Chapter 4
Matlock Townhouse,London
The makeshift Healer’s Hall that had been set up at Matlock House in London was incongruously situated in the ballroom. Ten mages and two members of the household staff occupied it, most of them with burns or wounds from the falling debris that hit Founder’s Hall.
Bingley was here as well. Darcy had arranged for him to be transported here first, along with the two other Warders who had been injured. Fortunately, Miss Bingley had been mistaken, but she had not been wrong about Bingley’s magic. There was no trace of it at all and the two other Warders were suffering from the same problem.
Darcy had gone over the House Wards several times, making sure they were airtight. There were mages on duty around the clock, watching for any sign of trouble. Almost everyone had been moved out of Founder’s Hall. The French had not attacked again that day, but it was almost certain they would be back. The Royal Mages had taken up residence at various homes across London. It was a temporary measure until the Council decided on their next move.
Darcy tried to spend as much time as he could with Bingley, but that did not amount to much. Most of the day Darcy had other duties in Town. Wards around Whitehall and the Parliament had to be reinforced as usual, and there was a huge demand for Wards among the higher-born members of Society. Word had spread of the attack, and people were understandably nervous about staying in Town. With many of the other mages busy with repairs at Founder’s Hall, much of the burden of shoring the Wards up fell on Darcy’s shoulders.
At least when he worked on private homes, it enriched the coffers of the Royal Mages. It was his only consolation as he wore himself thin.
Darcy jerked up as he caught himself swaying on his chair. He forced himself to wake up, battling exhaustion. There was no point in sitting at Bingley’s side if he was going to be asleep. He had no idea whether Bingley was even aware of him. There was no sign that he was, but Darcy hoped that somewhere deep inside, Bingley derived some comfort from it.
He wished he could do the same for the other two mages, but they were placed at the other end of the room. Mr. and Miss Walton were brother and sister, and concerns over propriety meant that Darcy could not spend time in close proximity to the lady. It was just as well. He knew Walton well, since it was Darcy who had suggested him for Elizabeth’s team, but Miss Walton had just completed her training at the Academy and had joined the Royal Mages when Darcy was away. It was sheer bad luck that she was training with her brother and Bingley when Elizabeth had linked with them.
Darcy had reacted joyfully to Lady Hazelmere’s initial announcement that Mr. Bingley was still alive. Since then, he was no longer quite as sanguine. The Healers had set up several Healing Circles for the three Warders, but in the three days since they were injured, they had not responded at all.
There was something particularly poignant about having Bingley immobile in a ballroom. Bingley loved dancing, and the glittering crystal chandelier above him seemed to mock his inertness. Darcy promised himself that if Bingley recovered, he would arrange to have the largest ball the Royal Mages had seen for many years. He would spare no expense if it meant having Bingley on his feet and healthy again.
It was a promise rooted in guilt. If he had not gone off in a fit of pique at the Council’s treatment of Elizabeth, he would have been at Founder’s Hall when it was attacked, and Bingley would not be lying here now.
It was a particularly bitter way to learn the lesson that he could not afford to let his emotions rule his actions.
***
ELIZABETH FOUND DARCYsitting on a chair next to Bingley’s bedside at the Healer’s Hall, his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. His bleak expression twisted her heart. She had known Mr. Bingley only for a short time – a mere few weeks, really—but he was such a cheerful, buoyant person, and he had been the first to make her feel welcome when she first arrived. It would be tragic if he did not survive.
The ballroom was dark, with only a handful of candlesticks lighting up the large space. The grand chandelier in the middle was unlit. The room was silent and empty, the mirrors on the walls full of shadows.
She walked over to Darcy, her footsteps echoing despite her efforts to weave her way quietly through the neat rows of beds.
Darcy gave her a pale smile as she reached him.
“Why is there no one on duty?”
“I told the Healers I would keep watch and let them know if any of the patients needed them. They have gone to find some food.”
Elizabeth bent over and wrapped her arms around Darcy, doing her best to let him know he was not alone. He sighed and leaned back into the embrace, but his gaze was fixed on Bingley.
“They are saying he may never recover.”
She heard the fear and grief in the words.
“I refuse to believe it. It is too early to reach that conclusion. Perhaps he has simply gone into hiding like I did. Hard to imagine I was like him not so very long ago. Look at me now.”
He brought her right hand to his lips.
“And I am unbelievably thankful for that.”
The memory of Darcy casting a strange singsong spell on her floated into her mind. He had helped her emerge from the cocoon she had woven around herself. They had not yet talked about it, so she did not know if that memory was real, or a part of a dream. One day, she would ask him.
“Well, if I could do it, so could he.”
Darcy let her hand drop.
“That is what I hoped at the beginning, but the Healers say the situations are very different. In your case, they knew what the problem was. You had overused your magic, and you were too exhausted to remove the defenses you had set up. You set up your Wards too well, and they were unable to break through them. Bingley’s case is different. They cannot even tell if he is there. There is a sense of blankness to him they have never encountered before. They are perplexed.”
