Miss Bingley drew on the link and began to braid the threads of magic together into a circular rope. She tied the ends together and the circle enclosed them and started to shimmer.
Tentatively, Miss Bingley gathered the magic threads from all of them and turned them into a single thread. She pulled the thread towards Jane and began to stitch the edges of her wound together. Elizabeth could feel the wrongness of the woodenbarb inside her sister. It repelled Miss Bingley’s attempts. The Healing thread tore more than once, but Miss Bingley persisted, wielding the thread over and over, like a young lady embroidering a complex pattern, the stitches forming close together, then overlapping. It was painstaking work, but Miss Bingley kept working patiently, never pausing.
“The wound is beginning to seal,” said Darcy.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth was struggling. It was becoming physically painful to hold the Link. Her head was pounding so hard she could hardly see in front of her. Healing magic was not her Talent and it required too much magic. Regardless, Elizabeth gritted her teeth and held onto the Link, knowing her sister’s life was at stake.
Then just as Elizabeth’s head felt as if it was going to explode, Miss Bingley slumped to the ground, and the braids of magic unraveled. Gray shadows gathered around her. She vaguely felt Darcy’s arm holding her up, and she fell into nothingness.
Elizabeth awoke to the swaying of a carriage. She felt intensely confused as she tried to get her bearings.
“Ah, at last!” Miss King sounded relieved.
“Jane?” Elizabeth managed to croak.
“We managed to stop the bleeding.”
Elizabeth found herself squeezed in between Miss King and Miss Bingley, who was fast asleep.
Jane was in the opposite seat, propped up by pillows and covered by a blanket. Mr. Bingley was crammed into the space between the two seats on the floor, hugging his knees, watching over her.
“Jane has not woken up?”
“No.” It was Mr. Bingley who answered.
It was a silly question. The answer was perfectly obvious, born from a desperate desire for good news. Elizabeth was disoriented and hungry, after expanding so much energy, but her throat was so dry, she was not sure she would be capable of swallowing anything.
“Where is Papa?”
“He and the other gentlemen are riding.”
Except for Bingley, clearly. He must have seen Elizabeth looking at him, because he spoke up. “I hope I am not intruding,” said Bingley. “But I could not possibly stay away.”
“I understand.” Her gaze went to her sister. Was this how Darcy felt when she was injured during the attack on Founder’s Hall? Only now did she appreciate how much he must have suffered.
She would have to ask him about it.
“It might be better not to mention this to the Council.” She indicated his position on the floor, laughing weakly at the irony of it. So much time spent trying to stop a single gentleman from accompanying the young ladies, yet here he was, squeezed in between them all.
“I suppose not,” He gave a listless smile.
Elizabeth looked out of the window. She had no idea where they were. It was pitch dark outside, with no village lights in sight.
“So did you determine where we are going?”
“Yes,” said Miss King. “Mr. Darcy managed to convince us that Rosings is our best option. It is reasonably close, comfortable, and his aunt will have access to some excellent Healers.”
So, they were going to Rosings after all! Elizabeth had wanted to meet Darcy’s aunt, and now she had her wish, but under the worst possible conditions.
Chapter 15
They stopped to change horses in an old Tudor inn in Oldham. Elizabeth was glad to stretch her legs after the cramped, overcrowded carriage. Mr. Bingley stayed in the stable yard, urging the ostler to hurry.
Despite the unfavorable circumstances, Elizabeth wanted to make a good impression on Lady Catherine. After all, she was the closest Darcy had to a mother. Elizabeth imagined she must resemble Lord Matlock, high-handed in dealing with others, but ultimately fair.
Partly to distract herself, and partly out of curiosity, Elizabeth used the opportunity to ask Darcy some questions.
"What kind of a mage is your aunt?"
