They sat in silence, broken by moans and sobs, until the doctor came.
He examined Lydia first, found her left arm broken cleanly, and wrapped it tight.
"I understand that I have another patient," the doctor said softly, looking at Mr. Bennet. He didn't respond.
Again, Mary pulled herself together, feeling numb, and escorted the heavy-set man to her sister's room.
Mr. Darcy still stood there, and she once again took his arm to pull him gently from the room.
"Leave me be," he snapped as she tugged at him and she recoiled with a gasp.
"You cannot be in the room while I examine her," the doctor said with a frown.
Mr. Darcy looked away from Elizabeth at last, nodding at the doctor and striding from the room with a grim determination.
His feet fell heavily on the stairs and Mary followed him down, sliding around him to return to her chair in the corner as he stopped in the doorway.
Jane and Bingley were once again on the couch, Jane's face hidden in Bingley's neck as he held her close, his eyes shining with tears.
Mrs. Bennet held both her younger daughters close on the other couch, her handkerchief fluttering one moment and covering her face the next.
Mr. Bennet looked up from his seat by the fire, lines deep around his mouth and his hands gripping the arms of the chair.
"Who did this to my daughters? I will see him hung," Mr. Bennet said lowly, his eyes moving between Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.
"There is no need," Darcy said, his voice again deep and burnt, "I have killed him."
Mrs. Bennet and Mary both gasped, and Jane looked up at Charles in confirmation.
"Good," Mr. Bennet snarled, rising to his feet, "It is more than he deserves, whoever he may be."
"It was Lt. Wickham," Kitty spoke up, "He… he was not the man we thought he was."
"He broke my arm when I said no," Lydia said quietly.
Mr. Bennet turned on them, his eyes flashing.
"And why were you alone with him in the first place?! Have you no sense, either of you?! He broke your arm; he could have…" Mr. Bennet cut himself off, his red face collapsing once again into sadness.
"I thought he loved me," Lydia said, looking down, "I didn't know he would go so far."
"She said no, Papa," Kitty spoke up, defending her sister, "She thought he wanted to propose to her! I was with her, hidden, so she wasn't alone, not really. And when he tried to… Lydia said no and fought him. And then he broke her arm and I knew I couldn't fight him so I ran for help and Lizzy was near and heard her scream and I found her and we went to stop him! And she did, she stopped him! Only…" Kitty swallowed hard, her hand reaching out to clasp around her sister's uninjured one, "Only he hit her and she… And I ran home, Papa," she finished in a whisper, dropping her head.
"He kicked her," Lydia spat, staring straight ahead as if seeing it again. Darcy's hands shook, fisted by his side. "After she didn't get up, he kicked her. And then she still didn't move so he turned her over and he… he…" Lydia covered her mouth and then wiped away angry tears, "He ripped open her bodice."
Mr. Bennet fell back into his chair, white as a sheet, head shaking in denial.
"No, no, he didn't… not my Lizzy…"
"I kicked him," Lydia continued, "I wish I was a man and I could have killed him myself. He pushed me away and I fell and it hurt so much and I couldn't get up but he lifted her skirts and he…" Lydia stopped, covering her mouth and looking green.
Jane shook, her face as pale as her gown, and drew away from Bingley, wrapping her arms around herself.
"My child, my baby, no, no," Mrs. Bennet sobbed, "how she suffered so... No... My little girl."
"We got there in time, I think, to prevent him from... That," Bingley said quietly, looking at Darcy.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs sent the men to their feet, Darcy moving out of the doorway to lean heavily against a nearby chair. He gripped it like a lifeline, the bare threads of hope and dread fighting for dominance in his hollow chest.
The doctor entered the room, his gaze falling sympathetically across the group.
"She lives... For now."
There were cries of astonishment from the ladies.
"Thank God," said Bingley, looking weak at the knees.
"My strong girl," muttered Mr. Bennet.
Darcy took his first breath in what seemed like hours, his head dropping to his chest to hide the emotion he felt.
"If you would join me in your study," the doctor said to Mr. Bennet, "I would like to discuss her condition further."
"Yes, yes, of course."
Darcy followed them down the hall, surprising them both as he entered the study as well and shut the door behind him.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said, "but I must know... I must. Miss Elizabeth is... I... I love her." He choked out, covering his mouth pensively.
"I see," said Mr. Bennet, nonplused. He rubbed his eyes, reddened by suppressed tears, and gestured for the doctor and Darcy to take a seat.
"Miss Elizabeth has had quite a blow to her temple," the doctor said bluntly, "If there is bleeding on the brain, she will not live through the night. If there is no bleeding, she may recover, or she may not. The workings of the brain are a great unknown element."
Darcy's head fell, his breath coming in great heaves as he digested the doctor's words.
Mr. Bennet's hands shook, his eyes haunted.
"Is there anything we can do? Anything at all?" he croaked out.
"She must have rest and quiet. And by no means should she be moved! The night will tell, and I will return in the morning. Then we shall go from there," the doctor said, standing with his bag in hand.
"Wait," Mr. Bennet said, standing and leaning heavily on his desk. He threw a glance to Mr. Darcy, who was clutching his head and rocking slightly, "I must know. My daughter… Did the man…" he coughed, the words sticking in his throat, "Did he take her virtue?"
Mr. Darcy leapt to his feet, the chair slamming into the bookcase behind him, his eyes wild.
The doctor took a step back, moving closer to the door as if afraid the young gentleman would attack him.
"No," the doctor said quickly, his eyes still warily watching Mr. Darcy, "She was undamaged, in that way."
Darcy turned away, staring with unseeing eyes at the bookshelf and trying to reign in his turbulent emotions.
"Thank you," Mr. Bennet said with a nod.
The doctor took his leave, and the two men who loved Elizabeth the most were alone in the study.
There was silence for long minutes. Darcy was rocking slightly as he stood, still facing the bookshelf with his back to the world. Mr. Bennet studied him. This was not the proud, standoffish man that has insulted his Lizzy. Surely not. This man had professed his love for her. Had run to rescue her. Had carried her home to her family. Had… killed for her.
Mr. Bennet looked out the window, astonished to see the sun still high. For all that had happened, he felt it should be near midnight, at least. Instead, it was only early afternoon. That meant that he did not have an excuse to put off his next painful task.
"Wickham is dead; you are sure?" Mr. Bennet asked.
Darcy spun on him, and Mr. Bennet fought the urge to scramble away in fear. The man's eyes were wild and angry and his hands clenched before him like a madman.
"Dead. Dead by my hands!" Darcy snarled, "And far too late! I'd give anything to have killed him sooner! I should have killed him as soon as I found out what he had done to my sister! No, before that! I should have killed him as a youth, at the first sign of his proclivities, damn my father and his partiality!"
Mr. Bennet's mouth opened and closed, processing the implications. His face reddened.
"You knew?!" he rasped out, bending over the desk, no longer afraid but furious, "You knew this… this cad?! You knew what he was like, what he was capable of, and you didn't warn any of us?! You didn't even try to stop him?! And now, now my Lizzy is… And you could have!" Mr. Bennet lost his words, his chest heaving.
Darcy's hands went to his hair, pulling at it frantically as he began to pace like a trapped animal.
"I never knew he… Never thought he would go so far as to…" Darcy stopped, releasing his hair to stare at his hands, "I… I… Oh, God," Darcy looked up, his face pale and drawn, "I have… The only woman I have ever loved, and I… I'm guilty of… My fault, my pride, my…"
"Yes, your damn pride!" Bennet spat, "You say you love her, yet she saw no sign of it. None of us did! A fine love you have; you might have disguised it as hate! You abandon her, abandon all of Meryton, all of England, to this… monster to do as he will, while you publicly ridicule the woman you supposedly love! No wonder Lizzy despises you so!"
Darcy lurched, clutching the bookshelf for support.
"She… Elizabeth hates me?"
"No one in town can stand you and your abominable pride! This day has been the first inkling anyone has had that you might… But now I find you let this monster walk free among us, knowing all the while that he…"
Darcy fled. He could hear no more. He ran, slamming the door open and fleeing into the woods.
"Darcy!" Bingley called after him, his voice both astonished and afraid.
Darcy just ran, flinging himself from the awful, awful truth. Branches scraped across his face. He bounced off a tree, the bark abrading the skin on his palms.
He fell over a root, scuffing his knees and elbows as he caught himself. He looked up and moaned, the red-coated body only feet away.
He had returned to the scene of his crime. He sat back, still on his knees, and looked down at his bleeding palms. Blood on his hands. Wickham's, yes, but also all those that man had hurt along the way. All those people that had suffered due to Darcy's pride. And now, finally, one whose blood mattered to Darcy had opened his eyes.
Dead, dying, or recovered, he should never know her. She despised him. And rightly so. After all, what had he done but look down on her and all her family, all the people she knew and loved. He had let Caroline loose her barbed tongue, even agreeing with her set-downs. He had ignored Elizabeth, insulted her, all from thinking himself and his family so much higher than hers. And now, now when it was too late, now he knew his love for her. A selfish love, no doubt. How could it be anything else? To abandon her to this fate, to plot how to fly away from her, to outline all her faults and the faults of her family, all from this… indomitable pride.
"Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation," he muttered, no longer wondering at her laughter at his assertion.
He was a fool. The worst of fools. No, he was a cad.
He half-wished that he would face some punishment for killing Wickham- a flogging, sent away to Australia, something! But no. He knew how it would go. He was a rich gentleman. Even if he had no witnesses, he would suffer nothing for killing a lowly soldier. Even if he confessed to outright cold-blooded murder, his uncle the earl would step in. At worst he would be banished to Pemberley for a season or two to let the scandal die down.
Ironic. Darcy, who held himself in good regulation, could do anything without fear of reprisal, and yet he did nothing. And that rouge, that villain, had done everything, using Darcy's endless pride as a cover to hide behind.
And now, at last, Wickham had his punishment. But at such a price! How far Darcy had allowed him to push, even unto his sister, who Darcy proclaimed to love.
"What is love?" Darcy muttered, still staring at his stained hands, "What good is my love, if it can be just as easily be seen as hate? What monster am I?"
Darcy sat with the body until the shivering of his hands caught his attention. His legs were soaked through, the damp earth wicking up through the sturdy material. He stumbled to his feet, knees aching.
The body could not stay here, though Wickham deserved to rot away with no grave. No, for once his pride would not let others suffer. No woman or child would come upon these remains in the woods and be frightened.
He drew himself straight, donning his mask of cool command. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. He would go to the magistrate and then to Colonel Foster. He would take on the duties of law; he could at least spare the Bennet family that much. No one need know all of what happened. He could protect her, protect them, in this way.
With a sigh, he turned to make his way back to his horse.
