Thanks to Laure Saint-Yves for finding that typo or brainflip or whatever it was for Gunter's. I had another one in the same sentence referring to the 'Western Bazaar'. It was called the 'Western Exchange' or the 'Bond St Bazaar'. What is the nominative equivalent of a mixed metaphor?

Suggestions for the title of Chapter 35 were:

"Altered Reality" or "Slightly Disguised" by Deanna27,

"Half-truths" by Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,

"Dissembling the Truth" by nanciellen,

"Imbroglio" by Laure Saint-Yves,

"conversation in confidence" or "reveal some cards of the draw pile" by nessy22,

"Called to Question" Or "Reluctant Recounting" by beckyzozo,

"Re(ve)lations", "To say or not to say" by Beaty,

"Investigations and Explanations" by suddenlysingle

Some very good ones there. Kudos to Beaty for "Re(ve)lations" and nanciellen for "Dissembling the Truth". I decided to go with "Slightly Disguised" by Deanna27, which covers the brandy as well as the discourse.

Chapter 36 Things that go bump

Finn's recovery was not as swift as Darcy's had been, but in the circumstances Darcy could only be glad that his valet's transformation had worked at all. Not only had Darcy been unsure of his ability to perform the procedure, he had worried that it had been done too late to save Finn's life. But by the time Mr Gardiner had knocked on the door of the Grosvenor Square townhouse following his journey to Hertfordshire, Darcy was confident that Finn was well on the road to recovery.

To start off with, Darcy mostly nursed Finn himself. They had, of course, been obliged to hide the seriousness of Finn's wounds for exactly the same reasons that Darcy had fled to Hertfordshire. Darcy's servants, who had not been in the room when Finn was injured, were told merely that the valet had been 'winged'*. The doctor had not been called. When Darcy had arrived home on the previous night, he had fobbed off his housekeeper Mrs Flowers with Lydia who descended from the coach first. After the women had vanished inside, Fletcher had helped Darcy extract Finn from the carriage. Once they were both standing on the cobbles, the footman had then been completely flabbergasted when Darcy had picked his valet up like a baby and proceeded to carry him up the front steps alone. Fletcher's mild protest drew a quelling 'hush' from Darcy and the footman had to content himself with opening and closing doors for his master as they proceeded into the house and up the stairs. Fletcher was considerably in awe of Darcy's physical abilities by the time they reached Darcy's bedchamber, concluding that the Quality were indeed a superior race and mentally pledging fealty to Darcy forever.

Once Darcy had got Finn settled into the cot he sometimes occupied in Darcy's dressing room rather than his own small bedchamber above stairs, he sent Fletcher off for a pail of hot water. He quickly removed the packing from Finn's wound and, having established that it had cauterised itself, threw the bloody rags into the grate.

Throughout his lonely vigil during what remained of the night, Darcy plied his valet with the blood of venesection and was gratified to see the wound closing surely and steadily. By the time the sun rose, Finn was able to hold the cup himself and Darcy relinquished his valet's care to one of the housemaids so that he might sleep. Her only instruction was that Mr Finn was to be supplied at all times with a full mug of the port wine on his side table. The girl concluded that Mr Darcy was trying to pickle his valet. After a brief prayer for Mr Finn's liver, she sat down at the valet's bedside next to a single candle and proceeded to hem a handkerchief.

It took three whole days for the wound to close over rather than the matter of hours it had taken in Darcy's case. Nonetheless when Mr Gardiner had arrived to retrieve his niece on the afternoon of the first day, it was already apparent to Darcy that Finn would soon be on his feet again. Darcy soon determined that Rosings would be a good place to instruct his valet in his new lifestyle.

Darcy and Finn had set off again for Rosings before sunrise on Tuesday, stopping briefly in Gracechurch Street for Mr Gardiner. Elizabeth's uncle had been somewhat surprised by the funereal black coach with its heavy black velvet curtains that drew up outside his house. After stepping into the street in the nascent dawn, he was able to better appreciate the sleek lines of the lightweight coach and could only conclude that Mr Darcy was an eccentric—so typical of the Ton! When his host and his valet both settled down to nap as the coach clattered over the cobbles, Mr Gardiner very obligingly did likewise, thinking perhaps they had spent all night boxing the watch* or in pursuit of some other Tonnish pastime.

Once the coach left the confines of the London streets, Mr Gardiner heard the coachman cracking his whip and urging the horses onwards, after which the coach developed an alarming sway that seemed not to perturb his host. The vehicle soon settled down to a steadier motion that was marred only by a slight jolt when they hit the occasional bump in the road. Peeking briefly through the curtains, Mr Gardiner found the countryside rushing by at an alarming rate and decided that the black curtains had been installed to spare the occupants of the very well sprung coach from motion sickness.

Mr Gardiner was very impressed when they arrived at Rosings well before noon in what had been a remarkably comfortable trip. But he could only look on in bemusement when Mr Darcy and his valet both perched dark glasses on their noses and produced heavy oilskin umbrellas to emerge into a perfect spring day. In the dark vestibule of the manor house, he thanked his host genially for his swift and comfortable passage to Kent. Darcy responded politely and summoned one of his aunt's footmen to convey Mr Gardiner to his relatives.

Mr Gardiner was taken to the Yellow Room where he found his wife dozing in a day gown on top of the covers of a large four-poster bed.

"Edward!" said Mrs Gardiner, getting up quickly on perceiving her husband enter the room. "I got your note. Thank God you found her! And you got her home all right? How did Fanny and Mr Bennet take it?"

Mr Gardiner frowned. "Well, I suppose I can report that Lydia is still all in one piece*. Though I cannot congratulate myself that I handled her return to Longbourn very well. Although what else I could have done, I do not know."

"Oh dear," sighed Mrs Gardiner. "Whatever happened?"

"I am afraid, my dear, that Lydia was compromised."

"Oh, heavens!" said Mrs Gardiner with a resigned look at her husband. The possibility of Lydia's ruin had, of course, been near the top of Mrs Gardiner's list of worries since she had received the sparse missive her husband had sent from the receiving office at Saint Albans, saying he was returning Lydia to Longbourn.

"I managed to get Fanny and Mr Bennet alone after Lydia went upstairs with his sisters," Mr Gardiner explained. "Fanny fell into lamentations on discovering that not only was her daughter compromised but that Lieutenant Wickham was dead, having been shot during the fracas when Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy confronted him. When I related that Mr Darcy had very kindly offered temporary accommodation for Lydia in the north, should she need it, Mr Bennet stormed off saying that I could take Lydia there right now for all he cared—he never wanted to see her again. As you can imagine, Fanny promptly went into hysterics."

"Oh, my poor dear! I wondered why you were so long in returning after the note. I thought perhaps you might have got caught up with business on the way back."

"No. I spent the whole time reconciling Matthew to Lydia's staying at home, at least for the moment. He finally came round but he is still not speaking to her. I think we will need to go back to try to smooth things over, but I thought my first duty once a truce had been reached was to return to you and Elizabeth in Kent. How go things on that front?"

"Oh, Edward!" said Mrs Gardiner clutching her husband. "I fear..."

But she could get no further. Instead she buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her sobs. Mr Gardiner was a little surprised to see his strong-minded wife so greatly affected. He could only hug her tightly and rock her from side to side, hoping the news was not too bad. "There, there. You look like you have not slept well."

"I'm sorry," said Mrs Gardiner recovering herself. "Elizabeth has had a high fever from the day after you left. Jane and I have been nursing her with the assistance of Miss de Bourgh. Dr Grantley keeps saying hopeful things but I know he is worried. He has moved Mariah into a different room and told Charlotte she must devote herself to her husband and her sister, so as to not risk carrying the infection from Elizabeth."

"Well I am here," said her husband reassuringly. "We must hope and pray that Elizabeth will be strong enough to pull through."

The first Darcy knew of the deterioration in Elizabeth's condition was when he finally managed to visit her around three in the afternoon. He had spent the first half-hour after his return to Rosings informing his aunt of his movements, during which he had discovered that the engineers had arrived to inspect what remained of the parsonage. To his aunt's enquiries of the whereabouts of Colonel Fitzwilliam, he had been forced to invent some story of Richard having met some old army friends in Tunbridge Wells and gone off to London with them. This news had highly displeased Lady Catherine who had declared that Rosings was not a hotel and asked when she might have the pleasure of next seeing her nephew or if he would instead prefer his effects to be couriered to him.

In truth, after meeting Darcy on the day after Lydia's recovery, Richard had gone off in search of Colonel Forster, on the basis of Mr Gardiner's information that Wickham's commanding officer had accompanied him to London; he hoped to make all tidy there. Feeling guilty, Darcy had hastily revised his tale, telling his aunt that he thought Colonel Fitzwilliam to be engaged on some official business that involved visiting the troops training in Brighton. Richard was instead discovering the extent of Wickham's debts there and had been instructed by Darcy to offer a pension to Denny's mother through Colonel Forster, should her circumstances warrant it. Thus had Darcy finally hoped to end all claims of George Wickham on his purse, though he supposed that Lydia could yet introduce another chapter to the sorry saga.

After his interrogation by his aunt, Darcy had then met with the engineers in the library, which he had felt obligated to do as they had been in Kent for two days, completed their assessment, and had been waiting on his pleasure to meet them for the best part of one.

He had finally stolen away to the Green Room around three, ostensibly to check on his oxygen-producing apparatus. He was dismayed to find it sitting unused in a corner. Jane Bennet and Mrs Gardiner hovered near Elizabeth, bathing her forehead with vinegar.

Anne got up from the sofa near the hearth to approach him.

"Why have you dispensed with the factitious airs?" whispered Darcy to his cousin. "She is not yet recovered."

"It was only taken away this morning, Fitzwilliam," explained Anne softly. "Her fever has risen. She is drifting in and out of delirium. The ladies need to remain close to her and it was getting in the way. Dr Grantley thinks she may need to be put in a cool bath. If her temperature gets any higher she may fit."

Darcy looked at the bed in concern.

Anne pulled him further away, into a corner of the room. "She spoke of you last night," she confided.

Darcy stared at his cousin intensely, making Anne shift uncomfortably. "Richard told me that you had proposed to her," said Anne. "I hope that she will make a full recovery so that you might marry her."

Darcy blinked, then accepted that the cat had escaped the bag. "What did she say?" he asked, between hope and despair.

Anne looked embarrassed. "Something about you and some kittens—to keep away from them. She is very delirious," Anne added quickly, "and I think she is upset about the death of Charlotte's cat."

Darcy's face fell. He looked almost like he was about to burst out crying.

"At least she is thinking of you," whispered Anne hastily. "She is not very cogent."

No sooner had the words issued from her mouth than there was a cry of dismay from the bed and Anne hurried towards it. Darcy followed and was able to see Elizabeth thrashing about as Mrs Gardiner tried to hold her down while Jane mopped desperately at her sister's forehead with a cool rag.

"The bath!" said Anne, turning to him beseechingly. "I asked the servants to bring it from my room. Can you see what is keeping them? And Dr Grantley! I think he is with Mr Collins."

Darcy hurried out to comply but on returning with the bath, which he had snatched from the hands of three struggling maids, he was sent on his way as Elizabeth was lifted from the bed. The door closed and he was alone in the corridor. He put his ear to the wood and tried to discern what was going on inside by listening to the muffled exclamations. But when Charlotte came along the corridor in search of news of Elizabeth, he was forced to move away. He left Mrs Collins standing on the threshold, wondering aloud whether she should disobey Dr Grantley's injunction to enter the room in order to provide assistance. He walked bleakly away down the hall.

Darcy heard at dinner from the doctor that Elizabeth had passed that particular crisis but was not yet out of the woods. He had spent the afternoon sinking into the depths of despair. The full implications of his attack on Wickham suddenly seemed to settle on him. Richard had saved him from the certainty of having murdered Wickham or the greater folly of sparing George by granting him his request of becoming a vampire. He could only bless his cousin in absentia. But his cousin's action could not absolve him of guilt. Darcy's inhumanity had never been so stark to him. He had been unable to control his primal instinct to attack George. In a way he was also responsible for Elizabeth's current situation. If she should die, he did not think he could bear it. It was all he could do to drag himself to the dining room at seven.

Afterwards, he excused himself early from cards and went to his bedchamber to find Finn. Thus far, his valet had been subsisting on bloody steaks and mislabelled port. Darcy had determined to provide his first instruction to Finn that night, so that he might begin to fend for himself. If nothing else it would keep his mind from dwelling on Elizabeth, at least until he was able to visit her in the wee hours of the morn.

The lesson proved a dismal failure. Although Finn had been content enough to suck on Darcy's veins, he hesitated to put his lips to the skin of any of the peasants they visited.

"They are so dirty, sir!" he shuddered.

Darcy had not even progressed to the use of the awl. Finn had almost fainted when Darcy produced the tool from his coat.

"You do not expect me to stick them with that, do you, sir?" asked Finn in revulsion.

They had returned to the manor house shortly after midnight. Finn, hardly satisfied from their excursion, had immediately sought Darcy's bedchamber to sate himself with the bottled blood and set up the apparatus to refresh the new shipment. Darcy crept along to Elizabeth's chamber.

Opening the door a crack, Darcy saw that Jane was watching over her sister as expected—information passed to him by Anne at dinner. His cousin had been privy to the discussion of Elizabeth's care for the night. The room was in gloom, lit only by a single candle. Darcy opened the door slowly, so as not to introduce any sudden movement into the periphery of Jane's vision. Slinking into the room, he closed the door softly behind him, then took two steps sideways so that he approached the bed shielded by the bed curtains.

He started whispering to Jane, encouraging her to fall asleep. A peek from behind the bed curtains showed her head was nodding. He looked at her directly as he continued the mesmerism. It always seemed more effective that way. Within a minute, she swayed in her chair. Rushing forward, he caught her before she hit the floor. Picking Jane up, Darcy placed her neatly on the sofa and arranged one of the cushions under her head.

He stole back to the bedside and sat in the chair, still warm from Jane's body. Elizabeth lay in her nightgown atop the bedclothes in a stiff pose. Her colour was high, her face puffy, her breathing laboured. A sheen of sweat lay on her upper lip. He reached out to take the hand lying on the covers next to him, her fingers turned upwards into a claw. What could he do but try mesmerism again?

"Elizabeth!" Darcy urged, fully vocalising his whisper. "Stay! Be strong!" And then, feeling this was not enough, "I love you!"

Elizabeth opened a bleary eye and looked towards him. The second lid struggled open. Her eyes were not the shining orbs he so loved. She looked almost foreign to him. He knew she was far gone. He could almost feel her slipping away from him. He pushed the rising tide of panic that welled up in him down. In an instant his mind was made up. She was beyond factitious airs. There was only one way he could help her now. She could never have his children, but that suddenly seemed of such little importance. If he could spend eternity with her, that would be more than enough.

"Elizabeth? Can you hear me?" he asked.

Elizabeth blinked and Darcy felt her fingers contract against his own.

"I need to tell you more about me. Remember how Misty scratched me and I told you it would heal quickly? That is one of the good aspects of being a vampire. You are very ill, Elizabeth. Let me help you now. I believe I can save your life. Are you prepared to be a vampire like me? It is not so bad. We can be together. You can still wander freely in the night."

Darcy waited but there was no reply. She had closed her eyes again and he was not sure if she had drifted off into delirium or sleep. He was about to clasp her hand more tightly to rouse her when her eyes struggled open again. The lips pursed and formed one word. No sound emerged but Darcy had no doubt it was 'no'.

His heart contracted. He leaned forward to rest his head on his arm, closer to her hand. He could smell the fever on her skin. He looked up at her again, a silent plea etched in his face. Her irises darted infinitesimally from side to side. He sensed her agitation, her colossal effort to say something. He strained towards her as her lips formed another word. This time she managed a clear sound, a single word. It was 'God'.

Darcy could not guess her entire meaning. Perhaps she was saying she was ready to go to God. Perhaps she thought he was a creature against God. But she had said 'no' and he knew she was trying to convey her justification.

He felt hollow, enervated, but knew immediately he was being selfish. She did not want immortality or him. But he had mesmerised Jane and was now duty bound to take her place in the vigil.

"I understand," Darcy assured her as he reached for the vinegar-soaked rag and drew it across Elizabeth's brow, hearing her emit a sigh as he did so.

A tiny smile seemed to form at the corners of her lips. Then she relaxed and he knew she had drifted back to the place he had roused her from, halfway between sleep and delirium.

So the hours ticked by. Darcy sat like a statue watching Elizabeth draw each painful breath. When she grew restless he bathed her brow. Eventually he heard a sound in the hallway. Picking Jane up, he returned her to the chair, slumping her forward onto the bed. He moved swiftly into the dark corner nearest the door as the latch creaked open. Mrs Gardiner entered the room, leaving the door ajar. She pulled her dressing gown around her as she skirted the end of the bed.

She reached Jane and began to shake her shoulder, hissing, "Jane! You fell asleep!"

As Jane roused and began her apology, Darcy slipped silently out of the door.

Darcy walked back to his chamber, took his slippers off and lay down on the covers in dark night-wandering clothes, staring into the canopy. Finn had already retired to the dressing room. The sun rose behind the heavy brocade curtains but still Darcy did not sleep. He felt that if he closed his eyes, Elizabeth might never open hers again. How long he lay awake he knew not. He seemed to have entered some type of delirium himself.

Finally Darcy came to his senses when he heard a high-pitched shriek. He shot out of bed as if scalded, thinking perhaps it was Jane keening. He arrived in the hallway without any memory of having travelled there. He sprinted towards the guest wing and Elizabeth's chamber and then stopped suddenly as another peel pierced his eardrums. The shrieking was not coming from the guest wing, but from behind him. He turned to see the door of his cousin Anne's chamber open.

In a moment he had burst into the room. The ungodly sound was coming from his aunt Catherine who was standing just inside the door. Turning to the bed, afraid some calamity had overtaken his cousin in the night, he was not confronted by the sight of Anne's corpse. Stretched out on top of the bedclothes, still in his breeches and shirtsleeves, lay Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was propped up on his elbows, his head tilted back in what Darcy recognised immediately as a pose of exasperation. From behind him, clutching his shoulders peeked Anne.

Footnotes

*winged—shot in the arm or shoulder, implying it is a superficial wound.

*boxing the watch—harassing night watchmen, a pastime of rich drunken Regency youths.

*all in one piece—with no major injuries ie not missing a limb, but suggesting there was the potential for grave harm

*the cat had escaped the bag—his secret was out