Chapter 11 - Composure and Chaos
Thursday 14th November 1811
Netherfield, Blue Room - Darcy
The grey light of dawn was just beginning to seep through the curtains when Darcy finally gave up any pretence of sleep. He had spent the night alternating between staring at the unfamiliar ceiling and straining to hear any movement in the hallway that might indicate a change in Elizabeth's condition.
The house was already stirring - he could hear the distant sounds of servants moving about, water being carried, fires being lit. Soon the whole household would be awake, and he would have to face the consequences of his actions with proper composure. Miss Bingley's pointed observations about appropriate accommodations would be the least of his concerns…
His night's vigil had given him ample time to examine his actions, each one revealing more than he cared to acknowledge. The urgency that had driven him into the storm, the need to ensure her safety himself - none of it could be explained away by mere gentlemanly concern. He had tried, repeatedly throughout the night, to convince himself that his behaviour stemmed from simple duty. But duty would have been satisfied by sending servants to search, by having others tend to her care.
Years of overheard conversations about the great catch of Pemberley had taught him to keep his distance from eligible young ladies, his natural reserve strengthened by the knowledge of their mercenary intentions. Yet Elizabeth had never simpered, never sought his attention. Indeed, she seemed more inclined to challenge him than court him.
The proper course would be to leave Netherfield. Return to London, immerse himself in business matters until whatever this… feeling might be had passed. Yet even as he formed this resolution, he knew with crushing certainty that distance would not serve. Elizabeth Bennet had somehow become essential to his peace of mind.
The sound of Fletcher approaching with hot water interrupted his thoughts. Darcy rose, knowing he would need every advantage of proper dress and comportment to face what lay ahead. Yet even as he prepared to meet the day with his usual dignity, he knew something fundamental had shifted. No amount of proper behaviour - or proper distance - could undo the reality of Elizabeth Bennet's importance to him.
As he approached the breakfast room, Caroline's voice carried clearly through the partially open door. "Really, Morris, I cannot see why we must alter our usual schedule merely because—"
"I believe, sister," Charles interrupted with unusual firmness, "that given the circumstances, some flexibility in our arrangements is warranted."
Darcy entered to find Caroline examining the breakfast arrangement with evident displeasure. She turned at his entrance, her expression immediately shifting to one of calculated concern. "Mr Darcy! I trust you were able to find some rest in your… temporary accommodations?"
"Quite adequately, Miss Bingley," he replied, taking his seat. He had barely touched his coffee when Morris appeared at his elbow.
"Sir, Mrs Nicholls asked me to inform you that Miss Elizabeth's fever broke in the early hours. She continues to sleep peacefully."
Darcy managed to keep his expression neutral, though he was acutely aware of Caroline watching him closely. "Thank you, Morris. And Thomas?"
"Mr Jones will return this morning to check on both patients, sir."
"Both patients?" Caroline interjected. "Surely there's no need for Mr Jones to examine Miss Eliza again. Now that her fever has broken, she can be moved to more… appropriate quarters."
"I believe Mr Jones was quite clear on that point last night," Bingley said firmly, not looking up from his newspaper. "Miss Elizabeth is not to be moved until he determines it safe to do so."
"But Charles—"
"More coffee, Miss Bingley?" Morris intervened smoothly, though Darcy noticed the butler's usually impeccable timing seemed particularly precise this morning.
He forced himself to focus on his breakfast, though his thoughts kept straying upstairs. Elizabeth's fever had broken. She was sleeping peacefully. The relief he felt at this news was far greater than mere neighbourly concern could justify, especially given his night's revelations.
ooOoo
Longbourn, Library - Mr Bennet
"The carriage is ready, Mama!" Lydia's voice carried through the house. "Kitty is taking forever with her bonnet!"
"Oh! You girls will be the death of me with your dawdling! Mr Bennet! Are you certain you won't come to Netherfield? Our poor Lizzy—"
"My dear," he replied, not looking up from his book, "I have every confidence in your ability to manage the situation without me. Do give my regards to Mr Bingley. And Mr Darcy," he added with private amusement, remembering the younger man's discomfort from their midnight encounter.
"Well! If you choose to abandon your daughter in her hour of need…" Mrs Bennet's voice faded as she hurried toward the door. "Lydia! Kitty! The carriage! My salts!"
Mr Bennet turned another page, allowing himself a small smile. Between his wife and daughters' arrival and Mr Darcy's newly revealed interest in Elizabeth, the morning at Netherfield promised to be quite entertaining. He rather regretted missing it - but not enough to leave his library.
He rose and moved to the window, watching as his wife and youngest daughters were helped into the carriage. The storm had passed, leaving behind a crisp autumn morning, the kind Elizabeth usually delighted in walking through. No doubt Lydia and Kitty would transform last night's accident into a romantic tale worthy of Mrs Radcliffe's novels, complete with thunder and lightning. Their version would probably improve with each telling, though he doubted they could embellish it more than the truth - Mr Darcy of Pemberley, carrying Elizabeth through the rain to his own chambers.
Mr Bennet watched the carriage disappear down the drive, anticipating the elaborate reports he would receive upon their return. His wife would bemoan the state of her nerves, Kitty and Lydia would compete to describe every detail of Netherfield's grandeur, and Mary would offer some profound observation about the moral implications of carriage accidents.
But it was Mr Darcy's reaction to this invasion that truly intrigued him. The proud master of Pemberley, faced with Mrs Bennet's effusions while trying to maintain his dignity… Yes, remaining in his library was definitely the wisest course.
He returned to his chair, though not yet to his book. Elizabeth's previous opinions of Mr Darcy had been far from favourable - "proud," "disagreeable," and several other choice observations she had shared during their evening discussions. How interesting to see if her assessment might change after discovering the gentleman's true nature in a crisis. His Lizzy was too clever not to notice the implications of Mr Darcy's actions, once she had recovered enough to consider them.
Mr Bennet picked up his book again, settling more comfortably in his chair. Yes, his next private conversation with Elizabeth promised to be most enlightening. Though he rather suspected Mr Darcy's carefully maintained pride would suffer several more blows before this morning was through.
ooOoo
Netherfield, Breakfast Room - Darcy
The sound of an approaching carriage drew Darcy's attention. From his position at the breakfast table, he could see a familiar Longbourn vehicle making its way up the drive. Through the window, he also saw Bingley's men at work moving the damaged chaise—unfortunate timing that Mrs Bennet should arrive at precisely this moment.
"Oh! That must be Mrs Bennet," Miss Bingley said, her tone suggesting the arrival of an invading army rather than a concerned mother. Her next words were lost in the commotion from outside as Mrs Bennet's shrill exclamations at seeing the wreckage carried clearly across the morning air. "Really, Charles, there was no need to disrupt our entire morning. A note about Miss Eliza's condition would have sufficed."
The sound of Mrs Bennet's arrival filled the entrance hall.
"Oh! Mr Bingley! Such a terrible sight—that poor chaise being moved just now! To think of my dear Lizzy trapped in there! My poor nerves can scarce bear to think of it! When I saw them lifting it this morning—Oh! I declare I am quite overcome!"
Darcy set his coffee cup down with precise care. Maintaining proper civility while harbouring these newly acknowledged feelings for Elizabeth would require particular attention to his composure.
"I shall receive them in the morning room," Miss Bingley announced, rising with evident reluctance. "Charles, you will join me, of course. Mr Darcy…" She paused meaningfully, clearly expecting him to excuse himself.
The sensible course would be to withdraw. He had no obligation to subject himself to Mrs Bennet's particular brand of maternal anxiety. Yet the thought of removing himself entirely from any news of Elizabeth's condition was… unsatisfactory.
"I believe I shall finish my coffee," he said with studied indifference, noting how Bingley's newspaper twitched slightly, as though his friend were hiding a smile.
Through the thick walls of the breakfast room, only the muffled sounds of arrival reached them—doors opening and closing, the distant murmur of voices in the entrance hall. Morris appeared briefly to announce the visitors before withdrawing to manage their reception.
Darcy reached for Bingley's abandoned newspaper, pretending to read while straining to hear any fragment of useful information. Some time later, the sound of another carriage announced Mr Jones's arrival.
"That will be Mr Jones," Bingley said, rising. "I should go and see him in."
Left alone with Hurst, who had joined them solely for coffee and showed no inclination to conversation, Darcy kept his eyes on the paper, though his attention remained fixed on the corridor beyond.
Finally, footsteps approached. Mr Jones entered with Bingley and Morris, his expression encouraging.
"Miss Elizabeth's fever has broken," Mr Jones announced. "Though I have advised against any movement for at least another day. The ankle, while not broken, requires complete rest."
Darcy turned another page with deliberate precision, maintaining an air of indifference while noting every word. Several days of rest. In his chambers. A fact that would no doubt continue to vex Caroline. But Elizabeth was out of danger—for now, that was all that mattered.
"Capital weather for shooting tomorrow," Hurst observed, completely missing the significance of the moment. "What do you say, Darcy?"
The notion had merit. Fresh air and exercise would be welcome once the household returned to its normal routine. Once he was assured of Elizabeth's recovery, of course.
"Excellent suggestion, Hurst," Darcy said, turning another page with careful composure.
From the corridor, voices carried clearly.
"…the fever has broken," Mr Jones was saying in that calm, professional tone. "Miss Elizabeth is sleeping naturally now. I expect she'll wake properly sometime today, though she will likely be quite weak at first."
"Move her? To Longbourn?" Mrs Bennet's voice rose in maternal alarm. "Oh! Mr Jones, surely you cannot mean to move my poor Lizzy in such a state! Her ankle! Her fever! My nerves cannot bear the thought!"
"Indeed not, madam," Mr Jones replied. "Complete rest is essential for the next day or two until the fever is fully resolved. After that, she must still keep off the ankle for several days—though she may sit up in a chair once her strength returns."
"Come," Bingley's voice interrupted whatever Miss Bingley had been about to say. "Let us see about those refreshments in the morning room. Mrs Bennet must be in need of sustenance after such an anxious morning."
Their voices faded as the party moved away, though Lydia's excited chatter about balls and promises could still be heard until they reached the morning room.
"I say, Darcy," Hurst ventured again, "about those shot sizes…"
Darcy allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion of fowling pieces and birdshot, though his thoughts lingered upstairs. Elizabeth was out of danger, her fever had broken, and for now, at least, she would remain under their roof.
In his room.
He glanced down at the newspaper, unread. A corner was slightly damp from where he had set his coffee cup. The day had only just begun.
ooOoo
Netherfield, Elizabeth's Sickroom - Elizabeth
Elizabeth drifted slowly toward consciousness, aware first of unfamiliar softness beneath her and warmth surrounding her. Something about the quality of light against her closed eyelids suggested this was not her room at Longbourn. Memory came in fragments - rain drumming against wood, the terrifying tilt as the world spun around her, the sickening crunch as the chaise settled on its side. Pain shot through her ankle as she was thrown against the wall, the taste of blood sharp in her mouth where she had bitten her lip. Water dripping steadily through the seams, each drop marking endless minutes while she waited, trapped in that small dark space… her breathing came faster - she was trapped in the overturned carriage, the walls pressing closer with each breath, her ankle throbbing in time with her racing heart.
Her eyes flew open as panic seized her. The wooden panels were closing in, water dripping through the seams— She could still taste blood in her mouth, her ankle screaming with every attempted movement. No, this wasn't the chaise . She was in a bed, a large unfamiliar bed, but her mind kept returning to that confined space, the steady drip of rain, the terrible knowledge that she couldn't reach the door. Her hands clutched at soft blankets, trying to convince herself that the silken counterpane beneath her fingers was real, not the leather cushions of that terrible prison…
"Lizzy!" Jane's voice cut through her rising terror. Cool fingers touched her cheek, anchoring her to the present. "You're safe now. You're at Netherfield. The chaise is far away."
Elizabeth clutched at her sister's hand, her own fingers trembling. "Jane? I couldn't— the door was above me and I couldn't reach—" Her voice caught on a sob as she tried to sit up, fresh pain lancing through her ankle. The gasp that escaped her tasted of copper; her lip was bleeding again where she'd bitten it in panic.
"Careful," Jane cautioned, gently pressing her back against the pillows. Betty, who had taken over from Martha's night watch an hour ago, hurried forward with a clean handkerchief, helping Jane dab at Elizabeth's bleeding lip. The white linen came away stained crimson.
"You're safe now, but you mustn't try to move yet," Jane continued softly. "Mr Jones says your ankle is badly sprained, and you've only just gotten over the fever."
Elizabeth caught sight of the bloodied handkerchief and the marked linens from her restless night. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Betty simply gathered the stained items with practised efficiency, her manner suggesting this was nothing out of the ordinary for a sickroom.
"Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would like a fresh shift now she's awake," Betty suggested quietly. "Martha said Miss Bingley sent one of her own last night, though it's a bit long."
Elizabeth glanced down at herself, suddenly aware she was wearing unfamiliar fine silk rather than her own serviceable linen. The thought of being undressed while unconscious, of wearing Miss Bingley's clothes in… wherever this was… only added to her confusion.
"Fever?" Elizabeth's mind struggled to piece together what had happened after… after… "There was rain," she said slowly, "and someone calling my name through the window. Mr Darcy?" The memory seemed impossible - surely she had imagined his voice, his hands helping her from the wreckage…
Her eyes wandered the room again, taking in details she had missed in her initial panic - the elegant furnishings, yes, but also more personal touches. The leather-bound books arranged with careful precision, a writing desk with papers neatly stacked, a riding crop hanging by the door… Understanding began to dawn, bringing with it a fresh wave of mortification. Before she could voice the question, she became acutely aware of other, more pressing needs after being unconscious for so long.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she shifted against the sweat-soaked sheets clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Betty, noting her discomfort with the understanding of an experienced sickroom nurse, gathered the bloodied handkerchief and marked linens with practised efficiency.
"We should get you freshened up now the fever's broken, Miss Elizabeth," Betty suggested quietly, with practised understanding. "Your mother brought your things this morning, and we have fresh sheets ready. I'll ring for Sarah and Annie to assist with you clean up and to change these linens. Miss Bennet must not tire herself."
Jane, looking rather pale herself, squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "I'll stay right here, Lizzy. Betty knows what she's about."
"No, Jane," Elizabeth managed, finding her voice stronger than she expected. "You must rest yourself. I can see how tired you are." She attempted a smile, though her split lip made it painful. "After all, one invalid in the family is quite enough."
"Miss Bennet should return to her bed," Betty agreed firmly. "Mrs Nicholls was most particular about you not overtaxing yourself, miss. And your mother will want to see you once we've gotten Miss Elizabeth settled."
At the mention of their mother, Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. "Mama is here?"
"She arrived not an hour ago with your younger sisters," Jane confirmed. "Though Mrs Nicholls convinced her to wait until you were properly awake before visiting." She hesitated, then added gently, "Do you… remember much of what happened?"
Elizabeth's hand tightened on Jane's as fragments of memory surfaced - the terrifying tilt of the chaise , water dripping steadily through the seams, Mr Darcy's voice calling through the window… She pushed the thoughts away, not ready to examine them too closely.
"Perhaps we might save such discussions for later," Betty suggested, noting Elizabeth's distress. "Once Miss Elizabeth is more comfortable."
The sound of quiet footsteps in the corridor announced Sarah and Annie's arrival with fresh linens and warm water. Elizabeth found herself grateful for the distraction, though a new mortification arose as she realized just whose bed she had been occupying in her fever-induced unconsciousness.
Elizabeth submitted to being bathed and changed, her cheeks burning at requiring such assistance. Once settled against fresh pillows, she felt marginally more herself, though exhaustion still pulled at her limbs.
"There now, miss," Betty said, efficiently arranging the bedclothes. "Much more comfortable, I'm sure. Would you like to try some broth? Mrs Winters sent up a tray."
The thought of food made Elizabeth's stomach turn slightly, but she knew she should try. "Perhaps a little," she conceded, watching as Betty arranged the pillows to help her sit up more fully. Once she was comfortable in bed again she turned to her sister.
"Jane, you look exhausted. You must rest yourself."
"I am quite well," Jane assured her, though her face was pale. "And so relieved to see you more yourself."
"How long have I been here?" Elizabeth asked, trying to piece together the confused memories of rain and darkness.
"Since yesterday afternoon," Jane replied. "Mr Jones says your fever broke in the night. We were so worried, Lizzy."
Elizabeth's hand went to her ankle, which throbbed steadily beneath the blankets. "The chaise - I remember the horses screaming, and then everything tilting…" She closed her eyes against the memory of that terrible moment, the sound of splintering wood and the horses' panic. "There were voices later, calling through the window, but I couldn't reach the door…"
The afternoon passed slowly. Elizabeth managed a little of the broth, dozed fitfully, and gradually began to take more notice of her surroundings. It was clearly a gentleman's chamber, though she had not yet been told whose. The elegance of the furnishings suggested one of the principal guest rooms, and she wondered at being placed here rather than with Jane.
When she woke again, she found Jane asleep in the chair beside her, exhausted from her own recent illness. Elizabeth watched her sister's peaceful face, grateful for her presence yet concerned for her health. The quiet gave her time to study the room more carefully. The books particularly caught her attention - far more than one would expect in a simple guest chamber.
Jane stirred in her chair. "Lizzy? Are you in pain?"
"No, just thinking. Has Mama been here?"
"This morning. She was quite distressed seeing them move the damaged chaise as she arrived. Mr Jones assured her you were much improved, though sleeping, and convinced her to return home."
Note -sorry for not actually leaving a note before, you will note a complete of things, including a name change. When I first started writing this story it was 2016 and it was called Six Inches Deep in Mud, but since then someone else has published a book with that name so I had to come up with another name, hence Six Inches Deep in Love. You will also see the cover has been done. I'm very pleased with it and I really think it captures the mood of the scene.
Also it seems there are several copy and paste issues, I'm trying to track them all down. Sorry about that, I am recovering from a nasty cold and have a needy 2 year old who gave me the said cold. And I can only guess that those error are either from my head being full of cotton wool or having my attention randomly pulled away from time to time. Please let me know if you fine any others. And there will be more coming soon, i'm almost ready to post up until chapter 17.