"Charles, where have you been?" Caroline asked, a frown on her face and her hands on her hips, "Have you spent all this time with those Bennets, with not even a note to inform me that you would miss supper?"
Bingley blinked up at his sister, the transition from the tense, breathless household he was finally obliged to depart from to his termagant of a sister too much for his fragile sensibilities.
"Be silent, Caroline," he snapped, pushing past her in emotional and physical exhaustion.
"Charles!" she admonished, astonished at her brother's show of temper.
He started up the stairs to his chambers and then froze at her words, gripping the bannister as he turned.
"And where is Mr. Darcy?" Caroline asked testily.
"He has not returned?" Bingley asked, his voice tight.
Caroline clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.
Bingley looked out of the window into the increasing darkness. He had barely made it home before the last of the light had faded. If Darcy was not at Netherfield… Where was he?
Bingley pursed his lips, anxiety for his friend warring with his knowledge that Darcy valued privacy above all. At last, Bingley continued up the stairs to his room, ignoring his sister's strident voice.
It was too dark for a quiet search, and after the events of today the last thing anyone needed was more fear. No, if Darcy had not returned by late morning, Bingley would search for him alone. Charles didn't know what had happened to make his staid friend flee from the Bennet house, but he had a sinking feeling that he knew where Darcy had ended up- back in those accursed woods.
-000-
"Papa!" Jane screamed, her voice piercing the dark and silent house.
Mr. Bennet flew to his daughter's room, his nightshirt tangling between his legs and nearly making him stumble. He paused for only a moment, horrified at Elizabeth's body leaping and jerking on her bed. Jane's anguished face as she stood helplessly at her sister's bedside drove him into action.
"Hold her head," he commanded, "She must not strike it again!"
Jane curled her arms around her sister's head, tears running down her face as she tried to gently restrain her. Mr. Bennet threw himself bodily over Elizabeth, her convulsions too extreme for him to get any kind of grip without hurting her.
Mrs. Bennet screamed and wailed, standing in the doorway with her three youngest girls clustered behind her, peering into the bedroom with wide eyes.
"The doctor!" Mr. Bennet shouted, "Call for the doctor!"
Mary looked up at her hysterical mother and knew she had to act. Clad in only her chemise and dressing gown, Mary ran down the stairs and out of the door. Her bare feet were cold as she sped across the dirt path to the stables.
"John, John," she cried, pounding at the stable door to wake the coachman.
At last, the man stumbled to the door, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
"Miss Mary?" he mumbled, groggy.
"You must go for the doctor at once!" Mary implored.
His eyes opened wide and he glanced up at the house, candles flickering through the windows despite it being just hours before dawn.
"Aye, Miss Mary," he said, moving quickly back inside the stables to ready the horse.
Mary turned towards the house and took a deep breath, girding herself for the chaos within.
From behind her was a shuffling sound, and she started to turn impatiently. There was no time for John to waste.
A man's hand covered her mouth and his arm wrapped around her arms and waist, yanking her into the darkness at the side of the stables.
Mary was too terrified to scream or fight, her body frozen but her mind racing. Lydia's account rang in her ears. Was this Wickham, not dead at all and now out for revenge? Would he do to her what he had done, tried to do, to Lizzy?
The man set her down, her back against the stable wall, his hand still over her mouth. She could not see his face in the darkness and she trembled, still frozen.
"Do not fear, Miss Mary," the man said in a whisper, "I will not harm you. I will remove my hand, but please be silent."
Mary swallowed hard and nodded, her mind processing both his words and voice. He removed his hand.
"Please, you must tell me what has happened," the man asked, his voice low but pained. She knew that voice.
"Mr. Darcy," Mary gasped quietly in astonishment, "What madness is this? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
"Miss Mary," he groaned, "Please, Elizabeth, is she…"
"She… I don't know what is happening," Mary said, her voice tight with tears, "Papa is holding her down and she is having some kind of fit, like the boy in the Bible that the demon caused to throw himself into the fire and water."
Mr. Darcy took a step back with a low cry of dismay.
Another one of Mrs. Bennet's screams rent the air and Mary started towards the house.
Mr. Darcy grabbed her arm, stopping her once more.
"Release me," Mary said, tugging against the iron grip of the man she was starting to think had gone mad, "I must return to my family."
"Tell no one I am here," Mr. Darcy commanded, "and bring me news of Elizabeth after the doctor comes."
"You must ask my father," Mary protested, fearful of not only the propriety of an assignation, but of the daunting gentleman in his own right.
"He will not see me," Darcy growled, looming over her in the darkness, "I must know."
"Yes," Mary agreed, nodding her head at last, "I… I will meet you by the swing after the doctor leaves."
He released her and Mary ran, falling back against Longbourn's front door as she locked it behind her. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, and quietly cried.
