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Chapter 11 Under his skin
"Sir, do you really think it was wise to go to Longbourn?" moaned Finn as he plucked the lead pellets from his master's flesh with tweezers.
Finn's heart had calmed considerably since Darcy had belatedly climbed in the window a bloody mess, just before dawn.
Once he had ascertained the master was not seriously wounded, Finn had peeled off Darcy's coat, which would never be the same. As for Darcy's waistcoat and shirt, they were clearly ruined, pierced by a hundred holes and soaked with blood, so Finn had cut them off with scissors, carefully prising off the last remnants stuck to Darcy's chest with blood. He had laid clean rags over the raw wounds on Darcy's chest, which he could hardly bear to lay eyes on, and set to work, one section at a time, to remove the tiny pellets.
"I am worried about her," protested Darcy in explanation. "I detoured as a precaution before going to Longbourn. But of course I needed to detour again on the way back once she shot me," he added, in excuse for his tardy arrival.
Darcy sighed and distracted himself from the pain and irritation of Finn's ministrations by reviewing his night.
He had not been sorry when Miss Elizabeth Bennet had departed Netherfield. It was certainly not comfortable sleeping chained to a bed. But as soon as she was gone, he could not stop thinking about her constantly. Despite racking his brain, he could not account for those lost hours on her first night at Netherfield. He needed to monitor her carefully!
After slaking his thirst and running three miles to Longbourn, Darcy had arrived at the manor house long after the family had retired. He had thus been disappointed in his hope of getting a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth, which, he had assured himself, was the sole purpose of his visit. A dim light, likely from a single candle, had illuminated an upper window when he arrived there. But whether it belonged to Miss Elizabeth's bedchamber, Darcy had no way of knowing—never having visited Longbourn with the Bingleys, he was unfamiliar with the layout of the house. As he stood silently near the henhouse, the light was extinguished and he found himself alone in the shadow of an oak, with only the chickens for company.
Thus disembodied by darkness, he had experienced weird visions of himself scaling the wall of the manor to reach the window. He remembered shuddering, whether from self-revulsion or the effort of suppressing such thoughts, he had no idea. He knew it must not occur. Yet he could stop himself from trying to call her and he had set to whispering, 'Elizabeth, Elizabeth, come to the window'.
For a while, Darcy had thought that all he had done was to disturb the chickens. First they clucked, and then they cackled, before breaking into quite a ruckus. He tried to settle them in a less sibilant tone, calling softly, 'Chook, chook, chook!', as he had heard the servants calming the hens as they gathered the eggs. That seemed to be partly successful.
After again questioning his motives for even being there, Darcy was about to force himself to retreat when he a saw a light appear in another upper window. He waited, wondering if his whispering had been successful. The chickens seemed to get nervous again, occasionally unleashing a cackle.
After several minutes, he heard the bolt of the front door drawn, and who should emerge but Elizabeth herself. She trod gingerly across the drive, her pale face and gown transfixing his attention. His clenched his fists. He had not meant to draw her out, only to bring her to the window so that he might catch a glimpse of her! He wondered if he should turn and run to keep his distance from her, but his legs would not budge. It was only when she crouched slightly and began to move stealthily towards him that Darcy realised she was holding a gun. Good Lord! She was stalking him! The tables had turned!*
He took a step backwards, trod on something, and was immediately hit in the back. He overbalanced, saw her lift the gun, heard the report, and found himself staggering backwards when the shot hit him like a swarm of angry bees. Darcy tripped and fell to his knees. A swear word escaped his lips.
Elizabeth had stopped to set the stock on the ground; was leaning on the barrel of the gun. He heard her utter 'ow!' under her breath; saw her rub her shoulder.
In the shadows, Darcy cast about with his hands to find the object he had stumbled over before he tripped again. It was a rake. No doubt he had stood on the cast iron end and hit himself with the handle. How careless of the servants to have left it lying around!* He pushed it against the outer wall of the henhouse to get it out of the way.
Crouching in the shadows, Darcy thought at first that the shotgun pellets had not pierced his clothes. His chest felt diffusely hot, as if he had been struck with a whip several times over, but he could not call it pain. It was only when he rose on his knees that he felt a warm trickle at the waist of his breeches, which might have been sweat, though it was not a hot night. He pulled his black silk handkerchief from his breeches' pocket, lifted his shirt to dab at it, and put the cloth to his lips—blood.
A sound made him turn back towards Elizabeth. She had picked up the gun in both hands like a quarterstaff and was making her way towards him.
Shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket, Darcy took his bearings and fled behind the henhouse. Disturbed again, the chickens squawked, cackled and fluttered about clumsily, masking the sound of his movements.
Darcy made it to the stables and merged into the shadows. He could hear Elizabeth talking to the chickens, soothing them; one of them she called Henny Penny*—no doubt that one thought the sky was falling! he thought ironically.
After a while he saw Elizabeth emerge from the henhouse to return to the house. Darcy could feel blood pooling in his navel and spilling down onto the skin below every time he breathed. He reached again for his handkerchief. It was gone. Another problem!
Darcy walked back towards the henhouse, scanning the grass for the missing handkerchief, but once he reached the shadows under the tree where he had last used it, it was impossible to see. It was as black as the ace of spades. Darcy dared not use the matches in his coat pocket to light the candle stub he carried around, lest someone from the house be still watching the henhouse. The handkerchief was not initialled; he supposed he would just have to leave it.
Darcy was brought back from his reverie when Finn poked him in a sensitive spot with the tweezers.
"Leave off, Finn!" he grumbled."The sun has risen! I am sleepy!"
"I have plucked all the pellets from the surface, sir, but there are more in deeper. I will need to use the scalpel."
"Stop prodding me! You can have another go once I have slept!"
"I do not think that is wise, sir. What if the wounds should heal over? How will I find the pellets? It cannot be good to have the lead in your body."
"Sleep!" said Darcy through gritted teeth.
Finn sighed and started to gather the detritus on a tray: the tweezers, a crucible full of gory lead shot, bloody rags. Darcy sat up and allowed his valet to wind a long linen bandage around his chest, which only partially covered the mess.
"I will be too hot," Darcy remarked grumpily when Finn picked up a second roll of linen. "Just give me my nightshirt."
Darcy grunted in pain as he reached his arms forward to allow Finn to pull the nightshirt over his head. He lay back gingerly and pulled the sheet over himself.
"Thank you, Finn," he added in the form of an apology. "You can have another go when I wake."
Finn nodded. After tugging at the curtain to block more of the sun's light, he picked up the tray and deposited it in the dressing room before disappearing behind a large screen in the adjoining sitting room, which he had turned into his own little sleeping area. Despite its small size, it was quite palatial.
Mrs Nicholls had made the mistake of teasing Finn about 'sleeping on the sofa' when he had refused the room she had allotted to him in the servant's quarters. As a gentleman's gentleman, Finn felt he could not let it pass, so he had sent immediately to his friend in London for materials. Finn had modelled the resulting structure on the Emperor Napoleon's campaign tent. Darcy had just laughed when he had seen it and remarked that he hoped that Finn was comfortable. Finn knew that Darcy felt a little guilty about depriving him of his own room, but cohabitation seemed the simplest solution in view of Darcy's nocturnal wanderings—especially, thought Finn, after this latest event.
Finn woke again at eleven when he heard his master using the chamberpot. He rang for some hot water, stoked the fire and prepared a new tray to tend Darcy's wounds. Darcy pulled off his nightshirt, which Finn had expected to be stained with blood or stuck to Darcy's skin, without assistance. No blood had come through the bandage. When Finn unwound it, they were both surprised when dozens of tiny lead pellets rained down on the sheets. Finn looked at Darcy's chest. As he had expected, the skin was healed over, fresh and pink.
"My flesh seems to have pushed them out during the night," observed Darcy, picking up one of the pellets on the sheet that caught his eye and examining it.
"Yes," agreed Finn with astonishment, setting the bloody bandage aside.
A closer inspection revealed a lump near Darcy's left nipple. When Finn touched it, Darcy flinched.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed.
"I think there are still some pellets under the skin, sir," observed Finn, picking up the scalpel.
"Oh, no!" said Darcy, jumping out the other side of the bed. "I would like breakfast, please. It looks like it has clouded over, so perhaps I will take it downstairs with the Bingleys."
Finn sighed, and after laying out Darcy's clothes, prepared to shave his master.
But once Finn buttoned up Darcy's waistcoat, the garment pressed upon the lump near Darcy's nipple like a blind pimple, irritating him every time he moved. With resignation, he finally allowed Finn to break the skin over the lump with the scalpel. A pellet immediately popped out as if it had been spat, causing them to exchange a glance.
"I wonder how many more of them are inside?" asked Darcy philosophically as he held a rag against his chest to clot the wound before re-donning his shirt.
"Did Miss Elizabeth see you before she shot you, sir?" asked Finn, less concerned now about Darcy's wounds and beginning to cast his worries further afield.
"No. It was very dark where I was standing. I believe she thought I was a fox. It was stupid to have stood beside the henhouse. I shall keep away from it in future."
"You are not going back, sir?" asked Finn incredulously. "After this?"
"Finn, I am not made of butter! You know my reason for going there in the first place. I must check on her!"
Finn almost rolled his eyes before remembering something. "Well, you will not find her there tonight, sir. The Lucases are having another soirée and the Bennet ladies never turn down an invitation."
"You seem very sure," remarked Darcy.
"I heard it from Miss Bingley," said Finn. With a twinkle in his eye, he raked the air with the fingers of his left hand like a cat's claws. "Are you wishing to attend?"
"Of course, Finn. I must go."
"Very well, sir," said Finn slyly. "I shall inform, Miss Bingley. She will be very pleased."
Towards the evening, the Bennets were making their preparations for the soirée. Lydia had rushed into Jane and Lizzy's chamber to get their opinion on a ribbon.
"Which colour do you think looks best with this pomona green dress?" she asked her sisters, "the coquelicot* or the jonquil*?"
"I like the jonquil," said Jane.
"Definitely, the coquelicot," said Lizzy.
"The coquelicot it is!" crowed Lydia, who had merely wanted someone to second her own opinion after Kitty had thrown doubt on her choice. She hesitated as she viewed the dowdy gown on the hanger in Lizzy's hands. "You are not wearing that, are you?"
"I believe so," said Lizzy, thinking nothing would be too much to divert her cousin's attentions to Mary, who saw nothing particularly objectionable in Mr Collins.
"You will regret it if you do!" said Lydia. "There is a new officer in the regiment and he is ever so handsome! Kitty and I saw him in town today! He returned from London with Denny!"
Lizzy merely shook her head and smiled before proceeding to take the dress off the hanger as Lydia ran off. Once she had undone the bib of her day gown, she had another colour to show Jane—her shoulder was black and blue.*
"Oh, Lizzy!" cried Jane. "Did that happen last night? You did not tell me you were injured! What happened?"
"It is nothing but my own fault, Jane. In my excitement, I pulled both triggers of the gun at once and the stock hit my shoulder."
"Dear, dear!" clucked Jane. "We should have put arnica on it before you lay down to sleep."
"It would have been wise," agreed Lizzy, "but I did not wish to disturb you, and I had no idea it was so bad. It is a pretty colour, isn't it?"
Sometime later, as the Bennet sisters assembled in the vestibule, they were surprised to see their father descend the stairs in his evening clothes.
"Papa, are you coming with us? Have you finally read all the books in your library?" joked Lydia.
"I can always buy some more, my dear," Mr Bennet assured her. "But I thought tonight might be particularly entertaining."
Just then, Mr Collins hurried down the stairs. "Forgive me! Forgive me, one and all! I was writing a letter to Lady Catherine of my progress and did not notice the time!"
"Very entertaining!" added Mr Bennet as he caught Lizzy's eye.
Elizabeth did not care for her father's idea of entertainment if he thought there was amusement to be had in watching Mr Collins pay clumsy court to his daughters.
"Do not worry," Mary reassured her cousin. "We are still waiting for Mama. Sarah cannot get her turban to sit right."
Several minutes later, the Bennet coach pulled up outside, ready to depart, and still they were waiting.
To bide the time, Mr Collins smiled and simpered at his cousins. "May I say, Miss Elizabeth, how charming you look tonight. The modesty of your gown speaks very well of your principles!"
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably and stole a glance at Jane. It seemed she had hidden her light under a bushel* for no good reason.
Despite their mother's tardiness, the Bennets arrived at Lucas Lodge in good time. Charlotte hurried to the vestibule with her father to greet them.
When the first effusions of Sir William's greetings had passed away and the others had been ushered into the parlour, Lizzy lingered with her friend as she divested herself of her cloak. Charlotte raised one eyebrow as Lizzy's garb was revealed before her friend handed the cape to a servant.
"Do not say a word," murmured Lizzy. "I would also have worn my boots had not Jane dissuaded me, and it is all for nought. Mr Collins praised me for my propriety."
Charlotte stifled a smile as they moved to a more private spot in the vestibule. "Surely it would not be so bad if he asked you to marry him, Lizzy? You would be able to return to Longbourn once your father died. Would it not be worth it?"
"I would rather not leave in the first place," retorted Lizzy, "and in such company!"
"He does not seem so bad to me," said Charlotte. "Admittedly he is not handsome, but nor is he ugly."
"It is his manner that is the most unbearable."
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "I dare say he would be busy with Lady Catherine and his parish most of the day and you would only have to put up with him at night."
Lizzy stared at her friend. "That," she said solemnly, "is what chiefly concerns me."
Charlotte blushed and stifled a giggle. She grasped Lizzy's hand as they walked towards the parlour. "Did you hear there is a new officer in the regiment?" she whispered.
"With Lydia around? How could I not?" replied Lizzy with a roll of her eyes. "So tell me, is he as handsome as Lydia claims?"
"I have not seen him myself, but Mariah seemed to think he is very fine. He has not arrived yet. Some of the officers were late at target practise and went to the Red Lion to dine, but Colonel Forster is here with his new wife. She is very young—not much older than Mariah! Shall I introduce you?"
"By all means!" replied Lizzy, and Charlotte led her to the group containing the happy couple.
Mrs Forster was indeed very young, but she looked constantly at her husband with admiration. He seemed, in turn, less stern than usual when he smiled back at her.
It was not long before another carriage was heard to draw up and Sir William hurried to greet the new arrivals. Excepting for Jane, the young ladies were all disappointed to discover it was only the Bingleys. As Mr Hurst was married, Mr Bingley was taken, and Mr Darcy had indicated he wanted nothing to do with anyone, the Netherfield party could not be of interest. Only Sir William gave the newcomers the attention he thought they deserved, being especially gratified that Mr Darcy had deigned to be of the group.
Mr Darcy was, of course, dressed entirely in black, which was the only garb that most of those present had ever seen him wear. Only Elizabeth and members of his own party had observed him in the more typical English gentleman's dress that he wore during the day. His clothes were very fine, though it was hard to appreciate them in all their inky blackness. He certainly made an interesting contrast to the gaudy silks of the Bingley sisters and the striped waistcoat and evening primrose* inexpressibles of Mr Hurst. If one excluded Mr Bingley, thought Elizabeth, who was the only 'normal' one among them, the Netherfield party looked like they had had an accident with a paintbox.
Once the dignitaries had arrived, Sir William encouraged his daughter Mariah to the pianoforte and then began to ensure that everyone had a drink. After Charlotte excused herself momentarily to distribute sandwiches, Elizabeth happened to catch Mr Darcy steal a glance at her and felt a pang of regret for her garb, before quickly deciding she disliked him too much to care for his opinion. She tried to appear focused on Mariah's playing but, much to her chagrin, found herself occasionally taking surreptitious peaks at Mr Darcy when she raised her glass to her lips.
He accepted the glass of wine that was pressed upon him by Sir William and then sank back into a dark corner where Elizabeth was surprised to see him take a swig from a hip flask extracted from his coat pocket. She was immediately reminded of his nocturnal excursions. His habits seemed very bad!
Elizabeth forced her attention back to Mariah's performance and then was startled at the end of it when she found Mr Darcy beside her.
"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth."
Elizabeth covered her surprise admirably. "Good evening, Mr Darcy."
"I regret our conversation on alchemy was terminated so abruptly at Netherfield," he remarked.
Elizabeth thought this very strange. There had been plenty of opportunities at Netherfield for Mr Darcy to have continued their conversation if he had not been so pointedly ignoring her.
She resisted the temptation to raise her eyebrows, saying only, "I do not think there is much more I could add on the topic. It is my father who is the expert."
"You seemed to imply that he knew something of the Muslim alchemists."
"Indeed, he was a scholar of Arabic at Oxford before he inherited Longbourn; considered the best in England by his peers. He spent many years translating Arabic texts on alchemy into English at the request of a patron. It was believed there were many mistakes in the original translations into Latin and my father's patron hoped to make progress in his own studies by going back to the original sources."
"And did your father find many errors?"
"Indeed, Papa says the texts are littered with them, but even he could not say with certainty that his new translations were definitive. He came to believe that only by doing the actual experiments would certain ambiguities ever be resolved. He had hoped he might collaborate with his patron, who was a practitioner, to produce definitive texts, but in the end he never finished the work."
"Why was that?" asked Darcy.
"His move to Longbourn was the chief problem. He had hoped to continue working on the texts after unexpectedly inheriting Longbourn on his brother's untimely death, but his patron was impatient for further progress and transferred the texts to another scholar. That was over twenty years ago. The translations have never been published.*"
Darcy's curiosity was roused. "May I ask who was your father's patron?"
Elizabeth lowered her voice. "Papa does not like to speak of it, but it was Lord Pevensey."
Darcy's mouth opened in surprise upon discovering Lord Pevensey's interest in alchemy. He was on the verge of protesting that Pevensey was a respected member of the Royal Society when he realised he was about to commit the same faux pas as in their original conversation on the same topic. He clamped his mouth shut.
At that moment, Mary took her place at the pianoforte and, during the general rearrangement of people in the room, one of the younger officers, Mr Chamberlayne, stepped backwards into Elizabeth and knocked her glass. Elizabeth grimaced when some of her punch slopped onto her dress but, given it was not her best, she was quite philosophical about it.
In a flash, Mr Darcy had offered his handkerchief. Elizabeth stared at it for a moment before accepting it—for it was black silk and instantly recognisable.
"You have not lost one of these recently, have you?" she asked airily.
Darcy immediately realised his mistake. "Why, yes. I believe I misplaced one in Meryton the other day," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "At least, that was the last place I could remember using it. Has it come your way?"
Whatever Elizabeth was about to reply, she completely forgot, for during their conversation another carriage had arrived. From the way Lydia had peered out the window and then bounced up and down, Elizabeth could only surmise that the late-coming officers had arrived in an hack chaise. As they now walked in the door, Elizabeth could see that the new officer, who had replaced the comely Lieutenant Winston, was indeed very handsome. He beamed at the room in general and shook the hand of Sir William.
"Oh, look!" said Mrs Foster behind them. "It is Lieutenant Wickham and Mr Denny!"
At that moment, Mr Darcy's head snapped round to the newcomer. Their eyes met and the smile seemed to drain from Lieutenant Wickham's face. In her privileged position standing next to Mr Darcy, Elizabeth saw his face turn red just as Lieutenant Wickham's turned paper white. It was almost as if the blood drained from one had been transferred to the other. The two gentlemen's eyes were locked together as if in some silent battle and, for a moment, Elizabeth had the uncanny feeling that she was observing a very private moment between the only two people in the room. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.
Lieutenant Wickham was the first to break eye contact, turning to Sir William who was still addressing him, shaking his head and then laughingly making some joke.
Elizabeth tore her attention away from the newcomer, but before she could return his handkerchief, Mr Darcy bid her a crisp goodbye and left her side.
Footnotes
When the table is turned, one's position relative to someone else is reversed. It originated with the playing of board games in the 17th century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. In its literal meaning, the phrase referred "to the position of the board in a board game being reversed, hence reversing the situation of each player in the game. According to the OED, the expression first appeared in writing in The Widdowes Teares, a 1612 comedy by the poet and playwright George Chapman: "You doe well Sir to take your pleasure of me, (I may turne tables with you ere long)."
it was Lydia's fault
Henny Penny is called Chicken Little, Chicken Licken (US) and Kylling Kluk (Danish) in other versions of the folk tale.
matches 1805 Chancel sugar matches, 1810 Phosphorous bottle
The coquelicot or the jonquil: coquelicot—poppy red, jonquil—yellow like the flower. See Pinterest board for images. Even very ignorant ladies like Kitty and Lydia had an amazing colour vocabulary with many of the names taken from the French, the epicentre of European fashion.
black and blue. Badly bruised. Even though multicoloured bruises are rarely black, this term has been in use since 1300
to hide one's light under a bushel. To hide one's talents.
primrose
Pinterest captions
[1] "I am worried about her," protested Darcy in explanation.
[2] A dim light, likely from a single candle, had illuminated an upper window when he arrived there.
[3] 'Elizabeth, Elizabeth, come to the window'.
[4] After several minutes, he heard the bolt of the front door drawn, and who should emerge but Elizabeth herself.
[5] The tables had turned!*
[6] Darcy cast about with his hands to find the object he had stumbled over before he tripped again. It was a rake.
[7] She had picked up the gun in both hands like a quarterstaff and was making her way towards him.
[8] …one of them she called Henny Penny*—no doubt that one thought the sky was falling!
[9] Darcy dared not use the matches in his coat pocket to light the candle stub he carried around
[10] Finn sighed and started to gather the detritus on a tray: the tweezers, a crucible full of gory lead shot, bloody rags. Darcy sat up and allowed his valet to wind a long linen bandage around his chest, which only partially covered the mess.
[11] Darcy sat up and allowed his valet to wind a long linen bandage around his chest, which only partially covered the mess.
[12] …disappearing behind a large screen in the adjoining sitting room, which he had turned into his own little sleeping area.
[13] Finn had modelled the resulting structure on the Emperor Napoleon's campaign tent
[14] Finn looked at Darcy's chest. As he had expected, the skin was healed over, fresh and pink.
[15] Finn buttoned up Darcy's waistcoat
[16] the material pressed upon the lump near Darcy's nipple like a blind pimple, irritating him every time he moved
[17] "You are not going back, sir?" asked Finn incredulously. "After this?"
[18] With a twinkle in his eye, he raked the air with the fingers of his left hand like a cat's claws.
[19] "Which colour do you think looks best with this pomona green dress?" she asked her sisters,
[20] "the coquelicot…*
[21] "…or the jonquil*?"
[22] You will regret it if you do!" said Lydia. "There is a new officer in the regiment and he is ever so handsome!
[23] …her shoulder was black and blue.*
[24] "We should have put arnica on it before you lay down to sleep."
[25] "I can always buy some more, my dear," Mr Bennet assured her. "But I thought tonight might be particularly entertaining."
[26] Sarah cannot get her turban to sit right."
[27] It seemed she had hidden her light under a bushel* for no good reason.
[28] the Bennets arrived at Lucas Lodge in good time.
[29] Charlotte stifled a smile
[30] Mrs Forster was indeed very young, but she looked constantly at her husband with admiration.
[31] Only Sir William gave the newcomers the attention he thought they deserved,
[32] Mr Darcy was, of course, dressed entirely in black,
[33] the striped waistcoat
[34] …and evening primrose* inexpressibles of Mr Hurst
[35] the Netherfield party looked like they had had an accident with a paintbox.
[36] Elizabeth was surprised to see him take a swig from a hip flask extracted from his coat pocket.
[37] Elizabeth stared at it for a moment before accepting it—for it was black silk and instantly recognisable.
[38] the late-coming officers had arrived in an hack chaise.
[39] "Oh, look! It is Lieutenant Wickham and Mr Denny!"