The apparition snapped its head up, fixed its beautiful dark eyes directly upon him and gasped. Darcy’s heart leapt into his mouth. His breath came too fast, his legs felt not his own. “Elizabeth?”
Her face showed confusion and surprise, her hand came up to her chest, and she stepped towards him—and tripped. Events unfolded protractedly, as though in a dream, yet too quickly for Darcy to act upon any of them. With mounting horror, he watched Elizabeth stumble forward and cry out. Somebody—Bingley—appeared and called her name. Not Miss Bennet, nor even Miss Elizabeth, butLizzy. Darcy’s heart screamed its protest as Bingley gathered her to him, and she looked up at him and smiled.
He had been mistaken. Elizabeth was alive—and in Bingley’s arms.
WHIMS AND INCONSISTENCIES
Saturday 23 May 1812, Hertfordshire
The room was stillat last. The apothecary was gone, the maid sent for more firewood. Her younger sisters were downstairs, her mother abed. Her father was closeted in his library with Colonel Forster, the magistrate and Mr Bingley. Elizabeth lay unmoving on the bed, her eyes not quite closed and the whites visible between her lashes. The ugly welt on her cheek darkened along with the receding daylight.
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane whispered. “How could he do this to you?”
Silence was the only answer. Tears came and would not stop. She held her sister’s hand and spoke of childhood memories and nonsense—things that would commonly have made Elizabeth laugh but now raised not a murmur. She attempted to spoon some water into Elizabeth’s mouth, but she would not swallow. She sang, half the words replaced with sobs, but she sang nonetheless for the sister she loved so dearly. Nothing worked. Elizabeth did not awaken.
“Pray, Lizzy, wake up,” she begged. “Lizzy? Lizzy!”
The name sounded loud in the quiet of the room. Just as it had when Mr Bingley shouted it upon falling to his knees beside Elizabeth in the middle of Meryton’s High Street.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, ashamed to haveeven noticed at such a moment. Yet closing her eyes only recalled to her the image of Mr Bingley tenderly cradling Elizabeth in his arms as he bore her home and the distress etched upon his countenance as he laid her reverently upon the bed.
Her eyes flew open, and she blinked furiously, struggling to suppress a surge of resentment. His concern was reasonable. He would have to be the most unfeeling of creaturesnotto be distressed by such a circumstance.Shewould have to be the most unfeeling of creatures to begrudge her sister anybody’s compassion as she lay wounded and unconscious.
Try as she might, however, Jane could not dismiss the voice that whisperedthatwas precisely the problem. If, even when unconscious, Elizabeth had more power to attract Mr Bingley’s notice than she, how was she ever to compete?
Monday 25 May 1812, Hertfordshire
None of the Bennets attended church on Sunday, and Bingley passed the day in a harrowing state of suspense awaiting news from Longbourn that never arrived. Over and again, his mind’s eye showed him Wickham seizing Elizabeth, shouting at her, driving his fist into her temple ’til she collapsed to the ground—all before he was able to reach her. Over and again, he agonised over the memory of Wickham importuning her at the last assembly. Why had he not done morethento protect her? It was as a result of his inaction that Elizabeth was suffering thus, and guilt threatened to overwhelm him.
He called at Longbourn at a barely respectable hour on Monday, desperate for better news, but such relief was not to be had. Miss Bennet was tending to Elizabeth; thus, Mr Bennet received him in his library. His haggard countenance told Bingley all he needed to know of Elizabeth’s condition even before it was confirmed that she had not yet awoken. They spent some time in discussion of events, joined after half an hour by Colonel Forster, who brought the unhelpful news that Wickham remained at large.
“Who is it?” Mr Bennet said curtly when there came a second knock at the door.
“Papa, Mr Oates wishes to see you,” Miss Bennet answered.
Bingley’s insides jumped. He had not spoken to her properly since Saturday’s unpleasantness and found himself suddenly eager for ameasure of her sweet serenity. He stood, as did they all, when she came in. Her lovely countenance lit up with tired but happy surprise upon seeing him, easing his disquiet considerably. He returned her smile, but the moment was broken when the apothecary came in behind her, his expression severe.
“What news?” Mr Bennet enquired.
“The swelling appears reduced,” Mr Oates replied. “But that is no longer my primary concern.” He paused, glancing hesitantly at the other occupants of the room.
“Never mind them,” Mr Bennet grumbled. “Let us have it.”
“As you wish. Mr Bennet, your daughter has taken little or no fluids for above six-and-thirty hours. Unless she awakens and drinks something soon, she cannot survive.”
“Good God!”
Bingley assumed Mr Bennet had spoken thus until he noticed everybody peering in his direction. Miss Bennet let out a small sob and ran from the room. With all colour drained from his countenance, Mr Bennet muttered an invitation for Bingley and Colonel Forster to stay and finish their coffee then went after his daughter, nodding for the apothecary to follow.
“Wickham might well swing if she dies,” Colonel Forster said once they were gone.
Bingley’s guts twisted upon themselves. He sat heavily back in his chair. Elizabeth could notdie!
“If they ever catch him,” the colonel added.
“I ought to have gone after him,” Bingley said apologetically. “Only my first thought was for Miss Elizabeth.”
“I understand entirely. It cannot have been a pretty thing to witness.”
