Bingley is at the bridges edge by the time Darcy reaches the top. He takes hold of his friends wrist and allows himself to be pulled over the stone edge. But it is only once his boots touch the stone and he makes the attempt to straighten his body, that his own personal injuries manifest themselves. No sooner had Darcy straightened himself and look to Bingley, than his entire chest seemed to cry out with painful protests. Darcy found himself doubled over in agony, bracing himself against the bridge, almost identically to Elizabeth not long ago. His breath came in short, pained, gasps as he attempted to wait through it.
"Darcy" cried Bingley, moving to provide Darcy aid.
Darcy lifted a hand, placating Bingley's outburst. "Relax, Bingley, nothing more than a few bruised ribs."
Bingley neither looked convinced nor placated by Darcy's words. "Bollocks man. You can hardly catch your breath."
Darcy opened his mouth to rebuttal, but an unexpected weight shift aggravated his battered ribs, provoking a pained grunt from the man instead.
"Let's get you off your feet old man." persuaded Bingley.
The pain was far too much for Darcy to put up much resistance, which both gratified and concerned Bingley. He guided his friend from the battered bridge, toward an unoccupied canvas tent. Most were occupied for planning stations, wound treatment, and mortuary. Bingley located an unoccupied tent a short distance from the bridge, which was well and good, as Darcy found himself hardly capable of remaining on his feet for much longer.
Try as he might to keep his own weight under his feet, Darcy found it beyond difficult. Every step made jostled his ribs, sending bouts of pain coursing through his body. By the time Bingley and Darcy entered the canvas tent, Darcy's face glistened with perspiration from the short distance. Bingley eased Darcy down onto the edge of the camp bed. It was hardly more than a bolt of canvas stretched between a series of crossed limbs of wood.
"In your state, Darce, I am amazed you had the strength to retrieved Miss Elizabeth." commented Bingley.
Darcy gave a pained laugh in return. "I find myself question that very thought, Bingley."
"Is there anything I can get you?" offered Bingley.
Darcy shook his head. "No, Bingley, thank you. You'd best see to the troops."
Bingley nodded and made his leave. "That I shall. Rest, my friend."
Darcy watched as Bingley made his leave, closing the canvas flap behind him. Now alone, Darcy eased his battered body forward, mindful of the likelihood he'd bruised-or even broken- his ribs. Though the movement jostled him slightly, the pain was nothing for than a slight ache. He propped his chin atop his hands as his thoughts began to wander.
Without an occupation for his mind and body, Darcy found himself aimlessly awaiting the physicians arrival. It seemed only natural that his thoughts turned to Elizabeth Bennet. To Hingham Bridge. Had he heard her correctly? Had she truly said such words to him on the bridge? Was his mind fabricating such sweet lies to appease his troubled mind? He had already made a grave assumption of presuming to know her feelings, which had resulted in the deepest anguish he had felt in a great while. That alone had driven him to seek solace in combat, turning away from his responsibilities to his sister. He could not make the same mistake in presuming Miss Elizabeth's feelings, but he was unsure he could remain ignorant either.
"Colonel Darcy." called a voice, severing Darcy's train of though.
"Yes." called he in return.
The canvas flap opened and the regiment physician entered. Darcy recognized the man, but his name escaped his thoughts at present. He was a tall man, neither too young nor too old of his profession. He made quick stride in approaching Darcy's side. He quickly set to work, moving his hands along Darcy's chest. Darcy gathered that Bingley had forewarned the man of Darcy's possible injuries. Sure enough, the physician soon located a very tender place on Darcy's body. Darcy's back immediately straightened and his jaw clenched shut. Down and down the physician prodded, until he reached the final rib. in total, the man had found four separate tender places along Darcy's chest.
"Nothing more than bruising sir." explained the physician. "Though I suspect it feels worse."
Darcy gave a stern nod. "Indeed."
"Under normal circumstances, I would recommend the patient limiting their daily activities." the physician began.
"I do not have that luxury." replied Darcy.
"No indeed. Which is why I offer laudanum for the pain and your word that you won't intentionally worsen your condition, Colonel." informed the physician.
"I cannot afford to take anything that will compromise my ability to slay the undead." stated Darcy.
The physician said nothing, but diverted his attention to Darcy's skull. In all the commotion of his ribs, Darcy had noticed nothing in the way of pain until the physician touched his temple, eliciting a wince from the Colonel. "Any you had any dizziness sir?"
"No."
The physician nodded, concluding his examination. "Nothing that rest will cure. You have faired far better than most, sir."
Darcy paused but a moment. "What of the Miss Bennet's?"
"The young one merely suffers exhaustion." began the physician. "The second eldest, she did not fair as well as her sisters. I suspect it will be some time before her wounds heal completely. I suspect no sooner than four months will pass before she will be capable of hold her sword again, much less vanquish the undead." With nothing more, the physician took his leave of Darcy and returned to the battlefield.
The news was devastating to hear. Darcy could scarcely comprehend the limitation of being unable to vanquish the undead, but to be without his weapon for such a duration. To some it would not seem so unreasonable, but to those who were bred for battle, who trained for years under the strictest instructions in the art of war, it could be compared to a sentence worse than death. Darcy could hardly fathom how Elizabeth had taken such news.
Unable to remain within the tent, Darcy rose to his feet, mindful at the pain of his ribs, and quickly strode outside. Many of the men remained at their stations or continued removing fallen soldiers into the morticians tent. Darcy moved through the camp, taking note of the condition of the soldiers and the sounds from the canal. He wandered through the camp in search of Bingley. He could not allow his mind to further torment itself by being without occupation.
"Darcy!"
Darcy turned to see Bingley approach from the bridge. Darcy noted his coat and scabbard in Bingley's possession. "Bingley."
"I was under the impression that one's body required time and rest to recover." informed Bingley.
"Both of which there is no time for." replied Darcy. He retrieved his katana from Bingley and secured it to his body. He donned his coat and straightened his appearance. "I came to inquire after the Miss Bennet's."
"I'm afraid you've only just missed their departure, Darcy." informed Bingley. "I watched them depart for Rosing's Park not a few minutes ago."
Darcy frowned at the information. "Rosing's Park? Has Longbourn fallen."
Bingley shook his head. "No, no. Prior to Miss Bennet's and Miss Elizabeth's departure, Lady Catherine collected their family and took them to Rosing's Park. Very gracious of her."
"Yes, very gracious indeed." Darcy admitted. He could not fathom what had possessed his aunt to act in such a way. Though Collins boasted of Lady Catherine's Christian generosity, Darcy knew better. If his aunt had brought them into her home, then there must have been a reason.
"Darcy, are you well?" inquired Bingley with a concerned frowned.
Darcy quickly regained his thoughts. "I am, yes."
Bingley watched his friend for a moment longer before pressing on. "Well, the canal seems to be holding for the time being."
Darcy turned toward the tattered remains of Hingham Bridge. "Indeed. Unfortunately it is impossible to tell how long it will last."
Bingley clasped Darcy's by the shoulder. "For now, it is enough."
Darcy nodded, taking in the sight before. As the sun rose higher into the sky, Darcy had an exceptional view of the horde of London and Saint Lazarus unmentionables trapped within the limitations of the canal. Several made feeble attempts to cross, sinking beneath the surface. Others seemed finally die off, floating face down in the water. For the time being, it would hold, it would protect the living from them. It would by them time.
"Charles, there is something I must speak with you about." began Darcy.
Bingley turned to his friend. "You sound rather grave, for someone who saved a young woman's life today, Darcy."
"I have also injured one, as well as yourself." he continued. "I've done you a great wrong, by interfering with your feelings toward Miss Jane Bennet. It was neither my place to determine who should make you happy. It was an arrogant and faulty assumption of your affections and Miss Bennet's. It was wrong of me to intervene and I apologize."
Bingley was silent following Darcy's confession. So uncharacteristically so, that Darcy questioned whether Bingley has, indeed, heard his confession. "You spoke of Miss Bennet's affection."
"I did." confirmed Darcy.
Bingley's retribution was swift, and unforeseen. Darcy had known Bingley to be a pleasant man, eager to please everyone he met, and make no swift judgement upon them. He was never easily angered, nor showed any sign of a dangerous temper. Darcy found, however, that Bingley did have a breaking point toward his cheer. Darcy found himself sent to the earth with m ore force than he thought possible. His impact jarred his ribs, but he found his breathing remained intact.
Darcy rubbed his jaw, finding a small trail of blood originating from a fresh wound on his lip. He looked up at Bingley's looming figure. Whatever anger Bingley had in his features quickly subsided.
"You admit that you were in the wrong?" inquired Bingley.
Darcy gave a small nodded. "Utterly and completely."
Bingley nodded in turn and extended his hand to Darcy. "I'll ask you not to interfere in my life without my permission."
Darcy smiled and grasped Bingley's proffered hand. He rose back to his feet and looked at his friend. "Then, perhaps I may offer advice?"
Bingley arched one of his brows. "Oh?"
"Enough time has been wasted, Bingley. If your feelings for Miss Bennet remain, do not waste it further." explained Darcy.
The smile that came across Bingley's face, was one that Darcy had recognized. It was of a man in the deepest of love. One that he, himself, was not likely to ever hold.
