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CHAPTER 25

No Ordinary Accident

By morning Elizabeth had discovered that the surgeon's assurances and the body's willingness to be assured were two entirely different matters. Her forehead throbbed whenever she frowned, her left shoulder objected to the smallest movement, and the bruises along her ribs made laughter an undertaking to be considered before it was attempted.

Richard entered the farmhouse parlour with a tray and the air of a man carrying dispatches through enemy territory.

"Mother has sent directions, which I am reliably informed are to be obeyed," he said. "There is broth. There is bread. There is a very severe note concerning rest. I have omitted the last item from the tray because I feared it might alarm the bread."

"And where is Lord Saye?" Elizabeth asked.

"Already interrogating a wheel. I had supposed he would begin with the coachman, but our coachman has proved inconveniently absent."

She raised herself a fraction and winced. Richard set the tray down at once. His expression changed so quickly that she almost wished he had continued teasing her.

"I am not about to break," she said.

"I know. That does not oblige me to enjoy watching you suffer."

"Then sit with me until I have eaten, and tell me something foolish."

He drew a chair close. "Saye has discovered that the fellow who made the wheel believes all wheels to be innocent until proved otherwise. I have suggested he consult a magistrate before proceeding with so revolutionary a principle."

"He will make the wheel give evidence under oath," Elizabeth said.

Richard smiled, but he took care not to laugh until he had seen that she could do so without pain.

Mrs. Ashby occupied the chamber across the passage, where the surgeon had immobilised her ankle and forbidden any attempt to travel. Betsey had remained with her, though the maid's scratched hands trembled whenever a wagon passed along the lane. The groom, whose name was Tom Ellis, had been carried to a bed in the farmer's cottage. His arm was set and bound, but he was distressed by the prospect of being unable to earn his wages while it healed. Saye had promised him that the Matlocks would see to his care and had insisted that the promise be entered in writing, so no anxious man would later have to beg for what had already been offered.

Elizabeth listened carefully when Richard described their condition. She remembered Betsey pleading to be released from beneath the cushions and Tom crying out beside the hedge. It seemed dreadful that a journey undertaken for music and pleasant company had brought pain into so many lives.

"No one is asking you to take responsibility for a villain's decisions," Richard said, reading her expression.

"We have not yet proved a villain."

"No. Which is why Saye is making the wheel testify."

A knock interrupted them. The Earl came in with the country surgeon, Mr. Fenwick, and Lady Matlock behind him. The countess had travelled with the early light and looked as though she had not slept at all; yet her hair was carefully dressed, her bonnet sat straight, and she smiled before letting Elizabeth see the tears in her eyes.

"You have frightened us exceedingly, my love," Lady Matlock said, kissing her uninjured cheek. "I shall forgive you when you have recovered sufficiently to contradict your physician."

"I have made a fair beginning," Elizabeth answered.

Mr. Fenwick inspected her bandage and confirmed that she had no fever and no apparent sign of a serious injury to the head. The shoulder was badly strained but showed no unmistakable evidence of dislocation or fracture. He wished her to remain nearby another day rather than endure the shaking of a long carriage ride. Lady Matlock agreed before Elizabeth could protest.

Lady Matlock had spent the night before Elizabeth's journey discussing practical details until her sons accused her of treating thirty miles of road like a passage to the Indies. Now she stood beside the farmhouse window while the surgeon changed the dressing on Elizabeth's arm, her hands clasped behind her back so tightly that her nails left marks against her gloves.

"You need not remain," Elizabeth said when the surgeon withdrew.

The countess looked at her as though the suggestion were in an unfamiliar language. "I am very comfortable," she answered. Her voice was perfectly level.

Only when she reached for the water jug did Elizabeth notice that it was empty. Lady Matlock had poured and discarded a glass three times without drinking. Elizabeth held out her good hand. The countess took it, and then, quite unexpectedly, bent her head until her forehead rested against Elizabeth's for one brief instant.

"You must not frighten me like that again," she whispered.

Elizabeth might once have apologized for the inconvenience. Instead she raised their joined hands and kissed the countess's knuckles. Neither woman spoke of the broken cup the maid had found that morning in Lady Matlock's room, dropped when the first messenger arrived. The Earl had swept the fragments from the floor himself before anyone came to clear them.

Darcy, who had arrived at the farmhouse late the previous evening, joined them when the surgeon left. His face retained the strained composure she had seen upon his arrival. He asked after her pain without assuming that her answer would satisfy him.