Chapter 4 - Impropriety and Interference

Fletcher practically herded Darcy down the hallway to the blue guest chamber. "Sir, you really must get out of these wet things immediately."

Darcy found himself glancing back toward his chambers, where he could hear the efficient movements of the servants preparing for Elizabeth's bath. He knew he should leave her care to the women, but the memory of her fever-bright eyes and pale face haunted him.

"Sir," Fletcher's voice held that particular tone of patient exasperation that Darcy remembered from his youth. "The sooner you're warm and dry, the sooner you'll be presentable enough to check on Miss Bennet again. And Mrs Nicholls has considerable experience with fever patients - she nursed half the household through that influenza outbreak last winter. Martha too - she's tended many a sickbed."

This practical observation finally penetrated Darcy's preoccupation. He allowed Fletcher to help him out of his sodden clothes. Fletcher grabbed one of the blankets that had been left in the room and wrapped it around his master's shoulders.

"I'll fetch your robe and dry things from the dressing room, sir, and check on the water for your bath" Fletcher said. "Try not to pace too much while I'm gone."

Left alone, Darcy found himself straining to hear any sound from down the hallway.

Through the half-open door, human voices carried down the hallway - the quiet murmur of women's voices, the occasional clink of what must be the bath being attended to. Darcy paced the length of the room, the blanket trailing behind him like a makeshift cloak, his bare feet leaving damp prints on the carpet. He knew he should stand closer to the fire, but he couldn't seem to stay still.

His mind kept returning to Elizabeth's pale face, the way she had trembled with cold. If only he had thought to offer his coat sooner, if only… But no, Fletcher was right. Standing here half-dressed and dripping on yet another carpet would help no one. Still, every distant sound made him turn toward the door, straining to hear if it might be news of Elizabeth's condition.

The fire had been hastily built up, but the room still held the chill of disuse. Or perhaps it was just his own wet state that made him feel the cold. He moved closer to the hearth, though he couldn't quite bring himself to sit down.

ooOoo

Fletcher left his master in the blue guest chamber - a perfectly serviceable room, though far less grand than those usually reserved for Mr Darcy. The furniture, still draped in Holland covers, was older than that in the principal guest chambers, and even with its southern aspect, the room felt chilly and unused. Not that his master would notice in his current state of distraction - or indeed, ever. Fletcher had often been amused by how ladies like Miss Bingley would insist on putting his master in the grandest chambers, when Mr Darcy cared far more about a good library and decent stables than gilt furniture and silk hangings.

He paused in the hallway, considering his options. His master's chambers lay just beyond the green parlour, and he could hear the bustle of activity within - the splash of water being carried, the murmur of female voices. The dressing room would be in use for Miss Bennet's bath. In all his years of service, he had never seen Mr Darcy so… unsettled. The man was usually the very model of propriety and self-control, yet here he was, giving up his chamber, his bath, even his dignity - dripping wet and pacing like a caged animal. Though perhaps that was unfair to his master, who had acted with admirable decisiveness in a crisis, even if it meant sacrificing his own comfort.

A maid hurried past with an armful of linens. "Martha," he called softly, recognizing one of the more experienced housemaids. "A moment, if you please."

Martha paused, shifting her burden. "Mr Fletcher? I was just taking these up for Miss Bennet's bath."

"Yes, and I need to get Mr Darcy's things." He took the linens from her, noting how she seemed relieved to be free of the awkward bundle. It wouldn't do to have his master's clothes brought out by just anyone - there were standards to maintain, even in unusual circumstances.

Fletcher had noticed how his master spoke of Miss Elizabeth Bennet - always with that particular tone of respect, quite different from his usual cool civility toward young ladies. And now this impulsive gallantry, giving up his chambers, his bath… It was most unlike Mr Darcy, who generally went to great lengths to avoid any hint of impropriety with the fair sex. Though perhaps not so unlike the young Master Fitzwilliam who had once jumped fully clothed into the Pemberley lake to rescue a gardener's child, propriety be damned.

The servants' hall would be buzzing with this tale before dinner, no doubt. He would need to ensure the story was told properly - his master's honourable rescue of a lady in distress, nothing more. The last thing Mr Darcy needed was whispers reaching London drawing rooms about his impulsive behaviour with country misses.

"Mrs Nicholls will need to send someone in to fetch Mr Darcy's robe," Martha said practically. "The rest can wait until his bath is prepared. Though perhaps…" She glanced down at the linens in Fletcher's arms. "Let me take these up first, then I can ask her. We'll need to get everything organized properly - Miss Bennet's bath now, then Mr Darcy's later…"

Fletcher nodded, handing back the bundle. Trust Martha to think of all the practical details. She had been at Netherfield longer than most of the staff, and knew how to manage delicate situations with discretion.

"Thank you, Martha. And perhaps some hot tea for Mr Darcy? With a measure of brandy, I think - to ward off any chill." His master would need warming up too, though he was too preoccupied with Miss Bennet's condition to notice his own discomfort.

"I'll send Sarah up with it directly," Martha assured him. "Though perhaps you should return to Mr Darcy before he wears a path in the carpet. I've never known him to be so…" She hesitated, clearly unsure how to speak of a guest's behaviour.

"Indeed," Fletcher agreed, understanding perfectly. The servants' hall would be full of speculation about Mr Darcy's uncharacteristic behaviour, but Martha, at least, could be trusted to help keep the gossip within proper bounds. "Though I hardly blame him - it was a near thing with Miss Bennet. If he hadn't gone out when he did…"

"Yes, well," Martha said briskly, adjusting her grip on the linens, "we'll soon have them both warm and dry."

"I don't suppose you've seen Wilson?" Fletcher asked. "Miss Bingley's maid might be persuaded to assist with Miss Bennet's things, and that would give matters a more… proper appearance."

"Miss Bingley's maid is attending her mistress - her dress was quite damp from helping Miss Bennet earlier. Though I'm sure she'll be available soon enough."

Fletcher nodded, then asked, "Any word of Mr Bingley and the others?"

"Not yet, sir," Martha replied. "Though with these roads…" She glanced toward the window at the end of the hall where rain still lashed against the glass. "The footmen are watching for their return."

Fletcher nodded, his concern for those still out in the storm adding to his already considerable list of worries. He would need to find a way to mention it to his master - though perhaps not until Mr Darcy was properly dry and somewhat more composed.

"I'll have Betty bring up that tea directly," Martha said, adjusting her grip on the linens once more. "And I'm sure Mrs Nicholls will send someone with Mr Darcy's robe shortly."

Fletcher moved to stand near the window, watching the rain while he waited. The servants' hall would need careful managing over this - not just Mr Darcy's impulsive behaviour, but Mr Bingley and the others still out there, Miss Bennet in his master's chambers… He'd seen enough great houses to know how quickly tales could spread, and how such stories tended to grow in the telling.

He watched the rain streak down the windowpanes, remembering other times he'd seen his master act impulsively out of concern for others - though never quite like this. The young Master Fitzwilliam who'd jumped into the lake had grown into a man who carefully weighed every action, every social interaction. Until today.

The sound of rapid footsteps made him turn. Betty approached with a tea tray, and behind her - Fletcher noted with approval - Martha carrying what must be Mr Darcy's robe.

He would need to handle the next few hours carefully. His master would want news of Mr Bingley and the others, would need to be presentable when the doctor arrived, would undoubtedly try to check on Miss Bennet's condition far too frequently… And all of it must be managed while maintaining both propriety and Mr Darcy's dignity.

ooOoo

Darcy looked up as Fletcher return with a tray with tea and his robe. He'd been staring into the fire lost in thought.

"Sir," Fletcher said quietly, reading his master's expression all too well, "Mrs Nicholls will send word if there is any change. And I believe Miss Bennet would prefer you presentable when next she sees you."

Darcy ran a hand through his damp hair, grimacing at the truth in Fletcher's words. He must look quite uncivilized at present, pacing about in his wet things like some savage. What would Elizabeth think if she could see him?

Fletcher helped him into the warm robe, then poured tea that smelled strongly of brandy. "You should drink this while it's hot, sir."

Darcy accepted the cup automatically, but remained standing by the fire. His chambers were just down the hall. If anything were to go wrong, if Elizabeth were to worsen… But no, he could hardly go bursting in while she was in her bath. The very thought made his cheeks warm, and not from the fire.

He took a large swallow of the hot drink, trying to banish such inappropriate thoughts. Elizabeth was being cared for by competent women. His presence would only cause embarrassment and scandal. And yet…

"Has there been any word of Bingley?" he asked, suddenly remembering his friend was still out in this deluge.

"Not yet, sir," Fletcher replied. "Though the footmen are watching for their return." He paused, then added with the careful frankness of long service, "With these roads, it may be some time before they can safely make their way back."

Darcy nodded grimly, taking another swallow of the hot drink. He should have remembered sooner that Bingley and the others were still out there. But his mind kept returning to Elizabeth's pale face, the way she had trembled… He forced himself to focus. "The injured servant - they'll need help getting him free. And the doctor…"

"Sir," Fletcher interrupted with the particular tone that meant he was about to speak an uncomfortable truth, "you cannot help anyone else until you're properly dry and warm yourself. The doctor will come when he can, and Mr Bingley has several capable men with him."

Darcy knew his valet was right, but he couldn't quite suppress his restlessness. He took another sip of the hot drink, feeling the brandy's warmth spread through him. The fire was finally beginning to take the chill from his bones, though his hair was still damp.

"Your bath will be prepared once Miss Bennet is settled," Fletcher added, watching his master's obvious agitation with concern. "Though perhaps you might try to rest while—"

"Rest?" Darcy interrupted, rising to pace before the fire. "How can I rest when—" He broke off, running a hand through his still-damp hair.

A murmur of female voices in the hallway made him turn sharply toward the door. Were they moving her back to bed already? Was the bath helping with her fever?

Fletcher busied himself with the tea tray, tactfully ignoring his master's obvious agitation.

A particularly loud gust of wind rattled the windows, drawing his attention to the worsening storm outside. Somewhere out there, Bingley was still dealing with the overturned carriage and the injured servant. And Elizabeth… Elizabeth was here because… but no, it hadn't been his place to arrange her transport. He was merely a guest at Netherfield, however much he might wish…

"Once she is settled and dressed, I would like to see her," Darcy said quietly.

Fletcher paused in his arrangement of the tea things, considering how best to respond. His master's tone suggested this wasn't merely a polite inquiry about an invalid's health. Yet propriety must be maintained, especially given the current situation.

"Perhaps, sir," he said carefully, "once you are properly dressed yourself, and Mrs Nicholls reports that Miss Bennet is comfortable and receiving visitors. Though I imagine Miss Bingley will wish to supervise any such visit."

Darcy glanced down at himself, suddenly aware he was standing in nothing but a robe, and felt his cheeks warm. Good God, what was he thinking? He couldn't go calling on Elizabeth in this state.

Fletcher turned to adjust the fire screen, allowing his master a moment to compose himself. "Your bath will be prepared as soon as Miss Bennet is settled, sir. And in the meantime…" He gestured toward the still-steaming tea.

Darcy sank into a chair, grimacing at his own impropriety. The brandy in the tea was clearly affecting him more than he'd realized - or perhaps it was just exhaustion catching up with him. Either way, he needed to maintain better control of himself. What was it about Elizabeth Bennet that made him forget himself so completely?

"I'll ensure everything is handled with appropriate discretion, sir," Fletcher said, his tone suggesting this was merely another detail to be managed. "The servants will need proper guidance in how to present the events of today." He paused, then added with careful emphasis, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet's reputation must be protected, of course."

"Yes, of course," Darcy replied, suddenly alert to this new concern. Elizabeth's reputation - he hadn't even considered… "You're right, Fletcher. We must ensure no hint of impropriety attaches to Miss Elizabeth over this unfortunate situation."

"Indeed, sir." Fletcher's tone was perfectly proper, though something in his manner suggested he found his master's choice of words interesting. "I believe Mrs Nicholls and I can manage any… unfortunate speculation. Such tales often take on a more romantic character in the telling."

Darcy frowned slightly at this observation, but Fletcher was already moving on to more immediate matters. "Once Miss Elizabeth is settled back in bed and I can access your clothes, sir, we'll have you properly dressed. The blue coat would be most suitable - it brings out your eyes, and the cut is particularly flattering."

"My clothes hardly matter at the moment, Fletcher," Darcy said distractedly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Though he did take another sip of the fortified tea, pulling the robe more tightly around himself.

"On the contrary, sir," Fletcher replied with quiet certainty. "First impressions are important, especially when…" He paused diplomatically. "When one has been seen in less than ideal circumstances. And as you'll no doubt wish to check on Miss Elizabeth's condition once she's settled…"

Darcy glanced up sharply at his valet's tone, but Fletcher's expression was, as always, the model of proper servant's composure.

A particularly loud gust of wind rattled the windows, drawing both their attention to the worsening storm outside. Darcy rose restlessly, moving closer to the fire.

"Your bath will be prepared as soon as possible, sir," Fletcher assured him, noting his master's agitation. "Though I imagine Miss Elizabeth's comfort must take precedence." There was something in the way he said her name - a careful emphasis that suggested… but no, Darcy was too preoccupied to notice.

"Yes, of course," Darcy agreed absently, his thoughts clearly down the hall with Elizabeth. "She needs the warmth more than I do."

Fletcher's expression remained perfectly neutral, though there might have been the slightest hint of satisfaction in his eyes as he watched his master's evident concern.

ooOoo

Elizabeth drifted in and out of awareness, the world around her a blur of warmth and gentle voices. The bath water was blessedly hot against her chilled skin, though she couldn't quite remember how she had gotten here. There had been rain, and cold, and Mr Darcy's voice, surprisingly gentle…

She caught fragments of conversation around her - Mrs Nicholls giving quiet instructions, maids moving efficiently, the occasional clink of china. Someone was supporting her head, helping her sit up in the water. She thought she heard Miss Bingley's voice at some point, sharp with barely concealed agitation, but that might have been a fever dream.

The pain in her ankle had faded to a distant throb, like everything else - seen through a haze of exhaustion and fever. Only the memory of Mr Darcy's concerned face remained clear, though surely that too must be her imagination playing tricks. Mr Darcy, looking at her with such open worry…

ooOoo

Caroline stood in her chamber while Wilson helped her change, her mind racing with the implications of what was happening down the hall. Her own fine silk shift - the one she'd intended to demonstrate her generosity with - had been forgotten in the chaos. Instead, here she was, having to change her own dress because it had gotten damp helping Eliza Bennet. Eliza Bennet who was now installed in Mr. Darcy's private chambers, being tended to by her servants, while he…

The way he had looked at her! Caroline had never seen Mr. Darcy so openly concerned about anyone. And now Mrs Nicholls was taking charge as if… as if…

"Wilson," she said sharply, "what are the servants saying about this situation?"

"I haven't heard much yet, miss," Wilson replied carefully as she helped Caroline out of her damp dress. "Though Mrs Nicholls seems to have everything well in hand."

Everything well in hand indeed! Caroline pressed her lips together in annoyance. The housekeeper was acting as though she had every right to take command of the situation, when really it should be Caroline, as hostess, directing matters. But she could hardly go bursting into Mr. Darcy's chambers now, not with servants everywhere and him still waiting to be allowed back in…

"And Mr. Darcy's valet?" she asked, trying to sound casual. "What does Fletcher make of all this?"

"Mr. Fletcher is attending to Mr. Darcy in the blue guest chamber, miss," Wilson replied, her tone carefully neutral as she selected a fresh dress. "Though I believe he's waiting for access to Mr. Darcy's dressing room to fetch proper clothes."

Caroline's lips tightened at this reminder that Elizabeth Bennet was not only in Mr. Darcy's bed but now commandeering his private rooms as well. Even his valet couldn't access his master's things! The impropriety of it all…

"And the other servants?" she pressed. "What are they saying about Mr. Darcy's… unusual behaviour?" She needed to know how much damage control would be required, how far the gossip might spread.

"The servants are most concerned about those still out in the storm, miss," Wilson replied, deftly avoiding direct comment on Mr Darcy's behaviour. "And of course, everyone is focused on following Mrs Nicholls' instructions for Miss Bennet's care."

Mrs Nicholls' instructions! As if the housekeeper should be the one deciding how a guest was to be treated. Though Caroline had to admit, if only to herself, that the woman seemed to know what she was about. Still…

"I suppose we must make the best of it," Caroline said, smoothing her skirts as Wilson fastened her dress. "Though really, Mr Darcy giving up his own chambers! What could he have been thinking?"

She caught Wilson's reflection in the mirror - was that a knowing look the maid quickly suppressed?

"Wilson," she said sharply, "you must tell me what you've observed. As hostess, I need to manage this situation appropriately."

"I wouldn't presume to comment on Mr Darcy's actions, miss," Wilson replied, her attention fixed on arranging Caroline's skirts with particular care. "Though perhaps…" she hesitated.

"Yes?" Caroline turned to face her maid. "What is it?"

"Well, miss, it's just that… the way Mr Darcy spoke of Miss Bennet's condition. His concern was most… evident." Wilson's tone remained carefully neutral, but her meaning was clear enough.

Caroline felt her carefully maintained composure slip slightly. Even the servants had noticed. This was becoming worse by the minute.