Mr. Collins had been speaking for over ten minutes without ceasing. Darcy began to wonder if the man was able to breathe while he spoke, for he did not pause as most people would. Finally, the interruption of the maid carrying tea broke his monologue, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to relay the news of Miss de Bough's fall.
Mr. Collins gasped in horror. His face drained of colour and he seemed close to fainting himself. His wife placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and led him to a seat. Colonel Fitzwilliam hurried to explain that Miss de Bourgh was not hurt too much and was in bed under a doctor's care. This seemed to relieve Mr. Collins a little, and some of his normal colour returned to his cheeks. Once his wife would permit it, he was off to Rosings to see how he might assist his young patroness.
"I had better follow him," said Mrs. Collins. Her husband was already out the door by the time she had called for the maid to fetch her hat and gloves. "Eliza, you shall do well enough here with the gentlemen?"
Elizabeth agreed that she would and urged her friend to see to her duties. Reluctantly, the two guests rose and declared that they ought to take their leave.
"Do not feel you must go. I am of a mind to take a turn about the gardens. Will one or both of you not accompany me?" asked Elizabeth.
Darcy agreed easily. Colonel Fitzwilliam declared that he needed to see to one of his horses. It had been a little lame of late and he did not like leaving its care entirely to the grooms. Darcy knew this was an excuse, for his cousin had teased him several times recently about admiring Miss Bennet. There also was nothing wrong with any of Colonel Fitzwilliam's horses, at least that Darcy knew of. Darcy had told the Colonel of what had happened on his way over to the parsonage, and he had given him his sympathy and his doubts as to the wisdom of handing the letters over to his valet.
"Mr. Witting is beyond reproach. You know the gutter my father dragged him out of as a child. He will guard those letters with his life." Darcy did not have to explain further. Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded, and they had continued in silence.
"Are you coming?" asked Elizabeth.
Darcy shook himself and took his gloves and hat from the servant. As they exited the parsonage, he offered Elizabeth his arm, and they walked silently together along the path toward the stream.
It took some time for Darcy to organise his thoughts well enough to tell her all that had happened that morning, what he suspected his aunt of and what he had seen her do. He spoke well, although a few times Elizabeth thought she heard something in his voice that betrayed a deeper emotion than he was willing to show.
"But why?" asked Elizabeth. "You already know much of what she meant to tell you, including that she wished you to marry with affection. Since she did not speak of the so-called betrothal to your cousin, she could hardly expect that burning them would do any good."
"I fear she is not in her right mind. I think something broke in her when her daughter became ill. First her sister, then her husband, and now her daughter. I think it was too much. I do not pretend to know about the mind, but she does care for Anne and she has spent thousands of pounds in attempting to cure her."
"I find it difficult to feel sorry for her when she has just done such a wrong to you. To burn your mother's letters! Why, I cannot imagine how you are so calm. I am not even an interested party and I feel like marching up to the manor house and telling Lady Catherine what I think of her!" Elizabeth's face had turned red with anger. Darcy smiled at her outrage on his behalf.
"I suppose I shall storm and weep and rant later," said he after considering. "I must be in some manner of shock. I do not know quite how to respond. I just needed to be gone from Rosings. I find your presence rather soothing, so I decided to call on you."
Elizabeth blushed deeply at Darcy's words and looked away.
"Perhaps it is because you remind me of her. I think she would have adored you."
Elizabeth did not trust herself to respond. His voice was soft and spoke of deep emotion. She focused on the stream, watching a light-coloured fish swim near the top of the water. Several moments passed silently as they watched the fish together.
"I suppose I had ought to return to Rosings," said Mr. Darcy after some time. "I should read the rest of the letters. I dare not wait any longer, even if it is difficult to absorb so much in one sitting."
"You can always read them again later," said Elizabeth. "And once the shock wears off, if you need a friend, you know you are always welcome at the parsonage. Mr. Collins would be only too glad to have your company."
"He is a good man, I think," said Mr. Darcy. "Even if he is a little too much at times."
"He is. I think he shall improve with the sensible guidance of Mrs. Collins."
"Will you walk tomorrow morning?" asked Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the implied assignation. "I walk every morning."
"Good."
With that, they took leave of each other and went their separate ways. Darcy was calm enough now to read his letters. Elizabeth thought she ought to attend to her own correspondence, for Jane had written and she had not yet had time to read the letter. From the thickness of the letter, Elizabeth knew it was two sheets of paper. Such a letter could only hold very good or very bad news. She was not worried, though. She was nearly certain that the letter would contain many raptures of happiness, not expressions of sorrow.
Dear Fitzwilliam,
I am so very sorry that something has made you terribly unhappy. As I cannot know what has made you sad, I shall stick to more general topics.
First, I wish you to know that society's nonsense about gentlemen not crying or showing any emotions, but anger and happiness is absurd. You should cry if you feel like crying. You should scream into a cushion or stomp around or whatever as well, but crying is often what we need. The release is good for you.
Second, do not let sadness consume you. You must only dwell on it for a few days. Feel what you will, but then you must attend to your duties. You should not lock yourself away and feel sorry for yourself, falling into a deep melancholy. That is a terrible idea and is not good for the health of either the body or the heart.
Depending on how deep the hurt is, there is the possibility that it will always be with you. I have had several hurts that have remained with me all of my days. I do not think of them constantly, but then it will rain or I will see someone who reminds me of the person involved and it will come back to me. Then, when I am again busy and the reminder is gone, it will fade into the background again. Think of it like an injury that cannot go away. You might be able to distract yourself most of the time, but then you will try to use the injured body part and you are reminded again.
The other thing I would tell you is to find someone whom you can confide in. Someone who will keep your confidence without fail and who will not judge you or scold you for your feelings. When you find this person, you must hold onto them. They are a true friend. How I wish that I could be there to be this person for you. If you are nearby, I am certain your father will be this person for you if you wish it, but he shall not always be at hand. You must allow others close enough to fill this role as well.
I love you, my dear son,
Mamma
Darcy was glad for his mother's words. He was undoubtedly sad now and the hurt of losing some of her advice would always be a sore spot for him. Yet, he had several people who were as she described. Richard, Anne, and now Elizabeth. Perhaps there were others, but they were the ones that immediately came to his mind.
His mind wandered a while, as it often did when he thought of Elizabeth. He was brought back to the present by the sound of a maid hurrying down the hallway towards Anne's room. He looked over at the letter meant for when he was ill. He was in perfect health, but he supposed that some of the advice might be of help to his cousin.
Dear William,
This letter will be different from the others, in that it is meant to be read when you are ill. I hope it shall not be read too soon. If I had my way, you would never become ill and this letter would go forever unopened. Yet, I know that is not the way of the world. I can only hope that you never become ill with the wasting disease that I was afflicted with. The doctor that treated me at the last was a fine physician. He put me on several tonics to increase my strength, once it was clear that curing the illness was no longer an option. He did not wish me to be bedridden and unable to enjoy the last weeks of my life. I am glad he did, for I have many happy memories of those days.
However, for my own sake, I am going to assume that your illness is mild in nature. Perhaps you have a violent cold or have decided to take a Grand Tour and have come back with some dreadful disease from a foreign land. I know very little about medicine, but I know what I did for illness in your and your father.
Honey and lemon tea for colds and coughs. Willow bark tea for fever. Lots of fluids for any illness. Never let them bleed you. I have never understood this practice as it only ever made me weak. Most people I have spoken to say the same. If you get an infection, my mother always said that you should put a bandage dipped in whiskey on the wound. Then you wrap the regular bandage over the top. Change the bandage often. I also believe in cleanliness, particularly when someone is ill. Windows ought to be open to let out the miasma and surfaces wiped down in case the miasma has settled onto them. Most people do not believe that miasma can settle onto surfaces, but I do not think it hurts anything for the room to be a little cleaner.
If you have spots or sores, do not scratch at them. It is tempting, but you should let them alone. Put on gloves if you must. If you really cannot stand the itching, rub them, do not scratch. You also might ask Mrs. Reynolds to make up a cream to stop the itching for you.
Do not trust just any apothecary or physician. Many will give you tonics that either do nothing or will harm you. Ask what is in everything and what it does. You do not need to take tonics every time you are ill. Sometimes it is best to simply let your body take care of itself.
Mrs. Reynolds knows most of my home remedies. There is a book of them, along with ones that she came up with, in the kitchen at Pemberley. She is as good as most doctors for the everyday things.
I beg you to rest while you are ill. I know that you shall wish to attend to your duties and go about as if nothing is wrong, but you must not. If you do, you shall only become sicker and be bedridden longer.
Feel better, my dear son. I hope this helped a little. I love you so very much. Read a book and take a nap now.
Love,
Mamma
Darcy smiled. His mother knew him, or perhaps men in general, well. He often had been cared for by Mrs. Reynolds and had resisted her advice to rest and let the steward see to his duties. Most of the time, she was right and his insistence on pushing on meant he was sicker for longer.
Thankfully, he had not suffered too much from the lack of his mother's advice on this subject, for Mrs. Reynolds took great care of him and his sister. She was as maternal a woman as anyone might wish for when ailing. His mother would have been glad to know her children were so well cared for.
He was slightly disappointed that not much of the letter, if anything, would assist his cousin. Still, he would tell her not to let the doctor bleed her. Realising that he had not checked in on her in a while, he called for his valet. After giving the servant the letters, he donned his jacket and went to his cousin's room.
