Chapter 9 - The Midnight Hour
Wednesday 13th November 1811
Longbourn - Mr Bennet's Study - Mr Bennet
The house had finally fallen silent, though Mr Bennet suspected his wife was still awake, fretting in her chambers. He had managed to extract enough sense from her hysterics to understand that she intended to descend upon Netherfield first thing in the morning after breakfast, nerves or no nerves.
Now, in the quiet of his study, he re-read the rain-smeared letter by candlelight. Mr Morris' hurried hand explained the accident, Elizabeth's condition, and that Mr Jones had been sent for. All very proper, very correct - but hours old now. What might have transpired since?
He glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. His second daughter, who had left home that morning in her usual high spirits, now lay fevered at Netherfield. Under any other circumstances, he might have found amusement in his wife's dramatic response to the news, but tonight…
The storm that had raged all day had finally settled into a steady rain, no longer accompanied by the violent winds that had caused such destruction. He should retire, but the thought of sleep seemed impossible. Perhaps another glass of port…
He poured himself a measure, but found himself unable to sit still. The more he thought about it, the more intolerable it seemed to wait until morning. To leave Lizzy in such a state, without even knowing how severe her condition might be…
"Hill!" he called, setting down his untouched port. The housekeeper appeared almost immediately - clearly, he wasn't the only one still awake and anxious.
"Sir?"
"Have the gig prepared. I'm going to Netherfield."
"At this hour, sir?" Hill's usually composed face showed surprise.
"Precisely why I should go now, before Mrs Bennet attempts the journey herself in the morning." He was already reaching for his coat. "Better to know the true state of things tonight than face hours of speculation over breakfast."
"Yes, sir." Hill hesitated. "Shall I inform Mrs Bennet?"
"Good God, no." Mr Bennet shrugged into his coat. "Let her sleep, if she's managed it. Though you might send word to the kitchen for some coffee - I suspect it will be a long night."
As Hill hurried away, Mr Bennet found himself examining his own unusual impulse to action. How many times had he sat in this very study, content to let the world's chaos swirl around him while he remained safely ensconced with his books? But this was Lizzy - his Lizzy, who shared his wit and humour, who understood him better than anyone…
The sound of activity in the stable yard drew him from his thoughts. Time enough for reflection later. For now, he had a daughter to see to.
The night was dark, but the carriage lanterns cast enough light to guide them along the familiar road. Near the stone bridge, the horses shied suddenly, forcing the groom, who was driving, to rein them in sharply. In the wavering lantern light, he saw why - the chase lay on its side, the elegant frame twisted beyond repair. Even secured against the storm, the wreckage told a clear tale of what might have happened to his Elizabeth. The massive oak that had caused such destruction stretched across half the road, its roots torn from the sodden earth by the storm's fury.
Mr Bennet leaned forward in the carriage, studying the scene. His usual detachment faltered as he imagined his daughter trapped in that confined space. The depth of his gratitude toward Mr Darcy's timely rescue took on new meaning as he observed the chaise's shattered remains.
With a quiet word to the groom, they carefully manoeuvred past the wreck. His Elizabeth needed him, and dawn would show this scene clearly enough to those who came after.
ooOoo
Netherfield - Mr Darcy's Former Chambers - Jane
Jane sat beside her sister's bed, fighting exhaustion as she watched Lizzy's restless sleep. Her own recent illness made the late hour weigh heavily, but she couldn't bear to leave her sister's side. Mrs. Nicholls had tried several times to persuade her to rest, offering to maintain the vigil herself, but Jane had merely shaken her head and reached for the cool cloth again.
Lizzy's fever seemed to rise and fall like the tide. One moment she would be burning hot, the next shivering despite the pile of blankets. Sometimes she muttered in her sleep - fragments about horses and rain, and once, quite clearly, Mr. Darcy's name, though Jane couldn't make out the context.
The fire crackled as a log shifted, making Jane start slightly. She had lost track of time in this strange, closed world of Mr. Darcy's chambers. Everything about the room spoke of its usual occupant - from the precisely arranged books on the shelves to the fine quality of the linens - making the current situation seem even more surreal.
A soft knock at the door preceded Mrs. Nicholls entering with fresh water. "Miss Bennet, you really must try to rest," the housekeeper said quietly, setting down her burden. "You're still recovering yourself. Let me sit with Miss Elizabeth - I've nursed many a fever in my time."
"I cannot leave her," Jane replied, though she felt the truth of Mrs. Nicholls' words in her own trembling hands. "What if she needs me?"
"I'll send for you at the slightest change," Mrs. Nicholls promised, moving to feel Elizabeth's forehead with practised hands. "The fever's no worse, at least. Mr. Jones said that was a good sign."
Jane nodded, remembering the apothecary's earlier visit. He had seemed satisfied with Elizabeth's care, though his instructions about keeping her still and warm had effectively ended any discussion of moving her to other quarters. Even Miss Bingley had ceased her hints about more "appropriate" arrangements after Mr. Jones's firm pronouncement.
"Has there been any word about Thomas?" Jane asked, trying to suppress a yawn.
"Sleeping now, thank goodness. His sister's with him." Mrs. Nicholls adjusted Elizabeth's blankets with careful movements. "Though what possessed anyone to send out the chase in such weather…" She caught herself, remembering her position. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet. It's not my place to comment."
Before Jane could respond, Elizabeth stirred, mumbling something about being trapped. Jane leaned forward immediately, taking her sister's hand.
"Shh, Lizzy. You're safe now."
Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, though Jane wasn't sure she was truly awake. "The water… kept dripping…" she murmured, then seemed to drift off again.
Jane felt Mrs. Nicholls' gentle hand on her shoulder. "Come now, Miss Bennet. You can hardly help your sister if you make yourself ill again. Let me see you back to your room - I promise I won't leave Miss Elizabeth's side until you return in the morning."
The wisdom of the housekeeper's words finally penetrated Jane's exhausted mind. She was swaying slightly in her chair, and the words in her prayer book had begun to blur hours ago. Still, she hesitated.
"You'll send for me if—"
"At the slightest change," Mrs. Nicholls assured her, already helping her to her feet. "Though I expect she'll sleep through till morning now that Mr. Jones's powders have taken effect."
Jane allowed herself to be guided to the door, pausing for one last look at her sister. Elizabeth seemed peaceful enough now, her breathing steady if still too quick. Mrs. Nicholls had already settled into the chair Jane had vacated, her experienced hands smoothing the blankets with practised efficiency.
The short walk to her own chamber seemed to take all Jane's remaining strength. Sarah was waiting to help her prepare for bed, and Jane submitted to having her hair brushed out with drowsy gratitude. Her own illness had left her weaker than she'd realized.
As she finally lay down in her bed, Jane found her thoughts drifting. The events of the day seemed almost dreamlike - Elizabeth trapped in the overturned chase, Mr. Darcy carrying her through the rain, Miss Bingley's barely concealed agitation at finding her installed in his chambers… She wanted to examine it all more closely, to understand what it might mean, but sleep was already pulling her under.
Her last conscious thought was a prayer for her sister's recovery, and a grateful acknowledgment that Elizabeth was in good hands. Mrs. Nicholls would watch over her through the night, and in the morning…
Jane drifted off before she could complete the thought, her exhausted body finally claiming the rest it needed.
ooOoo
Netherfield - The Billiard Room - Darcy
The steady click of billiard balls was the only sound in the darkened house. Darcy lined up another shot, his movements precise despite the late hour and his obvious fatigue. He had long since abandoned his coat and cravat, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he circled the table again and again, as if he could somehow order his thoughts through the familiar ritual of the game.
He had tried reading earlier in his temporary quarters, but the blue guest room felt strange and confining. Every distant sound from elsewhere in the house made him wonder if it might be news of Elizabeth's condition. At least here in the billiard room, the familiar activity required enough concentration to provide momentary distraction from thoughts of her fever, her pale face, the way she had trembled…
The white ball spun wide of its target, breaking his run. Darcy straightened, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. How many games had he played now? The candles had burned low, though he had barely noticed the passing time. Fletcher had given up trying to convince him to rest hours ago, though Darcy suspected his valet was still hovering somewhere nearby, waiting to be needed.
Bingley had joined him earlier, attempting to maintain their usual easy companionship through two games. But his friend's worried glances and careful avoidance of mentioning Elizabeth had only increased Darcy's agitation. When Bingley had finally retired an hour ago, suggesting Darcy do the same, he had merely nodded and begun another solitary game.
The rain still fell steadily outside, though with nothing like its earlier violence. Each soft patter against the windows seemed to echo the dripping water Elizabeth had described in her fever dreams, trapped in that overturned chase while he had sat comfortably in the library…
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Mr. Jones had promised to return before midnight with more powders for Elizabeth's fever. The apothecary's earlier visit had provided some reassurance - the fever was not dangerously high, and the ankle merely sprained rather than broken. Still, Jones had seemed concerned enough about her condition to warrant this late-night return visit.
Darcy lined up another shot, trying to focus solely on the angle and force required. The ball rolled true this time, dropping neatly into the pocket. He moved to line up his next shot, but found his attention drawn again to the sound of rain against the windows. Somewhere out there, Jones was making his way through the wet darkness. Darcy had offered to send the carriage, but the apothecary had declined, saying his horse was surer in these conditions than any vehicle.
The distant sound of carriage wheels on wet gravel made him pause, cue stick suspended mid-stroke. Had Jones reconsidered the offer of transport after all? Though it didn't sound like the Netherfield carriage returning…
Morris appeared in the doorway, maintaining his dignified bearing despite the late hour. "Mr. Darcy, sir. Mr. Bennet has just arrived."
Darcy straightened immediately, setting aside his cue. Of course - they had sent word to Longbourn hours ago. Though he hadn't expected Elizabeth's father to venture out himself, especially at this hour…
"He's asking to see Miss Elizabeth, sir," Morris added. "Mrs. Nicholls is with her now, and Miss Bennet has just retired—"
"I'll speak with him," Darcy said, already reaching for his discarded coat. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror - dishevelled, shirt sleeves rolled up, cravat missing entirely. Not how he would have chosen to receive Elizabeth's father, but there was no help for it now.
The sound of a horse in the stable yard, followed by quick footsteps in the hall, announced another arrival.
"Mr. Bennet," Darcy said, falling into step with them. "I regret the circumstances of your journey, sir."
"The note mentioned Mr. Jones had been sent for," Mr. Bennet replied, his usual sardonic manner subdued by concern. "I would prefer to see Lizzy for myself."
They reached the door to Elizabeth's sickroom, where Mrs. Nicholls met them with quiet efficiency. The housekeeper had clearly been expecting them, as fresh candles had been lit and the fire built up again. Darcy stopped at the threshold, allowing Mr. Bennet and Mr. Jones to enter first.
Elizabeth lay pale against the pillows, though her cheeks were flushed with fever. Mr. Bennet moved immediately to his daughter's side, while Mr. Jones set his bag down and began removing his wet coat.
"She's been sleeping these past two hours, sir," Mrs. Nicholls reported softly. "Though still feverish. We've kept up with the cool cloths."
Darcy hesitated in the doorway, feeling acutely that he was intruding on a private family moment in someone else's house. He was about to withdraw when Mr. Bennet looked up from his daughter's bedside.
"Perhaps," he said quietly, "someone might illuminate me on exactly how my daughter came to be in this situation while Mr. Jones conducts his examination?"
Mrs. Nicholls glanced at Darcy, who stepped forward from the doorway. "The chase overturned on her journey home, sir. A tree had fallen across the road in the storm. When she didn't return as expected, we organized a search party."
Mr. Jones had begun his examination, his experienced hands gentle as he felt Elizabeth's forehead. Mr. Bennet watched his daughter's face intently, though he addressed Darcy. "And you found her trapped in the vehicle?"
"Yes, sir. The chase had rolled onto its side. The door was jammed - she couldn't reach it from inside." Darcy found himself struggling to maintain his usual composure as he recalled the scene. "We managed to get her out through the window. She was already feverish by then."
"The fever concerns me more than the ankle," Mr. Jones interjected, opening his medical bag. "Though both will need careful attention. Mrs. Nicholls, if you would assist me with these powders…"
"And how," Mr. Bennet asked carefully, his eyes still on Elizabeth's face, "did my daughter, who has never willingly mounted a horse in her life, make it back to Netherfield with an injured ankle?"
"I brought her on my horse, sir. I walked beside to steady her." Darcy paused, then added, "Mr. Bingley and the others remained to help Thomas - the driver - and secure the chase."
Mr. Bennet's eyebrows rose slightly at this information, though his attention was drawn back to his daughter as Mr. Jones began examining her ankle. Elizabeth stirred restlessly at the touch, mumbling something indistinct.
"Easy now, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Jones murmured. He turned to Mr. Bennet. "The ankle will heal well enough with rest, but it's the chill that concerns me most. Being trapped in that wet carriage…" He shook his head, reaching for his medical bag. "We must keep her warm at all costs. These powders will help with the fever, but warmth is essential. Mrs. Nicholls has done well with the fire - it must be maintained through the night."
Mrs. Nicholls nodded, already moving to add another log. "We've kept it well built up, sir, and plenty of blankets. Though she still shivers at times."
"Very good," Mr. Jones said, measuring out his powders with practised hands. "These must be given every four hours. And hot drinks whenever she's conscious enough to take them." He glanced at the window where rain still fell steadily. "I'll return in the morning, weather permitting. Though if the fever should worsen before then…"
"I'll send someone immediately," Mrs. Nicholls assured him.
Elizabeth stirred again, muttering about water dripping. Mr. Bennet's hand tightened on his daughter's, while Mr. Jones moved to feel her forehead once more.
"How long was she trapped in the chase?" Mr. Bennet asked quietly, his usual satirical manner entirely absent.
Darcy, who had been about to withdraw, paused at the question. "The chase left Netherfield shortly after three…" He broke off, remembering how he had sat reading in the library while Elizabeth had been trapped in the cold and rain.
"And when did you find her?"
"It was nearly dark," Darcy replied. The guilt of those lost hours weighed heavily. "If I had thought to check sooner…"
"You found her," Mr. Bennet said quietly, his eyes still on Elizabeth's face. "That is what matters." He paused, then added with a hint of his usual dry manner, "Though I confess I'm curious how you managed to persuade my most stubborn daughter onto a horse in her condition."
Before Darcy could respond, Elizabeth stirred again, more violently this time. "No… the water… can't reach…" Her voice was thick with fever.
"Shh, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet soothed, while Mr. Jones quickly measured out his powders into a glass of water.
"We must get her to drink this," the apothecary said. "Mrs. Nicholls, if you would help raise her head…"
Darcy found himself unable to look away as they tended to her. In the flickering candlelight, Elizabeth's face held a fragile beauty he had never allowed himself to study so openly before. Her dark curls lay tumbled across the pillow, damp still from fever, and her cheeks were flushed against the pallor of her skin. Even in her restless sleep, her expression held something of her usual animation - a slight furrow between her brows as if puzzling over some difficulty, the corner of her mouth twitching as though about to deliver one of her arch observations.
He knew he should withdraw, that his continued presence was hardly proper, yet he found himself rooted to the spot. After hours of frustrated waiting and wondering about her condition, he could not bring himself to leave now that he could finally see her, could assure himself that she was being properly cared for…
Mrs. Nicholls and Mr. Jones managed to get Elizabeth to swallow most of the medicine, though she never fully woke. As they settled her back against the pillows, she murmured something that sounded like "horse" and "too high," her fingers plucking restlessly at the blankets.
"The powders should help her rest more easily," Mr. Jones said, repacking his bag. "Though she'll need watching through the night. Any increase in the fever, any difficulty breathing…" He glanced at the window where rain still fell steadily. "Send for me immediately, whatever the hour."
"Of course," Mrs. Nicholls replied, already moving to adjust Elizabeth's blankets again.
Mr. Bennet remained by his daughter's side, one hand still clasping hers, though Darcy noticed his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the sickroom - the precisely arranged furniture, the quality of the linens, the row of leather-bound books on the shelves. The older man's expression was difficult to read in the candlelight, but there was something contemplative in his manner as his gaze moved from his daughter to Darcy and back again.