“No. That I will not.” I turned to Mrs Annesley. “I am aware that in our haste to leave Pemberley, there may have been things that were left behind. Send for anything you need, ma’am. I do not know how long you will have to stay, but I trust it will not be long.”
“Will you write to us? I cannot stay here willingly without news.”
“I will write to you every day, dearest.” I dropped a kiss on Georgiana’s forehead before I left the room. So desperate was her concern for Elizabeth, my own risk in returning did not cross my sister’s mind, and I, though aware of it, cared even less.
“Do not spare the horses,” I shouted to my coachman as I came out of the inn, still putting on my gloves.
Of the furious ride back to Pemberley, I recollected nothing of the road or the weather. I relived my mother’s death, my father’s death, and my grandfather’s death before that. I pieced together hazy memories of my uncle Lewis de Bourgh’s passing when I was ten, of my friend Hadley’s sister’s death from childbed fever, of Richard’s friend, JohnDelaney, who died in agony from a sabre wound in the Duomo Valley. I fell into a most morbid reverie until we neared my home.
Seeing my land from the hillside as we descended the escarpment, I shook off those dark musings and told myself I would find Mrs Darcy much recovered and be heartily ashamed of having terrified myself with my imagination. But Harrison greeted me solemnly at the door. The house was silent as a tomb, and I knew then that she was no better.
“How is she faring?”
“Mr Yardley is with her, Mr Darcy.”
As I took the stairs, I saw a hollow-eyed boy hovering in the hall and heard my butler say, “Go back to the kitchen, John. There is nothing to be done.”
Mrs Reynolds stood outside the mistress’ suite, and so I stood there as well. I did not know what to do with my arms, and I paced wretchedly to and fro until Yardley came out of the room with his bag in hand.
“Darcy,” he said to me in a sober greeting.
“Is she no better?”
“I am afraid she is not.”
“What is your opinion?”
He shook his head. “She is feverish. We can only hope it does not progress, or that she does not now suffer pneumonia. There exists such a variety of illnesses of which we know nothing.” He looked at me directly, saying more with his eyes than he could speak aloud. “She still takes liquids,” he said, striving for a note of hopefulness, “so I do not despair.”
“But?”
“If she stops taking liquids, then she cannot survive.” He turned to Mrs Reynolds. “Sweetened tea, lemonade, andbroth, ma’am. Unpalatable and bitter teas will not induce her to drink, and our remedies must be forgotten for now.”
Mrs Reynolds put her handkerchief to her lips, dipped a curtsey, and hurried away.
“Will you not stay? I will have a room readied for you.”
Yardley pulled a note out of his pocket with two fingers in a kind of salute. “The midwife urgently calls for me. There is a difficult delivery in Lambton. I will return when I can. Meanwhile, Mrs Darcy’s maid is a competent nurse. In truth, there is nothing more I can do at present.”
I know not how long I stood in the corridor outside my wife’s room before I went to my own. The hours dragged by. I ate something but could not taste it. I did not even pretend to read. I went to the window and looked out at the night, seeing nothing. I listened for sounds from the other room in a suspended state. Romney arrived. I took off my coat and waistcoat, but I would not go to bed. After my valet left me, I went to the adjoining door, unlocked it, and without hesitation opened it to the anteroom that separated our apartments. I knocked softly on my wife’s door—twice.
“Is there aught you need, Wilson?” I asked when the maid finally opened the door to me.
“No, sir. Mrs Reynolds has brought what the doctor suggested.”
“We will leave this door open. If she worsens, you will wake me, though I do not plan to sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
I drowsed by the fire in a chair when a slight noise startled me. In an instant I was in Mrs Darcy’s room. My wife was thrashing, and Wilson worked to soothe her.
“What is to be done?” I asked, going to the opposite side of the bed to help restrain my wife.
Wilson only looked at me. After a moment, she said, “She is very tender, sir. Perhaps some warm liniment on her back will soothe her.”
“Go. I will stay with her.”
My wife struggled, trying to free herself from her blankets as though they were chains holding her down. “Be still,” I said to her over and over, both hands constantly in motion as I tried to keep her from harming herself as she flailed against me. Wilson arrived, and I thought nothing of helping my wife to sit up, of holding her arms as Wilson untied her nightgown and exposed her back.
