With the all-important handshake, Elizabeth was treated with an entirely new amusement—Smug Darcy. She probably should have disliked it, and may well have in the past, but she had enjoyed the show far too much to become missish.
She briefly wondered if Darcy had just given away a big debt in exchange for a small estate to ensure family harmony, or written off a debt that would never be collected anyway by getting what he could for his cousin. That thought did not last long, though, because he was rich enough that it just did not matter.
The still fortunately un-introduced, apparently Lord Matlock, snapped peevishly, "Come Catherine! I feel no compulsion to hear this nonsense, and we will be lucky to return before dark."
With that, the trio stomped off toward the stream accompanied by a half-dozen footmen looking very much like petulant children.
Smug Darcy watched them leave, and Elizabeth was gifted with another smile-inducing statement. "Brother, that was quite impressive cursing. I had no idea you could be so … eloquent."
Darcy turned to face his sister, whom Elizabeth had met earlier in her laudanum induced haze and confused with Jane, to reply with a saucy smirk worthy of Mr Bennet. "Someone must teach my sons to curse properly when the situation calls for it."
Sounding more like Lydia than Jane, Georgiana giggled as she came into Elizabeth's sight from wherever she had hidden to observe the proceedings. "What about your daughters?"
"Ah, well, I hope to marry a woman who could put a sailor to the blush, so that lot would fall to her," he said, but very politely did so without looking directly at Elizabeth.
That lady thought Impertinent Darcy had much to recommend him, and Georgiana seemed a lovely and energetic girl—right until she got a look at how many people were stacked up in the cabin, at which point she became a timid little mouse.
"Come, Georgie… you are welcome," Jane said in a soothing voice, beckoning her in.
The girl looked unsure, but then apparently decided bravery was the order of the day. She followed her brother in and stood awkwardly beside the chair he reclaimed. Elizabeth thought that was about as good as could be expected.
Apparently unable to contain her curiosity, Jane asked, "How in the world did Lady Catherine get down the stairs?"
Darcy answered, "She did not. There is a three-mile path downstream. She seems to have retained some footmen she paid extra to do her dirty work, and they carried her the three miles in a sedan chair—although, it may well have been lord Matlock's men."
"What is a sedan chair?"
"A seat in a box with two long poles attached—something like a tiny carriage without wheels. Two or four burly men called bearers carry it."
Jane and Elizabeth just looked perplexed, but Fitzwilliam sketched the idea with his hands, and they nodded sceptically as he added, "They are going out of style now, but they were quite popular among the wealthy last century, especially in cities with narrow and crowded streets. Very good for people too rich and lazy to walk."
They just shook their heads, but Sir Walter asked, "Shall we continue, Miss Elizabeth? Are you up to it? Miss Darcy, do you wish to hear this rather distressing tale?"
Georgiana nodded nervously and put her hand on her brother's shoulder.
Elizabeth settled back into her pillow, and began her story anew, quickly falling back into her rhythm.
With five girls in the house of varying ages, temperaments, and talents, as well as cousins in Cheapside; all the Bennet sisters were constantly doing entertainments, in the form of reading aloud, acting out plays, or charades. She was generally regarded as the best thespian in the family, though Kitty and Lydia could be quite good when they bothered.
"As I said, I left the parsonage at one. The day was fine and the weather inviting. About half-one or quarter to two, I left the trees and started following the ravine. The stream is somewhat noisy, so the first thing I heard was the crack of a whip, and my first thought was that only a madman would whip a horse on that road."
Just as earlier, she relived the experience in all its terrifying detail and had her audience in the palm of her hand. She felt the tension rising, and her pain correspondingly as before, but she found Jane had a tight hold on her right hand which helped her remain in the frame. She had no idea Gentle Darcy held the other.
She described the terror of the approaching phaeton in bone-jarringly-excruciating detail. She described the size, location, and appearance of the missing chunk from the front of the box, the colour and size of a basket sitting incongruously on the seat, the way one of the wheels wobbled alarmingly as if the spokes were bent, the way it barrelled down on her at frightening speed in a straight line, the wild eyes of the pony that matched the driver, and the sound like thunder as it approached closer and closer.
She even allowed a digression into the colours of the ribbons on Anne's gown and bonnet, going so far as to comment that they not only clashed with each other, but neither ribbon suited the colouring of her skin or gown in the least—something Kitty would consider ample explanation for murderous tendencies.
Jane kept pulling her back before she went down too many tangents or too deep into the terror, but the level of detail was entirely sufficient to establish the veracity of her tale.
She repeated the woman's screams word for word, perfectly confident they exactly matched what she had reported to the colonel (along with Eavesdropper Darcy, apparently), because she thought she could well repeat them word for word fifty years hence, if she survived.
Only during the story of the tumble down the hill and rescue by the moderately dashing redcoat did she start omitting superfluous details. Nobody criticised her for it. There was little point in repeating the screams the poor colonel endured, nor the vindictiveness of her rejections of Mr Darcy. Everyone knew the story anyway, but there seemed little point in making the poor man hear it yet again when it was not the least bit relevant to the investigation.
The two officials showed their professionalism by asking specific, sometimes pointed or intrusive questions regarding, not only the day in question, but her earlier interactions with Miss de Bourgh, Lady Catherine, the stable hands, and the other Rosings staff—little though they were.
Darcy chuckled, Jane smiled, and Fitzwilliam howled when she reported finding a visit from Miss de Bourgh vastly less interesting than the pig escaping the garden again, and subsequently telling Maria Lucas: "She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will make him a very proper wife."
Eventually, the officials were satisfied, and stood to take their leave. Sir Walter once again spoke for the pair.
"I can promise nothing madam, but I believe the inquest will fall your way and you will be well entitled to just compensation. Beyond that, any of these gentlemen shall know what to do, but you may consider us at your disposal if we may assist you in any way."
"I thank you both very much, and bid you adieu, Sir Walter… Mr Ridlington. I apologize I cannot curtsy, but perhaps Miss Darcy may do so in my stead."
The men courteously exchanged pleasantries as specified and exited with no more ceremony, to be replaced with Mrs Buxton and Dr Nott.
"We shall need to check your wounds, Miss Elizabeth, and I believe some laudanum will be called for," Dr Nott said.
"Is there an alternative?"
"I could give you some brandy or rectified spirits, which might be sufficient, and add the laudanum as needed—though I must warn you, I do believe you will need it before morning based on what we observed earlier."
I prefer to wait as long as possible. Would you mind giving me a quarter-hour?"
"It will take that long to have much effect," Mrs Buxton said, and then poured out a small glass of brandy and a larger glass of water. "Take both when you are ready, dear, though I would prefer sooner over later."
Dr Nott spoke to the inhabitants in general.
"We both have other patients to see, so Mr Elkins and I will take turns. One of us will return at least thrice daily over the next week, and we will obviously remain if Miss Elizabeth takes a turn where our skills might be of use. Mrs Buxton will remain, and one of us will always be nearby. The nurse knows her business and can recognize the signs and perform the treatments as well as anyone. She can train Miss Bennet as well."
"I thank you, sir," said Darcy and Bennet at about the same time.
Elizabeth was happy they would at least not have the tedium of disputing over the bill, since her father would not even pretend to be either responsible or interested.
"Georgiana, you are nearly grown so you are welcome to stay, so long as you agree what is said here is in confidence," she said softly.
Georgiana looked to Darcy, and when he shrugged, she said, "I would stay."
Mrs Buxton closed the door on the way out, so Elizabeth began.
"I wish to speak, and you will oblige me by listening. I have not the strength to argue, so you may comply of your own volition or face Angry Jane."
Everyone laughed lightly, though at least some suspected she was not joking—not precisely.
She turned to her father and gave him a good stare-down.
"Papa, she began gently," which seemed propitious, since she was not calling him the far less affectionate Father, but her next words put paid to that idea. "I want you to return to Longbourn at first light. Take everyone but Jane and do something about your younger daughters."
The rest of the inhabitants looked startled, and Bennet asked, "You have accepted no proposals, Lizzy, so I am still responsible for you, and not inclined to abandon that duty."
"And yet you will," she said with iron in her voice.
"Care to explain why?" he asked, though without quite the level of sarcasm she expected.
"I certainly will, though you may not enjoy my explanation very much."
"I will hear it."
She sighed and stared. "Let us face facts… not just you, but everyone in this room. My chance of surviving unscathed are grim at best. I already have infection starting in the wound on my side. It is red, hot, and smelly, all bad signs, and my leg cannot be far behind. I have an excellent chance of being dead in a week, and I would beg all of you to refrain from pretending otherwise! Regardless of my consumption of laudanum, I am neither deaf nor stupid."
"I will not argue," Bennet replied sadly. "But that should encourage your family to be close rather than far away. At the very least, I should try to do my duty as a father for once in my life, as Jane has pointed out so forcefully."
Elizabeth looked around at everyone in the room who was eyeing her with various levels of confusion and trepidation.
She finally let out a ragged sigh. She had not been prevaricating. Mrs Buxton and Dr Nott had not wanted her to know about the turning of the wound but the signs were obvious. Her leg would do what it would, but her chest felt just about as bad as she had when the colonel found her; though she was learning to tolerate the pain better.
Feeling her strength ebbing, and well-aware she might be in another fever haze the next day, she carried on relentlessly.
"That is why I want you gone! First, there is the practical matter of my sisters' and mother's behaviours, which have been mortifying for most of my life. Regardless of what the earl does or does not do, and regardless of what these two gentlemen try, rumours and gossip about our family will be rampant. Our respectability will be in question, and the family's reputation can no longer tolerate what you have thus far been content to laugh at."
Bennet looked somewhat stunned, but became mulish. "I do not see how abandoning my most important duty in favour of my second or third-most-important, which frankly will be best accomplished with a school or governess, improves that. We will be seen as either an indecorous family, or an indecorous family who abandons a daughter in need. The latter hardly seems an improvement."
With her back up, Elizabeth answered more angrily than was wise, finding the pain in her side from the tension made her want to scream yet again.
"That is all true, but you forget one point. With my injuries, if I am to die, you owe me the respect of allowing me to decide how it is done!" she nearly yelled, ending with very rapid, shallow breaths.
Darcy was concerned enough to take her hand again, little though she noticed. He thought to try to help her along.
"Elizabeth, do you wish to be spared the mortification and pain of having your mother and sisters visit or blunder around Hunsford? Do you wish to keep them away from my family? If so, I would happily tear down the stairs, flood the other path, and move them ten miles away. Only your father could visit you, and Mrs Annesley could keep the ladies out of trouble."
She looked at him, grateful for his understanding, but not content that he had the entire picture.
"That is part of it, but you see —" and she paused for some time as tears gathered in her eyes that she neither noticed nor wiped.
With a resigned sniffle, she continued, "Here is the biggest part, and I loathe to say it, but it must be done. I want you to go, Papa, because if you stay, your concerned demeanour will only last so long. Sooner or later, you will revert to form. Everybody does. In a moment of weakness or inattention, you will say something about the silliest girls in the country, or you will make sport for our neighbours, or pick on something Mr Darcy says, or goad Mama into saying something indecorous just so you can laugh at it. Even if you do not say it, I will hear it in your voice. Even if you stay true to better behaviour, I will waste my precious effort fighting off the expectation. The die has already been cast."
Bennet stared at her with a frown that could curdle milk but made no defence, so Elizabeth continued relentlessly.
"I do not say these things to pain you, but to spare myself. I am a selfish creature, and I feel not the slightest remorse. If you leave, my family's faults will be forgotten and their strengths remembered. When things get dark, as they almost certainly will, I shall remember how patient you were with a three-year-old chatterbox always getting into things, how you taught me to read, and then to think and debate, how you taught me Plato, Shakespeare, Euclid, Wordsworth, and even Faraday. I will dwell happily on how you spoke to me as a rational person—a behaviour I must point out is not universal. I will remember the things that made me love you rather than the things that vex me. Similarly, I will remember Mama's hugs when I got in trouble as a child, which happened quite often, her gentle admonitions when I was too wild before she became obsessed with marrying us off, her love of a good story, per patience when trying to teach me embroidery, and her not always selfish desire to have us all settled and happy. I will remember Mary as a serious but kind-hearted girl before Fordyce poisoned her mind, Kitty for her excellent eye for colour and style before she started copying Lydia's ways, and Lydia as the brightest light in the house, always cheerful and happily chasing her sisters hither and yon just so she could amuse us, rather than the selfish, flirty, indecorous hoyden she is rapidly becoming."
By that time, Bennet, Jane, and Georgiana had joined their tears with hers, while the Colonel and Darcy were making manly attempts to avoid it, with limited success.
Tired to the bone, Elizabeth continued, "Jane has always loved me, always supported me, always understood me, always been there to ameliorate my vexations—and she is the only member of this family strong enough to watch me die without breaking her spirit."
With even more tears falling on the bed, she made her final demand.
"If I am to die, Papa, let me do so with my last thoughts full of the love in my heart."
Bennet took a ragged breath and applied his handkerchief to the mess he was making of his face, and finally nodded.
"It shall be as you say, Lizzy. God help me, I feel a failure, but I will do my best to rectify this."
"That is all I ask, Papa. I do love you, as well as my mother and sisters. I love my family far more than I can express. I just cannot allow that love to be tainted by associating them with pain."
Bennet reached over and took her hand. "You have been one of the brightest stars of my life, Lizzy. I shall do as you ask."
"Thank you, Papa. Do not think of it as failure, but a setback. All your daughters, and even your wife, are good girls at heart, they just need some guidance. Who better than you to provide it."
Nobody felt like saying she was offering him an olive branch he had not really earned, so they just accepted it.
"May I sit with you for the rest of the evening?"
"Of course, Papa!"