Dear Sunday friends, thank you for the lovely comments and speculation. Sorry I was no show last week. I was a bit confused myself too, with my draft and original plot. So it took me a bit of time to find my footing. I hope today's chapter moved the story along. Happy reading and commenting!
Chapter Fifteen
It had been five days since Elizabeth had woken up. She was told the fire did not injure her thanks to the wind change. But she had a high fever for several days due to the beating she had received from the mob and the smoke inhalation. The magistrate had been called for when Elizabeth was unconscious. Since Heather couldn't recognise any of the mob and the villagers young Mr. Darcy recognised were too scared to talk, no one was arrested. The magistrate had requested that Fitzwilliam, with the constable, take Elizabeth to visit Rowsley when she felt better to see if she could recognise any of the culprits. Jane and the Darcys were hesitant of such a scheme as they feared it would invoke bad feelings in Elizabeth. They had not informed Elizabeth yet of the magistrate's request.
Elizabeth was tired of lying in bed for so long, so very early in the morning, she dismissed the maid and got up to take a little walk around the bedroom. After a quarter of an hour, she decided to venture further, to walk around the garden. But before she left the bedroom, an angry voice caught her attention. She went out of the balcony and peeked outside.
"What was that I heard about the doctor being sent for to treat the gypsy girl? I heard she angered the good people of Rowsley with her fake witchcraft." Vicar Collins stormed into the garden several yards down the balcony of Elizabeth's guest chamber, where George Darcy was enjoying the sun. Elizabeth moved back. She didn't want to be seen by the vicar. Her presence would only anger him more, although she had done nothing wrong.
"Oh please, Collins, aren't you tired of the same old thing every day." Mr. Darcy eyed the man, then turned back to his book. "Go find something else to do with your time. Unless you knew about the mob who attacked Miss Zeath."
"I see you all are not ready to listen to anything I have to say? I have said times without numbers that the witch should be kicked out of here, but did you all listen to me? No. No, you did not. Very soon, you'll face the consequences of your actions." Mr. Collins fumed in anger. "Fine. Don't listen to me, but I'm not going to stay in this house while she's still there." He turned and stormed away while George watched with a look of disinterest. The minute Collins was gone, he turned back to his book.
"Crazy man," he muttered, shaking his head.
When Mr. Collins left, Elizabeth moved away from the balcony and returned to the bed chamber. She wondered if Mr. Collins was behind her assault. Maybe he didn't arrange for the people to attack her, but she was sure he must have been the one who spread the rumour that she was a witch. Coming from the mouth of the vicar, the people would indeed believe him. The whole event was traumatising for Elizabeth. She was torn inside. She wanted to return home so bad, but she also wanted to help more than ever. She planned to find out Lady Anne's murderer before she left. Instead of the garden, she decided to explore the house instead, not wanting to talk to Mr. Darcy. She remembered the great gallery had a lot of interesting portraits and paintings.
"Hey, what are you doing out here? You should be in bed, Miss Elizabeth. Are you trying to hurt yourself?" Elizabeth froze. She gulped, trying to act unaffected. It was the first time since she had awoken that she met young Mr. Darcy. Deep down, she was agitated. She felt something significant had happened when she was unconscious. She thought he had visited her in her bed chamber, holding her hands, crying out for her not to die and saying he loved her. But surely that was not possible. Jane would not let an unmarried gentleman into Elizabeth's room. He wouldn't do that either, to be caught in a compromising situation with someone so far beneath him. "Mr. Darcy, you're back. I heard from the maid that you have been away." Her voice came out high-pitched. "I uh...I was tired of staying in that room and needed to move my body." He nodded. "Where did you go? To see your friends or something else?"
He stared at her intently. "Ah, you are asking after me? You know I didn't go to see my friends. I went to talk to those people at Rowsley, Miss Elizabeth."
She blushed and sighed. "You shouldn't go; what if they tried to harm you? What then?"
"Are you worried about me, Miss Elizabeth?" Before she could reply, he continued. "Don't worry, and they wouldn't dare." He offered his arm for her to take. "I also got you some medicine from the doctor. Miss Bennet told me they are running low. I hope they help," He said the last part softly.
"Thank you," she said gratefully.
He smiled, brushing away wisps of hair from her face, not realising the improper way he was treating Elizabeth.
"And thank you for saving me. The mob would have killed me if you hadn't shown up," Elizabeth whispered in horror. "They would have set me on fire like..." She shuddered, closing her eyes tight. Hot tears spilled from the corners. "I would have been dead." Elizabeth wondered what she had gotten herself into. Her family back home wasn't even aware of the danger, but she couldn't help but imagine what they would go through if she had died. It was at that moment Elizabeth realised how much she valued her life. She wasn't ready to die and didn't want to die.
Elizabeth wanted to live on for a very long time. She wanted to fall in love with a man she would love for the rest of her life and have children to look after. Went on many amazing adventures with her loved ones and enjoyed all the good things life had to offer. The experience made her realise the wicked thief, Death, stealing all these from the future you would have if it had never visited.
"But you aren't Elizabeth. You're alive. They failed." Darcy said.
"You're right, and they didn't." She raised her head, looking back at him.
"I could not watch them burn you when you are my mother's only hope. Those people out there acted like someone sent them, someone who didn't want you around anymore, wanted you gone by all means."
"But who would have done such a thing?"
"We are thinking Mr. Collins. Oh, those mob! They will surely pay for this. I swear it to you. We will find the proof. I'll make them pay."
"Don't, don't do anything Mr. Darcy. I don't want them to hurt you too. It... Let's just move past this."
"This isn't something we can just move past." He sighed. "But I'll wait, I'll wait for you to heal first. Would you like anything? I'll go get it for you. I saw you wince."
"Uh...no, I'm fine. I just want to sit down and rest a little bit and—wait, my throat hurts. I'll like some water, please."
"I'll go get you water. You sit here and don't go anywhere else. I don't want you hurting yourself."
"Fine," she said, watching him walk away.
Suddenly, Lady Anne appeared once he left the gallery, sitting just beside Elizabeth. "Christ!" Elizabeth shouted in fear. "You scared me." She placed her hand on her chest, trying to calm her breathing.
"He cares for you," Lady Anne said, ignoring what Elizabeth had just said. "I see the way he looks at you, smiles...the way his eyes light up at the thought of you. He likes you." Elizabeth didn't say anything. "Do you like him?" She walked around the gallery, looking at each object.
"I don't know," Elizabeth muttered, watching her.
"Do you?" Lady Anne asked again. This time she stopped in her steps and turned to look at Elizabeth.
"Yes, I do find your son really handsome, and...I don't know, like I said. I don't want to imagine anything, have my hopes high and later end up with a broken heart. So, until I'm really sure of his feelings, I can feel more comfortable with mine."
Lady Anne sighed. "Walk around the gallery before you get some rest," she told Elizabeth and vanished.
When Mr. Darcy returned with the water, Elizabeth knew something had happened, and he looked like he had been provoked. "What happened?" She asked.
"Nothing to bother yourself with," he told her. "Uh...you can rest assured that Collins won't disturb you again. I have taken care of that." She smiled, grateful. Elizabeth couldn't help but sometimes wonder what she would have done if Mr. Darcy wasn't around. She would probably be dead or just get frustrated to the point that she would leave. "Maybe...someday when you're fully healed and have your strength back...Would we have a little picnic in the garden? That's if you'll like that. I don't want to bother you."
"I would like that," Elizabeth said with a blush.
"Now, what did you want to see in the gallery?" Mr. Darcy said.
"I remember when we did the house tour when we first arrived that there were some interesting portraits and paintings here."
"Oh yes, when I was still a young lad, I liked to look at all the Darcys and talk to them."
"What did you speak to your ancestors about?"
"Mostly of the frogs, beetles, butterflies and what not I caught after my lessons."
Elizabeth was enchanted by Mr. Darcy's tale. She could clearly imagine a young boy of six or seven running along the long gallery. He looked up at the long line of ancestors, chatting to them and showing them his captures. "Did you find it lonely, being the only child?"
"George, that is George Wickham, lived in the estate, and Frank is our neighbour. We played together as children. And during the holidays, my Fitzwilliam cousins came to visit. So I don't feel lonely at all."
"Ah, a gang of boys."
"Indeed, I seldom spent time with girls growing up."
"And do you spend much time with ladies now that you have grown up?" Elizabeth asked with her eyes raised.
"Hardly. If you have met me at a party, I would be the one stalking around the ballroom, uncomfortable to dance with or talk to ladies I do not know."
"But you are a man of sense and education! What are you afraid of talking to strangers?"
"I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."
"Perhaps as the heir of a great estate, you will not take the time and trouble of practising."
"Are you accusing me of being arrogant? Pride-where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was one of the proudest men she had ever met. She had previously believed him to be most disagreeable. But now, his honesty seemed to make him endearing to her. She said archly, "Let us not inflate your ego further by looking at your illustrious ancestors. Perhaps we should concentrate on the landscape paintings here."
Darcy smiled and agreed readily. He was happy that Miss Elizabeth was out of danger. He was fascinated by her teasing manner as well. He kept his mind away from how lovely it would have been for them to walk and talk daily, by a stream of commentary about the woods and lakes captured in the paintings.
Suddenly, he was drawn to a halt by Elizabeth's gasp. "What is this place?"
Darcy looked at the painting and commented, "It is Straffan House in Ireland. I've been there once when I was around 13 years old. My uncle Robert inherited it from his great uncle. He was the younger brother of Uncle David, Lord Matlock. The house now belongs to Lord Matlock after Uncle Robert's death. Have you seen it before?"
Elizabeth didn't answer. She couldn't tell Mr. Darcy that she remembered it from a dream when she was unconscious from the beating of the mob. He would think her fit for Bedlam. Also, she wasn't sure what the dream was about.
"It looked familiar. Perhaps I have read about it from a book. Did you know that our ancestors came from Ireland? Do you have any more paintings of the house?"
"Yes, Father told me your family was the Bennet's from Ireland." Darcy understood from Elizabeth's reaction that it was more than that, but he didn't persist with questions. He didn't want her to be stressed by it. "There are other paintings of the gardens and the church." He guided Elizabeth further down the gallery.
Elizabeth's eyes widened on recognising some of the dwarf trees in the conservatory.
"You have seen this kind of tree before?" Darcy asked tentatively.
"What are they?" Elizabeth wouldn't confirm to Darcy that they were the encroaching trees in her dream.
"They are Strychnos nux-vomica from India," Darcy said quietly. "The leaves are the natural source of strychnine. Uncle told me his great uncle was fascinated by Indian culture and commissioned many of the Indian things for his estate in Ireland. Tell me, Elizabeth, why did you seem to recognise Straffan House? Is it related to Mother's murder?"
"I didn't remember much. But please show me the painting of the church. I may remember more."
Darcy pointed out the last painting. Like a flash of lightning, she suddenly remembered most of the dream. This final painting showed the interior of a catholic church with the confessional with the foreign goddesses.
Elizabeth told him about the dream. But her memory regarding the letters and paper was foggy.
"I wonder if we should organise a trip to Ireland."
Elizabeth cranked her head and stared at Darcy. He looked at her for a full five seconds. "What is it?"
"Give me your hands."
Fitzwilliam's face suddenly turned red. "Why?"
"We may not need to go to Ireland. I may be able to see the place through your eyes. Let me try it." Elizabeth looked at Fitzwilliam; his face seemed to have become its proper colour again.
"Really?"
"You still doubt me?"
"Uh, no, it is just…" Then he clamped his mouth shut and shrugged his shoulders. "You know that I now believe in your powers. I apologise for ever doubting you." Darcy said.
Elizabeth made a movement with her hand, beckoning him closer to her. Darcy complied immediately until there was little distance left between their faces. Elizabeth had noticed that he had a tiny dimple when he smiled.
She trembled as she made contact with his large hands. They were warm, and she felt she had this comforting feeling before. "Pray concentrate on what you can remember from that trip to Ireland. In particular, the inside of the house. Alright, let us begin."
"Is this part of the procedure?" Darcy asked, interrupting Elizabeth's concentration.
"If I want an accurate connection to your thoughts, yes," Elizabeth said with a bit of frustration. She did not like holding his hands, as he made her feel tingles in her stomach. But she needed to remember the dream, and she also wanted to test something. She wondered if the calmness in the gallery had something to do with how she felt at the time or if it was Mr. Darcy's doing.
Darcy placed his hand on hers. Immediately, they took their hands back with a jolt, and Elizabeth hissed as she rubbed her palm.
"Good joke. You're wearing something that would hurt me, huh?" Darcy frowned.
"What? No! I swear I did not." Elizabeth said. "Let us try again, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy squeezed his eyes shut and rapidly moved his head from side to side. Elizabeth wondered what was wrong with him.
"I'm well now." He opened his eyes and said breathily and held Elizabeth's hand. She felt the sparks again, but she ignored them. He was looking at her when she turned to face him. She suddenly felt very self-conscious and looked sideways.
Darcy let out a long-suffering groan and rapidly shook his head from side to side.
"Fine, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, closing his eyes again. "Invade my head."
He had his eyes squeezed shut and shook his head as he tried to block out all the mental images he had of the young woman standing in front of him, holding his hand.
And oh, why had he used the word 'invade'? His head was invaded by inappropriate thoughts, and he could not stop thinking about them. He blocked out her face and began singing nursery rhymes in his head.
Something stung his arm. He opened his eyes to find a glaring Elizabeth looking at him. "Pray concentrate, Mr. Darcy! And don't get distracted by what I said when I see into Straffan House."
She was so beautiful. Darcy blew air through his mouth and rubbed his hands together, cautiously placing them behind his back. All attempts to stop thinking about her were beginning to turn futile, and he knew he was deep in trouble if she could read minds.
'Stop invading my mind now,' Darcy told himself and chanted, 'I love Ireland. I love Ireland.' He repeated a few times and managed to turn back in time when he visited Straffan House.
"Mrs. Bingley had an affair," Elizabeth said.
"With whom?" Darcy asked immediately.
Elizabeth thought for a second and shook her head. "Don't get distracted by formulating questions. Pray go back to Ireland."
Darcy heeded her suggestions.
Elizabeth continued her comments as she tried to remember the dream by walking around Straffon House through Darcy's memory. "I couldn't see the adulterer's name on the letter."
"But the man's wife had an affair too, while he was carrying on with Mrs. Bingley."
"It was her way of revenge against her unfaithful husband."
"Oh, she gave birth to Mr. Collins at the parsonage!"
"But Mr. Collins is not her first child out of wedlock. She had another one a year after and one when she was only fifteen!"
"What!" Darcy couldn't keep silent on hearing such outrageous information about his friend's mother. Elizabeth felt the connection with Ireland broken. She dropped her hands.
"Do you think Mrs. Bingley killed my mother to keep this secret?" Darcy said.
"I'm not sure. But there must be a reason for Lady Anne or her ghostly friends to show me these images and letters in the dream."
"Do you think if my uncle Robert Fitzwilliam could be the one who had a liaison with Mrs. Bingley?"
"Did you know him and his wife well?" Elizabeth asked.
"Not really, as they lived in Ireland most of the time."
"Is his wife still alive?"
"No, both Uncle Robert and Aunt Victoria died of influenza some years ago. But I remember Mother telling me they were a love match. So I doubt Uncle Robert was Mr. Collins's real father."
"What about Lord Matlock and his first wife?"
