“Your aunt is a termagant,” he explained with the hint of a smile. “Pray my commanding officer will possess a softer hand.”
Elizabeth gently washed his arms from the elbow to his wrists.
“Most women run their households with military efficiency. Did not your mother perform as well?”
Mr. Wickham motioned to the glass of water upon a side table, and Elizabeth spooned several mouthfuls across his parched lips before he responded.
“Mrs. Wickham left when I was quite young–shortly after my father came to Pemberley. I do not remember her except for a miniature my father carried with him for the remainder of his days.” He spoke slowly as if half in pain and half exhausted.
Although Elizabeth knew Mr. Wickham the master manipulator in speaking half-truths, she could not help but wonder who tended the young Wickham. It was not unusual for a woman to pass after childbirth: She assumed such was the case with Lady Anne Darcy. Yet, Georgiana Darcy knew fortune in a loving father, brother, and cousin. But what happened to a child whose mother simply walked from his life?
“It grieves me to learn of your unhappy event,” Elizabeth acknowledged softly. She could think of nothing more to say. Crossing to the windows to adjust the drapes so the sunlight would not irritate Mr. Wickham’s eyes, she asked. “Do you think you could tolerate some clear broth?”
Wickham shook off the suggestion.
“Perhaps later.” Glancing to where Elizabeth stood looking back at him, he remarked, “The breeze is refreshing.”
“My mother’s cousin is a surgeon in the Americas. Mr. Pantier treated many cases of the measles, among other unnamed diseases, while in the West Indies. He swears one of the surest means to assure recovery is to air out the sick room. Mrs. Bennet follows her cousin’s instructions explicitly.”
Mr. Wickham’s eyes narrowed.
“I assume if you are in my room, you previously knew this scourge. How came you to contract the disease?’
As she busied herself with tidying the room, Elizabeth chuckled.
“When I was eight, Mrs. Bennet came to London to visit the drapers. While she was from home, a measles outbreak claimed many in Meryton. Before my mother could return, Mary, Lydia, and I took ill. Mrs. Bennet blamed my father for permitting Sir William Lucas’s children to bring ‘an epidemic’ to her door. Mama swears Sir William carried the disease from London to Hertfordshire when he was honored at St. James. Needless to say, Mr. Bennet has not permitted his wife such a long stay in London since, for he fears another ‘disaster’ while on his watch. In view of that particular fact, when the disease revisited the neighborhood again, Mama insisted upon following Doctor Pantier’s advice: Patients isolated; where permitting, windows opened for fresh air; and the area scrubbed clean. We have avoided another disaster by following Mama’s instructions.”
“Mayhap your family did not know an infected person since that first incident,” Mr. Wickham suggested.
“True,” Elizabeth agreed. “But is not part of the healing the belief in the physician’s instructions?”
Wickham closed his eyes as if in discomfort, and for a few brief seconds, Elizabeth wondered if she should summon her uncle.
“Loss of belief in a person’s word is a high price indeed,” the gentleman observed in grave tones. He slowly opened his eyes to study her carefully. “It makes me most unhappy to know I lost the friendship you once offered.”
Elizabeth wished she could despise the man, but she was not built for hatred. Disapproval? Most definitely. Perhaps even a bit revengeful. But not hatred, for it was an all-encompassing emotion. Hatred, in her opinion, was as irrational as the passion of love.
“Some day soon we shall be more than friends, Mr. Wickham,” she assured. “When you recover, we shall be brother and sister.”
* * *
“Mr. Darcy!” his butler called, but Darcy was too weak to even raise his head. For three days, he made himself complete the necessary paperwork for Mr. Wickham’s joining with Miss Lydia, as well as to oversee the administration of his estate, but each day Darcy found the duties more difficult to perform. Earlier, when he stood to return to his quarters, the floor rose up to claim him. Surprisingly, Darcy welcomed the position he claimed upon the Turkish carpet. “Murray! Jatson! Lawson!” Mr. Nathan bellowed; yet, Darcy ignored the sound of urgency in the butler’s voice.
Rushed steps announced his footmen’s arrivals. Above him, hushed whispers spoke of exigency, but it was not until his servants lifted him from the floor that Darcy considered a protest; yet, the words would not form upon his lips.
His servants jostled him as they carried Darcy to his suite.
“Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Reynolds pleaded as she rushed ahead of him. Did his housekeeper not realize he was too exhausted to speak? Darcy’s only wish was to claim his bed and never come out. “Put him down gently,” Mrs. Reynolds instructed. The familiar drape of the four-poster appeared above Darcy’s head, and he sighed with contentment.
However, within seconds, the footmen exited the room, and his valet, Mr. Sheffield’s worried face blocked the view of the overhead drapery.
“Permit me to remove your boots and jacket, Sir.” Without Darcy’s permission, Sheffield wrestled Darcy to a seated position while his valet, his butler, and Mrs. Reynolds undressed him.
Darcy made no move to halt their efforts; it was too much to ask of his willpower.
“My stomach,” he groaned.
Mrs. Reynolds claimed the clean chamber pot from beneath the bed and shoved it under Darcy’s nose. Without preamble, Darcy emptied his breakfast into it. With cool efficiency, Mrs. Reynolds set the pot aside, wrung out a damp cloth to wipe his face, and retuned to the buttons upon his waistcoat.
“How long has Master William known illness?” she demanded of Mr. Sheffield.
The valet tugged upon Darcy’s boots as Mr. Nathan lowered Darcy’s head to the pillows. Sheffield grunted his response, “Two, perhaps three days.” The first boot gave way. “Mr. Darcy refused my suggestion for assistance.”
“Not Sheffield’s fault,” Darcy instructed in a weak tone he did not recognize.
Mrs. Reynolds wiped his face again.
“Then pray tell whose fault is it that you were discovered upon the floor of your study.”
Darcy sighed when the comforting coolness claimed his skin. With eyes closed, he smiled in irony.
“Who else? Mr. Wickham.”
Chapter Nine
“Mrs. Reynolds, is my sister unwell?” Darcy could recall little of the previous two days. Even now, his head throbbed from the slightest movement, but it was important he learn the extent of the illness he unknowingly carried to Pemberley.
His housekeeper bathed his arms and chest.
“Miss Georgiana took to her bed yesterday eve, Sir, but I do not think Miss Darcy will know your pain.”
“Any pain Georgiana suffers at my hand is too much,” Darcy insisted. “What of the others?”
“One of the footmen, Mr. Nathan, and two maids.”
Darcy closed his eyes to digest the extent of what occurred since his return to Derbyshire.
“You saw to the staff?” he asked even though Darcy knew Mrs. Reynolds would act without his instructions. “Was a message sent to Darcy House?”
“Yes to both questions,” Mrs. Reynolds responded without censure. “I wrote to Mrs. Wells yesterday.”
Darcy thought to nod his acceptance, but changed his mind when a thunderbolt of pain ricocheted between his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. Slowing his breathing, Darcy spoke in a husky whisper.
“I have one more message you must send. This one must go out today. Send it to Edward Gardiner at Gracechurch Street in Cheapside, London. The direction is in my ledger.”
“To the couple that visited Pemberley?” Mrs. Reynolds asked in what sounded of disbelief. “If any of the recent visitors to the estate were to know the disease, it would be the Bingleys.”
Darcy could not think clea
rly enough to speak a detailed explanation.
“Mr. Gardiner and I sought Mr. Wickham in London. My father’s godson swore he was not ill when I found him, but Mr. Wickham’s perfidy continues. Tell Mr. Gardiner what occurred here. Ask him to protect his wife and children and Miss Elizabeth. Nothing must happen to the lady.”
“I do not understand, Master William, but I will see to your wishes immediately. Now, you must rest.”
Darcy sighed heavily.
“Just see to Elizabeth Bennet, and I will be the most cooperative of patients.”
* * *
“Yes, Miss?” Elizabeth realized she broke every rule of Society by calling upon Mr. Darcy’s Town house, but it was imperative for her to know if Mr. Darcy succumbed to the disease carried to St. Clements parish by two Chinese sailors. London officials ordered the parish into quarantine, and the military took unprecedented actions by assisting the local constables in securing the area.
“Yes, Sir. I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” She shot a glance to Hannah, one of her uncle’s maids. Hannah accompanied Elizabeth because Gwenie was one of the causalities of the measles at Gracechurch Street.
“My uncle, Mr. Gardiner, is a business associate of Mr. Darcy. My parents are Mr. Bingley’s closest neighbors in Hertfordshire, and Miss Darcy and I hold an acquaintance.” That last bit was an exaggeration, but Elizabeth did not wish the butler to send her away before she learned something of Mr. Darcy. “Mr. Darcy was to call upon my uncle at week’s end, but it grieves me to inform Mr. Darcy that some of Mr. Gardiner’s household knows the illness sweeping over many in London.”
Elizabeth thought it telling that the butler did not recoil when she mentioned the possibility of measles. Many would shun her, fearing she might carry the disease.
“What is amiss, Thacker?” a familiar voice called.
“A young lady, Colonel, with a message from a Mr. Gardiner.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth spoke the gentleman’s name before he appeared in the open door.
“Miss Elizabeth.” The colonel glanced up and down the street, and Elizabeth realized he meant to protect her from Society’s gossips: No lady of merit would call upon a bachelor household. “Please come in.”
Elizabeth stepped into Mr. Darcy’s London home, and despite her best efforts her breath caught. The entryway was magnificently stylish.
“I apologize, Colonel, I did not mean to interrupt your day.”
“You require no invitation,” the colonel assured, but Elizabeth assumed the colonel spoke to quiet any gossip among the servants.
When the butler stepped into a servant hall, her eyes took in the simple grandeur of the space: It so spoke of the man she had come to know that Elizabeth’s eyes misted with joyful tears. She possessed another image in which to picture Mr. Darcy.
“I know you are aware of the business Mr. Darcy held with my uncle. As your cousin meant to return to London for the conclusion of the settlement, I thought it best to warn Mr. Darcy that the gentleman in question carried measles to my uncle’s house.”
“Is Wickham at Gracechurch Street?” the colonel asked in what sounded of relief. “I attempted to ascertain whether the cad remained at St. Clements, but those in charge of the quarantine could tell me little. I feared the scoundrel took flight.”
“Mr. Wickham became ill on Friday a week prior. My aunt tended him and two of her children until my sister Mary and I arrived yesterday. Although not healed, Mr. Wickham improves. The wedding cannot proceed as planned, and I did not want Mr. Darcy to call at the Gardiners only to know a postponement.”
The colonel frowned.
“I came to Darcy House last evening to discover four of Darcy’s servants ill. I have not seen to Darcy’s servants, but I assume they know the measles.” As much as Elizabeth admired the colonel, she found his laissez faire attitude toward the working class a bit disconcerting. “Knowing Darcy’s recent business in St. Clements, I suspected as much for your uncle’s household,” the colonel asserted. “I intended to examine Darcy’s ledgers for Mr. Gardiner’s directions. We are of a like mind, Miss Elizabeth,” he declared.
Elizabeth glanced about the entrance foyer once more. Sunlight flitted across the polished brass, and for a few brief second she saw the perfect mate for Mr. Darcy, but it was not she. The woman was tall and fair and expertly coiffed. Elizabeth glanced down at her drab day dress. Regret filled her heart. She would never be judged as an appropriate match for the gentleman; therefore, it did not matter how others viewed her. Her family owed Mr. Darcy a debt of gratitude, and she would repay the gentleman’s loyalty with a like allegiance.
“If there are measles at Darcy House,” Elizabeth questioned, “what is being done for Mr. Darcy’s servants?”
The colonel appeared shocked by her impertinence.
“I am not certain, Miss Elizabeth.”
“May I speak to Mr. Darcy’s butler?”
“Thacker!” the colonel called. A smile of bemusement turned up the corners of the man’s lips, but Elizabeth ignored the gesture. She meant for Mr. Darcy to think upon her with fond remembrance for her care of his servants.
“Yes, Colonel.” Thacker appeared immediately.
“Miss Elizabeth wishes to be apprised of the treatment being given to Darcy’s ill servants,” the colonel said with a condescending smile.
The servant raised a disapproving eyebrow, but he responded in a respectful tone.
“The housekeeper removed the patients in the attic quarters, Miss. Mrs. Wells also consulted a physician.”
Elizabeth realized she held no right to give Mr. Darcy’s servant orders, but she ignored that detail.
“I wish to see them, Mr. Thacker.”
Mr. Thacker shot a glance to the colonel who nodded his agreement.
“This way, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Come along, Hannah,” Elizabeth instructed. “I shall require your assistance.”
Elizabeth followed the very proper butler to the attic quarters. Unfortunately, she knew immediate disappointment with the conditions.
“This shall not do, Mr. Thacker,” she announced when Elizabeth first beheld the space. “I cannot imagine Mr. Darcy employs a physician who would consider this adequate care.”
The butler cleared his throat with embarrassment.
“Doctor Davis did not call upon the household. Mrs. Wells thought it best if the good doctor not carry the disease to others.”
“If the ‘good doctor’ practices cleanliness,” Elizabeth insisted, “he will not bring death to others.”
“What must be done, Miss Elizabeth?” The colonel abandoned his amusement for what appeared to be genuine concern.
“First, the idea of keeping the room dark is excellent, but we must move the patients into rooms where there are windows. My mother’s cousin is a physician upon the American continent. He says a person carries the disease to others, but it also is transported through the air. For example, if I am inflicted with measles and cough at the same time as you inhale, you would suck in the disease with your breath.”
“As with consumption?” the colonel asked.
“Yes, but not as severe,” Elizabeth assured. “Even so, it is essential to open the windows so the illness can be carried away with the breeze. Moreover, Mr. Darcy’s house must know a thorough scrubbing, even the wooden surfaces, Mr. Thacker. Once everyone claims health, then you may polish the fixtures again. Mr. Darcy would never place the property above the safety of his employees.”
The colonel exchanged a knowing look with Thacker, but Elizabeth kept her shoulders stiff and her chin lifted.
“Mr. Darcy would expect you to follow Miss Elizabeth’s suggestions,” the colonel declared, and Elizabeth appreciated the gentleman’s support.
“If you have a moment, Mr. Thacker, I will gladly share how best to proceed with you and Mr. Darcy’s housekeeper.”
“Certainly, Miss. We should return below, and then I will locate Mrs. Wells. It shan’t take long.”
Elizabeth returned to the foyer, where she joined Hannah upon a bench. The colonel offered to show Elizabeth into one of the sitting rooms, but she adamantly refused. She knew both embarrassment and exhilaration after her performance in the attic. Would Mr. Darcy despise her cheekiness? She entered his home uninvited and presented his servants orders. Her manners were deplorable. Within a few minutes, Mr. Thacker returned with the housekeeper, whose expression denounced Elizabeth upon first glance. However, Elizabeth stood tall, pronouncing a series of improvements for the care of Mr. Darcy’s servants.
“You will see that Miss Elizabeth’s suggestions are put into place until you hear otherwise from Mr. Darcy,” the colonel instructed.
“Yes, Sir,” Mrs. Wells said grudgingly before exiting.
“We should be going,” Elizabeth declared with a blush of embarrassment. “I apologize for my brashness, Mr. Thacker. I meant no offense.”
“We appreciate your loyalty to the master, Miss.”
The colonel escorted Elizabeth to the door.
“If I hear from Darcy, I will send word to Gracechurch Street.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Elizabeth departed Mr. Darcy’s home with news of the gentleman’s London staff, but not of the man himself. She decided during a hackney ride to Cheapside that she would permit one more day to pass before she broke another of Society’s rules and wrote to the gentleman to inquire of Mr. Darcy’s health.
* * *
“Lizzy, might I have a moment?”
Elizabeth looked up from where she sat reading the latest newsprints to Mr. Wickham. Upon her return to Gracechurch, Elizabeth assisted Mary with the children, who were restless after being indoors for so long. She made puppets from old stockings, and she and Mary performed a puppet show for the children’s entertainment. It did Elizabeth well to observe Mary’s kindness to their cousins, as well as the creative ideas her sister added to the impromptu play. Since opening her eyes to what she missed in Mr. Darcy’s personality, Elizabeth discovered how mistaken she was of others.
Elizabeth Bennet's Deception: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary Page 10