Darcy was inclined to berate her for her foolishness, but he changed his mind at seeing the embarrassed look on her face. She did not raise her head to look at him, but even with that and her bonnet brim, he could see her pink cheeks. He stood next to her, in the middle of the street by the gate, for a long moment.How could I understand what she feels like living with a fatal disease?
“Tell me,” he said quietly, “what did you intend to spite more: your ailing heart or me?”
“I was equally cross about both.” She finally looked at him, and he was struck by how genuinely sad she looked. “Sometimes the unjustness of it, the anger I feel, my time being cut short ...” She gave him a bashful smile. “My resentment of one led me to lash out at the other. I am sorry.”
Her spirit was wonderful, even if they both knew her strength was not to last. He could not allow losing his patience—however justified it was—and her recklessness to lead to acrimony. They must make up. Where before his temper might have led him to harbour resentment for a while, they no longer had the luxury of time.
“Well, Mrs Darcy, I suppose I shall have to go against my natural inclination and forgive you now.”
She gave a little relieved laugh and leant her head against his shoulder. Darcy repressed the desire to embrace her, and then he noticed her arm was still through the gate. Her wrist rested awkwardly in the space formed by the steep angle of the diagonal brace, a picket, and a rail. It was a narrow space, but she had a light figure—yet she kept her wrist through the gate.
“Is your arm trapped?” he cried incredulously.
Her cheeks turned redder. “There is a nail that holds the brace to that picket; when I put my arm through quickly to grip the gate to try to swing, my wrist caught on it. It is wedged in place, and it hurts dreadfully to try to pull my arm out.”
Darcy took off his hat to lean closer, while Elizabeth shifted to theside as much as she could with her right arm trapped straight. A wrought iron nail that had gone through the brace was jutting into the triangle of space between the rail, the picket, and the brace. It had pierced the sleeve of her spencer, and blood seeped through. The diagonal brace prevented her from lifting her arm off the nail, and she would mangle her arm if she tried to force it out.
“I have fair reason to assume you will be thought an eccentric now, Mrs Darcy.” Part of him wanted to laugh as much as another part of him wanted to tell her how foolish she was.
“An eccentric? What a catchall phrase for someone who acts unexpectedly.” Darcy could tell that the courage in her voice was forced. A few people pointed and stared as they passed along the pedestrian path, and she turned her head away. “Perhaps everyone in Meryton will not think too ill of me?” Her voiced lifted hopefully.
“Because they have not been inclined to gossip and judge in the past?” He could not trust she truly believed that. “Oh, theywillthink you are an eccentric, but your sole concern has been that your family and friends never learn of your heart ailment, and that I never acknowledge it. For the sake of your good reputation, it is fortunate we are soon to leave Meryton.”
“What a heavy burden a good reputation is,” she sighed.
Darcy thought of all he had done to preserve the virtuous reputation of Georgiana Darcy. “Yes,” he said quietly, “yes, it is.” He was tempted to kiss away her small frown, but he supposed it would be unwelcome. He pulled at the rail, and then rattled the pickets and the brace, but he could not dislodge any of them.
“We must get the toll collector to find a carpenter to remove either the brace or the nail.” A milk maid with two buckets across her shoulders turned sideways to go through the pedestrian path, and she giggled loudly. Elizabeth gave a small whimper of frustration. “While we wait for a carpenter, the toll collector can at least unlock the gate and swing you out of the way of any traffic. You will get to swing on the toll gate again after all.”
Elizabeth craned her neck to see behind her, and when she could not, she untied her bonnet with one hand and tossed it to the ground next to his hat. The boys who had been playing ball ran past withshrieks of amusement when they realised a lady had her arm trapped through the gate. “Oh, why has the toll collector not come out yet?” she whimpered.
“He has gone to the Crown since the mail coach has already come,” one of them called. “He asked us to fetch him if any carriages or horses came.”
“You had best run along and tell him he is wanted,” Elizabeth replied.
“But there is no one wanting to pay the toll, just a foolish lady with her?—”
“Young man, this lady needs our help. And you are a gentlemanly young man, are you not?” Darcy spoke polite words but in a tone that brooked no opposition. The boy nodded solemnly. “This lady needs you to bring the toll collector and a carpenter, and if you do it quickly, there is a thruppence for your trouble.”
Appealing to both his better nature and his pocket had an immediate effect, and the boy left his friends and ran down the street. Darcy turned back to the nail. It was pointing in the same direction she had pushed her arm through, and if she pulled back, it would only tear her flesh further. “Mrs Darcy, if I can bend the nail, could you slide your arm back out? I doubt it would injure you more than you already are if I push the nail forward.”
“Please do try. I feel ridiculous standing here whilst all of Meryton gawks at me.”
“You are fixed to a locked gate; you cannot blame them!” The anger was gone from his voice, and he laughed at the absurdity.
She gave him a rueful smile. “How shall you bend the nail?”
He needed some tool for leverage. “Have you your little silver knife?”
Elizabeth awkwardly raised her left hand to hold out the reticule around her wrist. Darcy was struck by how disappointed he was that gowns no longer had pockets and he need not reach through the pocket slit under her skirt to reach it. He blushed at the thought.
“Are you hot? It is a rather warm day.”
Darcy made an indeterminate sound and focused his attention on the iron nail. The blade of Elizabeth’s penknife would soon bend underthe pressure. He edged the nail forward, but Elizabeth winced, and he stopped.
“No, no, I am no worse. Keep trying.”
“Are you certain?”
