Chapter
14
The small group began to walk the
road towards Hunsford’s parsonage without looking back. They had suffered
so much the past hours; they had lost so many things that no one was willing to
confront the lugubrious image of the smoky manor any more. At least the weather
was giving them a respite from so much misery. The skies above them were not
clear yet but the wind had stopped and the silvery light that illuminated the
horizon told them that the storm that had chastised them so unmercifully had
finally come to an end.
The night had been long. Too long. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had remained into
the late hours of the night helping in the task of stopping the flames from
advancing further into the house and rescuing everything that could be saved. Once
the major threat was over, they saw that the rooms containing the most valuable
objects were locked, that way preventing opportunists from sacking the rest of
the house. And only then they sat to rest.
It was during that interlude that
Mrs. Collins kindly offered her home for the family to stay until they decided
where to go. Even if part of the manor was not destroyed by the fire, at
present, it was inhabitable. The soot, the smoke and the dust had taken over
every room and no one was certain for how long would the rest of structure would
stand after the collapse of the eastern wing.
Hunsford’s accommodations were not as luxurious as some of them
were used to but the prospect of a comfortable bed and a warm bath, for humble
they were, was something that none of them was in the
position to refuse.
At the parsonage, Charlotte organized her household with great
efficiency, urging her surprised servants to prepare a quick breakfast and to
ready the bedrooms for the Rosings’ family. Clean clothes were given to
them with the hope they would fit and jars with warm water were delivered to
their rooms for them to freshen up.
“Darcy,” said the Colonel
as they entered the house. “You should take care of that hand.”
The gentleman looked at the bandage Ferguson had improvised
when he came out of the house. It was black with soot and dry blood.
“Yes, I should wash it.”
The men excused themselves from the
table and headed towards the kitchen. Darcy sat on a chair next to the table
and Fitzwilliam pulled one opposite to his.
“I did not have the chance to
express my gratitude for coming to my rescue, Richard,” Darcy winced as
his cousin removed the wrap, “You saved my life. I thank
you.”
Fitzwilliam did not look up and
inspected the wound carefully. “You would have done the same for
me.”
“Yes, but that does not lessen
the merit of your actions.”
The Colonel stole a quick glance in
Darcy’s direction and accepted his words with a quick nod. Darcy smiled,
for he knew that his cousin’s military experience hardened him to what he
thought was unnecessary and overdone praise. Still, it was deserved.
The cook placed a basin with warm
water and soap on the table as the Colonel studied how to clean the wound. It
was a nasty wound. The flesh of Darcy’s palm was peeled open like the
skin of an orange and only a small section kept it attached to his hand. There
were several cuts on his fingers, half of one of his fingernails was gone, but,
in general, these injuries did not appear to be of major concern. However,
there was always the risk of gangrene and infection if the wounds were not
tended properly and his cousin might suffer the loss of one finger or two.
“Do you think you can handle
the pain if I soap your hand inside the hot water?” the Colonel inquired,
“I do not see another way to remove all this dirt.”
“If I could fit inside of
it,” Darcy smirked, “I would be jumping into that basin at this
very moment. All I want now is a hot bath and a warm bed.”
“I agree with you. It has been
a long night.” Fitzwilliam produced a flask from inside his pocket and
offered it to his cousin. “Take a sip. I’m sure it will help
you.”
Darcy took a long gulp and looked
away as his cousin introduced his hand into the basin to clean the wound. The
rubbing hurt enormously but he managed to endure the painful process without
screaming aloud.
“Ah, Miss Bennet,” the
Colonel saw her appear at the door, “you came just in time to help me
with this. I’m sure some feminine company might help to ease my
cousin’s present discomfort.”
She blushed. Her eyes went from the
gentlemen to the basin, and her jaw clenched at the sight of the dark reddish hue
that the water was acquiring. “I .. I brought
some clean linen. I thought you would need them.”
The water of the basin was changed
at the Colonel’s request, and Fitzwilliam repeated the procedure until he
was certain that the wound was completely clean. He dried the hand with a cloth
and then pressed back the lose skin against the flesh.
“If this heals properly, you
will not have more than an unattractive scar to sport, Darcy. The muscle does
not appear to be seriously damaged. Though I fear this injury
may affect your beautiful handwriting.”
Darcy smiled at his teasing. “It
will still be neater than yours.”
Fitzwilliam smirked and asked Elizabeth to cut the
linen into strips. Darcy’s manservant, Ferguson, who was near helping with the
gentlemen’s things, assisted her in the task of preparing the bandages.
“Excuse me, sir,” Ferguson gave them the strips.
“There is a woman in the village that is known for her ability to heal
with medicinal plants. As there is no doctor on the island and, given the
nature of Mr. Darcy’s wound, I thought that she might be of help.”
“A witch
doctor?” inquired the Colonel,
slightly amused. “I never thought my aunt would allow one of those at
Rosings.”
“Well,” Ferguson doubted, “Her Ladyship was not
aware of her skills. As you well know, she was not fond of such unchristian
practices on her estate, though, in this case, I see no harm if we try some of
this … pagan medicine. I strongly recommend her, sir,
Her methods are known to be very effective.”
“We have nothing to lose. Go
fetch her.”
Ferguson left and the Colonel asked Elizabeth to come closer.
“Miss Bennet, I am no longer
needed here. Please take care of my cousin until the other lady arrives. He
will enjoy your company much better than mine.” Elizabeth sat on the seat that the Colonel had
just vacated and took Darcy’s hand that Fitzwilliam placed in hers. “Keep
this cloth pressed against the palm.”
Elizabeth did what she was asked but, in her
nervousness, she pressed it a bit too hard, making Darcy gasp and jump on his
seat.
“I am so sorry.” she
quickly said.
“Gently,” smiled the Colonel.
“Have the ladies already retired to their rooms? My cousin Ann, is she
all right?”
“Yes, sir,” replied she,
“I accompanied her to her room after she finished her breakfast. I
believe she is already asleep.”
“Good.” Addressing his
cousin, Fitzwilliam said, “Take a rest, Darcy, you look exhausted. I will
return to the manor to see that everything is done according to our orders. I
will be back at noon.”
“Aye, be careful.” Darcy
nodded.
The Colonel left the room, leaving
Darcy and Elizabeth in an awkward and rather uncomfortable position. They had
not exchanged a word since the passionate kiss they shared barely three hours
ago and here they were, in Hunsford’s kitchen, holding hands, both at a loss
of what the other might be thinking of that formidable –and extremely
inappropriate- event. Were they only carried away by the intensity of the
circumstances? Was it only a moment of
weakness in the midst of so much tragedy? Neither wanted to believe that that
had been the case, for they knew their own sentiments to be heartfelt. Still,
as not a single word had been said on the matter and the uncertainty of ignoring
the other’s feelings was making them quite shy of each other. Elizabeth’s
reluctance to meet his eyes made Darcy think that his actions might have
offended her while she was convinced that the gentleman believed her an easy
woman for throwing herself in his arms in that manner. And with two servants
around them to hear every word they said, it was not the most appropriate time
to discuss it.
Darcy cleared his throat. “How
is Mrs. Collins? She is showing great strength under the circumstances.”
“Oh, yes, though I am sure
that on the inside she is devastated. Everything had been so sudden that she has
not had the time to realize the dimension of what had just happened.”
“I assume she will return to
Meryton.”
“She has expressed that wish,
yes.”
Elizabeth remained silent and shifted on her
seat as she pondered if she should express the subject that was troubling her. The
noise of the maid cleaning some pans behind her convinced her otherwise.
“You look so very tired. You
should follow the Colonel’s advice and rest,” she finally said.
He smiled at her. “I cannot
recall the time when I last slept.”
“It was a very brave thing you
did; trying to save Mr. Collins’ life, for undeserving it was, at the
risk of your own.”
Darcy’s expression darkened.
“It is my belief that every soul is worthy of being saved and that every
man deserves the chance to defend himself.”
“But he killed your aunt; he
tried to kill your cousin!” Elizabeth
looked up at him. “How could he defend himself from that?”
“He cannot now that he is
dead.”
Elizabeth was surprised that he was
expressing such doubts. “Do you think Charlotte might have been mistaken, that your
cousin lied? You were the last one to see him alive … did he say something
that makes you believe he was innocent?”
“No, his words made no sense to me. Nothing
that he said can either confirm his guilt or his innocence.” Darcy
shuddered as he recalled the moments prior to Mr. Collins’ death; his
disturbing words, his fingers slipping from his hand, the image of his body
hitting the rocks. “There was such terror in his eyes; such madness, that
I do not know what to believe.”
“It must have been a horrible
experience.” Elizabeth
said softly.
“It was.”
She fell silent, not willing to
discuss such a disturbing matter any longer. The man whose hand she was holding
was in no different state. But the silence, the contact of their hands turned
their thoughts to the other subject that had been torturing them.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy broke the
silence, “I must apologize for my conduct last night. I fear I may have
imposed on you; that I might have offended you and I offer you my most sincere
apology for my inappropriate behaviour.”
Elizabeth flushed and could not meet his
eyes. “No sir, you are not to blame. You were hurt, and in danger. It was
my conduct that was highly reproachable, I should never have …”
“No, please,” Darcy
raised his other hand to her cheek and made her look at him, “do not
torture yourself. If I should blame someone, it is myself for allowing my feelings to …”
The door flung open and the couple
pulled apart. Ferguson
burst into the room with a middle aged woman at his heels.
“Mr. Darcy,” the
manservant approached them. “Mrs. Smith is here to see you.”
Elizabeth left the seat to give room to the
other woman. Mrs. Smith sat and removed the cloth wrapped around Darcy’s
hand. She studied the hand carefully and gently touched the palm with the back
of her fingers.
“The wound is clean, but warm.
The infection is already beginning.” She turned the hand over to examine
the other cuts and inspected Darcy’s fingernails. “These two will
fall, but they’ll grow again. You must not worry.” She stated,
looking at her patient. “You are a young, healthy man, you will heal
nicely.”
Darcy was not in the position to
comment or object so he submitted to the woman’s cares.
“You are Lady
Catherine’s nephew.” She said a moment later. The gentleman
assented. “You were hurt at Rosings, during the fire.”
This time, Darcy only glanced at Ferguson and assumed that
the man servant had informed Mrs. Smith of what just occurred. Surely the
entire village was commenting on the event.
With her eyes fixed on Darcy’s
palm, she continued in a slow, even tone. “You faced death twice this
night. Someone else’s, then your own. The Lord
protects those who are brave and loyal and you were saved. But your heart is still restless. You must
not allow tears to deceive you and courage should not confuse you. It will take
time but the truth will come to you.”
Darcy had never been superstitious
but this woman’s words were too close to his thoughts to take them
lightly. Mrs. Smith rose to retrieve a
mortar from her bag, where she also produced some herbs. She smashed the mix
until she obtained a pasty ointment. “Are there other wounded ones? Send
them to my house. The mistress does not allow my medicine at Rosings.”
“You must not worry on that
account.” Darcy stated. “Lady Catherine passed on two days
ago.”
The woman nodded and returned to her
seat with the mortar. She anointed part of the contents over Darcy’s palm
and his other wounds. “I knew the red dawn would bring tragedy.”
The gentleman shifted on his chair,
not because the woman’s ministrations caused him pain but because her
words disturbed him. “You can go to the manor to help the injured ones,
you have my consent. Though I believe everyone escaped the fire without being
seriously hurt.”
Mrs. Smith smiled at him and
proceeded to carefully wrap the white linen around his hand. “This
contains the blue mould, it will stop the infection. You must do this every
morning, for five days, and change the bandages for clean ones every time. Once
the skin is completely attached, you can leave it uncovered, so the scar can
dry. If you are in pain or feverish, drink some tea made of willow crust. That
will help you. I will not tell you to come to see me in a few days, for you
will be gone very soon.”
Darcy only raised his eyebrow.
“I will leave you now. Your
lady will take care of you.”
The couple looked at each other, Elizabeth blushing, Darcy
slightly amused. While Mrs. Smith was putting her things away, Darcy extracted
some coins from his breast pocket and attempted to give them to her.
“Thank you, madam,” said
he, “for your services.”
“No, no. I cannot take your
money.” she refused to take it. “It is my duty to cure the ill. Good
day.”
Mrs. Smith was gone and Darcy
instructed Ferguson
to send a basket with food to the woman’s house later the day. The events
of the previous night had tired them out and Ferguson, seeing his master so worn and
exhausted, told him that his room was ready and urged him to go upstairs to
refresh himself and rest. Darcy, as grateful as he was for his
manservant’s solicitousness, had no choice but to postpone his
conversation with Miss Bennet until the appropriate time came. Nonetheless, he
offered his arm to the lady and escorted her to her door.
“Have a good rest, my lady,” Darcy kissed her hand.
“Thank you,” she smiled.
“You too, sir.”