Posted on 2009-10-31
Rosings Park was very quiet in the early morning. This was the perfect time of day for Anne to slip out of the house without her mother's knowledge. Lady Catherine could not imagine her daughter leaving her bed at such an hour let alone defying her mother by leaving the house as well. Alone!
With great astonishment Anne beheld the sight of her cousin's handsome figure walking ahead of her on the dewy path. She briefly wondered what had brought him forth so early but curiosity seldom lasted in her mind. Instead, she followed him at a discreet distance, careful not to be seen. When he turned into the small grove of trees and came to a halt Anne also stopped, choosing the shadowy retreat of a large oak tree to conceal her presence.
Watching Darcy pace to and fro soon outwore its entertainment value. However, Anne patiently waited for something new to happen. And happen it did in the form of Miss Bennet, the visitor who had been staying with her cousin and his wife at Hunsford Parsonage.
Miss Bennet paused before approaching Darcy. His back stiffened, he bowed and then handed her what appeared to be a letter. Anne was too far away to hear any of their low voiced exchange but the fact that they met clandestinely was enough for her! She knew what it meant.
Quickly, she stepped further back into the shadow of the oak as Darcy swept past at a brisk pace. His face was a mask of undisclosed feelings; a mask Anne had seen time and again when her mother frequently subjected him to interrogations and lectures. There was emotion brewing under the surface, she knew. With a quick glance back in Miss Bennet's direction, to make sure she was not seen, Anne set off after her cousin.
It was not easy to keep up with his pace. Anne, being the fragile sort, was not accustomed to vigorous walking. She soon found her breathing laboured and herself losing ground. The distance between them was lengthening. Fortunately for Anne, her cousin stopped suddenly at a fork in the path, as if considering which direction to turn. The house lay to the right and after a second or two he chose to go left. Anne had nearly closed the distance between them and sighed in frustration as he set off once more. This time Darcy walked at a more sedate and deliberate speed. She was able to maintain the pace.
Before long she realized they had come full circle back to the grove. Panicked, Anne glanced around for some evidence of Miss Bennet but it was clear the young woman had left. This was clear to Darcy, as well, judging from the slope of his shoulders. His disappointment was obvious.
Anne considered what to do. It was too late to pretend she had seen nothing. Her own feelings were already affected. The cousin she dearly loved was involved with someone else, if not reciprocally at least his heart was engaged. Lord only knew what Miss Bennet felt or thought but Anne could hardly believe the other woman was ignorant of the great advantage in having Fitzwilliam Darcy pay attention to her. Such an honour that Anne de Bourgh could only wish for! While her mother remained firmly convinced in the surety of a union between her daughter and nephew, that same daughter had long since realized the futility of the gentleman returning any real feelings of affection beyond that due a relation. There had always been a faint hope, maintained through Darcy's steadfast avoidance of any other entanglement through the years. This, however, was now at an end, as Anne was painfully aware.
How dreadful a position in which to find oneself!
She thought about what her mother would do when the news reached her ears. Lady Catherine would no doubt be livid. The plans she had spent years in perfecting would be for naught. In addition, Darcy's chosen partner was destined to be forever shunned by his aunt and anyone else she managed to convinced. This was a fate Anne could not sanction for her dearest cousin. His intended's feelings were unimportant but Darcy must not suffer ignominy.
A solution must be found!
With delicate steps Anne advanced upon Darcy as he continued to slowly pace the small clearing in the grove. Her purpose was set and her determination to see it through immovable. He must not be allowed to make the most horrendous mistake he was contemplating. Anne prayed she was not too late; that the letter passed to Miss Bennet had not already sealed an understanding between them.
"Darcy," she called in a weak voice.
He turned around with a startled expression upon his countenance. His lips began to form a word, then seemed to reshape themselves before the sound emerged. "Anne!" Darcy's gaze darted from one side of the grove to the other, then behind his cousin's frail figure and finally rested on her face. "Has something happened? You are not out here by yourself!"
"I am alone," she replied with an uplifted chin. "I may very well ask you if something has happened, cousin. It is not like you to stalk about the grounds like this. You appear harassed."
"I am not harassed."
Pursing her lips, Anne studied him closely. "Alright, distressed. You appear distressed."
Darcy turned away. "I am not distressed." Just as quickly he turned back. "And if I do appear distressed it is because of finding you out here without an adequate chaperone!"
Anne crossed her arms over her chest. "You did not find me. I found you."
He was visibly taken aback by her remark. "You were searching for me? Whatever for?"
Leaning close, she whispered, "I saw you."
Darcy blinked. "If you saw me then why did you need to search for me?"
"Bah!" Anne growled. "I was not searching for you! I saw you! Found you here, in the grove, with...." She paused, looked around, then whispered again. "You know."
Even more confused now, Darcy shook his head. "Yes, I do know, but that was a quarter hour since. Were you lurking in the bushes all this time?" His eyes darted beyond her figure to scan the neighbouring shrubbery.
Anne heaved a sigh. "No, I followed you." She stepped forward, one hand reaching for his face.
Darcy stepped back, looking at her suspiciously. "You followed me?"
Her hand fell back to her side. "You looked so despondent. I was concerned."
"Oh." His shoulders relaxed. "I assure you I am quite well."
"Liar." She smiled humourlessly. "My mother may ignore the signs but I do not. You are not happy, Darcy." Her hand rose again and this time he did not move away. Lightly stroking his cheek, Anne spoke softly. "We have an understanding, you and I. Not the one that Mother would prefer but an understanding nonetheless. I do not like to see you unhappy."
"It shall pass." His chin came up but he did not meet her gaze.
Anne slid her arm under his elbow and drew him beside her. Stepping toward the nearest path that led from the grove, she guided Darcy smoothly forward. He did not resist, being a gentleman and having nothing to fear from so fragile a creature as his cousin. They walked slowly for some time, Anne offering soothing compliments and placating remarks on the perversity of their social strictures. The subject of Lady Catherine was soon touched upon, more as a point of jest than frustration, for which Darcy was glad. His mood was not high but it had lifted from the dark gloom brought about by his previous evening's disastrous adventure. He almost felt ready to face Colonel Fitzwilliam's brash humour once again.
They were farther from the house than Darcy realised when the first drops of rain began to fall. Anne's health was foremost in his mind as the dangers of their situation sank in. She could not run. He considered carrying her and then reconsidered.
The rain fell harder.
He reconsidered the reconsideration, looked to Anne who stared back with rain streaming into her eyes. Her hair was falling from its pins in damp strings around her face.
"What are you doing!" she screeched upon finding herself suddenly hoisted upon her cousin's shoulder. "Put me down at once!"
"Anne, be reasonable," puffed Darcy, narrowly ducking under an overhanging limb.
"Reasonable! Reasonable!" she sputtered between bounces. "There is nothing reasonable about this!"
Anne continued her protests but they fell on deaf ears for her cousin had no attention to spare. The path was becoming slippery, his footsteps needed to be chosen very carefully. Unfortunately he was not able to see very clearly with Anne's posterior hindering his peripheral vision and no free hand to wipe the rain away.
"Anne, do stop struggling. You are not making this any easier."
She complied but it was too late, only by a moment. A low branch smacked Darcy's other shoulder and he stumbled. His left boot slipped on the mud, bringing Anne's weight swinging around to assist gravity in completing the cycle.
Darcy landed on his back with a thud, Anne spilling onto the pathway face down. If that were the summation of their troubles all would be righted quickly. It was not, however, and the misfortune that followed made that pale in comparison.
The point in the path where the branch's assault began was coincidentally at the top of an incline; a rather steep incline. Darcy may have hit the ground flat on his back but his progress did not stop there. The rain began to come down harder, creating a stream where the path used to be. Soon he was sliding, then floating down the hill. Most of Anne was resting across his chest but her own chest and face were sliding down the hill, too. Very muddily. She was fortunate to not be conscious at this point.
Darcy was aware, though. Painfully aware. Every little rock and tree root made its presence known to his spine. He tried to stop their progress but it was difficult. There was no real purchase for his wildly flaying arms to hook.
The end came rather abruptly, with a splash. Darcy fought to keep his head above the water while struggling to bring Anne to the surface. He need not have troubled himself so. Anne was instantly awake and on her feet, her sodden skirts clinging to her hips. Darcy sloshed to his feet, gasping for air. The water dripped from his brow and a smattering of vegetation from the river bottom clung to his cheek. He looked down to discover the water rose no higher than the ankle of his boot.
Anne shivered. "How far is the house?" she stammered between chattering teeth.
"I have no idea," sighed Darcy. He tried to peer through the mud in the direction they had come but between the rain and the obscured landscape it was not very revealing. "Let's follow the river."
That was not the wisest decision. Perhaps at his own estate, where the landscape was tended with loving and professional hands, one could actually follow a river's edge and find one's way back. However, this was Rosings Park where Lady Catherine de Bourgh rarely ventured and her staff was less attentive to the details than their Mistress.
Darcy took Anne's hand and they trod the wet and scraggly underbrush as far as their patience permitted before choosing to risk death by decapitation due to heavy undergrowth in the six feet that spanned the distance between the riverbank and the pathway.
They did manage to find the path; scratched and ragged from the thorns that snagged at them as they passed. Anne gave a cry of delight, nearly falling to the ground to caress it but her cousin prevented the crass display in the nick of time.
"Anne, there is no time for this," he hissed. "We must get back to the house as soon as we can!"
Once again he hefted her onto his shoulder, this time with fewer protests from the lady. Darcy struck forth as quickly as he was able, and not at all sure of the direction but moving at least kept his blood flowing and warded off the chill. Anne could not be so fortunate but allowing her to walk would have slowed them down terminally.
Providence was with them for it was no longer than ten minutes before the chimneys of Rosings, all fourteen of them, were visible through the overhead foliage. Darcy counted them silently as he laboured in his travel. They reached the edge of the wood and he lowered Anne so that her feet at last touched the ground and she could walk again. A moment was spent as the blood drained from her head back into her body until she at last indicated a readiness to proceed.
Darcy fought the urge to run, although his grip on Anne's arm resulted in her nearly being dragged forward. The courtyard was before them, devoid of any human life but blissfully within an easy distance. Darcy was elated, almost enough to lift his cousin into the air in jubilation. At the last second he suppressed that inappropriate urge and contented himself with announcing his satisfaction that they had arrived at their destination.
"We made it!"
His companion raised her hands to her ears. "There is no reason to shout, Darcy!"
"Of course there is," he contradicted irrationally. "We are here and we need assistance to get you inside to a warm fire!" He waved an arm as if expecting faces to be peering from the windows. "Where are they?"
"Oh, shut up," grumbled Anne, wondering for the first time if her cousin was right in the head. Why on earth is Mother fixated on him being my husband?
The courtyard had to be crossed and it was wide. Anne began the trek and Darcy, seeing there was no other option but to continue, was on her heels. Too close, in fact, for he trod upon them and Anne went sprawling. Darcy tripped over her legs, for he could not stop in time, and his eyes widened in horror as the walls surrounding the well loomed in his vision. Too late did he think to put his hands out in front of his body to prevent further catastrophe. Darcy was staring into the dark recesses, his body continuing its forward motion, not a thought in his head but for one brief regret that he would never know what Elizabeth Bennet thought of his letter.
It was instantly replaced with the thought that hanging upside down was very unpleasant, and the longer one hung upside down the more unpleasant it became. A headache was quickly forming and Darcy felt his senses spinning. Then an iron grip upon his thighs and the sensation of tender parts being pried from a dredger....
The next moment there were many hands upon his body. Darcy was vaguely aware of voices; some he did not recognize but amongst them was that of his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, directing others to various tasks. He was aware of his body being covered by something warm and dry, being conveyed by several men into the house and up the stairs to a bed,, presumably his own.
"Anne...." Darcy managed to croak.
"Quiet," Fitzwilliam commanded in a stern tone. "Anne is being tended to. You need not concern yourself."
Somewhere beyond the walls of the room Darcy could hear the plaintive voice of his aunt. He attempted to shut out the wailing and was nearly successful but a cup had been placed to his lips and an order to drink was issued. The brandy sent a thrill of heat through his body. Darcy opened his eyes to see Fitzwilliam on the chair beside him, cup in hand.
"Are you quite finished scaring us half to death?" The Colonel set the cup to Darcy's lips again, preventing any answer. "I almost lost you in the well. It was not easy to pull you out of there."
Darcy could only nod. The brandy was scorching his throat.
"Once the hot water is ready you are going into the bath, my friend. Jeffries is already seeing to it. No arguments." Fitzwilliam glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "One more kettle. How are you feeling now?"
A nod sufficed for a reply. Jeffries appeared a moment later on the other side of the bed. Two more menservants were ready to assist Darcy to the bath. Once in the vicinity of the tub he waved the others away and allowed only Jeffries to attend him. Fitzwilliam politely waited just inside the door in case he was needed.
Stripped and shivering, Darcy slid into the steaming water. A gasp escaped him as his chilled flesh felt scalded with the change in temperature. Jeffries patiently stood next to the tub, a fresh jug of hot water in his hands. He needed only the signal from his master to pour the contents over his head.
The signal did not come.
Darcy slid further into the water. He sunk lower and lower until his head was submerged. At this juncture it should be noted that Lady Catherine, as attentive as she was to detail in almost every corner of her world, was not particularly attentive to the size of tubs relative to the height and breadth of her ... er.. relatives. In short, this tub was... er... short.
Darcy's head may have been underwater but his feet were not. Neither were his knees. All too soon he came up sputtering, his lower appendages once more sinking under the surface.
And still Jeffries was there, his face a studied mask of perfect indifference.
Fitzwilliam dragged a chair closer to the tub. "Has that taken the chill from your bones yet?"
"Not quite."
"Darcy, do you mind if I ask you one question?"
"Ask."
The puzzled look on Fitzwilliam's face was lost on his cousin who had no desire to open his eyes. "Just what were you doing headfirst down the well? Have you any idea that you looked like you had just been dragged through a cow byre?"
Darcy did not move as he replied, "That is two questions."
The Colonel grimaced. "Alright, I will assume that you deluded yourself into believing you could clean up your filthy clothes by bathing in the well. You should thank me for saving you from a very unpleasant death. I understand that drowning is not one of the fashionable ways to go this season."
"Thank you."
"I have been informed that the nearest cow byre is some distance away. You must have left the house very early to have been there and back before breakfast, not to mention your little diversion into the well." Fitzwilliam signalled to Jeffries to empty the jug before the water grew tepid.
Darcy's response was cut short in a mouthful of water. Once he had regained his voice it was to direct Jeffries to bring his robe. Fitzwilliam returned the chair to its former place and retreated to the outer chamber to await his cousin's return. He was pleased to see that Darcy seemed none the worse for his experience. The same could not be said for their cousin Anne, unfortunately. That was information he had yet to impart to Darcy. While the other man dressed, the Colonel poured them both some brandy and stoked the fire in the hearth. By the time his cousin joined him the blaze was threatening to set fire to Fitzwilliam's regimentals.
Darcy removed the poker from his grasp. "Sit down, Fitz. You are going to set fire to the house."
"It might put Aunt Catherine out of her misery."
"Her misery is nothing compared to mine."
Fitzwilliam studied his companion for a moment. "What have you to be miserable about? You didn't propose to Anne, did you?"
"No, no," grumbled Darcy. "I did not propose to Anne."
There was something in his tone that caused Fitzwilliam to study him more closely. "What are you trying to say?"
Exhaustion and pent up frustration came tumbling out at once. Darcy could not stop the flow of words once it began. From the moment of his realisation that Elizabeth Bennet could not be shaken from his mind, nor his heart; his decision to bestow upon her his hand and name, to her rejection of everything offered and the final summation of the low opinion in which she held him, Darcy poured forth the details without a pause. Fitzwilliam's mouth fell open within the first minute and did not close until after his cousin ceased speaking. He could not fathom what he had been told. Even more difficult to believe was the sight of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of one of the largest estates in all the north of England, a broken man on the verge of collapse.
Well, the brandy could have contributed to that. Neither of them had eaten breakfast, after all.
Finally driven to express some form of commiseration, the Colonel simply said, "I am so sorry." Not having ever experienced a broken heart, or even rejection, he was at a loss for any other words. He set the decanter of brandy down beside his cousin, patting his shoulder reassuringly and left the room.
It was some time before Darcy realised he was alone. His glass was empty, waiting to be refilled, when he noticed there was nobody to do that. His misery was so pronounced that he abandoned the glass and settled into another chair with the decanter in his grasp.
It was there, in the privacy of his room at Rosings, that Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley drowned in his sorrows.
Elizabeth Bennet was surprised to see Colonel Fitzwilliam arrive at the Parsonage. She was still unsettled by the details in the letter received that morning from Mr. Darcy. To say that her world had been turned upside down by the contents was an understatement. Elizabeth had never before felt so mortified by her own ignorance as when she had read, and digested, the story of Miss Darcy and Mr. Wickham's betrayal of her at Ramsgate. How she could have been so wrong about Mr. Darcy was entirely due to prejudice, she now knew. With Colonel Fitzwilliam's appearance Elizabeth was eager to somehow convey a message to his cousin, some small reassurance that his efforts had not been in vain.
With a smile she stepped forward to warmly greet the Colonel only to be brought up short by his grim countenance and to hear the awful news he brought from Rosings.
Mr. Darcy was dead.
The End