Chapter 6 - Propriety and Providence

For a moment, the corridor outside Darcy's chambers seemed frozen in a tableau of social impropriety that would have given Lady Catherine de Bourgh apoplexy. Jane Bennet in her nightclothes, supported by a mud-splattered Bingley. Darcy himself half-dressed and arguing with servants. Caroline hovering like a disapproving Greek chorus. And through the partially open door, the sound of Elizabeth's fevered breathing.

Mrs Nicholls recovered first. "Miss Bennet, you should not be out of bed in your condition." She moved to take Jane's other arm from Bingley, but Jane resisted with uncharacteristic firmness.

"Please, I must see my sister." Jane's voice trembled, but her chin lifted with determination. "Mr Darcy, sir, if you would permit…"

Darcy found himself caught in an impossible position. Every rule of propriety demanded he remove himself immediately from this situation. And yet… He glanced at the partially open door to his chambers, where Elizabeth lay vulnerable and fevered.

"Perhaps," he said carefully, "we might all benefit from a moment of… reflection. Miss Bennet clearly needs to see her sister, but first—"

"First she needs to be properly dressed," Caroline interjected sharply. "Really, Charles, to parade a young lady through the house in such a state—"

"No one is parading anyone," Bingley replied with unusual firmness. "Miss Bennet is naturally concerned for her sister, and given the circumstances—"

"Miss Bennet," Mrs Nicholls interrupted with gentle authority, "let us at least wrap you in a proper shawl. Martha," she called through the partially open door, "bring one of the warm blankets for Miss Bennet."

The maid appeared quickly with a thick woollen blanket, which Mrs Nicholls deftly arranged around Jane's shoulders. Jane submitted to this with barely concealed impatience, her eyes fixed on the door to Darcy's chambers.

"Now then," Mrs Nicholls continued, "Mr Darcy, sir, if you would be so good as to step away…" She gestured meaningfully toward the blue guest room where Fletcher waited. "And Mr Bingley, perhaps you might see to changing out of those wet things while Miss Bingley assists Miss Bennet with her sister."

Darcy hesitated, his expression troubled. "Miss Elizabeth's condition—"

"Is being well attended to," Mrs Nicholls assured him firmly. "Martha is with her, and Mr Jones has been sent for. Though in this weather…" She glanced toward the nearest window where rain still lashed against the glass.

"Come, Darcy," Bingley said quietly, though he seemed equally reluctant to release Jane's arm. "Let the ladies tend to Miss Elizabeth. We can check on her progress once we're more… presentable."

Caroline watched with barely concealed satisfaction as Darcy finally yielded to propriety and stepped back. But before she could assert control of the situation, Jane spoke again.

"Mr Darcy," her voice was soft but clear, "thank you for helping my sister. I cannot express…" She swayed slightly, and Bingley's arm tightened instinctively around her waist.

"Please, Miss Bennet," Darcy replied stiffly, though his eyes betrayed his concern as they darted between the door to his chambers and Jane's pale face. "No thanks are necessary. I only wish…" He broke off, apparently remembering himself. With a sharp bow, he turned and strode toward the blue guest room, his bearing rigid with suppressed emotion.

Caroline moved quickly to take her brother's place at Jane's side. "Come, Jane dear, let us see to Eliza. Though really, you should be in bed yourself—"

"I will rest once I have seen my sister," Jane replied with uncharacteristic firmness. She allowed Caroline to guide her toward the door but paused on the threshold. "Charles—Mr Bingley—might someone be sent to Longbourn? Our parents will be so worried…"

"Of course," Bingley assured her quickly. "I'll see to it immediately. Though perhaps we might wait until we have more… definite news to report?" He glanced meaningfully at the storm still raging outside.

Jane nodded gratefully, then finally allowed Caroline to lead her into the room where her sister lay. The door closed behind them with a quiet but definitive click, leaving the gentlemen standing awkwardly in the corridor.

"Well," Bingley said after a moment, running a hand through his wet hair, "I suppose we should make ourselves presentable. Though Darcy, you might want to…" He gestured vaguely at his friend's state of undress.

Darcy glanced down at his partially unbuttoned shirt and missing cravat as if noticing them for the first time. Without a word, he turned and strode toward the blue guest room where Fletcher waited with barely concealed impatience.

Bingley watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his usually cheerful face. He had never seen Darcy so… undone. Not even during that terrible business with Miss Darcy last summer. The way his friend had carried Miss Elizabeth through the rain, installed her in his own chambers without a thought for propriety…

Bingley shook himself from his reverie and headed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. They'd managed to secure the overturned chase as best they could in the storm, but he needed to organize proper recovery once the weather cleared. The entrance hall was a mess of muddy footprints and puddles, with servants hurrying back and forth carrying linens and hot water.

"Morris!" he called, spotting his butler directing traffic near the kitchen stairs. "A moment, if you please."

The butler approached, his usual composure slightly ruffled. "Sir, I was just about to seek you out. There are several matters requiring your attention—"

"Yes, I imagine there are." Bingley ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "How is Thomas being cared for?"

"He's in the servant's hall, sir. Mrs Winters is seeing to him until Mr Jones arrives. We've made him as comfortable as possible."

"Good. And what of Miss Elizabeth? Has word been sent to Longbourn?"

"Mr Darcy had that seen to immediately, sir. James and Tom were sent out despite the weather." Morris hesitated, then added with more urgency, "Though Mrs Nicholls is quite concerned about Miss Elizabeth's condition. She was nearly unconscious when Mr Darcy brought her in, and though the hot bath seems to have helped somewhat, she's still very poorly. The fever…"

"Fever?" Bingley's expression sharpened with concern. "I had thought she was merely cold and shaken from the accident. Though I confess I'm puzzled as to how she came to be in Darcy's chambers of all places…"

Morris shifted slightly, his usual composure wavering. "Ah, yes sir. When Mr Darcy brought Miss Elizabeth in, he carried her directly to his own chambers. Betty had started preparing the blue guest room, but he said there wasn't time - Miss Elizabeth being so cold and feverish. His chambers already had a good fire…"

"Carried her himself?" Bingley's eyebrows rose. "Without waiting for servants to assist?"

"Indeed, sir. He wouldn't release her to anyone else. Most unlike Mr Darcy, if I may say so." Morris paused delicately. "He was quite… determined about the matter."

"I see." Bingley ran a hand through his hair again. His friend, who normally maintained such rigid propriety… "And the household staff?"

"Mrs Nicholls has taken charge of Miss Elizabeth's care, sir. Though perhaps…" Morris hesitated. "Given the unusual nature of the situation, some guidance about how matters should be discussed might be advisable."

"Yes, quite right." Bingley straightened his shoulders. "Well, Thomas must be our first concern, and…" He glanced up at the muddy footprints leading up the stairs. "And perhaps we should see to cleaning this mess before my sister notices."

"Of course, sir." Morris's expression suggested he was relieved by Bingley's practical approach. "I'll see to the cleaning immediately."

"And sir," Morris added carefully, "regarding the… delicate nature of the situation - Miss Bingley seemed rather concerned about the arrangement."

"Yes, I imagine she did." Bingley couldn't quite suppress a grimace. "Well, we can hardly move Miss Elizabeth now, not in her condition. I'll speak to Caroline myself about the… necessity of the situation." He glanced down at his own sodden clothes and the trail of mud he'd been leaving. "Though perhaps I should make myself presentable first. No sense in adding to the mess or catching a chill myself."

"Indeed, sir. I believe your valet has a hot bath waiting. Shall I have Mrs Nicholls come to your study once you're changed?"

"Yes, excellent thought." Bingley nodded, already turning toward his chambers. "And Morris? Let's get this hallway cleaned up before my sister comes down again. Oh, and send word the moment Mr Jones arrives."

ooOoo

Darcy paced the length of the blue guest room once more, his cravat still hanging loose and his coat barely settled on his shoulders. Fletcher had managed to get him bathed and partially dressed before he'd bolted at the sound of activity from his chambers, only to be firmly denied entry by Mrs Nicholls. The appearance of Miss Bennet in her nightclothes, supported by Bingley, had forced his retreat back to the blue room.

"Sir," Fletcher said, appearing in the doorway with fresh linens, "perhaps if you would allow me to finish with your cravat—"

"Never mind about the cravat," Darcy snapped, then immediately regretted his tone. It wasn't Fletcher's fault that he was trapped here, useless, while Elizabeth… He ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "Has there been any word?"

"Not yet, sir." Fletcher moved into the room, carefully laying out the linens. "Though I'm sure Mrs Nicholls will send word the moment there's any change. Perhaps if you were to sit…"

Darcy ignored the suggestion, continuing his restless pacing. The fire had been built up, but he barely noticed its warmth. His mind kept returning to Elizabeth's pale face, the way she had trembled with fever. He should never have let her ride home in that weather. Should have insisted she stay at Netherfield with her sister. Should have—

"Sir," Fletcher's voice broke through his thoughts, "you'll wear through the carpet at this rate. And you really must allow me to finish dressing you properly. What if the doctor arrives?"

The mention of Jones made Darcy pause mid-stride. "Has anyone been sent to check—"

"Two riders were dispatched nearly an hour ago, sir. Though in this weather…" Fletcher gestured toward the window where rain still lashed against the glass. "If I might suggest, sir - you would be in a much better position to inquire after Miss Elizabeth's condition if you were properly dressed. Mrs Nicholls could hardly object to a properly attired gentleman making polite inquiries…"

Darcy turned sharply to look at his valet, caught between irritation at the manipulation and grudging acknowledgment of its logic. After a moment, he gave a short nod and moved to stand before the mirror.

"Very well, Fletcher. Though I expect you to be quick about it."

"Of course, sir." Fletcher's tone betrayed no triumph as he reached for the cravat. "I believe the blue coat would be most suitable - it has a particularly dignified cut."

Darcy submitted to being properly dressed, though his fingers drummed restlessly against his thigh as Fletcher worked. Every distant sound from the hallway made him tense, straining to hear any news of Elizabeth's condition.

"Sir," Fletcher said quietly as he adjusted the coat's lay across Darcy's shoulders, "perhaps you might consider writing to Miss Darcy while you wait. She'll be expecting your letter, and it might help pass the—"

A commotion in the hallway made them both turn toward the door. Darcy was moving before Fletcher could protest, though at least now he was properly dressed. The sound of running feet and urgent voices led him toward the main staircase.

"Mr Darcy!" It was one of the footmen, slightly out of breath. "Mr Jones has been sighted on the Meryton road."

"How far?" Darcy demanded, already heading for the stairs.

"Just passing the stone bridge, sir. He should be here within—" But Darcy was already striding down the hallway, the footman's words lost behind him.

"Sir!" Fletcher called after him, hurrying to keep pace. "Your boots—"

Darcy glanced down at his stockinged feet, cursing under his breath. He'd been so intent on news of Elizabeth that he'd forgotten… He turned back to his valet with ill-concealed impatience. "Quickly then."

Fletcher had anticipated his master's haste and already held the boots ready. As Darcy sat to pull them on, more commotion could be heard from below - the sound of the front door opening, voices raised against the storm.

"Sir," Fletcher said, helping Darcy with the second boot, "perhaps I might suggest you wait in Mr Bingley's study? It would hardly do to appear too… eager for the doctor's arrival."

Darcy paused in the act of standing, caught between his urgent need to hear news of Elizabeth and the wisdom of maintaining some appearance of propriety. After a moment's internal struggle, he gave a sharp nod. "Very well. But I expect to be informed the moment—"

"Of course, sir. The very moment there is any news."

Darcy strode toward Bingley's study, his boots echoing on the wooden floors. The sound of Mr Jones's arrival grew clearer - the stamping of feet in the entrance hall, Morris's voice directing servants to take the apothecary's wet things. He forced himself to keep walking toward the study rather than turning back to meet Mr Jones immediately.

The study was empty, the fire burning low. Darcy moved to stand before it, hands clasped behind his back, straining to hear the movements in the house. The sound of footsteps on the stairs - Mr Jones being led up to Elizabeth, no doubt. More voices, muffled by distance and walls.

He had never felt more useless in his life.

The fire needed tending, but he couldn't bring himself to ring for a servant - not when they might be needed elsewhere. Instead, he picked up the poker himself and stirred the coals, adding another log from the basket. The familiar task did nothing to settle his thoughts.

What was taking so long? Surely Mr Jones must have reached Elizabeth's side by now. Unless there had been some delay, some complication… He turned sharply at a creak in the hallway, but it was only the house settling in the storm.

The rain still lashed against the windows, though with less fury than before. Somewhere out there, two riders were still making their way to Longbourn with news of Elizabeth's accident. He should have gone himself, propriety be damned. Should have…

ooOoo

Caroline had no choice but to support Jane as they entered Mr. Darcy's chambers. The room was stiflingly warm, the fire built up to an unseasonable blaze. Mrs. Nicholls and Martha stood near the bed where Eliza lay unconscious, her dark curls spread across Mr. Darcy's pillows in shocking disarray. Her face was flushed with fever, yet somehow still pale beneath, and a livid bruise marked her temple. Even in sleep, she seemed to be shivering despite the mountain of blankets piled over her.

"Lizzy!" Jane broke free from Caroline's support and hurried to the bed, sinking into the chair beside it. She caught up her sister's limp hand, her own trembling. "What happened? She's burning with fever!"

"Easy now, Miss Bennet," Mrs. Nicholls said softly, though she made no move to separate the sisters. "We've sent for Mr. Jones."

Caroline hung back near the door, watching as Jane stroked Elizabeth's tangled hair back from her face with gentle fingers. The entire scene was like something from a gothic novel - the sickroom, the anxious sister, the invalid swooning in a gentleman's bed… Though in those stories, it was usually the master of the house who had rescued the heroine, not… She pressed her lips together, trying not to think about Mr. Darcy carrying Eliza through the rain.

"Martha," Mrs. Nicholls said quietly, "give Miss Bennet your chair and fetch another blanket. She's still shivering."

As Martha moved away from the bedside, Caroline seized her opportunity. "Mrs. Nicholls, surely now that Miss Eliza is somewhat settled, we should consider moving her to more… appropriate quarters? The blue guest room could be made ready—"

"I wouldn't advise moving her just now, Miss Bingley," Mrs. Nicholls replied firmly. "Not with that fever, and Mr. Jones expected any moment. She needs warmth and rest, not to be carried through cold corridors."

Caroline opened her mouth to protest further, but Jane's soft voice interrupted. "Lizzy? Can you hear me?" Eliza stirred slightly, though her eyes remained closed. Jane looked up anxiously. "She's so very hot… Please, what happened to her? Why was she even out in this weather?"

Mrs. Nicholls hesitated, glancing at Caroline. It occurred to Caroline that she was perhaps the only one in the room who knew the full sequence of events, having sent Eliza home in the chase herself.

"There was an accident with the chase," Caroline said carefully. "A tree came down in the storm…" She trailed off, not wanting to admit her own role in the matter.

"The chase?" Jane's face paled further. "But why would she—" She broke off as Eliza stirred again, muttering something incomprehensible. "Shh, Lizzy, I'm here. Mrs. Nicholls, might we have a cool cloth for her head? She's burning up."

"Mr. Darcy found her," Mrs. Nicholls added, already moving to pour water from the ewer. "Brought her straight in out of the rain. Most fortunate he did, with that fever taking hold."

Caroline pressed her lips together. Trust Mrs. Nicholls to paint Mr. Darcy as the hero of the piece, when really the whole situation could have been avoided if Eliza hadn't been so stubborn about walking everywhere in the first place.

Martha returned with another blanket, which Mrs. Nicholls tucked around Eliza while Jane bathed her sister's forehead with the cool cloth. The domesticity of the scene made Caroline's teeth clench. This was Mr. Darcy's private chamber, not some common sickroom, yet here they all were, fussing over Eliza Bennet as if she belonged there.

"Jane, dear," Caroline tried again, "you really should be resting yourself. Perhaps if I were to sit with Eliza while you—"

"No," Jane said quietly, but with surprising firmness. Her eyes never left her sister's face as she refreshed the cloth. "I'll stay with her. But please, tell me more about this accident. You said something about the chase?"

Caroline shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well… given the weather, I thought it best to offer her the chase for her journey home. One could hardly expect her to walk in such conditions." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Unfortunately, it seems a tree came down in the storm…"

"The chase overturned?" Jane's hand tightened on her sister's. "But why was she travelling at all in such weather? Surely she could have waited…"

"The weather was perfectly fine when she left," Caroline said defensively. "After all, she had walked here this morning in much worse conditions. Really, if she hadn't insisted on tramping about the countryside in the first place…" She trailed off as Jane's expression hardened slightly. "In any case, who could have predicted such a storm would arise?"

Mrs. Nicholls made a small sound that might have been disapproval as she adjusted Eliza's blankets. Caroline felt her cheeks warm, but before she could defend herself further, Eliza stirred restlessly, muttering something that made Jane lean closer.

"Shh, Lizzy, you're safe now," Jane murmured, pressing the cool cloth to her sister's forehead. Her normally serene expression showed signs of strain. "Was she… was she alone when the accident happened?"

Caroline shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't actually thought to ask about the servant's condition. "Thomas was driving the chase, of course. I assume he—"

"Thomas is being well cared for downstairs," Mrs. Nicholls interjected smoothly, though Caroline noticed she didn't elaborate on his condition.