Fitzwilliam smirked and asked Elizabeth to cut the linen into strips. Ferguson, who had been assisting, helped her prepare the bandages.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” the manservant interjected. “There is a healer in the village. She may be of help.”
“A healer?” The colonel raised a brow. “I never fathomed my aunt would allow such a woman near Rosings.”
“The old mistress did not know of her.”
“Go fetch her.”
Ferguson left, and Fitzwilliam turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, I am no longer needed here. Pray stay with my cousin until the healer arrives. I am certain he will enjoy your company far more than mine.”
Darcy shifted uncomfortably as Elizabeth took the seat across from him.
Left alone, he lingered with Elizabeth in silence. His thoughts strayed to the night before—the way she had come to him, the tenderness in her touch as her hand brushed his face. Compassion, surely—yet could it have been more? She sat so still now. Was she thinking of it too? Their eyes met briefly, a smile flickered and was gone, yet the words remained unspoken—he could not dare to reach too far into her heart.
He cleared his throat. “How is Mrs. Collins? She is showing great strength given what happened last night.”
“Indeed, though I am sure that inside, she is devastated.”
“I presume she will return to Meryton.”
“She has expressed that wish, yes.” She was quiet for a long moment. “You were incredibly brave, sir, trying to save Mr. Collins’s life, despite all he had done, and at the risk of your own.”
“Every soul is worthy of salvation, and every man deserves the chance to account for his actions—even those deemed undeserving by others.”
“But he murdered your aunt, and he tried to kill your cousin!” Elizabeth’s voice was tight with emotion. “What defence could he possibly have for that?”
“None now that he is dead,” Darcy said grimly. "Justice is no longer his to claim or defend."
She lifted her brows at his words. “Do you think Charlotte might have been mistaken; that your cousin lied?"
"I do not doubt my cousin’s fear was real, nor the danger she faced. But whether Collins was truly behind everything. . . That I cannot say with certainty.”
"You were the last to see him alive. Did he say anything that made you question his guilt?”
“I do not know. His final words were like a riddle to me. He seemed beyond reason.”
A quiet stillness settled between them. The cook had just walked outside, presumably to fetch more water. Darcy became acutely aware of Elizabeth’s touch—his hand resting in hers, warm and steady. There was a gentleness in her grasp, an unspoken reassurance that stirred a quiet hope within him. He drew in a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak.
“Miss Bennet, what happened last night. . . you must. . .”
The door flung open and Ferguson walked in, followed by a middle-aged woman.
The healer, who Ferguson introduced as Mrs. Smith, wasted no time in examining his injuries. She sat down and studied them carefully, her fingers tracing lightly over his palm.
“The wound’s clean, but it’s warm. Infection’s started.” She turned his hand, inspecting the broken nail. “This’ll fall off. It’ll grow back. Don’t fret, sir. You’re strong. You’ll mend.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow, sceptical of something that sounded almost a premonition. Her next words surprised him even more.
"You brushed death twice last night," Mrs. Smith began, her voice low and steady. "Once by fate’s cruel hand, and once by your own doing.”
He imparted a glance towards Ferguson, wondering what the man might have said to her, but Ferguson was listening attentively to the woman’s words.
“The island don’t let go easy, sir,” she continued. “Those who stay got reasons, and those who leave take ghosts with ’em. But your heart’s uneasy. Questions rattlin’ round in your head like a bad wind. Be careful. Truth ain't always a kindness, and when it comes knockin’, you best be ready to face it.”
A chill ran through him. A rational man, Darcy had never been prone to fancy, yet her words struck with unsettling familiarity, as though she had drawn them straight from his own thoughts. Standing in this forsaken place, he found it harder than ever to dismiss the weight of such omens. He had spent his life reasoning away superstition, yet now, doubt whispered at the edges of his mind.
“Other injured ones?" Mrs. Smith enquired. "I can tend to them.”
