A/N: Interesting facts. It took approximately 17 minutes for a house to burn prior to 1940; today because of all the synthetic materials in use – it takes about four minutes.
Also, a crude form of CPR that included mouth-to-mouth existed as early as the 18th century.
Now on to the story! I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Two
Charlotte jerked awake, breathing harshly as if she had just escaped from a nightmare. She rubbed her chest that felt tight with apprehension. The clock suggested that she had only been asleep for a little more than half an hour. Charlotte turned onto her side, seeking a comfortable position on the mattress optimally situated for the best sleep, but she could find none, nor could she rid herself of the feeling that something was amiss. She sat up and reviewed her nightly regiment of closing up the house. She lay back again with a creased brow, all seemed well; however, she could not shake the apprehension. Charlotte snuggled into her pillow, frowning. Suddenly, she gasped and bolted upright. The candelabra had been sat too close to the curtains again! She remembered she was just about to mention it to Mr. Collins when she noticed Lizzy in the corridor. Charlotte sprung from the bed and grabbed her robe, struggling into it as she scrambled for the door. As she opened the door, she stumbled backward. Smoke. She had no live-in servants, so Charlotte yelled, "Fire!" and flung open the door to her husband's chamber; it was empty. Then she ran to Elizabeth's room, yelling as she went; it was also empty.
Panting, her heart racing and sweat beading upon her forehead, Charlotte ran down the stairs screaming, "Mr. Collins! Lizzy! Fire! Get out! Get out!" The smoke became thicker now as she descended the stairs. It burned her eyes and throat. Charlotte coughed and fell down the last few stairs as the smoke impaired her vision. Breathing better on the ground, she crawled toward her husband's study.
Oh, dear Lord, help me to reach them! She reached the study, stood up, flung open the door, and fell again – as thick, black smoke billowed from the door and escaped into the corridor. The sound of glass shattering rung in her ears. Charlotte stood again and briefly marveled at how hot the flames felt as she rose. She was enveloped in smoke so heavy she could scarce breathe and heat so hot that she felt as if she would soon burst into flames. She could not see her husband for the smoke, but she could see flames consuming the back wall. Charlotte stumbled in the direction of the desk and stubbed her toe against a chair, but she barely registered the pain.
"Mr. Collins!" she cried between coughs. "Mr. Collins! Fire! We must leave!" Charlotte reached out blindly searching for her husband. Her hand landed upon his shoulder, and she shook him. "Mr. Collins! Wake up! Wake up!" She coughed and shook harder. "WAKE! UP!" she screamed and shook him with all her might.
"Huh? Huh? What is…fire!" Collins yelled and then cough. He leapt from his chair and in his haste to leave, he did not fully clear the desk and thus fell into it. "Ow!" he screamed, then began crawling out of the hot, smoky room. Once in the corridor, Collins stood up and ran as fast as his pudgy legs could carry him.
Outside, he doubled over coughing. When he had recovered himself somewhat, he spoke, "Charlotte, I must attend to Lady Catherine! Oh, dear! My sermon is in the flames! She would have expected me to rescue it. Oh, she shall not be pleased," he bobbed back and forth in an odd little motion. Hearing no sympathetic response, Collins turned, "Charlotte? Charlotte?" he called.
The thundering staccato of horse's hooves invaded Collins' panic, and he whipped around just as Darcy leapt from Midnight. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Darcy ran. "Where are the ladies!" Collins stared glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. Darcy yelled again, "The ladies, where are they?!
Collins startled. "I, I do not know. Within, I think. Charlotte was behind me, but…" Darcy ran into the house.
Elizabeth woke with a gasp and stiffened, her eyes blinking rapidly as she transitioned from slumber to some level of wakefulness.
"Fire!" Elizabeth leapt up as she heard Charlotte's scream. However, still groggy from sleep, Elizabeth forgot that she was cocooned in her blankets, having wrapped herself snugly before she slept. In her panic, she attempted to run before freeing herself. Instead, Elizabeth fell. And with her arms also tangled in the blanket, she could not sufficiently break her fall. Elizabeth's head crashed onto the edge of the table, and the world went black.
As Darcy entered the house, the smoke immediately burned his eyes and impaired his sight. Darcy extended his arms and felt his way forward through the thick darkness. Suddenly, Darcy staggered a bit as a body fell into him and dropped. Darcy lifted the body and knew instinctively that it was not Elizabeth. Charlotte coughed and gasped, "Lizzy, Lizzy," she said weakly.
"Where is she?" Darcy asked as he raced to the door with Charlotte in his arms.
"In the parlor. Could not reach her, could not breathe."
The conscription in Darcy's lungs now had little to do with the decrease in oxygen. Once outside, Darcy sat Charlotte down and raced back inside.
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" he called. Darcy's eyes blinked constantly, and he panted. The smoke made it feel as if a cap had been placed on his lungs. Dear God, let her be alive, he screamed within. He could barely breathe; he knew Elizabeth could not have much longer. Darcy raced to the parlor door, his lungs feeling as if they would burst. As he entered, the fire crackled and hissed, and the heat from the flames seared his skin. The back wall that the parlor shared with Collins' study was on fire and beginning to spread farther inward, the wood furniture served as perfect kindling for the greedy flame.
As Darcy felt his way forward, something flaming and hissing fell onto Darcy's shoulder, setting his jacket on fire. Darcy fell to his knees and wrestled out of his jacket, his shirt charred, and his shoulder now burned. But so desperate was he to find Elizabeth that he felt no pain. Darcy crawled; he still could not see, but he could breathe a bit better from the ground. Darcy was disoriented in the darkness, so he felt his way forward. But the room was large, and Darcy despaired of finding her in time. His chest was tight, and he was filled with the worst kind of dread, for even on the ground, he was nearly out of air. He had to find her before his oxygen was depleted. The darkness that now flooded his being had nothing to do with the smoke.
Darcy searched frantically around him. He touched a table, hot from the licking flames, now a chair. He knew he was now in the vicinity of the sofa where Elizabeth surely lay. He felt the arm of the sofa. Darcy's heartbeat elevated, and he rose to his knees and felt eagerly around the sofa; however, Darcy's heart plummeted just as quickly as he realized that the sofa was empty. She could be anywhere in the parlor, or perhaps even in another part of the house altogether. Cold chills ran up his spine, despite the heat. He could not have been in the parlor for much more than a minute, but it felt like a lifetime.
Just when Darcy's lungs felt as if they would burst, he touched an arm. Dear God, Elizabeth! Darcy pulled her to him. She was limp, and Darcy's heart felt as if it had stopped. Dear God, please let her be alive! Dear God, please let her be alive! Darcy lifted her and placed her over his unsinged shoulder like one would carry a child. He struggled to his feet, the lack of air making it twice as hard to lift Elizabeth than it had been to lift Charlotte who was taller and at least a stone and a half heavier. Darcy used the arm that had been burned to feel his way forward. Just as Darcy thought his eyes and lungs could not bear another moment, he reached the opening to the corridor. Assured that it was relatively free from obstacles, Darcy raced to the door just as he heard shattering glass and a portion of the parlor ceiling falling.
When Darcy emerged outside, Colonel Fitzwilliam shouted orders as the men formed the bucket brigade, fed the fire engine, and manned the pumped. Darcy raced to get Elizabeth to clean air. As he exited, Charlotte, who had been staring with her hand pressed to her mouth since Darcy had entered, fell to her knees in relief, then just as quickly rose again and ran after him.
"Is she alive," Charlotte asked.
"Yes, she is breathing."
"Thank God," Charlotte breathed. As they neared a place with thick trees and clean air Darcy sat and cradled a limp Elizabeth in his arms.
"Wake up, my darling," he pleaded, heedless of Charlotte's presence. Elizabeth's skin was bluish, and her breathing was shallow. "No! No! Darling, you must breathe." Darcy's chest rose and fell rapidly as his own lungs gasped for the fresh air, and as the panic for Elizabeth threatened to choke him and finish what the smoke had begun. With harsh breathing and trembling hands, Darcy smoothed the plastered hair from Elizabeth's face. Her skin was hot, and he lifted wild, desperate eyes to Charlotte, who held her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. Suddenly, Darcy remembered something he was told that the doctor had done for him when he was a lad and had been rescued from the partially frozen lake that Wickham had pushed him onto. Darcy leaned forward and breathed into Elizabeth's mouth. "Breathe, darling," Darcy said and breathed into her mouth again and again. Finally, after what seemed to be the longest wait in hell, Elizabeth gasped and lifted in his arms and coughed until it shook her body.
"Oh, thank God," Darcy breathed through the tears that fell unhindered down his cheeks. Darcy held Elizabeth with her head cradled on his shoulder and rubbing her back until her coughing subsided and Elizabeth sagged against him again.
"She needs water and medical care," Darcy said as he rose. "I will take her to Rosings. Send Collins for the doctor if he has not already arrived. I will send a carriage back for you."
Strong, efficient Charlotte, who had fallen to her knees weeping when Elizabeth had begun to cough, rose and raced to her task as Darcy raced to Midnight and rode as fast as he could to Rosings.
Darcy raced up Rosings' portico with his precious cargo. The door was flung open by the anxious butler.
"Peters, have the housekeeper prepare a room, immediately!" Darcy said.
"What is that noise, Peters?" Lady Catherine's strident voice invaded the corridor. "Has Collins come to attend me? This is most vexing," Lady Catherine huffed and bellowed from the drawing room.
Darcy winced at his aunt's grating voice. Peters walked to the drawing room door. "It is Mr. Darcy, ma'am."
"My nephew? Have him attend me at once!"
"Ma'am, he is carrying Miss Bennet and requesting chambers be readied."
Lady Catherine blew up like a blowfish and lurched from her chair. "Carrying Miss Bennet! What is the meaning of this!" She screeched as she marched to the corridor. "Impertinent girl, I will not allow this! Darcy! I insist you explain yourself! Attend me now!"
The entire house had been aroused with the news of the fire. Anne had defied her mother's orders to remain in her chambers and had come to the drawing room instead. She sat wrapped in too many blankets, the only way to appease her mother into allowing her to remain. Lady Catherine shook with fury, and Anne glanced at her companion, then she rose and followed her mother from the room.
Darcy blew out a harsh breath and walked to the study and laid Elizabeth on the sofa. Suddenly, he staggered. Since the immediate panic had subsided, there was no barrier to constrain his pain, and the misery came roaring, like floodwater escaping the dam. Darcy gripped the wall, and closed his eyes, struggling to breathe. His shoulder throbbed and his burns were excruciating – and he was weary, so weary he felt as if he stood on paper legs.
"Where is she? Impertinent girl. I will not stand for this!" Lady Catherine scowled and pounded her walking stick into the floor as she walked heavily into the corridor.
Darcy winced as he straightened his shoulders as best he could and met his aunt in the corridor. Lady Catherine halted, her eyes bulged, and she gasped. Darcy's coat was gone, his hair was disheveled, and there was soot upon his face. His shirt was torn and charred, and the burn injuries on his shoulder and forearm were red and menacing.
"Darcy! Explain yourself! Surely you did not run into a burning house to rescue that chit!" Lady Catherine bellowed through her frown.
"Aunt Catherine, my actions are not under your purview. Please have a room prepared for Miss Bennet; she is injured and in need of immediate care." Darcy's voice was hard, and his face set like granite.
"I will do nothing of the sort! Can you not see that she is only trying to trap you by leaping into your arms in a fire! She surely set it herself for just such an occasion! I will not allow that lowborn strumpet under my roof!"
"Aunt Catherine! Miss Elizabeth is a victim of a fire and is now unconscious and in need of a doctor! I will not trade words with you! Have a room PREPARED!"
"Or what, Nephew? I will not be moved on this! I am the mistress of Rosings, and that unscrupulous chit will not usurp my daughter's place! Now, take her to a vacant tenant's cottage."
Darcy had had about as much as he could bear. He was so weary it required nearly all his strength just to stand, his shoulder burned as if it were still being licked by that hissing flame, his eyes felt like sandpaper, and his lungs felt as if they were being scratched by porcupine needles.
Darcy turned his head and closed his eyes momentarily. Then he faced his aunt, his countenance fierce and his voice cold as a glacier. "Very well, aunt. But if Miss Elizabeth goes, so shall I, and this will be my last visit to Rosings. I will cut all ties, and you will tend to your own affairs."
Lady Catherine gasped. "You would not dare," she pulled herself to her full height and looked at Darcy with narrowed eyes.
Darcy stared at his aunt, his eyes as hard as flint, then he turned on his heels and marched into the study to collect Elizabeth calling behind him, "Peters, have the carriage readied."
"Wait!" a soft voice called, and Darcy halted and turned. His cousin Anne stood small and delicate, her eyes darting between Darcy and her mother. Lady Catherine swiveled and scowled at the sound of her daughter's voice.
Anne inhaled a deep, shaky breath and then spoke to the butler with a tremulous voice, "Peters, have Mrs. Bingham prepare a guest room, immediately."
The old butler bowed and turned to scurry away. "Peters! Halt! You will do no such thing!" Peters froze.
"How dare you, girl!" Lady Catherine turned on her daughter. "How dare you disobey my order! I am your mother and the mistress of Rosings! Can you not see I am securing your future?"
Anne took a step back as if the force of her mother's voice had pushed her. She twisted her hands and looked at Darcy. He seemed to sag from weariness, and his face was pinched from pain. Anne breathed deeply, squared her shoulders and spoke a little louder, "No, Mother, I am the mistress of Rosings."
Lady Catherine's jaw dropped, and she turned as white as chalk. Anne continued, "Miss Elizabeth needs care, and I will not turn her away." Lady Catherine stood still, breathing hard and staring at Anne with a thunderous expression.
Peters looked back and forth between the two ladies, his eyes large, and his body tense. "Very well," Lady Catherine hmphed. "She may have a room in the servant's quarters."
Darcy stiffened and opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, Anne spoke. "She will have a room in the guest wing, Mother. I will not insult a gentleman's daughter in such a way."
"Do not defy me, girl!" Lady Catherine bellowed, and Anne jumped, her eyes wide. "Mrs. Jenkins, escort Anne to her room. She is overwrought from the excitement of the night."
Anne took a step to follow her mother's orders as she had always done, but then she looked up at Darcy standing bravely though he clearly would have liked to collapse. Anne stopped and shook her head. "No, Mother." Lady Catherine's eyes bulged, and her nostrils flared, and she looked as if she might now turn a shade of purple. Anne turned to Peters, her voice remained tremulous when she spoke, but speak she did. "Peters, I am indeed the mistress of Rosings since I reached the age of five and twenty. Do as I bid."
Peters remained still, looking between the two women. "Move!" Darcy thundered, and Peters jumped to his task.
Lady Catherine stared at Darcy's retreating back, then she turned to Anne and stared at her with narrowed her eyes before she swiveled, hmphed, and marched to her chambers. When Lady Catherine departed, Anne sagged against the wall, panting, until Mrs. Jenkins put her arms around Anne's shoulders and lead Anne back into the drawing room.
A/N: To all the guest reviewers, thank you for the encouragement. Unfortunately, I can only respond to reviews from those who have signed it.
A reviewer mentioned the lack of separation in the POV's. For anyone else who was bothered by it, I am new to publishing on this site. The original spacing was removed after I published, and I have not mastered editing on this site yet.
Finally, to the guest reviewer, "Lily," thank you for a LOL moment, as my quirky brain conjured up an implausible kitchen fire that has Charlotte dragging all of Lady C's recommendations into the flames while others attempt to put out the fire!