Thank you all for your lovely reviews and encouragement to keep writing. It has taken me a ridiculously long time to get back to this story, I know, but I hope you will enjoy this new chapter.

Mr Knightley spent the best part of that day, and the next, at Hartfield, much to the displeasure of William Larkins. Knightley himself barely gave his neglected duties at Donwell a thought. When he wasn't recalling the terrible sight of Emma pinned under the tree branch, or remembering the feel of her in his arms as he carried her home on his horse, he was worrying about Mr Perry's predictions.

Knightley sat with Emma whenever she was awake, and played backgammon or whist with Mr Woodhouse in the drawing room when she slept. He encouraged Mr Woodhouse to take his regular meals, and tried to do the same himself, but in truth neither man had much appetite.

On the second day after the accident, Emma's fever began to rise. Mr Perry was again summoned, but had no new treatment to recommend. He could only reiterate that Emma was young and strong, but that she must be carefully nursed.

Knightley knew Mrs Wright and Jenny were doing their best, but he greeted the appearance of the London nurse later that day with relief. Mrs Wilton was a stout, matronly woman with a fresh white apron and a no-nonsense manner. She shooed Mr Knightley out of the sickroom and down to dinner, assuring him that she knew best how to care for "Miss Emma".

He was too anxious about Emma's condition to quit Hartfield that night. He was dozing in front of the parlour fire in the early hours of the next morning, when he was shaken awake by the tweeny, Jenny, dressed in a nightgown and a shawl, her feet bare.

"If you please, Mr Knightley, I'm that sorry to disturb you like this, but I didn't know where else to turn, I'm that worried about Miss Emma…"

"What is it?" he barked, coming instantly alert.

"Something woke me, a cry maybe, and I popped into Miss Emma's room to see how she did and to ask that woman if she needed anything. Miss Emma's thrashing about something terrible, gasping for air, and that old witch of a nurse is trying to bleed her…"

"She's doing what?" Knightley shouted, causing Jenny to shrink back from him.

"If you please, sir, she's got a knife that isn't even clean, that she means to cut Miss Emma's arm with, and it's my belief she's three sheets to the wind the way she's been sipping from that bottle since she arrived…"

Mr Knightley sprang from his chair and made for the door, almost knocking Jenny over in his haste.

The girl followed him up the stairs, still babbling nervously. "I didn't know what else to do except to come for you. I hope I didn't do wrong, sir."

Mr Knightley realised he must be looking like the very devil, so much did he long to choke the living daylights out of the London nurse. He halted briefly and turned to reassure the frightened girl.

"You did just as you ought, Jenny, and Miss Emma is very fortunate to have such a devoted servant. Let me go now and I'll deal with the nurse."

He took the remaining stairs two at a time and ran down the corridor to Emma's room, throwing the door open without so much as a by-your-leave.

The room was cold, much colder than it should have been according to Mr Perry's instructions, and lit only by a single candle on the nightstand. The stale air reeked of gin. Emma lay flat in the bed, her face terribly pale and covered in sweat. She was gasping and tossing her head from side to side, seemingly fighting for breath. The nurse was sitting on the side of the bed, trying to hold Emma's outstretched arm still over a white bowl. Her other hand held a rusty knife, poised over the vein in the crook of Emma's elbow. The crash of the door against the wall made her start and look up in surprise.

Mr Knightley strode forward and dashed the knife from her hand. "What in Hell's name do you think you're doing?" he roared.

Mrs Wilton seemed unperturbed by his rage. She let go of Emma's arm and dropped down onto her knees to search for the knife. Her movements were slow and clumsy, and her voice, when she spoke, was slurred.

"She has an excess of sanguine humour. That's what's causing the fever. She must be bled." She continued to crawl around on the floor. "Why did you knock away my knife? Now I'll have to start all over again."

Knightley grabbed the woman by her shoulders, hauling her to her feet.

"Get out!" he hissed, propelling her towards the door. "Get out, and make sure to leave this house at first light, or I won't be responsible for my actions."

The woman dug in her heels as they reached the doorway and looked back over her shoulder, her gin-soaked breath causing him to recoil a little. "Just as you wish, of course. It's no skin off my nose. I can't help it if the quality don't appreciate a good nurse when they see one. She'll most likely die without me, but on your own head be it…"

He shoved the woman through the doorway and slammed the door behind her for good measure. He laid his forehead against the cool wood of the door for a second, fighting to calm his breathing, before turning back to Emma.

She seemed barely aware of the altercation that had just taken place in her room. Her eyes were open a little, but glazed with fever, and her gasping terrified him. He removed the empty bowl and sat on the side of the bed, where the nurse had been. He took Emma's small, hot hand in his left one. With his other hand, he reached out and gently stroked the sweaty tendrils of hair away from her face. "Emma," he said. "It's Mr Knightley. I'm here now. I won't leave you again."

"Emma?" he tried again when there was no response. "Emma, my love, can you hear me?"

The anguish in his voice seemed to penetrate her senses a little. She turned her head towards him, her eyes struggling find him. "Knightley?" she gasped hoarsely.

"Yes, it's me. I'm here to look after you. What do you need, Emma?

"The nurse?" Emma whispered, clutching his hand.

"She's gone. I threw her out. I won't let her hurt you, I promise."

Emma's hand relaxed in his, and she managed a small smile. "Thank … you," she forced out between breaths.

Her gratitude tore at his conscience. He should never have exposed her to that witch of a woman. Or sent her out in a storm to humble herself before the Bates' for the slightest of transgressions. Everything about this situation was his fault, and she was thanking him? It was unbearable.

"Tell me what I can do to ease your pain, Emma," he asked again.

"Can't … breathe …"

Panicking, he looked around and saw that several of her pillows had fallen to the floor. He remembered Perry's instructions.

"Emma, I'm going to lift you a little, and place more pillows behind your back. I think that will help you to breathe easier."

She nodded her assent. He retrieved the pillows from the floor and placed them in readiness at the side of her head. He then bent towards her and wrapped his arms around her back. He could feel every one of her ribs through the thin lawn of her damp nightgown, and she was terribly hot.

"Ready, Emma?"

"Yes," she gasped.

He raised her as slowly and gently as he could, but she still cried out and stiffened in his arms at the strain on her cracked ribs. He grabbed the pillows with one hand and arranged them behind her as quickly as he could, before lowering her carefully back on to them.

She was breathing faster than ever, and terribly pale, but after a minute or so he thought she was not gasping quite as much. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded.

"That's my brave girl." He smoothed his hand across her forehead again, and she sighed and closed her eyes.

"You rest there and I'll do what I can to make you more comfortable."

He tried to remember the rest of Perry's instructions. There should be a kettle boiling to make steam, but the fire in the fireplace had almost gone out. She was probably due for more willow bark tea, and someone should be bathing her forehead to try to cool her. She needed a fresh nightgown too. He couldn't do this all on his own.

He opened the bedroom door and bellowed for Jenny. Bless the girl, she came within seconds. She must have been waiting in the corridor.

"Good girl, Jenny. You see I've gotten rid of that damned nurse. I'll have the footmen throw her out in the morning, if she hasn't left already."

Jenny's eyes were wide. "I saw how you pushed her out the room, though she didn't see me. I think she's gone off to pack her things. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

"Quite, Jenny," said Mr Knightley. "Now, Miss Emma needs our help. Can you run and wake Mrs Wright, and then bring a fresh kettle and some willow bark from the kitchens? I'll build up the fire again in the meantime."

"Of course, Mr Knightley." Jenny bobbed a small curtsey. "I'd do anything for Miss Emma."

She fled down the corridor. "So would I," said Knightley, under his breath. "So would I."