Mr. Darcy's Obsession (18 page)

As the baby's screams grew to a deafening level, Elizabeth decided that even the busy street would be a more peaceful environment than the shop. She slipped out the door and walked down the cobblestone street to the green, speaking softly to the infant. Finally, in the shade of a tree far enough away to drown out the raised voices of Mr. Browning and Lydia, he began to quiet. Elizabeth patted his back gently until he grew drowsy. She had no inclination to face Lieutenant Ralston, Lydia, or even Charlie again. He would not have forgotten the humiliating look the lieutenant had given her.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Charlie appeared, dodging pedestrians as he ran towards her. His face was flushed and he panted out the words, "Miss Bennet! You must come immediately! Hurry!"

***

Darcy was not in the best of humours. His uncle's urgent summons had caused him to be wakened from a delightful dream of Elizabeth, just as her phantom fingers were trailing their way down his cheek and her lips waited for his kiss. He would have preferred to enjoy the conclusion to his dream, especially if it continued in such a promising manner, than once again to make his way to Derby House in the first morning light. No doubt Henry had told the earl of their disagreement, and Darcy did not imagine the upcoming interview would be anything but highly disagreeable. If only the bonds of family did not require that he treat his uncle with respect! His parents, however, had drilled into him at an early age the responsibility owed to his relations, especially the earl.

To his surprise, Darcy was shown immediately to Henry's private chambers. The room was dark and stifling, the heavy curtains drawn. Several men crowded around the bed. A rank smell assaulted Darcy's nostrils.

From his vantage point at the end of the bed, the earl turned to Darcy and beckoned. Darcy expected it to be another of Henry's performances. No doubt he had a mild cold and was playing it up as a deathbed scene. He caught sight of his cousin, his face red and beaded with sweat, his breathing rapid and laboured. This was no act; Henry was truly ill.

His uncle said, "He asked to see you. No idea why."

Darcy had no idea either. He took a step forward. "Henry?"

His cousin opened bleary eyes. "Darcy. You are here."

One of the other men, a doctor, judging by his tools, said, "Has he taken the laudanum?"

Henry's valet hovered nearby, a cup in his hand. "Most of it, sir."

"Good. Remove the bandages, though I doubt we will see any improvement, given his fever."

Henry moaned as the bandages were unwrapped gently. The doctor leaned forward, lamp in hand, examining the swollen fingers. Pus oozed over the surface, and with a shudder Darcy realized the cause of his cousin's illness.

"As I suspected, we have the beginnings of gangrene." With a frown, the doctor gestured to his assistant. "We need maggots here, to cleanse the necrotic flesh."

His assistant made a show of opening his bag and withdrawing a clay flask. Darcy watched with horrified fascination as he removed the stopper and shook out a handful of squirming maggots. With an odd delicacy, he spooned them into open sores on Henry's fingers and then wrapped the fingers again in a loose bandage. Henry cried out in pain at the movement, but made no protest. Darcy wondered how much of the proceedings he understood through the haze of laudanum.

The doctor turned to the earl. "My lord, that will aid the healing, if he somehow manages to survive the infection, but you can see those streaks up his arm where the poison is spreading. As I told you last night, it threatens his very life. My recommendation is unchanged. I urge immediate action."

"Bleed him again," the earl ordered. "I will not have him crippled."

"Bleeding will make no difference, my lord. The infection has travelled too far. His life is in jeopardy; his only chance is if we remove it."

"If that is the best you have to offer, begone!" The earl waved imperiously at the door, his ominous look sending the doctor scurrying away.

Darcy doubted his uncle would listen to reason from him any more than from the doctor, but even though he bore Henry no love, he could not stand by and watch him die unnecessarily. "Many men are missing limbs from the wars. Henry would hardly be unique."

"The future Earl of Derby is not
many men
. He must be greater than other men, not half a man."

"If the doctor is correct, he may not live to be Earl of Derby, unless they operate. Surely a son with one arm is superior to a dead son."

The earl gave his firstborn a long look, his face expressionless. "I have other sons. He was a fool to allow this to happen." He stalked out of the room without another word.

Darcy could hardly believe his ears and hoped that Henry's closed eyes meant he had mercifully not comprehended his father's words. Darcy wished he had not heard them, either. The valet was looking at him with a fearful expression, but there was no response he could give, no reassurance that all would be well. He crossed to the window to catch a breath of what passed in London for fresh air. If only Elizabeth were there, her presence and her lavender scent would help him forget the odor of putrefaction that permeated the sickroom.

"Darcy." The barely audible dry rasp did not sound like his cousin, but it was he.

Reluctantly Darcy approached the bed. "I am here."

"Send my man away."

Darcy looked over at Henry's valet and jerked his head towards the door. The man hastened to obey.

With the door closed behind him, Henry said, "Find the doctor. Tell him to do it."

"To amputate?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?" It was the only sensible course, but it was unlike Henry to disobey his father, the holder of the purse strings.

"Do it." His head fell back on the pillow as if the effort to speak had exhausted him.

The earl would have no mercy if he discovered Darcy had called the doctors back. Should he do so, and Henry was so fortunate to recover, Henry would most likely deny ever making the request, which was why he had not wanted the valet to hear it. If Darcy did as he asked, the price would be the loss of his family. Despite his current quarrel with Henry, he could not picture a future without them.

It did not change the fact that he could not be party to his uncle's casual dismissal of Henry's life. It did not matter that he himself had wished Henry dead more than once. It was up to God, not to him.

"I will return with the doctor. You should drink more laudanum; you will need it." Darcy left the room before Henry could change his mind.

He was fortunate; the doctor had not yet departed the house, and Darcy was able to speak to him privately. The doctor seemed unsurprised by the request and sent his assistant for the surgeon. Darcy's spirit was curiously light as he returned to the sickroom. Elizabeth would be proud of the choice he had made.

***

"That is quite a tale!" Bingley said after Darcy reported an expurgated version of the day's events. "I hope he recovers."

"It is in God's hands." Personally, Darcy thought it unlikely. He would not soon forget the final scene at Henry's bedside, where he had assisted in holding his screaming cousin down while the surgeon did his bloody work. He had not wanted to put the duty on a servant who could then be punished by the earl.

"Does his lordship remain in ignorance?"

"I assume so, since I was permitted to leave without any difficulty. He must have discovered it by now. If he comes here, I strongly advise you to slip out through the kitchen." He was only half-joking.

"You may have to join me in Scarborough after all," Bingley said with a laugh. "We can be exiles together."

"I think Pemberley will do quite well for me, thank you." He was glad of the assurance that Bingley would remain his friend, though.

Georgiana sat up straighter. "Oh, please, may we go to Pemberley?"

"Not yet. I have matters I must attend to," Darcy said. He could not leave before Elizabeth returned to London. He prayed it would be soon, now that her younger sister was married and had returned to Meryton. She would no doubt remain there until her sister gave birth, but that could not be long, if it had not happened already. "We cannot leave now, in any case, with Henry's health in such jeopardy. But soon, I promise you." He could hardly wait until the day when he would finally bring Elizabeth home to Pemberley. The thought made him dizzy with joy.

Chapter 14

A pounding at the front door interrupted Bingley's enthusiastic description of his ventures in Scarborough. At this late hour, it could hardly be a caller. More likely it was ill tidings about Henry. Darcy hardly attended to the conversation as he waited for word. It was only a matter of minutes until Simms entered with a silver platter, which he proffered to Darcy.

"An express for you, sir."

It was unlikely to be Henry, then. No one would send an express the short distance from Derby House, when a footman could do as well. Expresses rarely bore good news. Darcy examined the letter, noting the direction that was written in an unfamiliar, though distinctly feminine, hand. He ran his finger through the opening and broke the seal with a snap. His breathing quickened as he read the first words.

Penned at the dictation of Charlie Hopper by E. Bennet.

Dear Mr. Darcy,

I am sorry to report that we are facing some difficulties here. My master has taken ill with apoplexy and cannot speak or walk. My mistress, who only recently was brought to bed of a son (a robust young man--EB) is still weak from her labours. Between tending to my master and the baby, we are able to open the shop only for a few hours each day (and that owing only to the fact that Charlie appears to have given up sleeping--EB), but we are sorely lacking for direction in management of the shop. As Mr. Browning has no male relations apart from the babe to inherit the shop, I am writing to ask your further instructions. Miss Bennet wishes me to assure you that we are all well, apart from Mr. Browning, whose recovery is deemed unlikely by the apothecary.

I hope you will excuse the liberty of sending this express, which was the suggestion of Miss Bennet.

The letter was signed in large, shaky letters marred with several blots, followed by a postscript in Elizabeth's hand.

I have been teaching Master Charlie his letters, that he may someday write his reports to you directly. After all, who shall spy upon the spy?

Darcy's hands itched for the reins of his fastest horse, though it was too late in the day to travel. It would not help Elizabeth if he broke his neck riding on a dark road. He had been waiting so long, and now he had an excuse, and Elizabeth wanted him to come. His exhilaration was tempered by concern at her situation, which must be dire for her to take such a step, but a fresh breeze had blown through the stale air as he read each of her arch asides, and it was as if the candles burned brighter. If only she were here beside him! He stretched the fingers of his hand, the fortunate fingers that had touched hers.

"Darcy, what is the matter?" Bingley's voice penetrated his reveries.

"What? A letter, nothing more." Darcy hurriedly folded the letter, placing it in his pocket where he could touch it any time he wished. Given Bingley's strong sentiments regarding Jane, it would be best not to explain too closely.

Bingley still looked concerned. "Something is wrong. You need not protect me from unfortunate news, you know."

The words seemed to burn at Darcy. He had done this before; kept knowledge of the Bennet family to himself to protect Bingley, but it had not accomplished his goal. Bingley had suffered for it, as had Elizabeth, Jane, and Darcy himself. Elizabeth would have been his long before, had Bingley married Jane Bennet. He had lied by omission to his friend and had himself reaped the harvest of his deception.

He would not make the same mistake again. This time he would allow Bingley to make his own decision, not that there could be a happy outcome, but Bingley deserved to know the truth.

How to tell him? Darcy fingered the letter in his pocket, as if it still held some essence of Elizabeth. What would she do? The answer came to him without hesitation. Elizabeth would tell him directly and allow him to draw his own judgment.

He took a deep, cleansing breath. "It is a letter from an old acquaintance of ours, Miss Bennet."

Bingley's sudden movement knocked his wineglass to the floor, and it shattered, a dark red stain spreading across the Aubusson carpet. Bingley stammered, "My apologies for my clumsiness. Did you say 'Miss Bennet?'"

"Miss
Elizabeth
Bennet. The letter concerns her family's situation, with which she requests my assistance." Darcy rang the bell. A maid hurried in to remove the fragments of broken crystal.

Bingley's face paled. "Miss Elizabeth? What has happened?" He looked ready to leap from his chair. His previous relaxation vanished as if it had never existed.

"Are you certain you wish to hear this?"

"Darcy, if you do not tell me this instant, I will take that letter from you by force!"

Darcy held up his hand. "No need of that. Her sister's husband, Mr. Browning, is seriously ill, and her sister is recovering from childbed."

If Bingley was pale before, now he looked ashen. "A child? She has a child? Good God, how much more must I suffer for my errors?" He sprang to his feet and then looked around the room as if uncertain what to do next. "Excuse me," he said stiffly and hurried to the door.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned slowly back, his look ominous. "Darcy, how do you come to be involved with this? Why, of all her acquaintance, would she write to you, asking for your help? What are you not telling me?"

Darcy, feeling all the disadvantage of the moment, said, "I hardly know where to begin. Miss Elizabeth and I renewed our acquaintance some months ago, but I assume the reason she wrote to me is because I am an investor in Mr. Browning's shop."

"You?" Bingley said with disbelief. "Why would you invest in his shop?"

"You were distressed over her circumstances. I found I was, as well. I thought to ease her situation financially by making the investment."

Bingley's eyes widened, and he struck his forehead. "Of course! Why did I not think of that? What a fool I am!"

"I doubt Mr. Browning would have been prepared to accept funds from his wife's former suitor," Darcy said dryly.

"I must go to Meryton. Immediately."

"Are you certain that is wise?"

"Of course it is not wise! What has wisdom to do with it? I must see her!"

"Bingley, she is still a married woman, no matter how ill her husband may be."

Bingley turned a haunted face in his direction. "Do you think I forget that for more than even a second? I, who could have prevented it, if I had only listened to my heart? Did you know that she always cared for me? You were wrong when you thought her indifferent to me. She even followed me to London after we left Netherfield, did you know that?"

Darcy's palms grew damp. "Yes, I did know," he said in a low voice.

"You knew?" Bingley cried in disbelief, but then his countenance cleared. "Of course you knew. I told you of it myself last year."

"I knew before that. Your sisters told me of her presence at the time." Darcy braced himself for Bingley's deserved wrath.

Bingley turned red as his hands tightened into fists. "You knew, and you chose not to inform me?"

"I am guilty of that. I thought at the time to protect you, but I know now that was an unspeakable presumption on my part, and a grave error."

Bingley moved abruptly, and for a moment Darcy thought he intended to strike him. He had never seen Bingley in a rage such as this. The last year had changed him.

"An unspeakable presumption? That does not begin to describe it. How could you? And even after all this, you are still trying to keep me from her," Bingley spat out.

Darcy shook his head. "Only for the sake of her reputation."

"I suppose you expect me to forgive you," Bingley said contemptuously.

"Not at all." Darcy felt his calm slipping and poured himself a much-needed glass of port. "It would make little difference if you did, as I will never forgive myself." It was the truth; he could never forget his role in causing Elizabeth to face such discomforts as her life afforded. He should bear the burden of it. Bingley's wrath was but a minor punishment in comparison.

"Why, then, are you telling me this?"

Darcy had been asking himself the same question. He raised his glass to his lips to buy himself some time, and a vision flashed before him of Elizabeth's face on that fateful day she struck him. "Because I am no longer the man I was then."

"What, pray tell, does that mean?"

"I have been a selfish being all my life." Darcy struggled to find the words to express himself. "As a child I was taught what was
right
, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves, allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to
wish
at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. But recently I have come to understand a truth
you
knew innately, that a man's value lies not in his birth or in his connections, but in the life he chooses to lead. In my pride, I thought my judgment superior to everyone else's, merely because of an accident of birth. I did what I thought was right, but rarely considered the effects of my words and actions on those of lesser situation, as if their comfort and happiness mattered less than my own." It was a relief finally to say it.

Bingley said, "I cannot believe what I am hearing."

"Believe it." Darcy drained his glass, welcoming the burning heat in his throat.

Bingley stared at him for another minute, turned on his heel, and strode off without another word.

Suddenly exhausted, Darcy sank into a chair, wondering if Bingley intended to leave his house. He could not blame him if he did; how could he expect Bingley to remain under the roof of the man who had wronged him so cruelly? He dared not imagine what he would feel should he discover Elizabeth had borne another man's child. Even the notion filled him with a primitive rage. He tried to calm himself. Elizabeth was not in the same situation; she would return to London soon and then she would be his wife.

But the friendship that had so recently been rekindled would now break irreparably. Reaching back, Darcy massaged the back of his neck. His other hand, as if of its own accord, reached for Elizabeth's letter. He scanned the elegant script again, almost able to hear Elizabeth's voice. Only she could manage to tease in such circumstances. The thought soothed his troubled nerves.

She needed his assistance. Her act of faith in writing him must be answered in full. Certainly he must travel to Meryton at first light, but what to do then? Elizabeth and her sisters would require protection; Mr. Browning needed care that would be difficult to obtain without the income from the shop; and who would provide for Mrs. Bennet? Her sister would shelter her, but he suspected it was Mr. Browning's financial support that made her situation tolerable.

He would have to take action, but how could he protect Elizabeth's reputation while he did so? Perhaps he could work through her cousin, Mr. Collins. Almost as soon as the thought occurred, he discarded it. He could not trust Mr. Collins to keep his actions private, especially from his aunt. Likewise, it would look suspicious if Mr. Gardiner were suddenly possessed of a large sum of money, and given Darcy's history with that gentleman, he might well suspect Darcy's motives.

He drummed his fingers on his knee. There must be a solution, and he had to find it for Elizabeth's sake. He must help her and protect her at the same time.

With sudden decision, he crossed to the writing desk and uncapped the inkwell. The pen blotted the first word he wrote, but a sharp knife in the drawer served to mend the quill. There was no sound beyond the scratching of the pen on paper.

He scattered sand over the freshly penned notes and then blew lightly on them to dry the ink. Perhaps the words would run, but they would be legible enough to serve his purpose, and time was short. Quickly he wrote the direction.

Simms appeared as soon as he rang. No doubt Mr. Bingley's raised voice had caused the butler to stay near in case his services were needed.

"Simms, I will be going out directly. Please arrange for these letters to be delivered immediately. They cannot wait until morning."

"Will you require the carriage, sir?"

"A mount will suffice."

"Yes, sir."

As Simms left, Darcy turned a critical eye on his own attire. Good enough for everyday, but perhaps not for an interview of this consequence. A change of boots and his newest coat were in order.

***

It was late when Darcy finally returned to Brook Street, both weary and exhilarated. He had completed his tasks. Mr. Gardiner had received him and agreed to his plans with only minor alterations, and he had given Darcy his blessing. Mrs. Gardiner had fussed over him and told him he should not be on the streets alone at this hour. A smile crept onto his lips. It was a far cry from when Mr. Gardiner had called on him to return his letter and told him he had no character. Elizabeth's aunt and uncle understood that people could change and redeem their past mistakes. Darcy hoped the other people in his life would believe the same thing.