Author's Notes
The things I had to do to get this chapter up today. Long, quasi-embarrassing story short: technology hates me, and quite possibly several people do too.
Chapter 3, The Dread of Uncertainty
He finished dressing just as the doctor came.
Dr Neil was a slight sort of man with a head of sandy blond hair and the kindest eyes imaginable, not to mention a good friend of Darcy's. As he went at a near sprint down the upper corridor of Pemberley, he ran into Darcy, who had come bolting out of a door along the hall looking crazed.
"Darcy! Anything you could tell me—"
Darcy was off, explaining in as much detail as he could remember about what had happened, how long Elizabeth had been in the water, the amount of time she had been exposed to the air afterwards.
It was painful for him to talk about, everything still much too fresh as he relived it, and a few times he had difficulty proceeding, but Neil spared him after a certain point and rushed away to enter the bedchamber where Elizabeth was. Mrs Reynolds and Lily left the room and headed back downstairs, but Darcy hovered just outside the door, pacing nervously.
A quarter of an hour wasted in fearful silence.
"Fitzwilliam!"
He whirled to face the person who had called to him.
It was Georgiana, hiking her skirt up above her ankles in bunches while she darted up the stairs, a terrified look on her face. "I only just came back from town. Mrs Reynolds told me there was an accident," she blurted breathlessly. "How is Elizabeth?"
A hard lump rose in Darcy's throat, and he did not know if it was the sight of Georgiana's face etched with genuine, sisterly concern, or the fact that he could not answer her question that caused it, rendering speech impossible and reducing him to shake his head inadequately. He struggled to choke back the horrifying urge to weep in front of his sister. As her elder brother, it was his job to stay strong and protect her; to cry now would only scare her more.
Georgiana must have read something in his expression, though. She stepped forward and wound her arms around him, Darcy returning the embrace at once.
"It will be all right," she murmured with childlike certainty. "You shall see."
He was finding it even harder than before not to break down completely.
The rattle of the doorknob brought him lurching back, and letting go of Georgiana, he faced the door in horrible suspense. Neil stepped out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him. There was a grave look on his face that made Darcy feel as though the bottom of his stomach had dropped out.
"Neil? Good God, man, out with it!"
"Darcy, she has entered the most critical stage of hypothermia. I fear her organs are at risk—"
Darcy felt the blood drain from his face.
"—her abdomen is even still cold to the touch. I have injected a serum to help get her blood reheated as it circulates through her veins and back into her heart. The heartbeat is very erratic, but there is nothing more I can do to treat that at this point. Take care not to jar her or it will send her into cardiac arrest. The only thing we can do now is keep Elizabeth as warm as possible. So long as her blood does not remain chilled as it reenters her heart, it should go fine. I am still very hopeful…"
Neil's voice was fading from his hearing. Even his sister's presence could not stop it now, and Darcy felt himself sinking under his own weight. Neil actually had to throw out his arm to support him.
"Georgiana, can you be a dear and fetch your brother a glass of brandy?"
A scuffle of feet was heard flying down the staircase.
Grunting with the effort, Neil carted Darcy around the corner and into his study, lowering him into an armchair. Once there, Darcy dropped his head into his hands, sapped of his energy and the ability to put on any appearance of it.
"It's not as bad as all that, Darcy. She could still make a full recovery."
Darcy made no reply. He was in denial. This could not possibly be happening, not now, not after everything they had gone through simply to be together.
Minutes, or possibly hours, later, the study door opened to reveal Georgiana carrying the drink Neil had requested. As quickly as she came, she was gone, and Darcy was glad of it, not because her presence bothered him, but because he needed time to be selfish, and he could not do that with her staring at him in all doe-eyed innocence and optimism.
He felt Neil forcing the brandy into his hand, tipped it back, and downed glass's contents in one swallow, the amber liquid searing his throat all the way down and making his vision marginally sharper. The burning that bloomed in his chest, however, was not enough to chase away the icy numbness that gripped him. It was as if he had fallen in that pond with Elizabeth.
They did not speak. Darcy could not if he tried, and Neil held his tongue out of respect to his friend's distress as long as he was able. Without even telling Darcy what he was about, the doctor moved to take the empty tumbler from his friend's limp hand and rolled up the right sleeve of Darcy's shirt to examine his arm for any evidence of frostbite since he had immersed it in the water. Assured that the limb was sound after checking for abnormalities in the skin pigmentation and finding none, Neil righted the sleeve. He reached to refasten the cufflink when he realized he had never removed one at all. Darcy had forsaken them in his haste to meet him. Through the whole of Neil's maneuvering, Darcy did not react.
"Darcy? Darcy, I have some appointments in the village, but I will come back and check on Elizabeth in a few hours."
He did not get a response, not that he was expecting one.
Neil heavily made his way to the door, stopping in the frame before he left. "Do not throw yourself into the pit yet. She is still with us, and that is something in itself."
.*.
Darcy was standing outside of their bedroom again, staring at the door like it had done him a great personal wrong.
Somehow, he could not bring himself to go and see what lay inside. Others, Mrs Reynolds and Lily among them, had been flitting in and out of the room for the past hour, checking on and tending to Elizabeth, carrying out her all but ruined garments, filling warming pans with hot coals to place under the mattress, but he had not yet gone in.
He was afraid.
Afraid to see her and imagine the possibility that he would not see her awake again, or be able to see her smile or hear her laugh, or never again look into her expressive, fine eyes. Was the kiss he had given her in the wood to be the last they shared? Beastly considerations like these nearly made him prostrate. Neil had told him not to act as though the worst had already happened, but he could not help it. What if it did happen?
Darcy shook his head like a dog trying to rid itself of fleas. He had to pull himself together. Steeling himself, he grasped the door handle and went inside.
Despite the dusk that had fallen outside, the room was brightly lit, every shadow dispelled by the fire roaring in the grate. The bed was piled high with quilts and down comforters, and in the midst of it all lay Elizabeth, looking frail and small. Her hair was spread about her shoulders like a cloud, but the darkness of it contrasted sharply with her white skin. She hardly seemed to be breathing.
He approached the bed with a slight sway in his step. Darcy looked down at Elizabeth while a venomous feeling of helplessness seized him, spreading through him like poison. He wished with all his might that it was him in her place.
What kind of husband was he to let something like this befall her? He was supposed to keep her safe. He should have gone first. He should have tried the ice to make sure it was secure for her. He should have been the one to fall in and be fighting to stay alive right now, not her! She did not deserve this.
Desperate to do something useful, he took up the poker to stoke the already blazing flames in the fireplace, piling on more logs. He strode back to the bed. Reaching almost hesitantly, he stroked the dark locks of her hair that lay in curls on her pillow. They felt a bit damp to the touch. Casting his eyes around the room, Darcy saw a towel hanging on the fireplace screen and rose to get it. The towel was warm after being so close to the fire, and he used it to tenderly rub at her tresses until they were completely dry.
With nothing left to busy himself with, he dragged a chair to the bedside and eased himself into it.
For hours that trailed on like days, he looked upon Elizabeth's peaceful face, thoughts born of fear and self-blame plaguing his mind. Around one o'clock in the morning, Neil returned as promised. He did not have much to tell Darcy as he came out into the corridor to let him back into the bedchamber.
"There has been no material change in her condition."
"What does that mean? Does it indicate favorable progress?"
"It means her situation has not altered."
"Neil, this is maddening! Can you tell me nothing more definitely?" Darcy challenged.
"That is the only diagnosis I can give for now. I will be back again this afternoon. Get some rest."
.*.
In spite of Neil's advice, Darcy could not bring himself to sleep.
He passed the night in a constant state of tension, imagining he saw Elizabeth rouse when she did not and rising to feel her breath practically every twirl of the clock's hand. By the time the first streaks of morning light peeked over the horizon, his face was nearly as pale as his wife's.
It was ten o'clock when a loud rap at the door made him jerk upright. The door came forward to reveal Mrs Reynolds.
"Excuse me, Mr Darcy, but Mr and Mrs Bingley have just arrived."
Darcy only looked at the housekeeper bewilderedly for a moment. Then he recalled information he knew only a day ago like it had happened years past. He and Elizabeth had invited Bingley and Jane almost a month ago to spend the Christmas holidays at Pemberley, and this was the day they had set on for them to come. He had utterly forgotten, the past seventeen hellish hours erasing everything from his mind.
"Lord," he muttered half-delirious, getting to his feet. "I completely… oh, Lord, her sister…I did not think to write… what am I to…" Covering his mouth, he looked back at Elizabeth as if she would come around for the announcement of Jane's presence. "Mrs Reynolds, have you told them?"
"No, sir. I overheard Peter receiving them and came here at once to inform you. None of the servants have said a word, I am sure of it."
Darcy was already running for the door.
He dashed down the stairs at a breakneck pace and headed for the parlor where they were sure to be waiting. There was an instant where he saw them before they saw him, and in that brief time, his urgency fled him and he felt the anguish and unwillingness of the whole situation in all its suffocating misery. Bingley was admiring some ornament adorning the wall, and Jane was at his side, smiling softly at something he was saying for her alone to hear. It killed Darcy to have to go in and destroy that ignorant happiness, even more that he could not be in there with Elizabeth to share in it.
Taking a breath to steady himself as well as he could, he entered the room.
"Darcy!" Bingley cheerily said in greeting as he stepped across the threshold. Darcy saw his smile falter a bit and he could only imagine the state of his appearance. "You look a sight, old man. Whatever is the matter?"
Jane, holding onto her husband's arm, looked at him as well, a hint of unease clouding her countenance. "Where is Lizzy?" Her eyes flicked past Darcy as though Elizabeth might be just behind him. "Is my sister well?"
In that moment, Darcy had to turn away to maintain his hold on the small amount of self-possession he had left in him. How he wished he could answer yes to that question.
By the time he was able to face them again, the Bingleys were watching him in considerable alarm. They knew him too well to think anything less than disastrous could have this effect on him.
"My God. What has happened?" whispered Jane.
"Jane, perhaps…perhaps you ought to sit down," he said throatily.
With Bingley's assistance, she settled on the settee, her eyes never leaving Darcy.
He was not certain how he managed to say it, nor in how many words he did, but he told them of what had passed yesterday and the condition which Elizabeth was now in because of it. He saw Jane shut her eyes as if some terrible blow had struck her and left her winded while Bingley looked dumbstruck.
"Are we—" Jane started, but could not carry on. Her plight restored Bingley somewhat as he attended to her, clutching her hand while his eyes raked her over with palpable concern. She at last found her voice. "Are we able to see her?"
"Of course."
Darcy led them both to his chamber, opening the door and then standing aside to let Jane enter before him. She went over to the bed with a light step and gazed at her sister, sweeping some loose curls from Elizabeth's forehead as she did.
In the first instants of this interaction, the two men remained frozen side by side in the doorframe, feeling as though they were intruding on some intimately raw moment of sisterly affection which they should leave to happen in private, not gawk at like an open spectacle.
Jane glanced up at them, and the spell was broken then. Darcy started to go in after her when Bingley arrested him by the arm.
"What has the doctor to say?" he asked quietly so that his wife might not hear.
"Neil will tell me nothing. He is all ambiguity."
"But her constitution? It is strong, is it not? She can overcome this yet."
Darcy did not dare attempt an answer.
"You rescued her," was heard suddenly from Jane.
He turned to face his sister-in-law.
"Elizabeth survived because of your swift thinking and courageous actions. I do not know how I can ever thank you enough for restoring my sister to our family. I am forever indebted to you, Darcy."
"Do not—" it was impossible for Darcy to go on.
He wanted to tell her how he would have readily, no, gladly, taken his wife's place if he had only known or could somehow make the exchange.
The guilt that had been tormenting him over his failure to prevent this misfortune from befalling Elizabeth was crippling, and he could not bear to tell her sister that she was too effusive—a wickedly merciless voice in his head added and premature—with her thanks and that he did not deserve them.
End Author's Notes
Sorry I broke Darcy.