One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (48 page)

Darcy watched in silence from the foot of the bed, his face an emotionless mask.

“You should leave.” Anne said to him as she wrung out another cloth and pressed it against Elizabeth's neck and face. “For the sake of propriety if nothing else, you must go, Fitzwilliam.”

At the sound of his Christian name, Elizabeth repeated it in a barely audible murmur. “Fitzwilliam.”

His eyes, now fully adjusted to the dark, met with Anne's. “I will not leave until I have spoken to her.” Darcy replied. “You know me too well to doubt my resolve, Anne. No-one outside our circle will ever know—you may be assured of my secrecy.”

At the sound of his voice, Elizabeth's eyelashes fluttered, and she moaned, turning her head to the side.

Anne hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing the wisdom of what he asked. “You know that I would trust you with my life, Fitzwilliam, and in this dark hour, I will now trust you with hers. I pray that I am not mistaken in doing so.” With another glance at Elizabeth, she nodded, affirming her decision as she rose up out of the bedside chair. She patted Elizabeth's hand softly before she quit the room, leaving the door ajar.

Darcy walked slowly from the foot of the bed to the side of it, his eyes never leaving her face. He took in the sight of her, so small and pale except for her cheeks, which were unnaturally red from the fever. Her lips were cracked and peeling. Her eyes seemed sunken in her face, framed by dark circles of gray skin. Her hair was still twisted into a loose braid, but many strands had worked their way free. Some were strewn across her pillow, but others clung to her skin—dark tendrils pasted to her fevered brow with sweat.

“Oh, my Elizabeth!” He cried softly as he sank into the chair beside her and took her hand in his. With his other hand, he felt her face, flinching at the heat emanating from it. He turned the cloth that Anne had placed there and gently stroked the hairs away from her forehead.

Her eyes opened just a sliver. “Mr. Darcy.” Her parched lips barely moved as she said his name.

He tightened his grip on her hand. “It is I.”

She stared at him through unbelieving eyes for a long moment. “Are you an angel?” Elizabeth whispered in confusion as her dull eyes opened a little wider. Her gaze drifted to the wall beside her as she struggled in vain to comprehend. “You must be an angel ... I saw you die.” A tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

Understanding of her belief came to him, and he shook his head in denial. “No dearest Elizabeth. I am no angel.” Darcy spoke as he would to a child. “I live—feel my hand in yours! Look into my eyes. You have had a terrible dream—that is all. I live!”

Her eyes turned again to him, and for a moment, Darcy thought that he had overcome her belief in his death. His heart sank when she spoke with sadness. “The battle was fierce,” Elizabeth mumbled as she closed her eyes again and turned her head away, releasing another tear as she softly wailed. “You fell, and all is lost.”

Darcy spoke again, louder and deeper. “I am here, Elizabeth.” He wrapped his other hand around their clasp, and gently tightened his grip. “Hear my voice. I live, and so do you. I did not fall, I did not die.” He gave her hand a gentle shake. “Do you hear me?”

Her eyes remained closed, but her brows knit together. “I thirst.” The words came under her breath, distant and disconnected from their conversation.

Darcy repeated what he had seen Anne do, putting his arm beneath her, raising her up and placing the glass to her lips. “Drink, my love.” He held her close as he coaxed the liquid down her throat, murmuring encouraging words with each successful swallow. She relaxed after the first few sips, and responded obediently to his command for her to continue until the glass was empty. When the task was done, and he started to lower her to the pillow, she turned her head against him and inhaled deeply.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Darcy,” she began to sob in her delirium. Darcy hesitated, thinking that she was perhaps, finally speaking to him. Her next words struck him with force, for they made it clear that she still thought him dead. “I shall never see him again.” A fresh round of tears broke through as her one free hand grasped at him and found the dangling end of his cravat, which she pulled and held to her bosom, as though it comforted her. “Why?” She gasped the question and opened her eyes again. They were trained on Darcy's face but seemed unable to truly focus, and then she spoke, looking at Darcy, but obviously seeing something else. “Why him, dear Lord? I loved him, and now he is dead, and he will never know.” Her eyes filled with tears again, and her body was wracked with sobs that testified to the depth of what she was feeling, even though it had no foundation in reality.

“This will not do!” Darcy whispered to Elizabeth. “Forgive me for the liberties I am about to take my darling!” He pulled back the counterpane, slid his other arm beneath her knees and stood with the softly weeping Elizabeth in his arms. He carried her to the doorway leading to the sitting room.

“Bingley, stop sitting around—make yourself useful man! Miss Elizabeth's fever is severe. Have your people fill the tub with cool water right away. There is not a moment to lose!”

Mr. Bingley jumped up with a start, waking Jane. “Cool water?” He questioned. “Whatever for?”

“Just do it,” Darcy barked. “Quickly!”

He turned to his cousin. “Anne, lay out a fresh night dress for Miss Elizabeth. This one,” he said, “will soon be wet, and she will require another.”

“Miss Bennet, may I counsel with you regarding your sister?” He beckoned to Jane who hastened to join him as he returned to the bedchamber. He sat in a large upholstered chair in the corner, still holding Elizabeth in his arms. Elizabeth had stopped crying and was dozing against his chest. Jane entered, some trepidation in her expression as she regarded the man cradling her sister.

“Mr. Darcy...,” Jane began, “I cannot allow....”

Darcy shook his head to interrupt her. “Miss Bennet, I know this all seems very untoward; however, I beg you to hear me out.”

Jane nodded hesitantly. “I will hear you. I pray that your explanation is persuasive indeed. I do not wish to have to take this to my father.” She looked with some horror at the intimate way her sister lay in Mr. Darcy's arms. “If she were not so very ill, I would consider her compromised by you already, Mr. Darcy. I suppose that some allowance must be made for circumstance.”

Darcy nodded his understanding and continued. “I would tell you of the housekeeper at my estate in Derbyshire, Mrs. Reynolds. She came to Pemberley when I was a small child, and I can tell you that she is very good and wise. She always keeps an herb garden, and we rarely required the services of the apothecary or physician because Mrs. Reynolds always had a remedy.” He shifted Elizabeth's weight slightly and continued.

“There was one winter that a fever swept through the village of Lambton, sickening many of its people. Our servants, having done business in the village, contracted the fever, and it was not long before many in our household were violently sick. Unfortunately, the apothecary was also ill, and so was unable to dispense anything to relieve the suffering, even to Pemberley. The fever took the lives of many elderly persons in the village and a few babies and children. The fear of death was upon us all.”

He looked carefully at Jane to determine if she was following him before continuing. “I contracted the fever and was soon in a similar state to how your sister is today. I also was delirious and suffered hallucinations. A fever that produces such waking dreams is very dangerous—as you well know.”

Elizabeth moaned, and Darcy stopped speaking to Jane as he comforted Elizabeth, while Jane looked on in astonishment. When Elizabeth had calmed, he continued. “Mrs. Reynolds, against the advice of all, insisted that I be placed in a tub full of cool water as a means to reduce the fever. She was warned by many that this treatment would turn the fever to pneumonia and possibly kill me, but she stood fast, and the fever abated as a result. This was of necessity repeated several times over the course of my illness, but each time, it cooled the fever and delivered me from delirium. This is what I wish to do for Miss Elizabeth—that which was done for me. I know it seems an unusual course to take, but I ask you to trust me in this. Do I have your blessing to proceed?”

Jane nodded. “Your judgment is sound, Mr. Darcy. If you believe it will help my sister, I will agree.”

“Good.” Darcy said. “I will lower her into the tub, but you and Anne must tend to her from there. When the fever is sufficiently reduced, she will regain her senses, but she will still be very weak and require assistance in changing to dry bed-clothes and returning to the bed.”

Jane nodded. “I understand.” She eyed Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth warily again but returned to the sitting room once more, making certain the door was wide-open, and she had a seat with a direct view.

~*~

Darcy, Bingley and the colonel paced in the hallway the entire time Jane and Anne were assisting Elizabeth, which exceeded an hour by nearly half again. Very little was spoken among them, as the outcome of the cooling bath was foremost on their minds. When Jane finally opened the door to call them back to the sitting room, their relief was obvious, for the look on her face told all.

“Come in!” Jane beckoned them urgently. “It has worked! It is almost a miracle! Lizzy's mind is no longer in a muddle, although she is definitely still quite unwell.”

The three men filed into the room, and as soon as he was in the room, Jane grasped Mr. Bingley by both of his hands. Her joy in the moment was evident as she declared, “Oh Mr. Bingley, I am so very, very happy. Lizzy will be well! I must thank you for all the good care my sister is receiving here in your house.” She smiled up into his face, her affection for her sister feeding her affection for Mr. Bingley. “You are so very kind; I do not know how to thank you well enough!” She sighed and looked shyly down at the floor.

Mr. Bingley, a boyish grin on his face, assured her that she was very welcome and that it was his pleasure. The two were once again lost to the presence of anyone else in the room as Jane spoke quietly to Mr. Bingley of what happened during the time they were separated.

Anne emerged from the bedchamber and quietly said to Darcy, “Cousin, Miss Elizabeth has requested an audience with you. Are you able to accommodate her request?” This was said with a hint of mischief, for she knew all too well what his response would be.

Darcy, with a grateful nod, brushed past her without answering. He pulled the door closed behind him.

Elizabeth was sitting up in the bed, her eyes shining in the dim candlelight, as Darcy returned to the bedside chair. He took her hand again and gazed silently into her eyes. At length, he offered to get her a drink, which she gratefully accepted, and after slowly drinking two full glasses, she laid back against the pillows.

“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth finally spoke with a weak smile. “I think we must have some conversation, but I am very tired and cannot think of anything to say. Perhaps you could begin this time.”

He looked at her blankly. It seemed that he also could think of nothing to say, for he opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again, his lips pressing together in frustration. He stood and paced across the room, turning to see that Elizabeth had followed his trek with her eyes, waiting patiently for him to speak. He crossed to the window and moved the curtain aside, as if he expected to see something of interest on the grounds. When he dropped the curtain, he turned again and returned to the chair, although he stood behind it as he looked again at Elizabeth, words eluding him as he battled with the wave of emotions he was feeling. Finally he spoke. “I must inform you, for the record, that I am not dead.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth's lips made the same shape as the sound. “I am glad for that.” Her eyes averted, and she absently picked at the fabric of the counterpane. Darcy returned and sat in the chair next to her, pulling it forward so he was as close as possible.

“You seemed to think that I was dead.” He said, looking at her expectantly.

“I suppose I did.” Elizabeth replied, not meeting his gaze. Eventually she glanced up at him. “That you are here, declaring yourself as among the living tells me that what I saw must have been a dream, but Mr. Darcy, it seemed so very real. It was a great battle on a vast and bloodied battlefield. You were astride Romeo and together you defeated many enemies.” She lay back against her pillow, and closing her eyes, continued to speak. “But then there was a man dressed all in black who came onto the field. He was in the shadows—I could not see his face, but you seemed to know him. He raised a pistol and shot ... oh, it does not matter.” She opened her eyes and looked at him again. “It was not real.”

“Is this when I fell?” Darcy asked gently.

Elizabeth nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “Shot through the heart.”

Darcy reached out and took her hand. “There is but one thing that has penetrated my heart, Miss Bennet, and it is not a bullet.”