I put this new note before chapter 1 but in case you've been following along and are starting here :
Additional Note (also posted at chapter 1): I have been asked to post warnings. As a writer I hesitate to give too much away by way of warnings. I would like to tell you a story and let you decide if you like it or not. Very early on it will be clear who is and who is not in this story. I will challenge those of us who love the more traditional route to give this a chance I am obviously VERY biased but I think it works and would love the opinion especially of the purists (ok and the non-purists, I want to hear from everybody) I will warn that there is tragedy including talk of miscarriage so if that is a trigger please avoid.
Day 11
"Mrs. Darcy, please try to eat." The soft familiar voice cooed. Without much thought Elizabeth opened her mouth. She kept her eyes closed and refused to fully succumb to the wakefulness that now tugged at her. Memories seemed to demanded consideration whereas before they had proved elusive. Words, she had overheard, concerned looks and things that had gone unsaid in her past awakenings now paraded across her blurry mind. After five bites of what she had determined was Mrs. Padmore's chicken soup Elizabeth opened her eyes with no little difficulty.
"Mistress, it is so good to see you." The kind old lady declared with tears in her eyes. "Please try a bit more broth."
Elizabeth nodded her assent and managed three more swallows before finding her voice.
"Mrs. Reynolds could you please get me some water?"
"Of course." The housekeeper declared with a glee completely out of proportion to the request and situation. After taking a few sips she reclined once again on her wall of pillows. Mrs. Reynolds stood by the bed and beamed at Elizabeth.
"Mrs. Reynolds, why are you attending me? Where is Abigail or Belinda?" Elizabeth asked thinking her lady's maid or the upstairs maid were both more appropriate persons to wait on her than the head housekeeper.
"My lady, please forgive me, but Sir Stephen asked that we not say anything to upset you when you first woke up." Mrs. Reynolds was wringing her hands and not looking Elizabeth in the eye.
"Well, Mrs. Reynolds I can appreciate that he put you in a difficult position." Elizabeth tried to remain calm knowing that something must have happened to the servants she mentioned. She tried not to panic knowing that only had that previously saped what little strength she had available to her the past few times she had awaken but she had to appear calm and ready to receive information if she were to obtain it. Elizabeth wanted to know everything that was going on at Pemberley at this moment. Starting with . . . "please first tell me what day it is."
This seemed to calm the housekeeper down. She resumed her seat beside the bed and with one last longing look at the door began to speak.
"Monday, February tenth."
"The last day I remember remembering the date is Friday . . . the twenty-fourth of January ." Elizabeth said in some amazement. That was several days after William fell ill. The day he took a turn for the worse.
Elizabeth felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Elizabeth you must go to your room and get some rest and Mrs. Reynolds will skin us both alive if you do not eat the supper she sent up." Stephen said all of this while he gently tugged her from the chair she had positioned next to William's bed and guided her to the small sofa by the fire. "Now eat."
They passed a few moments in silence as Elizabeth did as she was told more to avoid further conflict with Stephen than from any real appetite. She was simply too tired to fight. Between caring for Georgiana, who was stable but had not improved at all since falling ill more almost two weeks earlier, running the house which included several sick servants and tenants and now William Elizabeth did not think she would be able to tell if she herself got sick. She was so very tired all of the time surely the fever and sickness couldn't feel much different.
"Good morning." The voice greeting them from the doorway belonged to Dr. Tate. He looked as tired as Elizabeth felt.
"How is Georgiana?" They asked in unison knowing he would have come from checking on her before seeing to William.
"No change." He said moving to examine William's sleeping form.
Elizabeth wanted to find hope in this, but could not. Dr. Tate had told them yesterday that unless Georgiana showed some improvement including being able to take liquids no change really meant she was getting worse and while he didn't say more Elizabeth knew, since three people had already succumbed to the fever, the dangers. She could not even bring herself to ask about William when the doctor had finished.
"The fever is worse." He said simply. After a deep breath, he continued. "His is one of the worst cases I have seen, but he is young and strong."
This seemed like an almost hopeless statement coming from the doctor, as if he had no more medical solutions to offer and so was left with platitudes. Elizabeth looked down at her lap and noticed Stephen had placed his hands in hers. She squeezed his fingers trying to draw strength as she worked to not consider the possibility of losing the people who were most dear to her in all the world. It could not happen. The Lord would not be so cruel. He could not. Elizabeth drew a breath.
"What can we do doctor?" Her voice shook.
"Everything we have been doing, Mrs. Darcy. I know it is frustrating, but the fever must run its course and we must trust to the methods that have proven effective. I know you do not want to try bleeding . . ."
"No, Doctor." Elizabeth interrupted standing to go to William's side taking his hand in hers. "You know I have the greatest respect for your skills and knowledge, but this is something William and I agreed on. He was quite clear on this."
"Very well." Dr. Tate responded with a sigh. "I will make my rounds among the staff here and then see to the tenants."
"Are there more cases?" Stephen asked.
"I am afraid so." The doctor answered. "I believe we have slowed the spread but two servants at Hawthorn house have become ill and three more of Pemberley's tenants as well as several more in the village."
The doctor left and Stephen began insisting that Elizabeth sleep while he took charge of William and Georgiana for some time. Elizabeth, though reluctant to leave knew her body needed rest. She kissed William's forehead and moved to the adjoining door. Before she reached it, the room seemed to spin and her legs gave way.
"Elizabeth." She heard Stephen exclaim before she felt herself being lifted. "Abigail, fetch Dr. Tate immediately." This was said in a voice so unlike Stephen's Elizabeth almost didn't recognize it. There was so much authority and so little gentleness. After this moment in time everything was fragmented. Being placed in her bed. Burning up, freezing cold. Abigail changing her out of her drenched gown. Abigail being replaced by Belinda. Begging to see William. Stephen crying. Stephen crying.
This memory washed over her anew and Elizabeth examined it trying to place it in context.
She had awoken from a fever induced slumber. Her eyes coming to rest on a male form by her bed. At first she thought it must be William and she tried to raise her hand to reach for him only to find it felt as heavy as lead. As she watched the man's shoulder's shook with sobs she could just barely hear. By now she realized it was not William, but Stephen who sat beside her. She wanted to ask him why he was crying, what could have caused him such sorrow, but she could not find the energy and succumbed to sleep once again. An hour, a day or maybe more than that later Belinda was urging her to swallow some broth, several other times it was Stephen and then the somewhat clearer memories from the past few days.
"Yes, that was when you came down with the fever." Mrs. Reynolds said patting Elizabeth's hands and recalling her to the present. "Yours has been a bad case from the start, but you have shown much improvement these past few days. Although you are still feverish. We've been so worried. Sir Stephen has hardly left your side."
"How is everyone faring?" Elizabeth asked thinking that if she kept the inquires general Mrs. Reynolds would feel like she could control which information she gave and therefore she might be more inclined to continue to speak.
"Little Lizzy is recovering and expected to be just fine. So is Abigail. She wanted so much to return to you. She was only ill for two days but Dr. Tate advised another day of rest. He thinks that the tide has turned as there have been no new cases in three days."
Clearly Mrs. Reynolds was conveying only the good news on purpose and the names not included in her monologue rang loudly in Elizabeth's mind, but she feared direct questions would lead to a retreat and not answers.
"That is good to hear, Mrs. Reynolds." She said carefully. This was the most conversation she had had in more than two weeks apparently and it was more tiring than she had anticipated. But Elizabeth was determined to become mistress of her home again and she would not allow her own weakness to master her. "Now, if you would be so kind as to send someone to help me bath and dress I would like to see my husband."
"Mrs. Darcy, I do not think . . . please . . . you are not strong enough yet." Mrs. Reynolds voice shook and as she spoke she wrung her hands and began to pace. "Allow me to fetch Sir Stephen. He went out with Mr. Prentice several hours ago to help clear the road. It is still impassable by the river. For carriages, at least. We have been able to send express riders. Oh, and we have several letters from Longbourn for you and I think Mrs. Bingley has written every day. She wants so much to be here, but of course she just had the baby, it coming early and the weather so bad . . ."
Elizabeth briefly registered the news that her beloved sister had had her baby. A small burst of joy lit her heart, but she could not hold on to it. The subject change was not lost on Elizabeth and she wondered briefly why everyone seemed to want to turn to Stephen for answers when they were avoiding her questions but her blurry mind had trouble keeping track of what it was she wanted to find out.
"Perhaps I will try and read those letters now, Mrs. Reynolds." Elizabeth said realizing she likely did not have the strength to handle a walk to her washroom right now. "If you would be so good as to send up another tray as well I think I have something of an appetite."
"That is good to hear, Mistress I will do so immediately."
"Before you go, Mrs. Reynolds, please tell me who from the staff is sick and . . . have we lost anyone?"
"Mrs. Darcy, "
"Mrs. Reynolds, I understand your concern for me, but I must insist you answer my question."
Just as she said this Stephen appeared in the doorway.
"Elizabeth." He exclaimed with a look of relief and exhaustion. "You look . . ."
"Terrible?" Elizabeth guessed when Stephen seemed disinclined to finish his own sentence.
"No, I mean yes." He smiled sheepishly "but you cannot know how beautiful you always are and I am so happy to see you awake and alert it makes you more beautiful still."
Mrs. Reynolds had made her way to the door.
"I will order a tray sent up and have Mary come see to you." She said as she quickly left the room.
"Stephen, please." Elizabeth said when he had seated himself by her bed and began to pour her a glass of water.
"Drink first." He commanded. "You have done well taking both broth and water over the past few days or so but you are still shockingly thin, Elizabeth and you need all the nourishment you can get."
She did as she was told because it was the quickest way to get the answers she needed. After she had taken a few swallows, but before she could speak her questions and concerns Mary appeared in the doorway.
"Mrs. Darcy! You are awake."
"Hello, Mary." Elizabeth said with a small smile.
"Would you like me to assist you, Mistress?"
"Yes, thank you."
Stephen excused himself and informed Mary that he would be working in the library. He asked to be told as soon as Elizabeth was ready to receive him. This proved to be a longer process than anyone anticipated. Not only because of her weakness but also because she allowed herself to fully enjoy the apparently long neglected routine of bathing, dressing and being out of bed. She knew there was a great trial ahead of her and Elizabeth gave herself over to the physical pleasure of shedding the layers of illness. Soon enough she knew her mind and heart would be engaged in the emotional aftermath of this terrible fever.
Two hours later Elizabeth was feeling refreshed by Mary's ministrations. She sat at her vanity having her hair brushed as Mrs. Reynold's returned with a tray laden with enough food to feed a small army. Stephen was close behind. The three of them fussed over her until she was settled in the chair closest to the fire with the tray on the table next to her. Mary made a plate for her while Stephen tended the fire. At one point two servants came in with additional wood and they too greeted Elizabeth with enthusiastic congratulations on her being out of bed at last. They both claimed she looked well.
"I will not threaten your job for uttering such falsehoods Eddie." She warned with fondness. Eddie was the son of a tenant who was training in the house to become a footman. He was one of the first tenants she had met and befriended upon her arrival as mistress.
"Thank you, mistress." He said with a smile before Mrs. Reynolds shooed them out.
"Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Darcy?" She asked.
"No thank you, Mrs. Reynolds." Elizabeth said. As much as she loved the old housekeeper she knew that her protective nature would continue to keep all news of a disturbing nature from her. With one last tuck of the blanket covering Elizabeth's lap Mrs. Reynolds left, leaving the door open.
Now that she had the opportunity to speak with Stephen alone Elizabeth was uncertain where or how to begin. She looked at him and saw so much in his eyes. They were guarded, but she also saw the pain there, the grief and the exhaustion. She wondered what he had been through these past few weeks. She wondered if she was strong enough to find out. Pulling the blankets tight around she knew the fever had not fully left her, she could not get warm enough. Pushing that thought aside she addressed Stephen.
"Stephen," she began tentatively.
"Eat a little please. I will start with the village." His voice was steady, but he didn't meet her eyes.
Elizabeth picked up the plate Mrs. Reynolds had prepared and speared an apple before looking up expectantly at her friend. Knowing food would help her recovery and placate Stephen she did as she was asked.
"Dr. Tate has been able to get to village about every other day since the first case was reported there last week. As you know the apothecary is quite capable and has been attending to the sick as well. Mr. Tanner's family seems to have been the hardest hit."
"He runs the Rose and Crown?" Elizabeth asked. It was the Inn where she and the Gardiners had stayed on her visit to Lambton before she and William were married, but the couple who ran it now was different than the people who did then and Elizabeth did not know them well.
"Yes, and three of his children as well as his wife came down with the fever." He paused then lowered his voice. "His wife died and the baby is still sick. There are about a dozen people still suffering and about the same number have recovered. Three others died."
Elizabeth tried to keep eating to show Stephen she could assimilate this information. That she could handle it. The problem was it wasn't information. It was people's lives. It was . . . Stephen was talking again.
"There are only four of Pemberley's tenants who are still ill, but Dr. Tate is concerned that these may never fully recover as they have been sick for over a week and all are rather serious cases. As I believe you know little Lizzy is nearly well, but her sister . . . Anne did not make it. Nor did Adam."
"No," Elizabeth held back a sob, but could not restrain the tears that fell. "Poor Mrs. More."
"Yes, but it is a blessing that she herself never caught the fever so she is able to care for the rest."
"Small blessing." Elizabeth mumbled and though unsure she could hear it asked, "who else?"
"The Carwrights lost their baby, the Holdens their eldest and old Mrs. Ferguson passed just yesterday. The rest were before you became ill. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I think so." She remembered Mrs. Reynolds keeping her updated on tenant families who had members coming down with the fever and the few servants who became ill. When William had become ill her world had shrunk down to the family wing of the house. Very little penetrated the small world she had inhabited during that time, but she knew she had been kept informed.
"As I believe Mrs. Reynolds told you Abigail did contract the fever but is almost fully recovered. Belinda is not sick but asked to be relived of her duties to care for her parents, both of whom are now recovering. Thomas and Paul have recovered and returned to their duties. Daisy is well again, but her little sister is still sick so she has remained at home."
He paused here whether it was to allow her to take in everything she had heard or to give her a moment to prepare for what was to come she did not know.
"Stephen." She said quietly. The silence had hung too long, too heavily. It was time. In her heart, she knew now what she would hear. There were things that would have been said if it were not the case. Names that would have been the first to be mentioned if they were not . . . the time had come to know, but still she knew once the words were spoken her world would never be the same. Nothing would be the same. She wasn't ready. She couldn't wait.
"Georgiana died on a Monday." Elizabeth dropped the plate from her lap and began to sob, but it seemed now that Stephen had begun he meant to tell her all. "You had fallen ill three days earlier and had not so much as stirred but William had been awake and regained some strength. Dr. Tate knew she was going to pass and we brought him to her side. She awoke just before the end and they . . . she knew we were with her."
Though his voice was detached Elizabeth saw the pain in his eyes through her own tears. Georgiana was like a sister to him. He had known her all her life. His pain must be overwhelming, but Elizabeth could barely think of that as her own was suffocating her. It had been a mere five years since they had met but she and Georgiana had been nearly inseparable since her marriage. Except for Elizabeth's wedding tour of the continent and a few other brief trips apart they had lived together this whole time, kept house together, traveled together, served Pemberley together, played music together. There was so much together in her life with Georgiana Elizabeth literally could not imagine a day here in her own home without the young girl's quiet smile, her lyrical laughter, her tentative teasing, her . . . presence. She had become a sister in every way. That she was gone was something Elizabeth could not fully understand. But there was more and before she let in the truth of what had happened seep in and pierce her soul she needed to know it all.
Stephen was watching her closely. His pain was fresh, raw even, but Elizabeth saw a degree of control there she could not comprehend. She reminded herself that he was much more familiar with death than she was. After taking a deep breath and trying to push the pain of Georgiana as far down as it would go she nodded slightly indicating he should continue.
"Elizabeth," the uncertainty in his voice confirmed her worst fears.
"Say it," she demanded in a shaking voice as she tried to stand.
"Elizabeth, you are weak. Please . . . at least sit down."
"Stephen. Say it!" she shouted as loudly as her still suffering body would allow rising fully from her chair as she did so.
Stephen tried to force her back into her seat but Elizabeth found strength enough to resist him. Remaining on her feet she gripped his arms and repeated her demand. He looked down at her, his eyes pleading even as she did. He wanted to be freed from this duty, but she could not release him. She needed him.
"We thought he was getting better. After Georgiana . . . he was eating and drinking. He sat by your side for a day and night, but then . . . he collapsed the next morning. Dr. Tate thought he would recover, that it was just a setback. He had been here every day trying to get him to take fluids, bring the fever down, anything."
"Stephen please." She begged.
"He died on January the twenty-ninth." His earlier words had been frantic as if in telling the story he could keep the truth from reaching her. These words, these final, devastating, life altering words were said with a detached inevitability as were his next. "He regained consciousness for a few minutes, but the fever was so high he was barely coherent. It was just after dawn."
The words swirled around, above and beneath her. She couldn't let them in. Wouldn't. Then it was as if those softly spoken truths were being shouted inside her head. Fitzwilliam was dead. Her husband was dead. Her husband.
"No." She had meant to shout it but the word she intended to ward off the horrible reality came out as a strangled whisper. And then she collapsed.