy remained at his post, sitting by his wife’s side throughout the night, although he ultimately lost his battle to stay awake on her account.

  That is where Elizabeth found him when she woke from her strange slumber just after dawn. It seemed only natural in the first hazy light of her awakening that her dear husband should be there. He was slumped over sideways in his chair with his head resting on the edge of the bed next to her, still holding her right hand. As she made out the familiar planes of his face, the sweep of dark lashes resting against his cheek, a flush of tenderness rushed through her. She began to reach across to stroke his hair, an idea she instantly abandon when her first movement unleashed a terrible throbbing in her temples and at the back of her head.

  Lying absolutely still again, Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to sort out in her muddled mind what had happened, how she had come to be in this situation. She must be very ill or seriously injured, she decided; the violent pain and the evidence of what she now recognized as an all-night vigil round her were proof of that. Yet trying to remember was peculiarly exhausting.

  The baby! Panicked at the thought, Elizabeth risked moving her free hand again to confirm that the child was still safe within her. She held her breath until she felt a familiar flutter of movement. An audible sigh of relief passed Elizabeth’s lips, and she simultaneously squeezed her husband’s hand.

  Darcy stirred, opening his eyes to the beautiful sight of his wife’s marred but reasonably alert face. “Elizabeth?” he said, questioning whether or not the vision was real or a dream.

  “My love,” she murmured.

  “Oh, thank God! You are come back to me!” Darcy whispered with no less intensity than had he shouted the words. He moved to take her into his arms, but broke off the attempt at once when she gasped in pain as soon as he disturbed the bed.

  After a minute to recover, Elizabeth said weakly, “Apparently, I am not at all well. You say I am come back to you, Darcy. I must ask you, where have I been?”

  “Do you not know what has happened then?”

  “I have not the least idea, I assure you.”

  “Yes, Mr. Poole said you would likely not remember. My darling, you were in a carriage accident yesterday and have been unconscious these many hours since.”

  “What? I do not understand. How …?”

  “Hush, Liz
zy. There will be time enough for explanations. Rest now, and concern yourself only with getting well.”

  Her minimal reserves of strength already exhausted by these small exertions, Elizabeth had no will to oppose. She shut her heavy eyelids and slept again.

  When next she awoke, Mr. Poole was with her. After seeing his patient so materially improved, he was pleased to pronounce Mrs. Darcy out of danger. The excellent report flowed rapidly like a wave to every corner of the awaiting household, flooding friend and servant alike with joyous relief.

  “However,” cautioned Mr. Poole, “recovery may be tediously slow. And, Mrs. Darcy, you must be prepared for the possibility that you shall always suffer some lingering effects of this misadventure. Early on, you may experience some mental confusion, along with the headaches and memory loss, which will likely be much more persistent. Keep strictly to your bed at first. I expect you will be able to resume your normal activities in time, progressing by small degrees. Take a little mulled wine, a lot of rest, and by all means avoid becoming overexcited. That is my advice, and I charge you, Mr. Darcy, with making sure it is carried out.”

  “It shall be done, sir. Depend on it.”

  Mr. Thornton, who had spent the night maintaining a vigil of prayer on the family’s behalf, was allowed the next audience with Elizabeth that morning. He bowed and smiled, and came alongside her saying, “I must be getting back for Sunday services. Still, I could not be satisfied to leave without seeing you first, Mrs. Darcy.”

  Carefully, she opened her hand to receive his. “How good you are, Mr. Thornton,” said Elizabeth in little more than a whisper.

  “Sometimes the answers to our prayers are not what we expect, or they are very long in coming. On this occasion, however, God has graciously given us precisely what we asked for and as immediately as we could possibly hope. I am most gratified to see you looking so well again after the scare you gave us yesterday.”