“No, most of the servants came out unscathed,” Elizabeth interjected. “But there are four deaths to lament, only one related to the fire.”
The woman shook her head grimly. “I knew the red dawn would bring tragedy.”
She prepared an herbal ointment and applied it to Darcy’s wounds. The salve was thick and dark, cool against his skin, and offered immediate relief. “This will stop the infection. Keep it covered for five days. On the sixth, remove the bandage so the scar may dry.”
He nodded. As she stood, Mrs. Smith smiled. “Go rest, sir. Your lady will take care of you.”
The couple exchanged glances; Elizabeth with a bashful smile, Darcy slightly amused.
After Mrs. Smith departed, Darcy instructed Ferguson to send a basket of food to her home later that day. The events of the previous night had drained him, and Ferguson, seeing his master’s exhaustion, urged him to rest. Reluctantly, Darcy postponed his conversation with Elizabeth for another time.
Nonetheless, he offered his arm and attended her to her door.
“Sleep well, my lady,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hand.
Elizabeth smiled. “You too, sir.”
Chapter 17 – A New Dawn?
Hunsford Parsonage was crowded to the brim. Every chamber had been claimed, and even Charlotte’s private parlour had been pressed into service to house Rosings’ displaced guests. Servants hurried to and fro, attending not only to the family’s immediate needs but also to the steady stream of neighbours and villagers who arrived with condolences and offers of assistance in whatever way the household might require.
The first ones to come downstairs were Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Neither had breakfasted, so they asked a servant to send a light meal to Mr. Collins’s library, where Fitzwilliam informed his cousin of the latest news.
“Part of the eastern wing gave way, and some parts were still smouldering when I left the house. Half of the main gallery and everything below is now a pile of rubble. What still stands is too dangerous to enter. There is too great a risk it might fall in. Perhaps in a week or two, we might get in and see what was saved.”
“The servant quarters as well?” Darcy leaned back in the armchair, still tired despite the few hours of rest.
“Most of it. Also the kitchen and the cellars. Thank God no one was trapped inside.”
The colonel gave his cousin a brief account of what had not been damaged by the fire and what precautions had been taken to preserve it. Rosings was not an overly luxuriousestate like Matlock House or Pemberley, but it still housed some costly treasures within its five-hundred-year-old walls.
“What of the servants? Where are they going to stay?”
“Those with family on the island were sent home. The others are in the barn and the stables. Only a few of them will remain at the manor, guarding what is still there. I fear most of them shall be dismissed from service sooner or later.”
Darcy assented. “If Anne does not mind, I would like to take Ferguson with me when I leave. In the days he has served me, he has shown great discernment. I could find him a position at Pemberley or at the London town house.”
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. “Rather unpolished for a man in town service, would you not say?”
“Perhaps. But if you are now wearing my clothes and not the parson’s, it is because Ferguson was fearless enough to go in and save most of my belongings at the risk of his own life.” He pointed at the colonel’s attire. “They seem a bit tight at the withers, though. You should consider skipping scones next time.”
The colonel chuckled. “Then I shall thank him appropriately.”
Darcy paused, trying to dispel the fog of exhaustion clouding his discernment. He had too many decisions to make, and was far from clear-headed.
“Lady Catherine’s steward must return soon. Someone needs to manage the estate until then.”
“That is one of many letters we must pen,” Fitzwilliam replied. “The entire family must be notified of what has happened. I have no orders to return to the regiment yet, so I can handle the management of the estate until it is all sorted. I can request an extension, if necessary.”
“Anne will need all the help we can offer,” Darcy said. “Perhaps she can be taken to town or Matlock, whichever your father decides is best. A change of scenery could do her good. Anywhere far from Rosings, where she might escape the shadows of what has happened.”
His cousin sighed. “She will never consent to it. Knowing Anne, she would rather stay and rebuild—make something new out of all this ruin. In the meantime, we might live in one of the cottages. In the meadow or perhaps the one by the beach.”
“We?” Darcy’s brows lifted. “You two are to be married?”
“That is our wish, yes. I have sent a note to the nearest parish informing them of Collins’s death and requesting a vicar to come and perform the ceremony.”
“But what of your father? He is her appointed guardian now that Lady Catherine is gone. What if he objects?”
