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Chapter 29A

For Chris

Darcy was still wondering about how fate had twisted in his favour in a matter of seconds - Wickham had just touched the trigger of the pistol to shoot him when a fatal bullet, coming from nowhere, had hit the rascal and led him to Hades. Upon looking at Wickham lying inert next to him, Darcy could not help feeling disturbed, as even after his death, the eyes of his father's protégé still bore the same angry and envious look that had been reserved to Darcy, and Darcy alone, for the past eighteen years.

At last, Darcy averted his gaze and wished he could stand up in order to close Wickham's eyes and efface that disquieting stare, yet the pain which started in his left side and traveled through his body, and perhaps soul, prevented him from doing so. Therefore, he remained reclined on his carriage and, endeavouring to maintain his reason, surrendered to pure conjecture - who could have shot Wickham? I am sure there must be many people who would be interested in having Wickham 'kick the bucket', but who?

The sound of approaching steps made Darcy become alert - could it be Tom, his coachman? Someone traveling to London? Or Wickham's murderer coming to check if his victim was really dead? In this case, Darcy was still in danger, since the murderer would not wish for there to be any witness of the crime. Darcy thus decided to remain as still as a post, hoping that the person who was only few feet away from him was his salvation.

Darcy had barely caught his breath and a medium-height man, wearing a long coat and carrying which seemed to be an old-stylish pistol, advanced towards Wickham's body and examined it for some seconds. The ragged attire worn by the man demonstrated that he must not belong to the gentry, a fact which was confirmed when, after being assured of Wickham's death, he spoke,

"Ya though' ya'd escape from Oldie John, did ya?" He then gave a strange laugh, a mixture of scorn and madness that froze Darcy's blood, and spat on the ground next to Wickham's face, as if showing how much he despised the man lying in the mud. "I told ya I'd follow ya to hell if necessary. I've bin huntin' ya like a mad dog for ages, stalkin' your track, waitin' for the righ' time to shoot ya like the cunnin' fox ya are."

Oh Lord! He is Wickham's murderer! But why? Darcy wondered while fighting against the darkness of the drowsiness that insisted upon besieging him. As though hearing his question, the man stated,

"Ya stupid! Ya though' nobody cared if ya lied with a servant!" Oldie John spat again, this time almost hitting Wickham's face. Then, shouting furiously and beating his own chest with his clenched fists, he proceeded, "But I care! She were my daughter, the only flower Our Lord gave me! She were only fifteen - an easy prey for ya and your promises o' marriage and livin' like a gentlewoman. She were preparin' to be a maid at the Warwick Castle, but you took 'er away with ya to Oxford, leavin' my poor Annie there without a penny when she got with your child." Unable to control his wrath any longer, the man kicked Wickham's body, which turned around and sank in a puddle.

"The child... The Lord took pity o' the baby and took 'er to the angels. But Annie's still in Oxford, 'entertainin' gentleman like ya!" He snorted, "Gentleman! Ya ain't better than a pimp!" Much as Darcy knew about Wickham's lack of character, he could not help feeling aghast at Oldie John's accounts, nor sympathy for the poor man.

At last Oldie John stepped back and moved towards Darcy. Favouring a leg, the man slowly surrounded the gentleman reclined in the elegant carriage. The wound in Darcy's right knee quickly caught the man's attention, as it was quite visible under the faint light of the carriage. Oldie John raised his eyebrows and pondered, "This folk ain't out like a light 'cos o' this scratch." Thereafter, he examined the gentleman very closely. His rum odour combined to the shoddy tobacco smell turned Darcy's stomach, who remained silent and immobile though, in conflict whether he should ask this man's help or not.

The man at last came upon the burn hole next to the left shoulder, encircled with blood and its trail in the refined overcoat. Carefully, Oldie John raised the overcoat, coat and waistcoat and observed the wound, although without touching the linen shirt. He made a face and released the piles of cloth he had removed. With the knowledge of a man who had felt the death's breath in his neck and after so many years struggling for life either in his hometown or in London, he concluded,

"I'm sorry for ya, patron. Ya look a nice folk, but ya got no chance o' life. I don't know why that tramp wanted to kill ya, but I'm sure you ain't to blame. But don't worry, patron. This man ain't to bother any good Lord's man, not even a trace o' 'im will remain." Once again, Oldie John gave that strange laugh and Darcy feared for the man's sanity, before continuing as if telling him a secret, "I know a resurrectionist who'll give me a pretty penny for this immoral bastard's carcass - at least after death he'll be o' use, if any."

Upon hearing Oldie John's intention, Darcy could not sort out his feelings, whether he felt horrified either because of the man's verdict on his imminent death, or as a reaction to Oldie John's words about what he had planned to do with Wickham's body. Good Lord, to sell his body to a resurrectionist! At Cambridge, Darcy had heard of them, unscrupulous people who stole corpses (usually of people from the slum areas of Town) and sold them to be dissected in medical schools. Despite the repugnance he had felt, he had entirely dismissed the thoughts about this at that time, due to the fact that they had seemed as distant from his world as the problems of slavery in America. Now, much as he had disliked Wickham, he could not help thinking that even the rascal did not deserve such an end.

Notwithstanding, Oldie John and Darcy could not be agreed on the matter. The gentleman knew that the simple, and perhaps insane, man would not be stopped and due to his injures, Darcy could do nothing, but observe the man move towards the front of the carriage and release two of its horses. At first, the animals grew agitated by the strange presence nearby, still they ended up remaining calm after Oldie John "spoke" to them and silently obeyed the man's commands - he must have worked as a groom for years, such was his ability of dealing with them.

It was under a mixture of dizziness and pain, horror and perchance relief that Darcy saw Oldie John place, with certain difficulty, Wickham's body over one of the horses before mounting the other animal and leave towards London. Their silhouette quickly vanished through the soft rain and the darkness, making Darcy wonder if he had had only a hallucination - in a matter of one and a half hours, he had been taken from the warm dream of his home and led to the cold nightmare of being almost murdered.

After some minutes of slight confusion, Darcy dismissed all the thoughts about what he had just experienced and seen and concentrated on his present condition. In defiance of his attempts, he was still bleeding; furthermore, he knew he would be unable to endure the cold and the rain that were freezing him to his bones any longer.

If only I could enter the carriage. Reclining his back against the ladder of his vehicle, he positioned his elbows on the first step and vainly endeavoured to climb it, as his only achievement was the increase of the pain in his left shoulder, feeling as he was being torn apart. Exhaustion overcame him and he reposed his head on the step in absolute surrender. Before passing out, he only mumbled, "I do not want to die!"

On the way from Kent to London, a solitary man was blaming his bad luck: he did not like to travel alone in the darkness, mainly when he had to pass by a gypsy camp - an action that Dr. Christopher Pollock performed as quickly as the two horses pulling his vehicle could run. Apparently, the camp occupants were asleep, but who would not be on such a chilly night? Having moved past the concerned place, the doctor's right hand released the reins and passed on his straight fair hair, moving after to his face in order to pull his glasses up his nose.

Of all December evenings, Lord Cartwell, who was the young doctor's first eminent patient, had chosen to fall ill on the most unpleasant night. Upon thinking of his patient, he could not help snorting, "Humph, bad timing indeed! To have an 'indigestion' at his mistress' house!" Dr. Pollock had been called at his home right after dinner to assist his lordship at an unsuspected house, in the vicinities of Lutton (few miles from Town). The doctor had then left quickly and had spent part of the night attempting to reassure his lordship that his disorder was not serious.

Still Dr. Pollock knew he did not have much to complain about - his lordship paid well enough and never contested his diagnosis. Moreover, Lord Cartwell could be the door that might lead him to the "good families". As a matter of fact, Dr. Pollock was not an ambitious person, quite the contrary. Yet he had to pursue the best for his career - being the third son of a Scottish merchant family that had succeeded in London, he had early learnt that his position was not the more comfortable one would aspire to in such a restricted Society.

Therefore, somewhat weary of being considered worthless and inferior because of his family acquiring their fortune by trade, as well as not possessing the least disposition for the church or the law, he had made his family's way back and had gone to the Medical School in Edinburgh. However, his battle was not over. Upon returning to London soon after he had graduated, he ingenuously applied for a membership in the Royal College of Physicians, which was promptly refused. Not wishing to become a mere apothecary, he had joined the Army and there he had picked up most of his practical knowledge by assisting some surgeons.

When he resigned from the Army twenty months ago, Dr. Pollock had achieved what seemed excluding in the medical life: he was a doctor, who diagnosed illnesses, but also a surgeon, who used his hands to heal people (which was considered a form of "trade" as well). Hence, his "manual" skill added to his family's position and origins could be a hindrance if he were unable to have some influential clients.

Such was his reverie that he only perceived that there was something blocking the way when the horses stopped abruptly. If it were a highwaymen's ambush, he was absolutely trapped. Despite the darkness, Dr. Pollock managed to distinguish that the shade obstructing his passage was a carriage. Still observing the shadows in front of him, he waited for some minutes for any indication of life, unsure whether he should alight from his vehicle and investigate what was happening or run away whilst it was possible. However, since the place was as silent as a grave, he decided to take a chance and called out, "Hello?" The only answer he received was the whinny of one of the horses.

Finally, Dr. Pollock's curiosity won him over and he ended up getting off his vehicle to carefully approach the carriage. The first thing that called his attention was the number of horses, "Hmm, there is something strange here. There might have been a robbery - that would explain why there are only two horses harnessed to the carriage instead of four. Still there should be somebody around, at least the coachman or a footman." He then scratched his head in amazement, "Even if they had been murdered, the bodies must be nearby, yet I have not seen anything other than the carriage and the animals."

His next step was to glimpse through the carriage windows, but the drawn draperies prevented him from doing so. Feeling rather frustrated, Dr. Pollock moved around the vehicle and came to a halt - through the dim light provided, he saw a form resting on the conveyance ladder. Upon moving forward, he finally recognised a human being's contour and hastily verged upon the ladder in order to check the person's pulse. As soon as he was certain that the gentleman was still alive, Dr. Pollock endeavoured to reanimate him by gently slapping his face.

Since his practice was ineffectual, the doctor quickly searched for the wound or wounds that must have made the gentleman collapse. As a matter of fact, it did not take much for Dr. Pollock to come upon the injures on the gentleman's knee (which he guessed it was not very serious) and left shoulder. Upon removing the layers of clothing, he finally saw the serious wound on the top of the shoulder, still dangerously near the heart. Without wasting time, Dr. Pollock strode back to his vehicle, fetched his medical box and hastily returned to the injured gentleman's side. The only noise heard was the sound of the doctor's unsteady breath combined to his steps on the wet earth.

Dr. Pollock's main concern now was to stop the bleeding, although he knew that such an action had only a momentary effect . He would need to extract the two bullets, and a dark and cold way was the least advisable place for such an enterprise. Surely he had already operated soldiers in worse conditions. Nonetheless, they were not in a battlefield now, nor the gentleman's family would wish him to... Well, I had better not to think about this now.

While pressuring some rags over the wound with his right hand in order to stop the blood, Dr. Pollock used his left one to loose the knot of the gentleman's cravat. "Thanks Lord this gentleman's valet was not much 'inspired' and tied a very simple knot." He chuckled, "I have already seen some fellows die of asphyxia for flaunting their valets' intricate 'masterpieces'." The doctor laughed a little more at his remark - unfortunately, the gentleman could not do likewise.

After some minutes of pressure, the bleeding came to an end and the doctor applied a temporary bandage in order to prevent it from shedding blood again. Subsequently, it was time to treat the injured knee. Despite the appearance of being of minor consequence, Dr. Pollock could not help feeling rather unsure about its true nature - after all, his vision of the wound was limited by the dim light. He only wished that an apparent bruise did not prove to be a deep hole.

Having accomplished his duty, Dr. Pollock stood up and took some steps back in order to have a better view of the injured gentleman. "Oh Lord, he is as tall as I am." He silently nodded and proceeded, "There is not another way, this man must be removed. I shall have to carry him to my vehicle." Decidedly, Dr. Pollock moved forward and raised the gentleman - his first attempt ended pathetically, as having calculated badly the man's weight, he could not hold him and the two of them took a dip in the mud, rolling down like a cat's hank of wool.

The doctor slowly rose and cursing with all his lungs, strode to the gentleman's side to check if his stupid action had not injured him more. Being sure that nothing had happened than disgracing the gentleman's clothes, Dr. Pollock lifted his "patient" again and successfully put him over his left shoulder. He was already congratulating himself on having done an almost perfect job, when he saw a pistol some inches from his nose.

"Stop it! Where do you think you are going to with this man?"

Chapter 29B

For Chris, thank you very much for your help and support!

Dr. Pollock stared at the fair gentleman pointing a gun at him and gulped. What could he do but stop and pray that he had not involved himself in any illegal activity? He sighed and analyzed his situation - behind the gentleman there were three other men, probably servants. In simple words, it would be almost impossible to escape, even if there weren't a gun or he could defeat the gentleman in front of him. Very bad indeed! Unable to think of something better, he attempted to explain how serious the injured gentleman's condition was, although the result was more disastrous than maintaining his mouth shut, as the poor doctor only managed to stammer some sounds that made no sense at all and irritated even more the gentleman carrying the pistol. The latter shouted,

"Stop with this nonsense and release this man before I lose my patience and shoot you!"

The doctor immediately raised his right hand, although his left one kept holding the gentleman over his shoulder. No sooner had he done so than he saw the three servants approach him and waited for their master's final order. Despite the panic which insisted on subjugating him, Dr. Pollock endeavoured to remain sensible - he was not committing a crime, quite the contrary indeed. He could not be treated as a highwayman, after all he was there to help, not to steal someone's purse. Such a thought seemed to reanimate the doctor, who raised his chin and spoke with a light Scottish accent, "I beg your pardon, sir, but I shall not 'release this man'. I am a doctor - Doctor Christopher Pollock - and this gentleman will die if not promptly attended."

Hesitating for a moment, the gentleman lowered his pistol a little, still it was enough to encourage the doctor's reaction, "If you will excuse me, we are wasting precious time here." And without further procrastination, the doctor risked his luck and went past the gentleman and his servants towards his vehicle. Still holding the gun, the gentleman finally ordered to his servants,

"Jonathan! Darrell! Help the doctor place Mr. Darcy inside my carriage!" So did the footmen, who hastily took Darcy's from the doctor's shoulder and strode to their master's coach. Dr. Pollock looked back at the man holding the pistol but said nothing. He then lowered his head and gazed at his hands still covered with mud due to the earlier fall. Taking out his handkerchief, the doctor cleaned his hands, put them inside his pockets and moved to the coach. His hands were still trembling though.

Subsequently Colonel Fitzwilliam, having already replaced the pistol inside his coat, silently followed the doctor's steps behind the two servants. Upon passing Tobias, Darcy's coachman, the colonel ordered him to stay in order to guard the Darcys' carriage until more two horses could be sent to fetch the vehicle, as well as the doctor's coach.

As soon as Jonathan and Darrell had positioned Darcy on the leather seat, the colonel reached the door of the coach and talked to the doctor, "I think I owe you my apologies, doctor. You were doing nothing than fulfilling your duty." He then offered his hand to Dr. Pollock and stated, "I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, your patient's cousin."

The doctor grabbed the colonel's hand and carefully said , "A very unfortunate situation to make an acquaintance, but I am delighted to meet you, sir. " Despite your desire to shoot me only some minutes ago..." The two men finally entered the carriage and the doctor took a seat next to his patient in order to assist him during the trip, which he hoped would be very short.

The first moments inside the coach were of awkwardness and apprehension, as both men were still conquering their feelings concerning their harsh meeting as well as their own anxiety about Darcy's fate. An unbearable silence lasted for interminable minutes, which surrounded by the sound of the horses hooves in the mud outside only made both men more nervous. At last the colonel succeeded in inquiring, although his wish was that the doctor had informed him about it first, "Is he deadly..." The colonel shook his head as if dismissing the thought. "I mean, is he dangerously injured indeed?"

Dr. Pollock looked at the other man for some seconds before stating, "I did not bluff some minutes ago, Colonel. I wish I could deny your fears, but the situation is very critical. I do not know how long the wound on your cousin's shoulder bled before my coming upon him. Moreover, the injury is too near the heart to allow me some rest. Not to mention the wound on his knee - one never knows what an apparent scratch may cause."

"Damn it!" The colonel closed his eyes and reposed his head on the comfortable leather seat and let his mind wonder. In his mind's eyes, he saw Darcy telling him about the duel with Wickham and his marriage to Elizabeth Bennet only some weeks ago. At that time, the colonel thought that Darcy had gone mad, that to expose himself in a duel with Wickham was absurd. How life is ironic! To think that Darcy was hurt by an ordinary highwayman, mortally perhaps, only some time before the damned duel. He was taken out of his reverie by Dr. Pollock's change of position - the doctor had taken a seat next to him so that Darcy could have more space in the opposite seat.

The doctor arranged or pretended to do so some of his instruments inside his medical box, as if organizing his own thoughts. It did not take him much to continue the interrupted conversation, "The only thing I can assure you Colonel," - he looked at the colonel's distressed face - "is that the bullets must be removed as soon as we reach your cousin's house."

Col. Fitzwilliam opened his eyes and moved forward, putting his head between his cold hands. He finally stated, "I presume you are qualified to operate on my cousin, Dr. Pollock."

"Yes, I am. I was a surgeon in the 4th Foot, under the 2nd Earl of Mulgroove's command for more than two years, serving in the Peninsular Wars. Lord knows I have already extracted bullets, healed wounds and amputated limbs more than I wished." The doctor explained this waving his hands in the air, as though driving off some images of the nightmare he had lived in the battles in Spain and Portugal, stressing even more his Scottish accent due to the emotion restrained in his throat.

"I was there too Doctor, and I do comprehend your feelings." The colonel assented.

A little more controlled, the doctor proceeded, "I quitted the Army some months ago to pursue a medical career in London." He exhaled and firmly looked at the colonel, who still kept his eyes averted, "You should not feel obliged to me though. I shall perfectly understand if you prefer to call the family's doctor as soon as we arrive at Mr. Darcy's house, colonel." The doctor's face looked calm and expressed confidence now - he was already used to being considered "unsuitable" because of his origins, still his voice betrayed a certain annoyance.

The colonel then raised his head and faced the doctor, "Do not distress yourself, Dr. Pollock. You have already started the treatment and I do not wish to change anything. I believe that I could not have found anyone as experienced as you are in this matter. Besides, I do not even know if Dr. Wyndham is in Town." This was not the absolute truth, as the colonel had warned Dr. Wyndham that he might be in need of his services, naturally without mentioning the reason. Nonetheless, as Dr. Pollock had already started to assist his cousin and not wishing to involve more people in the matter - after all, there had been a crime and if Darcy perished, some official investigation would be required - the colonel had thought it better to rely on Dr. Pollock's skills.

"I shall do my best, Colonel." Having said so, Dr. Pollock moved across the coach anew in order to check Darcy's condition, ignoring the lurching of the coach.

"I am sure Mrs. Darcy will agree with me upon the matter."

The doctor was so absorbed assisting Darcy that he did not even look around to respond to the colonel's statement, "Ah, he is married."

"Yes, he has been married for almost 5 days." The colonel added.

The doctor could not help spinning around, exclaiming in surprise, "I beg your pardon?",

"You have not misunderstood me, doctor. My cousin had to interrupt his honeymoon to attend an urgent matter with me in Kent. He would meet me at the Golden Bull Inn at four. However, some minutes before the appointed hour, Tobias (my cousin's coachman) came to me relating that his master had been shot by a gypsy. Apparently, they had been entrapped in a bend settled about twenty minutes from the Inn."

"Oh Lord!" Dr. Pollock was feeling sorry for the poor lady, who could be transformed from a bride into a widow easily.

"I assume that you did not see who shot my cousin, doctor." The colonel proceeded.

"No, I did not. I met him lying on the stair of his carriage around half an hour before your arrival. I passed by a gypsy camp before coming upon your cousin, yet I can not state for sure how far this site is from the place Mr. Darcy was."

"Have you noticed anything that seemed unusual for you?"

"I believe you must have also realised that two horses were missing." Dr. Pollock stated, rather than inquiring.

"Yes, I have. Still I can not conceive that someone shot my cousin because of a pair of animals."

"People may be shot for less than this, colonel." Having said so, the doctor turned back to Darcy and checked his temperature, only to grow more apprehensive, "Damn it! He is a little feverish. I hope his house is not very far."

The colonel looked through the window and saw _______ Park. "No indeed, Doctor. Actually, we are already in front of my cousin's door." The carriage halted. He then knocked on the ceiling and ordered Jonathan to manoeuvre the vehicle to the Darcys' courtyard, so that they could avoid the general curiosity that would certainly be attracted if they alighted in the front door. Above all, Col. Fitzwilliam wished to spare Elizabeth from seeing his husband in such an impressive condition - he knew she must be awake now, waiting for the news. Why do I always have to be the emissary of bad tidings? He sighed, looked at Darcy and sighed again. How life is ironic!

Chapter 30

Darcy's Townhouse
10th of December, 1811
5.00am

Disappointment was the feeling that could now describe Elizabeth better. Just an hour ago, she had left her spouse's chamber with her heart fulfilled of hope and anticipation, hurrying her chambermaid up to help her get dressed, so that she could be awaiting for Darcy at the house door. They had done so, although Miss Helen was wondering why the mistress had got up so early and was in such a haste, after all the master would be away at least for a day, still it was not her duty to inquire.

Wearing her best gown, a pale blue muslin which reminded her of the sky in the Autumn afternoons at Longbourn, Elizabeth had then gone in the breakfast room. She was not hungry though, only having some tea and a piece of a fruit cake that she would have found divine if she had not been so anxious - from the room she could hear the muffled trot of every horse that moved on the street, which made her hold her breath in expectancy, only to exhale deeply in frustration in the next minute as the sound faded away in the distance. Finally, unable to eat anything else, Elizabeth left the room and moved right to the drawing room, on account of being the nearest place to the door she could stay in without shocking the servants.

As a matter of fact, twenty minutes ticked by while Elizabeth worn the Persian rug that led her from the drawing room to the front doorway - one of the footmen had already lost track of the mistress' "excursions" to check the door. It was only after her right slipper had started to disturb her that she remembered a detail: if the duel had a favourable end for her husband, he would not come back home directly. Instead, the colonel and Darcy would stay at an Inn on the road to Kent in order to maintain unveiled the reasons of his early "trip", only returning on Thursday.

I promise you I shall send you a note with news about the event as soon as possible, Liz. But we shall only meet again on Thursday. Elizabeth now remembered Darcy's words as clearly as she could hear the servants' movement around the house. The sound of her slapping her forehead was heard around the drawing room. "That is the result of not being sensible. I had grown so involved due to my feelings concerning him that I completely forgot about his permanence at the Inn. Had I not behaved like 'an excited Lydia waiting for one of her beaux', I would have recalled the plan."

Her chagrin increased and she stamped her left foot on the ground, now behaving like a selfish child. She needed to see him now, not tomorrow. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, and so many things she needed to know. More than anything, she wished to welcome him home safe. Yet she would have to wait and stop being sullen. It was senseless, as she was aware that she should remain calm and reserve strength to whichever she would have to face. Upon thinking this, she took a seat in one of the comfortable coaches near the fireplace and wondered for awhile.

Nonetheless, the perspective of remaining there, sitting in pure observation of the flames in the fireplace was not appealing for such an energetic lady. However, the darkness (it was still a quarter past five) as well the cold prevented her from even risking a stroll in the large courtyard - how she had missed her outdoor activities at Longbourn. "Oh, I can not stay here immobile just waiting for some news, insanity would descend upon me! Still what can I do? I have already written all the letters I had to; it is too early to call upon Georgiana's room; I have not got a single handkerchief that needs to be mended." She closed her fingers one by one while she was rejecting the few choices she had. She finally groaned, "And the servants may think I have escaped from Bedlam if I start to wander around the house. I mean, if they have not already formed this notion about me, after my eagerness to check every single movement near the front door only some moments ago."

Elizabeth finally decided to focus her energy on playing with one of the cushions displayed on the couch. Her fingers delicately traced the red and brown threads forming a pheasant, which held his head in a proud manner. At first, the activity solaced her a little by deviating her thoughts. However, upon catching her nail under one of the red threads and almost having it broken, Elizabeth cursed in an unladylike manner and then threw the cushion on the couch across from her. Rising quickly, she exclaimed, "There is no use in staying here indeed. To the kitchen, Elizabeth!"

And so she did. As soon as she entered the room, she met Mrs. Hart discussing the menu of the day (the one Elizabeth had approved on the day before) with Mrs. Clayton, the cook, a short woman with grey hair and red cheeks. The two women stopped and bowed to Elizabeth. Next, they stared at her, waiting for her orders. As Elizabeth did not say anything after some moments, Mrs. Hart pushed herself to ask, "Is there anything wrong, ma'am?"

Elizabeth then perceived that the rest of the staff was discreetly gazing at her, in half curiosity and half expectancy. She mentally sighed, They must not be used anymore to the mistress coming to the kitchen after so much time without one. "No, not at all. I have been around learning about the house duties and I think it is the turn to know the kitchen better. I hope both of you can help me." Elizabeth knew that her statement was a little ingenuous, yet it was the best she could elaborate at that moment. She smiled at the two women and proceeded in a secretive tone, "Actually, I have come to inquire about Mr. Darcy's favourite dishes."

Mrs. Hart and the cook grinned and promptly started to talk about the master's tastes - as a matter of fact, Mr. Darcy was their favourite subject and Elizabeth gained their sympathy for having discreetly sought their advice. For instance, Elizabeth found out that Darcy, like his father, was a man of simple preferences, not given to the extravagances that could be observed in some men of the same consequence. However, the two women could not omit the master's "minor flaw": he was so much inclined to French pastries that he sometimes came to the kitchen during the night in order to gorge himself on cook's delicacies.

As Elizabeth heard the two women's accounts on the little Master Darcy's tricks to obtain some sweets, her eyes observed the disposition of the furniture and the utensils, as well as the work of two young women washing and cutting some vegetables. Everything seemed to be in their respective place and she could feel Mrs. Hart's influence upon it - Darcy had told her how the housekeepers, Mrs. Hart here and Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley, had accomplished to manage the household as though the late Mrs. Darcy were still alive. Both houses still worked under the late mistress' elegant fingers even after her demise more than a decade ago.

Eventually, Elizabeth's gaze came upon a little boy sitting on the right corner, distractedly playing with the buttons of his green coat. Upon feeling someone's eyes at him, the fair boy rose his head and his clean blue eyes met the mistress' dark ones. He immediately grew red and ran across the kitchen towards the door, which he left open, tearing through the courtyard.

Elizabeth and the two women laughed at the boy's shyness. Mrs. Clayton explained, "He's little Walter, the gardener's son, ma'am. Please, excuse 'is manners." Elizabeth was going to answer, but for standing right opposite the door, she was hit by a gulp of cold air that nipped her, making her shiver. Hence, she crossed her arms in front of her and raised her head, her eyes then met a strange sight outside the door - it startled her as soon as she realised what it meant.

The cook proceeded talking about little Walter until she took notice that the mistress was trembling and had strangely grown pale. Seeing that the door was still open and guessing that Mrs. Darcy must be a very fragile lady, not inclined to bear the cold weather, she strode to the door in order to close it. "This boy, he's always leavin' the doors open, Mrs. Darcy ..." Mrs. Clayton stopped her babble upon reaching the kitchen entrance. Despite the faint light from the lamp outside the door, the cook recognised Colonel Fitzwilliam crossing the yard, leading a group of three men. "Oh Lord!" She covered her mouth before she could scream. She could now understand why the mistress had turned as white as a sheet, her fingers clutching tight a nearby chair. The group was carrying an unconscious Mr. Darcy.

Mrs. Clayton's exclamation called Mrs. Hart's attention and the housekeeper immediately joined the cook under the door frame. She could not help gaping at the group traversing the courtyard, yet she did not allow herself to be still. Instead, she grabbed her skirts and ran back through the kitchen directly towards the servants' quarter to obtain help. The other maids in the room did not know what to think and endeavoured to reach the kitchen entrance, but they were prevented from doing so by the cook, who quickly shouted at them to warm some water.

The housekeeper's action seemed to have served as cold water thrown at Elizabeth's face - she finally achieved to control her trembling legs and, without delay, hurled herself to the open door at the moment the group had just approached the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam in vain attempted to detain her - she blindly freed herself from his friendly arms and reached Jonathan and Darrel. The two footmen who were carrying the gentleman stopped to allow the mistress a better view and Elizabeth leaned over Darcy.

"Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth murmured, waiting for his eyes to open and smile at her, but he did not answer. His face was frighteningly pale, emphasizing even more his dark eyebrows. There was mud in his face. In his dark locks. And on his coat. Her eyes opened wide when she saw that there was more than mud on her spouse's attire. She closed her eyes and repressed a sob. There was blood all over it. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyelids and looked up at the colonel. Hardly restraining the searing tears, she stated, "He is not..." She was unable to continue.

"No, he is not." Elizabeth continued staring at him and the colonel averted his eyes before proceeding, "But he needs to be tended to immediately. The doctor is already here." He pointed at Dr. Pollock, who silently bowed to Elizabeth. She nodded at him in response and turned to Mrs. Hart, who had just come back from the servants' wing followed by Mr. Morrisey (Darcy's valet) and some other employees, saying,

"Make sure that all the doctor's requests are promptly fulfilled." Her low lip was quivering, despite her effort in looking composed.

The housekeeper looked at the doctor's dirty clothes rather in distrust, but she still answered, "Everything he needs, ma'am." Mrs. Hart could not conceive why Dr. Wyndham had not been called. This was not the time to dispute anything though. Moreover, Colonel Fitzwilliam must know what he was doing and whom he trusted. Having thought so, she started to distribute her orders to the staff.

As more two servants approached Jonathan and Darrell to help them carry Darcy upstairs, Elizabeth turned to her husband anew and lightly caressed his face. Dr. Pollock came to her and gently, still firmly, said, "If you will excuse us, ma'am."

"He is right." The colonel agreed with the doctor and walked to her, waiting for her answer.

She looked up at the colonel first, then at the doctor, but said nothing. Next, she took Darcy's right hand and softly squeezed it before taking a step back, allowing the group to proceed towards her spouse's chamber. As soon as they left the room Elizabeth collapsed in a chair, her trembling legs unable to support her weight any longer. The kitchen was spinning and the frightened servants' voices were so low, so distant. The whole world seemed to be very far, while her limbs were becoming asleep. However, she denied to give herself away to stupor, Oh I can not faint now! Remaining quiet and endeavouring to ignore the servants' crescent babble and irritant looks of pity, she slowly regained her senses.

Helen, her chambermaid, brought her some water, which Elizabeth swallowed in gulps. "Is there anything I could do to help you, ma'am?" The maid offered.

"Yes, please. Go and fetch Mrs. Hart." Elizabeth could still listen to her voice distant, as if another person had stated that, not herself. Helen came back with Mrs. Hart in less than five minutes. Elizabeth did not waste time and said, "Please, tell the servants that not a word of this event should reach Miss Georgiana, at least not for awhile. As soon as my sister is awake ask her to look for me."

"As you wish, Mrs. Darcy." The housekeeper nodded and was already asking the mistress' permission to leave when she remembered something. "I did as you asked, and everything the Scottish doctor requested was taken to the master's chamber." She cleaned her throat. "I also took the liberty of giving some clean clothes to the doctor, ma'am." Her critical tone was clear and Elizabeth gazed at her,

"The doctor's clothes must have got dirty while he helped Mr. Darcy wherever he was hurt, Mrs. Hart." She could not understand why Mrs. Hart seemed not to approve of the doctor.

"He is not the family's doctor, ma'am." The housekeeper retorted.

Elizabeth finally comprehended the housekeeper's concern about the physician. "Do not distress yourself, Mrs. Hart. If Col. Fitzwilliam trusts him, I am sure Mr. Darcy is in good hands." Nonetheless, Elizabeth was now worried and would inquire the colonel about this as soon it was possible.

"We hope so, ma'am." She then curtsied to the mistress and left to order more hot water to be taken to the master's chamber.

Helen approached the mistress once again and suggested she should go to her chamber and rest, but Elizabeth politely refused the advice. Having regained her strength a little, she decided it was time to go to her husband's room.. Standing up, Elizabeth left the kitchen with insecure steps, under the silent staff's gaze. Not even in a nightmare had she felt so vulnerable, so terrified. Upon passing the parlour, she realised that it had already dawned - a typical grey day of winter. At least the soft rain had ceased. It is useless though, since the storm inside has just begun. She could not help this thought.

The staircase was slowly climbed, yet Elizabeth's heart was frenetically pounding, as if she had run through the whole house, when she reached the top. She put her right hand over her bosom and breathed deeply twice before striding through the large corridor. The paintings of Darcy's ancestors hung on the walls were like scaring shadows in a dark wood. Nonetheless, Elizabeth had no time to think of childish fears, as her worst disquiet now laid beneath the door in front of her. She lightly knocked on Darcy's door and next tried to open it, but the door was locked, which increased her exasperation.

"It is Elizabeth, Col. Fitzwilliam. Let me in, please!" Seconds went by without an answer. Elizabeth was going to knock again when a click of the lock was heard and the door was open. Col. Fitzwilliam quickly moved out, not allowing Elizabeth to see any of the events in process inside her spouse's chamber. Frustrated, she tried to force her way past the colonel to no avail, as her action was quickly prevented by the gentleman, who held her arms tight and used his body to obstruct the way. In half frustration, half agony, she begged, "I need to enter, Colonel. Please!"

"The doctor does not wish anyone inside, but Mr. Morrisey and me. I beg you to believe me, it is a sight a lady would not want to see." He was still holding her hands, impressed by her insistence, still moved by the feelings towards Darcy she was displaying.

Elizabeth lowered her head and sobbed. "Forgive me, I... I do not know what to do. I do not even know what really happened. Was he hurt by Mr. Wickham?"

"No, he was not. Darcy did not even meet me at the Inn." Having said so, the colonel led her cousin's spouse to a nearby chair and explained in a low voice what he knew about the event: the gypsy blocking the way, the shots and how he came upon Darcy, who was already being assisted by Dr. Pollock.

The colonel's reference to the doctor reminded Elizabeth of Mrs. Hart's reproach, "The doctor - Mrs. Hart told me he is not the family's doctor. Are you sure he can be trusted, Colonel?"

"Even if we had called Dr. Wyndham, we would need the Dr. Pollock's assistance - he is a surgeon, Elizabeth. He was in the Army long enough to know how to treat Darcy well. Moreover, Darcy was already being tended by him. If it were not for the doctor, Darcy could be dead now." Col. Fitzwilliam hoped that his implication about the need of a surgeon had been irrelevant to Elizabeth. However, her next question made him understand he should be more careful while talking to her in the future."

"A surgeon? What do you mean, sir?" Elizabeth's eyes were a combination of confusion and doubt.

"Hmm, Darcy was shot in his left shoulder and right knee. The bullets need to be extracted and..." He did not wish to tell her the doctor's fears.

"But why is a surgeon needed?" Elizabeth insisted.

"Dr. Pollock is not sure yet, but ..." The colonel passed the left hand in his hair in surrender, "If there is the risk of gangrene, he will need to... Well, we shall have to wait. Still we should be prepared to everything."

Elizabeth stared at him. She remembered having listened to Mr. Bennet and a friend talking about Wellington's campaign against the French in her father's library. They had thought she was not paying attention to their conversation as she seemed enthralled reading a book. Therefore they openly talked about the perils of serious gunshot wounds - most of the time, it implied amputation or death. "You do not mean amput..." Being unable to finish her sentence, she grabbed a fold of her blue skirt and twisted it mercilessly. The colonel only nodded and averted his eyes. "Oh Lord." Elizabeth mumbled and cried.

Chapter 31

A few hours had passed by since Elizabeth had last spoken to Col. Fitzwilliam. At that time, Darcy's cousin had made her aware of Darcy's perilous condition - the wound in her spouse's left shoulder inspired caution; not to mention the bullet in the knee that, if proved serious, would force an amputation. Upon hearing such news, Elizabeth had cried a little, being supported by a rather confused colonel. The gentleman seemed to be lost for words, hence he had then led the lady to her bedchamber and silently returned to his cousin's chamber in the hope of being helpful.

Inside her chamber, Elizabeth had realised that her impatience for some news before Darcy's arrival earlier this morning was nothing when compared to what she was feeling now. It was an unbearable suffocating sensation which grew worse after each minute spent without the real knowledge of what was happening in her husband's chamber.

Many times she had stopped in front of the adjoining door between the master's and the mistress' rooms, in the unavailing attempt of hearing something. Despite her efforts, only indistinguishable muffled sounds could be heard.

In the innumerable times agony had choked her throat, she had thought of picking up the key of the adjoining door that lay in one of her drawers and invading Darcy's domain, demanding to know what she had the right to as Darcy's wife. However, her sense had prevailed on those occasions, as she was conscious that her presence there at the moment could only disturb the doctor's work, mainly if she succumbed and fainted.

Now the lady abandoned the adjoining door once again, moving towards her dressing room, instead of taking a seat near the fire or lying on the satin covered bed. Upon passing her vanity, Elizabeth could not help looking at her image in the mirror - her paleness and rumpled hair shocked her a little. Although she was not a lady who much concerned with appearance (principally if considered the circumstances now), Elizabeth did not wish to scare Georgiana - Darcy's situation itself was frightening indeed, an ominous face could only exaggerate the matter.

As fatigue had started to overcome her, Elizabeth abandoned her vanity and lightly sighing, sat down on her bed. In fact, Georgiana had been in her thoughts at least for the last hour. Elizabeth had been wondering how she would deliver the news about Darcy without making the young lady sick too, considering that Georgiana looked to be very fragile. Moreover, according to Darcy, Georgiana had just begun to recover from the fiasco in Ramsgate last summer, that only part of her former radiant personality (although being somewhat shy among strangers) had been restored.

"How could I tell her that her beloved brother, her last close relative may..." She gulped, the tears inundating her eyes, "may perish?" Elizabeth had always believed that, in such cases, the absolute truth must be told, as she could not stand when the truth was masked, manipulated in order to "save" one from suffer. However, the confrontation between her belief and the practical situation was now proving that it was not so easy to cleave to her conviction without considering the others' feelings. And the least she wished was to hurt Georgiana.

"If only I could see him, I would feel more confident about my own feelings. Still, in the mode things are progressing, I can hardly feel any hope, let alone raise other people's." A knock on the door prevented her from taking any decision now and she stood up and walked towards the centre of the room. Feigning calmness, she then asked the person to come in. It was a footman bringing a note from Col. Fitzwilliam, asking if she could meet him in Darcy's library in ten minutes. Elizabeth promptly answered affirmatively and the footman left.

Upon her arrival at Darcy's library, Elizabeth noticed she was alone - only the flames burning in the fireplace welcomed her, which was a relief since she had no wish to meet anyone, but the colonel at the moment. Even the quiet, still inquiring eyes of the servants could be irritating in such a state of nerves .

Taking a seat near the fireplace, Elizabeth looked at the painting of Pemberley over the mantelpiece. For a moment, she wondered about how delightful it would be to stroll around the gardens, with a dark-eyed boy running in front of her, his dark locks balancing free in the wind, as he attempted to leave his mama many inches behind. A faint smile came to her lips and she relaxed a little.

Still gazing at the antique stone building, she could also see Darcy proudly riding around the estate, laughing at her, happy for being able to show her his haven. His words about his beloved Pemberley were still in her mind, A place where any room allows you to see green woods, a blue lake and multicolour flowers shining under the sun, or rejoicing over the rain. A place where even the white snow covers its surroundings magnificently. The sunrises as well as the sunsets will enchant you forever!

Some steps were heard in the corridor, interrupting Elizabeth's reverie. Seconds later, the door was open by a footman who gave passage to Col. Fitzwilliam and Dr. Pollock. The two gentlemen greeted her by bowing. Upon looking at the doctor, Elizabeth could notice that Mrs. Hart had actually given him a clean shirt and coat; even Elizabeth could not deny that the doctor had too much mud upon him earlier in the morning to refuse a clean piece of cloth. Mrs. Hart would be delighted to see that the "new" coat was still in good conditions. Nonetheless, the shirt was blood-stained, and such a vision made Elizabeth shiver slightly, guessing why and how the doctor had obtained those spots.

Hardly had the colonel lifted his head from bowing to Elizabeth and he stated, "We have come to inform you about my cousin's condition, Mrs. Darcy." He then turned to the doctor and continued, "Dr. Pollock, if you please." The doctor took a step forward while the colonel moved towards a side table in order to pour some strong beverage for the gentlemen, despite being so early.

Cleaning his throat, the doctor started, "Mrs. Darcy," but he was interrupted by the lady,

"Only the truth Doctor, please!"

Dr. Pollock looked at the colonel, who nodded his head in agreement. The doctor immediately began, "Mrs. Darcy, I would like to inform that the bullets were successfully extracted as well as we could conclude that the injure on Mr. Darcy's right knee proved to be a minor one, not offering risk."

Elizabeth's eyes opened wide and she muttered, "An amputation will not be in need, then." She gazed at the colonel, still he held his head down, as if concentrating on a very difficult task, not on simply pouring some drinks. After some seconds, the colonel finally put the decanter down on the silver plate, took the two goblets he had filled in and then moved towards the doctor, giving him one of the glasses. All the time his eyes were averting the lady's.

All the things had not been said yet, Elizabeth could feel it in the strange tension filling the air, in the colonel's lowered eyes, in the doctor's reluctance to drink from his goblet. Conquered by anxiety she inquired,

"I believe you have not finished your accounts on my spouse's health Doctor, have you?"

"No, I have not ma'am." He turned the goblet between his fingers - he thought it too early to drink some alcoholic beverage, mainly being on duty. And the curious eyes of the lady in front of him made him feel stupid. Actually, he had never been good at telling bad news, he had always said too much or too few, irritating his interlocutors or making them desperate. Needless to say that this case in special had somewhat touched him - a young couple, married only some days ago... He shook his head, attempting to regain his senses. Proceed he must and he would, "Despite the relief provided by the minor injury to the knee, I am afraid to say that the wound in his left shoulder is very serious, ma'am."

Elizabeth saw the colonel abandon his former position next to the doctor and silently move to the fireplace. An inauspicious sensation hit her and she held his breath before asking, "Serious? How so?"

"First allow me to tell you that Mr. Darcy is a very lucky gentleman, ma'am. Had the bullet hit him only some inches lower and it would have perforated his heart." Elizabeth made a face upon hearing his last words and the doctor realised that he should be more careful about his choice of vocabulary.

The doctor coughed a little and proceeded, "I understand that your husband seems to be in good health conditions and this might be very helpful in his recovering. However, Mr. Darcy has been feverish since we left the place where I met him and I believe his temperature may increase even more early in the evening, owing to the condition of the shoulder wounded." He slightly breathed before asserting, "Our challenge is to keep his temperature at a level he can bear. He is now very weak due to the great loss of blood, which would not only prevent me from using leeches, but also leaves me with almost no option to save him. To tell you the truth, his surviving or not exclusively depends on your spouse's strength and will to live."

The lady sat prostrated on a nearby couch. The colonel rapidly motioned to come for assistance, which she politely refused. The gentleman waited for a little, but seeing he was not needed, directed himself towards one of the windows, also struggling to keep the bad thoughts at bay.

The air in the room seemed insupportable. Elizabeth raised her head and saw the doctor still looking at her, as if expecting her to faint. Perchance she might feel better if she did so. However, she was not definitely her mother's daughter, she thought bitterly, as she never gave herself away to such syncope.

"We should not despair." The colonel finally stated. "There is still hope and we should cling to it. His fever may not rise dangerously - I saw soldiers in worse condition and they survived."

The doctor nodded, "Yes, I agree with you, Colonel. As I said, we depend upon Mr. Darcy's reaction, ma'am."

Nothing was said by Elizabeth. Her head was spinning as she did not know what to think - there was hope, still she should be prepared to the worse. She did not have time though to judge the matter better, as the door of the library was open so that Georgiana could make her entrance. Elizabeth immediately looked at the colonel begging for his help and he assured her of it by nodding.

The young lady padded into the room, her cream muslin making her look like a fair flying over the woods, a gentle smile playing in her lips. She seemed somewhat excited and approached her brother's wife directly, "My maid told me you wished to see me, Elizabeth." Hardly had she stated this and she realised that the ladies were not alone in the room - a tall man with clear green eyes was staring at her. Blushing furiously for having been rude to a stranger, Georgiana positioned herself next to her sister who had just stood up to welcome her, waiting for the introductions, as well as seeking protection.

Nevertheless, upon changing sides, Georgiana noticed her cousin standing near the window. She could not help inquiring, "Colonel? Were you not supposed to be in Kent?" She then ran her eyes around the library without finding who she was expecting. "But where is my brother? You would travel together." Her blue eyes were clouded by suspicion and fear.

Before she could continue, Col. Fitzwilliam strode across the room and, delicately holding her hand said, "I think you still do not know my friend. Georgiana, this is Dr. Christopher Pollock." The doctor then bowed to her and she curtsied. Suddenly, the meaning of the word "doctor" alerted her and she exclaimed,

"A doctor here? Why?" Her words could sound impolite, but her tone was rather of a frightened child who just noticed that her mother was not around. As no reply was made, Georgiana turned to Elizabeth and grabbed her hands - one would not know who had colder hands at that moment. Gazing at her brother's wife, she perceived how pale she was. A cold shiver ran through the nape of her neck. "Is it anything concerning my brother?" Georgiana finally brought herself to ask.

Elizabeth answered nothing, but led her sister to the couch and attempted to calm Georgiana down, begging her not to distress herself. Elizabeth's actual wish now was to cry, still she feigned calmness and with a firm tone began, "Well, there was an accident." She paused to intake some air. "Actually, your brother was robbed on the road to Kent before meeting Col. Fitzwilliam. He was... He was shot." Sighing heavily, Elizabeth held Georgiana's hands tight.

"Shot? Oh Lord!" Georgiana quickly stood up only to walk few steps. A sudden lassitude descended upon her and she would have fallen, had the doctor not been fast and caught her. She did not faint, though, and was taken to the couch anew. The doctor and the colonel attempted to animate her while Elizabeth asked for some water. Georgiana finally sat down straight and began to sob. "Fitzwilliam... shot..."

Mrs. Hart brought a tray with water and some goblets and offered to help, but Elizabeth politely refused it. Elizabeth then poured some water into the crystal glass and took it to Georgiana, who avidly drank from it.

"Your brother was already tended by the doctor and is resting now." Elizabeth started, lightly patting at Georgiana's hand. "Oh dear, be strong! He will need our help to overcome the difficult hours and recover soon."

"I shall." Georgiana answered lightly.

"Elizabeth is right, dearest. Dr. Pollock did everything that was in his power. Now it is our turn to help Darcy by being at his side and supporting him." The colonel knew that Georgiana must be thinking of her parents' illnesses and how short they had lasted after a diagnosis had been made. Therefore she must be frightened. He was frightened too, still he should not allow the ladies to perceive it.

Turning to Dr. Pollock, Elizabeth asked, "When could we see my husband, Doctor?"

"Now, if Miss Darcy is feeling better. "

"I am, Doctor." Georgiana answered firmly. "It is the only thing I wish now."

"Do not expect him to wake up soon ladies, though. He will remain unconscious till late in the afternoon. Even so, he may be a little delirious while the fever persists." Having said so, the doctor waited for the ladies to stand up with the colonel's help and the group then left the library towards Darcy's chamber.

Continued In Next Section