Worthwhile Knowledge
Lady Catherine notices that Elizabeth Bennet is distracting Mr. Darcy from Anne during the Easter visit, and comes up with a scheme to remove her. Unfortunately for his aunt, Mr. Darcy has a secret profession which might undermine her plans.
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or plot of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
Chapter 1:
“Are you certain that this will work?” Lady Catherine demanded of Mr. Parker, the apothecary of Hunsford, as she examined a small glass bottle with a clear-colored, viscous liquid inside of it.
“Yes, yes, your Ladyship!” the admiring inferior exclaimed, nodding hurriedly. “I can vouch for its efficiency in any situation.”
By the time of this conversation, Lady Catherine de Bourgh had lost patience with one Elizabeth Bennet. For years, she had been determined to wed her only daughter to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. This Easter Season, Anne was finally of age, and her mother had predetermined that it would only be reasonable for her nephew to fulfill his familial duty and propose matrimony to her. But when Mr. Darcy made his long desired appearance, he paid even less attention to his cousin than he had in previous years, if that be possible. Instead, he had been continuously distracted by the conversation, pianoforte playing, and mere presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Lady Catherine, in the blindness of pride, did not suspect a serious attachment on her nephew’s part, simply a curiosity which stole his attention away from the proper object and bestowed it on an inconsequential girl. Thoroughly frustrated at last, she determined to see to it that Elizabeth kept to her bedchamber for the remainder of Mr. Darcy’s visit in Rosings.
“One teaspoon, you said? What should happen if the dosage is increased? I do not wish to cause more trouble than that dratted girl is worth. Her father is some sort of gentleman, if that patch of land Longbourn, could be called an estate, and who knows what would happen if she developed something serious. The last thing I need during my daughter’s courtship is an investigation at Rosings Park.”
“I observed Miss Bennet when she walked into the village with Mrs. Collins, milady. From her size, one teaspoon should be an ideal amount. It will make her too ill to appear downstairs, but it should not cause permanent damage. If she is given anything above one teaspoon, however, her next trip will be to the churchyard.”
“Is there any chance that anyone will realize what is happening to her?” Lady Catherine demanded.
“The drug is an exotic one. The symptoms it produces are nonspecific, and could easily be mistaken for any variety of ailments. For the sake of absolute security, I would counsel that no well-informed apothecary or physician attend her.”
Lady Catherine smiled, satisfied.
“The only apothecary in the region is yourself, Mr. Parker. I will not trouble you unless necessary, but if Mrs. Collins should insist that you look in on her friend,” here her Ladyship rose and poured a small handful of coins into the man’s palm, “I am sure that you will find it an insignificant case.”
“Of course, your Ladyship!” Mr. Parker exclaimed, bowing very low, as he took his leave.
Chapter 2:
Upstairs, in one of Rosing’s most elegant bedchambers, sat Fitzwilliam Darcy. He had repaired hither to escape is aunt’s constant talking and hints about matrimony. Quite alone, his business all completed, his cousin Richard away visiting Rosings’ tenants, Darcy was suffering from an acute attack of boredom. His aunt kept a very poor library, so reading could not serve as a reprieve. In this dull state, he found that his mind was, characteristically, slipping back to and reliving moments spent with Elizabeth Bennet. Although he knew that his reason was losing that battle, his pride did not wish to give fully in until the last possible moment. Thus, he desperately looked about the room for some sort of temporary diversion.
After a moment of consideration, he carefully bolted the doors of his bedroom shut. Then he approached his closet, and withdrew from it a black bag. Bringing it over to the writing desk, he pulled out his watch chain and found the small key which was always attached to it. Utilizing it, he unlocked the black bag.
Inside were the memories of another time, another life. Sinking comfortably into the chair, the gentleman began to remind himself of the contents of the bag and their various uses. One by one, Darcy pulled out bottles of tonics, powders, and pills. Last of all, he pulled out the piece of paper which granted him membership to the Royal College of Physicians.
It had all begun at his mother’s sickbed. Ever since her illness, he had been fascinated by the way doctors used exterior signs to determine what was transpiring in a patient’s body, and he wished to learn how the various drugs worked. He brought his interest to Cambridge, where he had a great deal of time on his hands. Accustomed to rising early to see to the estate, and possessed of a sharp mind which allowed him to quickly grasp all his regular schoolwork, Darcy was idle more than he wished to be. Others in his situation preferred passing the excess time with balls or a bottle of brandy, but neither of those pastimes suited the future Master of Pemberley. Instead, he found himself wandering more and more often into the lecture halls were the medical students were being educated. Before long, he was attending regularly, and was making mentors out of the professors. One Dr. Bray, in particular, was a kindred spirit to the young man. He never asked questions about background or other personal matters, which was a great relief to Darcy. Dr. Bray’s one passion was the patient, the correct diagnosis, and the treatment. Darcy spent many long nights in hospitals following the old physician, leaning over sick human beings, and learning to determine what ailed them. He even forgot himself several times and trailed surgeons and apothecaries, who carried out many of the treatments which the physicians prescribed.
He passed the necessary examinations with flying colors, and soon after he received his expected degree from Cambridge, he covertly became a fully licensed physician. For a few days, he even toyed with the idea of staying on in London a few years and putting his degree to use. While he was deciding whether to follow this path, the decision was made for him. His father died suddenly, and suddenly Fitzwilliam Darcy was needed back at Pemberley to manage the family estates.
Thus, his medical knowledge became Darcy’s closest kept secret. He had even kept it from his own father, knowing that the proud Mr. Darcy would have exploded from shame to know that his son and heir had spent so many hours working and learning in some of London’s most notorious hospitals. Now that he was the vastly-flattered Master of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy himself often blushed when he recollected that he had once helped surgeons remove bullets from common soldiers’ chests and had helped restrain a delirious old woman from Cheapside in her last illness. Georgiana, his own sister, had no idea of her brother’s medical prowess, even though he occasionally and surreptitiously slipped medications in her tea when he saw her coming down with a cold.
Despite the impropriety and unnecessary of a well-landed gentleman like himself having anything to do with a lower occupation, there was something that would not allow Darcy to wash his hands completely of the medical profession. He constantly kept his old medical bag, locked against the servants’ prowling, close to him, occasionally replacing the expiring medications with new fresh ones and in free moments, reminding himself of their various uses. Today, he had a few new medical journals which he had yet to read. Pulling them out from the bottom of the black bag, Darcy spent several agreeable hours perusing them.
Chapter 3:
Later that day, Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in Rosings’ best parlor, awaiting the arrival of the guests. He had taken particular care with his own outfit, and he certainly looked his handsomest in the deep blue coat. When he saw Elizabeth Bennet walk into the room, his heart stopped momentarily in his chest. What beauty and liveliness was before him!
Watching her as she gracefully walked forward to greet his aunt, Darcy surrendered. Yes, he would marry Elizabeth! Not one to fret over decisions once they had been settled, Fitzwilliam Darcy relaxed and smiled gently as he observed his beloved archly replying to Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s comments.
In a very few minutes they repaired to dinner. Darcy was forced to escort Anne into the dining room. Despite that, his eyes were firmly trained on another young woman, one with dark chestnut curls and the most enchanting laugh.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, chaos reigned. The cook had been late in returning from her errand, which meant that the preparations for dinner were woefully delayed. All the servants were in an uproar to get the meal on the table in time, knowing how little their mistress relished waiting for her sustenance.
One of the maids, Mildred, was especially harried. The thought that she was forgetting something extremely important kept nagging at her. At the very last moment, as the bowls of soup were being poured, she finally remembered her important commission. Lady Catherine had summoned her earlier that day, given her a bottle of a peculiar liquid, and order her to make sure that it made its way into Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s food. Mildred, knowing her employer’s capacity for meddling, thought it to be some sort of harmless tonic for whatever small malady Lady Catherine suspected that Miss Bennet had.
How much had Lady Catherine told her to put in? Mildred strained to recall that fact as her fellow servants prepared to carry the trays upstairs. Something about a spoonful? Yes, that was it. Lady Catherine had instructed her to put one spoonful of the concoction into Miss Bennet’s dinner.
Reaching for the first spoon in sight, Mildred approached the bowl which was destined to be Elizabeth’s. She mixed one tablespoon into the soup.
Chapter 4:
“With all due respect, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said politely as her eyes sparked challengingly, “I do not believe that my sisters and I require lady’s companions, considering the fact that there are five of us. We provide ample society to each other, I assure you.”
“I have nothing against sisters, Miss Bennet. My dear sister Anne Darcy and I were so very close.” Here the hostess bestowed a rare smile on the son of that lady. Glancing at Mr. Darcy’s face, however, Elizabeth immediately deduced that the affection to which Lady Catherine alluded to was a fable. “However, you must own that the conversation of a lady’s companion may be infinitely superior to that of a mere sibling. I suppose that even if you wished to employ companions, you could not afford it.”
“No, indeed we could not,” Elizabeth rebutted lively, cleverly hiding her displeasure at the slighting remark as she continued eating her soup. She did not notice Mr. Darcy’s clenched fists on the opposite side of the table. He was seething. How dare his aunt ridicule his darling so!
Lady Catherine, reminded of her late sister, went on to reminisce about their youth at length and remind Darcy that she had named her only daughter after his mother, before enumerating Anne de Bourgh’s charms. Although the recital was for his benefit, Darcy barely paid attention. He was wondering whether he would be lucky enough to meet Miss Bennet by chance in the grove tomorrow and be allowed to propose then.
It was during the main course that Darcy first noticed that his love looked rather pale. Thinking it to be an illusion created by the lighting, he attempted to attend to his aunt’s lecture during the next few minutes. The next time his infatuated eyes sought their favorite sight again, Elizabeth was discreetly pressing her hand to her forehead and reaching for her wineglass. She took several sips, an unusual occurrence, since Darcy had noted more than once that she was not particularly fond of red wine. He grew anxious, and actually interrupted his aunt’s monologue to ask,
“Are you ill, Miss Bennet?”
Startled, she looked up.
“No, I am well,” she answered. Her attempted reassurance, delivered in a slightly cracked voice, only confirmed her poor health. Everyone at the table could see that she looked very sick indeed.
“You do seem a bit faint, Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine stated condescendingly from the head of the table as she rose from her seat. “Rogers, help her from the room.”
Mrs. Collins and the servant Rogers immediately guided Elizabeth to her feet despite her protests, and supporting her, followed Lady Catherine as she showed them the way to the nearest guest room. Darcy, who had jumped up as soon as Elizabeth had answered him in an unnatural voice, was forced to trail besides her main entourage. Despite the distance, Darcy’s trained eye noted her labored and rapid breathing, her extreme pallor, the unnaturally dilated pupils, and the thin film of perspiration which covered her brow. Violently in love, he tried to assure himself that it was nothing but a passing fit, but the physician in him insisted that this was something far more serious than a moment of lightheadedness.
“Lay her down here,” his aunt commanded. Elizabeth was brought to the bed and placed upon it. Fright gripped Darcy when she made not a murmur of protest at the action. She simply reclined with closed eyes, not seeming to respond to Mrs. Collins’ comforting whispers.
“Well, let her rest. Come along,” Lady Catherine announced, turning on her heel and heading straight for the door, Mr. Collins following close behind her. Mrs. Collins looked up, surprised.
“With all due respect, your Ladyship, I would much rather sit with my friend.”
“Poppycock!” Lady Catherine exclaimed, a shade of anger slipping into her face. “Mrs. Collins, I simply cannot spare you or your sister Maria tonight. Miss Bennet will do well enough. All she needs is some peace and quiet. I will send a maid to check on her in a while.”
“Madam,” Mr. Darcy said incredulously, wheeling around to face his aunt, “do you mean to tell us that you are not going to call for an apothecary?”
“The apothecary? Whatever for? Young women swoon, Darcy, it is the natural order of things. Come along and finish your dinner. Mrs. Collins, are you coming with me or not?” There was a bit of a threat in Lady Catherine’s tone as she uttered the last.
Charlotte looked up, caught between the unconscious Elizabeth and her husband and his patroness. The latter two were glaring at her, and the former was for the moment appearing to rest comfortably. Thus, she unwillingly yielded and rose from the bedside.
“That is better. Darcy, would you care to join us?” Lady Catherine demanded as the group turned to go.
Her nephew, who had stood like a stone statue in the middle of the room since his last remark, gazing at the ongoings in disbelief, suddenly recovered himself and marched out of the bedchamber.
“If you will excuse me,” he said, grinding his teeth, “I have a pressing matter of business which I must attend to.”
Without waiting for a response, he ran up the stairs two at a time.
Chapter 5:
When he returned thirty seconds later, his aunt and the others had already returned to the dining room. Darcy immediately ran to the guest room door, opened it, and closing it again dashed inside. Elizabeth was still insensate, and alone. How dare Lady Catherine? It was unconscionable! To leave such a sweetheart helpless in her hour of need. And he had agonized over her relations so much…when his own aunt was nothing other than a cruel, selfish woman.
He placed the medical bag he had retrieved from his room on the bedside table, and unlocked it. The disgrace of knowing an actual profession slipped thoroughly from his mind; all that mattered was that his Elizabeth needed aid. Leaning over the bed, he went to work.
He lifted her delicate eyelids with his thumbs, and looked at her eyes. The fact that their usual spark was lacking was almost overwhelming, but he made the observations which needed to be made. He touched her forehead. There was no sign of fever, even though it was covered in cold sweat. Her breathing was irregular and quick, and her pulse weak and rapid. Darcy ruled out infection.
Then a terrible thought came to him. Her extreme pallor and some of the other symptoms could indicate shock. She was not bleeding exteriorly, but could she have internal injuries which were causing her to hemorrhage to death? Elizabeth loved the outdoors. Could she have taken a fall down the side of a hill earlier in the day? Perhaps she had been climbing a tree and lost her footing. If she had ruptured her spleen or another organ, he could lose her within a few minutes. Praying frantically, he palpated her abdomen. When he found nothing to suggest an accumulation of blood or fluid in her abdominal cavity, Darcy nearly sank to the floor with relief.
But what could it be? He leaned down and listened to Elizabeth’s heart, to the heart which he wished would beat for him. It was certainly racing, but no murmur was present. Desperate, he picked up his head and brought it close to her face, gazing lovingly at the comatose yet beautiful countenance, and sent up a heartfelt petition to the Great Physician.
“Oh God,” he whispered, “help me!”
At that moment, he detected a whiff of a peculiar, yet familiar scent in the air. It was like a fruity perfume. Darcy’s eyes widened in realization. No, it could not be that!
Following his grim premonition, he bent down and inhaled Elizabeth’s breath. Again, he smelled the same fragrance. He had thought that he would never contact that particular scent again, and yet it was here, lingering on his darling’s breath.
Grateful that he had a diagnosis, and aghast at the uncertainty of the prognosis, Darcy tore through the contents of his medical bag. Praising the Lord that he had all the necessary ingredients, he steadied his trembling hands and went to work mixing the antidote. He composed it in record time. Knowing that he could not linger and slowly spoon small sips into Elizabeth’s mouth, he forced her lovely lips open, and using a maneuver which he had not performed for years, he lifted her head and poured the remedy down her throat. That done, he sat back to wait, his hand on her pulse.
Chapter 6:
An hour went by. Darcy prayed and prayed, and then prayed some more. In between sending his requests and pleadings to Heaven, he wondered how this could have come about. What Elizabeth had ingested was not something which was commonly found in a kitchen and could accidentally be mixed into food. No, someone, somewhere, had deliberately tried to hurt his treasure. He knew that the substance usually produced symptoms about twenty minutes after being swallowed; thus, it had been added to her dinner. Who in Rosings could want Elizabeth Bennet dead?
Like a great ocean wave, the answer crashed down upon his head. His aunt’s insistence that Elizabeth be left alone, her unwillingness to call an apothecary, and her lack of surprise at having a robust young woman like Miss Bennet suddenly taking ill…it had to have been her doing. In other words, it had been his fault. If he had only displayed his feelings less, this would not have happened!
The patient moaned. Darcy leaned forward, grasped her hand tightly, and gently brushed his fingers across her sweet cheek. Was it the candlelight playing tricks on him, or had her face and lips regained some of their blooming color?
“Elizabeth?” he whispered. “Can you hear me? If you can, try to open your eyes, dear.”
The miracle happened. The eyelids slowly unclosed, and then blinked once, twice. His love moved her head feebly upon the pillow, and looked around the room confusedly. Her eyes fell on him, and for a moment she seemed to be oblivious to who he was. But the alarming instant passed, and she gasped,
“Mr. Darcy?”
Her doctor drew his chair closer to the bedside, his heart singing a hymn of thanksgiving as he answered,
“Yes, it is I.”
“Where am I?” Elizabeth asked weakly.
“You were taken ill at Rosings during dinner, and were removed to this guest room so that you could rest.”
“Then where is Charlotte?” Elizabeth cried out, beginning to realize that they were alone.
Darcy’s face flushed with fury.
“My aunt could not do without her company, Miss Bennet, and would not allow her to attend you.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with disappointment and anger as well, but she was too powerless to voice any vigorous protest. After a pause, she simply commented,
“Lady Catherine could spare you, sir?”
“Thankfully, I am not dependent on her Ladyship’s generosity for my livelihood, Miss Bennet, and may excuse myself more readily than Mrs. Collins. But never mind that now. You are exhausted, and will not fully regain your strength for at least a fortnight.”
“That is ridiculous. Tomorrow morning I shall be as well as ever.”
“I wish that it could be so, but I know that that is next to impossible. We must be grateful that it will not be worse.” Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. “Are you nauseous?”
Elizabeth blushed, embarrassed that the man she had always gone out of her way to triumph over was witnessing her pitiful state. But she was in no position to disassemble.
“Is it that obvious?” she murmured.
Darcy reassuringly smiled and shook his head.
“Not at all, you look as exquisite as ever. It is simply a common affliction for those in your condition.”
Elizabeth stared at him as he opened a small box and measured out a spoonful of yellow powder. Had Mr. Darcy just implied that he thought her beautiful? What had happened to ‘tolerable I suppose’?
The gentleman held the medication to her lips, but Elizabeth turned away and looked at him distrustfully.
“What is that?” she asked anxiously.
“It is a powder to help with the nausea.”
“Mr. Jones prescribes a herbal tea in this situation.”
“Yes, that is the common treatment. But in your case, it is contraindicated. This powder is the alternative therapy.”
Elizabeth shook her head, and refused to take or swallow the yellow substance.
“Miss Bennet, please.”
“Mr. Darcy, while I appreciate your staying with and attempting to nurse me despite your aunt’s wishes, frankly, I do not believe that you know what you are doing. It looks like the apothecary left behind quite a few items on that table. Are you certain that that is the remedy for nausea?” The long speech left her nearly breathless.
Darcy felt his face scorch with shame. He would have to tell her the truth, or else she would not allow him to attend her properly at all.
“Lady Catherine summoned no apothecary, madam.”
“Then how, what…?”
Hesitantly, the young man reached into the medical bag, produced a piece of paper, and handed it to her.
“Perhaps that will ease your mind as to my qualifications, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth took the certificate, read it three times over, and then let it drop upon the bed as she stared at him.
“You belong to the Royal College of Physicians?! I thought that you were a landed gentleman!”
Darcy nodded, looking her straight in the eye.
“I am both,” he admitted. “I confess to having a few peculiar pastimes and interests during my time at university. I do not blame you for being surprised; even my nearest relatives know nothing of it.”
“You are a licensed physician,” Elizabeth repeated, as if unable to process that piece of information.
“Yes, I am,” Darcy replied, beginning to smile at her incredulity. “And as a physician, I am ordering you to take this powder at once.”
This time, Elizabeth consented to swallow, and remained in quiet reflection and contemplation for several minutes before speaking again.
“Mr…Dr…Darcy, what exactly happened to me? I doubt that you risked betraying your secret just to bring me out of a common swoon?”
“You should know that I would risk anything to help you,” he replied, gazing at her. Unaccountably, Elizabeth found her cheeks flaming. Why did it have such an impact upon her? “But I must admit that what you went through was not a normal moment of faintness.” He clasped her hand before continuing. “You were poisoned, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth eyes widened with disbelief and even humor.
“Have you gone mad?” she inquired blithely.
“Alas, no, madam. I have good reason to believe that a certain exotic drug was slipped into your soup tonight. You displayed all of the expected symptoms, especially the most telling one, a fruity fragrance on your breath. Furthermore, the antidote worked admirably. That is why I could not give you herbal tea for the nausea; it would weaken the action of the antidote, and we could not hazard that. It was a close enough call as it was.”
The perfectly serious explanation destroyed some of Elizabeth’s incredulity, but still not willing to yield to the fearful truth, she said,
“I mean no disrespect, doctor, but have you ever seen the condition caused by this compound before? You said yourself it was exotic.”
Darcy suddenly rose from the bedside, paced the length of the room and back in an agitated manner, and leaned against the post at the foot of the bed. Looking straight into his darling’s eyes, he admitted.
“Yes, I have. Once. It was a few weeks before I gradated Cambridge. George Wickham was my roommate. I was studying for final exams late one night when he came back, weaving back and forth. I thought him intoxicated, as usual, and paid him no mind for several minutes. But before long I noticed that he was oddly quiet. It was customary, you see, for him to mutter abuses at me or to sing drunkenly after he had indulged in the bottle. But on this night, he had simply collapsed on the sofa in silence. I went up to him and noticed that his breathing was peculiar, and what was more, the scent of fruit, not liquor, lingered on his lips. I was only a month or so away from becoming a full-fledged physician, and knew from his symptoms that he was at death’s door. There was a terrible storm that night, and it was so late that I was certain he would be gone before a more experienced medical man arrived. Even though I had not been on friendly terms with Wickham for several years by that point, I did not desire his death. I rushed to my medical books, and after a few minutes of searching I found a page on poisoning which described all the signs that he was displaying. Fortunately, the treatment was listed therein as well. I administered it immediately, and somehow Wickham managed to pull through, even though he was very ill for days afterwards. So ill, in fact, that he never knew that I was the person who attended him. It later turned out that he had been invited to dinner that night by one of his most ruthless creditors, the sort who idolized money and cared naught for the trouble of putting those who owed him in debtor’s prison. It was not extraordinary for his defaulters to suddenly take ill and die. Wickham apparently owed the man a heap of gambling debts, and even he was not as foolhardy to ask my father for fifteen thousand pounds to clear it.”
Elizabeth shaded her eyes with her hand as realization flooded her mind. Mr. Wickham’s forwardness, his unknown past, his frequent and tarnishing claims…how could she have been so gullible?
“But who would wish to poison me?” she asked at great length. “I have no gambling debts, I assure you, sir.”
For the first time that trying evening, Darcy’s composure and restraint completely slipped away. He jerked away from the bedpost he had been leaning on, and in two bounds returned to head of the bed. In a frenzied yet extremely tender move, he lifted Elizabeth’s head and shoulders a few inches off the pillows and pressed her to his heart. Before the bewildered young woman could form or voice an exclamation, he broke out wildly,
“Forgive me, my love! It was my fault. Mine. I allowed myself to be carried away by my affection for you, and displayed my attentions too clearly. I always knew my aunt to be a woman given to unreasonableness, selfishness, and delusions of grandeur, but I never dreamed that she would go this far.”
“What attentions?” Elizabeth gasped out, lifting her head and staring at him. She had not yet fully processed his assurance that he felt affection for her.
“You know, darling. I have been unable to keep my eyes off of you since I arrived at Rosings. All my struggling throughout the winter to overcome my passionate and ardent admiration had been in vain. My aunt saw how I hurried over to the pianoforte to gaze at you as you played and sang, and with her sharp eyes, she might have even deduced that I was walking around the grove each morning so that I might meet you.”
Unable to return his gaze, Elizabeth actually leaned against Mr. Darcy and buried her face in his coat as he continued stroking her hair and whispering regrets. He loved her. That explained the constant staring. So all those encounters in the park had been planned, at least on his part! What was happening? She ought to be furious, terribly displeased by this turn of events, especially since he admitted that he had tried to forget her all winter. And yet, she felt safe and comforted in his arms. How could that be?
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said, leaning down towards her ear. “I love you so. Will you marry me?”
Elizabeth considered his offer. Earlier in the evening, she would have spurned it without delay. But now, so much had changed. The hatred that Wickham had implanted in her heart was gone, having been rooted out by a candid evaluation of that young officer’s true worth. Mr. Darcy, likewise, was not the man she thought him. Despite his pride, he had spent years learning how to help others, no doubt exposing himself to any variety of contagions and risking his wellbeing during the process. And now she owed her life to him.
Before she knew it, she had said the fateful words.
“I would be honored, Mr. Darcy.”
“Fitzwilliam, my dear!”
“Fitzwilliam,” she repeated, with a smile. Her heart sped up again, but this time it was not because of a toxic drug.
Her betrothed bent down, and pressed a lingering kiss upon her lips. After straining her to his heart for a few more minutes, he finally laid her down upon the pillows gently.
“Let me feel your pulse, mon amour,” Darcy said, reaching for her hand. Pulling out his pocket watch, he flipped the cover open and commenced timing the beating of her heart. “You are improving,” he commented, satisfied, after half a minute.
She smiled at his relieved and grateful countenance. That was as far as they got before the door was unceremoniously thrown open without a single knock.
Chapter 7:
“See, Mrs. Collins?” Lady Catherine’s voice snapped in aggravation as its owner flounced into the room. “Miss Bennet is resting and perfectly well. I told you there was no need to concern yourself with…,” Lady Catherine’s stopped short when she recognized Miss Bennet’s attendant.
“Lizzy, are you well?” Charlotte put in anxiously.
Elizabeth had no chance to reply before Lady Catherine lashed out,
“Darcy, have you taken leave of your senses? What are you doing in here with her? The next thing you know that woman will claim that you compromised her and demand that you marry her!”
“I can assure you,” Darcy said haughtily as he rose, “that Miss Bennet is not the type of woman who would resort to such tactics. And in any case, she has no need to utilize them. I have just proposed matrimony to her myself, and am delighted to report that she has accepted. You may be the first to congratulate us, madam.”
Lady Catherine de Bourgh stared at her nephew. Then she placed her hands upon her hips and shrieked,
“You did what? How dare you, Darcy?! After all the trouble I went through…Do you not remember your mother’s…”
“That trouble you went through,” her nephew snapped. “Would it by any chance involve slipping poison into her dinner?”
Lady Catherine blanched, but she made no reply as she considered that someone had to have given her out. Most likely, it had been Mildred, the maid. That useless girl would be fired without delay!
“I will see to it that this whole matter is investigated, and that you and your accomplices are held accountable, your Ladyship. You have my word,” Darcy continued ominously, before turning and gathering Elizabeth in his arms.
“Where are you taking her? Leave her be,” Lady Catherine demanded, recovering her voice.
“At Rosings? So you can finish her?” Darcy returned, furiously, as Elizabeth put her arms around his neck.
“Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte put in hesitantly, “I do not mean to interfere, but she looked so ill less than two hours ago…perhaps it is not wise to move her just yet.”
“Thank you for your concern about my fiancée’s health, Mrs. Collins, but I assure you that a short carriage ride to my London townhouse will not do her any harm as long as she does not attempt to walk.”
Mrs. Collins still looked a bit unsure, but Elizabeth laughingly put in,
“You may be easy, Charlotte. I am certain that Mr. Darcy knows what he is doing, in this matter at least.” Turning to her intended, she murmured, “Darling, let me retrieve a few of my belongings from that side-table.”
Darcy immediately comprehended that she was attempting to keep his secret from his prying relative. He brought her over to the said table and bent down so that she could replace his certificate and medications in the black bag before locking it. She slipped one arm around his neck once more, using the other to keep a firm hold on the enigmatic briefcase. Despite his aunt’s shrieking protests, Darcy removed his precious treasure from the bedchamber, and shouting orders to his servants to have the carriage brought up front, departed Rosings with her, one of the footmen sitting inside the conveyance with them as chaperone.
Chapter 8:
Three months later
The door slammed behind her, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh looked around the small room, nay, cell, which the judge had decreed she would call home for the coming two years. For the first time, it hit her that for seven hundred thirty days, there would be no one to impose her intelligence upon, except for a few brief minutes when the maid came in to scrub out the chamber or when she was allowed to mingle for an hour or so in the yard with the other prisoners. Mr. Parker would be among them, the courts had seen to that as well.
In a thousand years she would never have supposed that it would come to this. She had known that Darcy was not the sort to utter threats lightly, but still, she had supposed that in the end, his clannishness would win out over his indignation. But it was not to be. Within twenty-four hours of her nephew’s and Miss Bennet’s departure, private investigators descended on Rosings. Unfortunately for its mistress, they proved to be an honest sort, not accustomed to taking bribes. They quickly arrived to the root of the matter, and before Lady Catherine knew it, she had been summoned before a judge.
Her attorneys had comforted her, assuring her that all she and Mr. Parker had to do was testify that the liquid had been a helpful tonic, and that Miss Bennet had simply had an unexpected and unusual reaction to the mixture, which led all present to believe that it had indeed been a harmful drug. After all, they reasoned, no physician or apothecary had attended her guest, thus no one could disprove their tale.
Thus, Lady Catherine’s entire defense had been based on that premise, and it had run on smoothly enough, until Darcy had been called to the stand. Lady Catherine had actually relaxed as he answered the preliminary questions. After all, what could a man of eight and twenty say of any import on the matter? That a woman he loved had fainted and he had watched her regain consciousness?
But then the attorney had asked,
“What is your occupation, sir?”
“My primary one is that of gentleman.”
“I see. Have you any secondary occupation or profession, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy had taken a deep breath, and with a firm and dignified tone, replied,
“I am also a member of the Royal College of Physicians.”
Nearly everyone in the courtroom had started, his aunt most of all. Her nephew went on to detail how he had come by that title, and gave his professional opinion that his beloved had been deliberately poisoned by a lethal dose of a particular drug. And he named the drug, correctly. Lady Catherine, by that juncture, had gone completely pale. Her fate was sealed when Dr. Bray took the stand, and testified that Darcy indeed had once been one of his best pupils and was undoubtedly correct in his diagnosis, judging by the reported symptoms.
What could Lady de Bourgh do now, but admit the truth? She informed the court that she had indeed known the nature of the concoction, but that she had not ordered it to be used in such abundance upon Miss Bennet. When Mildred’s story collaborated this, the charge of attempted murder was converted into a less serious one, but one which still bore a possible long prison sentence.
But as the trial concluded, she noticed Elizabeth Bennet whispering earnestly to her nephew. He seemed, for once, reticent to do her bidding, but by dint of her fine eyes looking pleadingly at him, he consented, stood, and asked if he might submit a request to the court. When he was given permission to speak, Darcy requested that the court deal with his aunt leniently, citing the fact that she was unaccustomed to hardship and suggesting that her disappointment at not marrying off her daughter had clouded her mind when she decided to pour the fateful mixture into Elizabeth’s dinner. When Mr. Bennet, likewise prodded by his daughter, echoed his future son-in-law’s sentiments, the court was persuaded. The returned a sentence of two years in prison, rather than the ten they had planned on.
Catherine de Bourgh sat down on her small, cot-like bed. Closing her eyes, she reflected that the woman she had nearly killed was the one who probably saved her from dying in a prison cell.
“Perhaps, just perhaps,” she muttered to herself, “that Bennet girl is not so bad…even if she never had a governess!”
“Are you certain that this will work?” Lady Catherine demanded of Mr. Parker, the apothecary of Hunsford, as she examined a small glass bottle with a clear-colored, viscous liquid inside of it.
“Yes, yes, your Ladyship!” the admiring inferior exclaimed, nodding hurriedly. “I can vouch for its efficiency in any situation.”
By the time of this conversation, Lady Catherine de Bourgh had lost patience with one Elizabeth Bennet. For years, she had been determined to wed her only daughter to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. This Easter Season, Anne was finally of age, and her mother had predetermined that it would only be reasonable for her nephew to fulfill his familial duty and propose matrimony to her. But when Mr. Darcy made his long desired appearance, he paid even less attention to his cousin than he had in previous years, if that be possible. Instead, he had been continuously distracted by the conversation, pianoforte playing, and mere presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Lady Catherine, in the blindness of pride, did not suspect a serious attachment on her nephew’s part, simply a curiosity which stole his attention away from the proper object and bestowed it on an inconsequential girl. Thoroughly frustrated at last, she determined to see to it that Elizabeth kept to her bedchamber for the remainder of Mr. Darcy’s visit in Rosings.
“One teaspoon, you said? What should happen if the dosage is increased? I do not wish to cause more trouble than that dratted girl is worth. Her father is some sort of gentleman, if that patch of land Longbourn, could be called an estate, and who knows what would happen if she developed something serious. The last thing I need during my daughter’s courtship is an investigation at Rosings Park.”
“I observed Miss Bennet when she walked into the village with Mrs. Collins, milady. From her size, one teaspoon should be an ideal amount. It will make her too ill to appear downstairs, but it should not cause permanent damage. If she is given anything above one teaspoon, however, her next trip will be to the churchyard.”
“Is there any chance that anyone will realize what is happening to her?” Lady Catherine demanded.
“The drug is an exotic one. The symptoms it produces are nonspecific, and could easily be mistaken for any variety of ailments. For the sake of absolute security, I would counsel that no well-informed apothecary or physician attend her.”
Lady Catherine smiled, satisfied.
“The only apothecary in the region is yourself, Mr. Parker. I will not trouble you unless necessary, but if Mrs. Collins should insist that you look in on her friend,” here her Ladyship rose and poured a small handful of coins into the man’s palm, “I am sure that you will find it an insignificant case.”
“Of course, your Ladyship!” Mr. Parker exclaimed, bowing very low, as he took his leave.
Chapter 2:
Upstairs, in one of Rosing’s most elegant bedchambers, sat Fitzwilliam Darcy. He had repaired hither to escape is aunt’s constant talking and hints about matrimony. Quite alone, his business all completed, his cousin Richard away visiting Rosings’ tenants, Darcy was suffering from an acute attack of boredom. His aunt kept a very poor library, so reading could not serve as a reprieve. In this dull state, he found that his mind was, characteristically, slipping back to and reliving moments spent with Elizabeth Bennet. Although he knew that his reason was losing that battle, his pride did not wish to give fully in until the last possible moment. Thus, he desperately looked about the room for some sort of temporary diversion.
After a moment of consideration, he carefully bolted the doors of his bedroom shut. Then he approached his closet, and withdrew from it a black bag. Bringing it over to the writing desk, he pulled out his watch chain and found the small key which was always attached to it. Utilizing it, he unlocked the black bag.
Inside were the memories of another time, another life. Sinking comfortably into the chair, the gentleman began to remind himself of the contents of the bag and their various uses. One by one, Darcy pulled out bottles of tonics, powders, and pills. Last of all, he pulled out the piece of paper which granted him membership to the Royal College of Physicians.
It had all begun at his mother’s sickbed. Ever since her illness, he had been fascinated by the way doctors used exterior signs to determine what was transpiring in a patient’s body, and he wished to learn how the various drugs worked. He brought his interest to Cambridge, where he had a great deal of time on his hands. Accustomed to rising early to see to the estate, and possessed of a sharp mind which allowed him to quickly grasp all his regular schoolwork, Darcy was idle more than he wished to be. Others in his situation preferred passing the excess time with balls or a bottle of brandy, but neither of those pastimes suited the future Master of Pemberley. Instead, he found himself wandering more and more often into the lecture halls were the medical students were being educated. Before long, he was attending regularly, and was making mentors out of the professors. One Dr. Bray, in particular, was a kindred spirit to the young man. He never asked questions about background or other personal matters, which was a great relief to Darcy. Dr. Bray’s one passion was the patient, the correct diagnosis, and the treatment. Darcy spent many long nights in hospitals following the old physician, leaning over sick human beings, and learning to determine what ailed them. He even forgot himself several times and trailed surgeons and apothecaries, who carried out many of the treatments which the physicians prescribed.
He passed the necessary examinations with flying colors, and soon after he received his expected degree from Cambridge, he covertly became a fully licensed physician. For a few days, he even toyed with the idea of staying on in London a few years and putting his degree to use. While he was deciding whether to follow this path, the decision was made for him. His father died suddenly, and suddenly Fitzwilliam Darcy was needed back at Pemberley to manage the family estates.
Thus, his medical knowledge became Darcy’s closest kept secret. He had even kept it from his own father, knowing that the proud Mr. Darcy would have exploded from shame to know that his son and heir had spent so many hours working and learning in some of London’s most notorious hospitals. Now that he was the vastly-flattered Master of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy himself often blushed when he recollected that he had once helped surgeons remove bullets from common soldiers’ chests and had helped restrain a delirious old woman from Cheapside in her last illness. Georgiana, his own sister, had no idea of her brother’s medical prowess, even though he occasionally and surreptitiously slipped medications in her tea when he saw her coming down with a cold.
Despite the impropriety and unnecessary of a well-landed gentleman like himself having anything to do with a lower occupation, there was something that would not allow Darcy to wash his hands completely of the medical profession. He constantly kept his old medical bag, locked against the servants’ prowling, close to him, occasionally replacing the expiring medications with new fresh ones and in free moments, reminding himself of their various uses. Today, he had a few new medical journals which he had yet to read. Pulling them out from the bottom of the black bag, Darcy spent several agreeable hours perusing them.
Chapter 3:
Later that day, Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in Rosings’ best parlor, awaiting the arrival of the guests. He had taken particular care with his own outfit, and he certainly looked his handsomest in the deep blue coat. When he saw Elizabeth Bennet walk into the room, his heart stopped momentarily in his chest. What beauty and liveliness was before him!
Watching her as she gracefully walked forward to greet his aunt, Darcy surrendered. Yes, he would marry Elizabeth! Not one to fret over decisions once they had been settled, Fitzwilliam Darcy relaxed and smiled gently as he observed his beloved archly replying to Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s comments.
In a very few minutes they repaired to dinner. Darcy was forced to escort Anne into the dining room. Despite that, his eyes were firmly trained on another young woman, one with dark chestnut curls and the most enchanting laugh.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, chaos reigned. The cook had been late in returning from her errand, which meant that the preparations for dinner were woefully delayed. All the servants were in an uproar to get the meal on the table in time, knowing how little their mistress relished waiting for her sustenance.
One of the maids, Mildred, was especially harried. The thought that she was forgetting something extremely important kept nagging at her. At the very last moment, as the bowls of soup were being poured, she finally remembered her important commission. Lady Catherine had summoned her earlier that day, given her a bottle of a peculiar liquid, and order her to make sure that it made its way into Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s food. Mildred, knowing her employer’s capacity for meddling, thought it to be some sort of harmless tonic for whatever small malady Lady Catherine suspected that Miss Bennet had.
How much had Lady Catherine told her to put in? Mildred strained to recall that fact as her fellow servants prepared to carry the trays upstairs. Something about a spoonful? Yes, that was it. Lady Catherine had instructed her to put one spoonful of the concoction into Miss Bennet’s dinner.
Reaching for the first spoon in sight, Mildred approached the bowl which was destined to be Elizabeth’s. She mixed one tablespoon into the soup.
Chapter 4:
“With all due respect, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said politely as her eyes sparked challengingly, “I do not believe that my sisters and I require lady’s companions, considering the fact that there are five of us. We provide ample society to each other, I assure you.”
“I have nothing against sisters, Miss Bennet. My dear sister Anne Darcy and I were so very close.” Here the hostess bestowed a rare smile on the son of that lady. Glancing at Mr. Darcy’s face, however, Elizabeth immediately deduced that the affection to which Lady Catherine alluded to was a fable. “However, you must own that the conversation of a lady’s companion may be infinitely superior to that of a mere sibling. I suppose that even if you wished to employ companions, you could not afford it.”
“No, indeed we could not,” Elizabeth rebutted lively, cleverly hiding her displeasure at the slighting remark as she continued eating her soup. She did not notice Mr. Darcy’s clenched fists on the opposite side of the table. He was seething. How dare his aunt ridicule his darling so!
Lady Catherine, reminded of her late sister, went on to reminisce about their youth at length and remind Darcy that she had named her only daughter after his mother, before enumerating Anne de Bourgh’s charms. Although the recital was for his benefit, Darcy barely paid attention. He was wondering whether he would be lucky enough to meet Miss Bennet by chance in the grove tomorrow and be allowed to propose then.
It was during the main course that Darcy first noticed that his love looked rather pale. Thinking it to be an illusion created by the lighting, he attempted to attend to his aunt’s lecture during the next few minutes. The next time his infatuated eyes sought their favorite sight again, Elizabeth was discreetly pressing her hand to her forehead and reaching for her wineglass. She took several sips, an unusual occurrence, since Darcy had noted more than once that she was not particularly fond of red wine. He grew anxious, and actually interrupted his aunt’s monologue to ask,
“Are you ill, Miss Bennet?”
Startled, she looked up.
“No, I am well,” she answered. Her attempted reassurance, delivered in a slightly cracked voice, only confirmed her poor health. Everyone at the table could see that she looked very sick indeed.
“You do seem a bit faint, Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine stated condescendingly from the head of the table as she rose from her seat. “Rogers, help her from the room.”
Mrs. Collins and the servant Rogers immediately guided Elizabeth to her feet despite her protests, and supporting her, followed Lady Catherine as she showed them the way to the nearest guest room. Darcy, who had jumped up as soon as Elizabeth had answered him in an unnatural voice, was forced to trail besides her main entourage. Despite the distance, Darcy’s trained eye noted her labored and rapid breathing, her extreme pallor, the unnaturally dilated pupils, and the thin film of perspiration which covered her brow. Violently in love, he tried to assure himself that it was nothing but a passing fit, but the physician in him insisted that this was something far more serious than a moment of lightheadedness.
“Lay her down here,” his aunt commanded. Elizabeth was brought to the bed and placed upon it. Fright gripped Darcy when she made not a murmur of protest at the action. She simply reclined with closed eyes, not seeming to respond to Mrs. Collins’ comforting whispers.
“Well, let her rest. Come along,” Lady Catherine announced, turning on her heel and heading straight for the door, Mr. Collins following close behind her. Mrs. Collins looked up, surprised.
“With all due respect, your Ladyship, I would much rather sit with my friend.”
“Poppycock!” Lady Catherine exclaimed, a shade of anger slipping into her face. “Mrs. Collins, I simply cannot spare you or your sister Maria tonight. Miss Bennet will do well enough. All she needs is some peace and quiet. I will send a maid to check on her in a while.”
“Madam,” Mr. Darcy said incredulously, wheeling around to face his aunt, “do you mean to tell us that you are not going to call for an apothecary?”
“The apothecary? Whatever for? Young women swoon, Darcy, it is the natural order of things. Come along and finish your dinner. Mrs. Collins, are you coming with me or not?” There was a bit of a threat in Lady Catherine’s tone as she uttered the last.
Charlotte looked up, caught between the unconscious Elizabeth and her husband and his patroness. The latter two were glaring at her, and the former was for the moment appearing to rest comfortably. Thus, she unwillingly yielded and rose from the bedside.
“That is better. Darcy, would you care to join us?” Lady Catherine demanded as the group turned to go.
Her nephew, who had stood like a stone statue in the middle of the room since his last remark, gazing at the ongoings in disbelief, suddenly recovered himself and marched out of the bedchamber.
“If you will excuse me,” he said, grinding his teeth, “I have a pressing matter of business which I must attend to.”
Without waiting for a response, he ran up the stairs two at a time.
Chapter 5:
When he returned thirty seconds later, his aunt and the others had already returned to the dining room. Darcy immediately ran to the guest room door, opened it, and closing it again dashed inside. Elizabeth was still insensate, and alone. How dare Lady Catherine? It was unconscionable! To leave such a sweetheart helpless in her hour of need. And he had agonized over her relations so much…when his own aunt was nothing other than a cruel, selfish woman.
He placed the medical bag he had retrieved from his room on the bedside table, and unlocked it. The disgrace of knowing an actual profession slipped thoroughly from his mind; all that mattered was that his Elizabeth needed aid. Leaning over the bed, he went to work.
He lifted her delicate eyelids with his thumbs, and looked at her eyes. The fact that their usual spark was lacking was almost overwhelming, but he made the observations which needed to be made. He touched her forehead. There was no sign of fever, even though it was covered in cold sweat. Her breathing was irregular and quick, and her pulse weak and rapid. Darcy ruled out infection.
Then a terrible thought came to him. Her extreme pallor and some of the other symptoms could indicate shock. She was not bleeding exteriorly, but could she have internal injuries which were causing her to hemorrhage to death? Elizabeth loved the outdoors. Could she have taken a fall down the side of a hill earlier in the day? Perhaps she had been climbing a tree and lost her footing. If she had ruptured her spleen or another organ, he could lose her within a few minutes. Praying frantically, he palpated her abdomen. When he found nothing to suggest an accumulation of blood or fluid in her abdominal cavity, Darcy nearly sank to the floor with relief.
But what could it be? He leaned down and listened to Elizabeth’s heart, to the heart which he wished would beat for him. It was certainly racing, but no murmur was present. Desperate, he picked up his head and brought it close to her face, gazing lovingly at the comatose yet beautiful countenance, and sent up a heartfelt petition to the Great Physician.
“Oh God,” he whispered, “help me!”
At that moment, he detected a whiff of a peculiar, yet familiar scent in the air. It was like a fruity perfume. Darcy’s eyes widened in realization. No, it could not be that!
Following his grim premonition, he bent down and inhaled Elizabeth’s breath. Again, he smelled the same fragrance. He had thought that he would never contact that particular scent again, and yet it was here, lingering on his darling’s breath.
Grateful that he had a diagnosis, and aghast at the uncertainty of the prognosis, Darcy tore through the contents of his medical bag. Praising the Lord that he had all the necessary ingredients, he steadied his trembling hands and went to work mixing the antidote. He composed it in record time. Knowing that he could not linger and slowly spoon small sips into Elizabeth’s mouth, he forced her lovely lips open, and using a maneuver which he had not performed for years, he lifted her head and poured the remedy down her throat. That done, he sat back to wait, his hand on her pulse.
Chapter 6:
An hour went by. Darcy prayed and prayed, and then prayed some more. In between sending his requests and pleadings to Heaven, he wondered how this could have come about. What Elizabeth had ingested was not something which was commonly found in a kitchen and could accidentally be mixed into food. No, someone, somewhere, had deliberately tried to hurt his treasure. He knew that the substance usually produced symptoms about twenty minutes after being swallowed; thus, it had been added to her dinner. Who in Rosings could want Elizabeth Bennet dead?
Like a great ocean wave, the answer crashed down upon his head. His aunt’s insistence that Elizabeth be left alone, her unwillingness to call an apothecary, and her lack of surprise at having a robust young woman like Miss Bennet suddenly taking ill…it had to have been her doing. In other words, it had been his fault. If he had only displayed his feelings less, this would not have happened!
The patient moaned. Darcy leaned forward, grasped her hand tightly, and gently brushed his fingers across her sweet cheek. Was it the candlelight playing tricks on him, or had her face and lips regained some of their blooming color?
“Elizabeth?” he whispered. “Can you hear me? If you can, try to open your eyes, dear.”
The miracle happened. The eyelids slowly unclosed, and then blinked once, twice. His love moved her head feebly upon the pillow, and looked around the room confusedly. Her eyes fell on him, and for a moment she seemed to be oblivious to who he was. But the alarming instant passed, and she gasped,
“Mr. Darcy?”
Her doctor drew his chair closer to the bedside, his heart singing a hymn of thanksgiving as he answered,
“Yes, it is I.”
“Where am I?” Elizabeth asked weakly.
“You were taken ill at Rosings during dinner, and were removed to this guest room so that you could rest.”
“Then where is Charlotte?” Elizabeth cried out, beginning to realize that they were alone.
Darcy’s face flushed with fury.
“My aunt could not do without her company, Miss Bennet, and would not allow her to attend you.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with disappointment and anger as well, but she was too powerless to voice any vigorous protest. After a pause, she simply commented,
“Lady Catherine could spare you, sir?”
“Thankfully, I am not dependent on her Ladyship’s generosity for my livelihood, Miss Bennet, and may excuse myself more readily than Mrs. Collins. But never mind that now. You are exhausted, and will not fully regain your strength for at least a fortnight.”
“That is ridiculous. Tomorrow morning I shall be as well as ever.”
“I wish that it could be so, but I know that that is next to impossible. We must be grateful that it will not be worse.” Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. “Are you nauseous?”
Elizabeth blushed, embarrassed that the man she had always gone out of her way to triumph over was witnessing her pitiful state. But she was in no position to disassemble.
“Is it that obvious?” she murmured.
Darcy reassuringly smiled and shook his head.
“Not at all, you look as exquisite as ever. It is simply a common affliction for those in your condition.”
Elizabeth stared at him as he opened a small box and measured out a spoonful of yellow powder. Had Mr. Darcy just implied that he thought her beautiful? What had happened to ‘tolerable I suppose’?
The gentleman held the medication to her lips, but Elizabeth turned away and looked at him distrustfully.
“What is that?” she asked anxiously.
“It is a powder to help with the nausea.”
“Mr. Jones prescribes a herbal tea in this situation.”
“Yes, that is the common treatment. But in your case, it is contraindicated. This powder is the alternative therapy.”
Elizabeth shook her head, and refused to take or swallow the yellow substance.
“Miss Bennet, please.”
“Mr. Darcy, while I appreciate your staying with and attempting to nurse me despite your aunt’s wishes, frankly, I do not believe that you know what you are doing. It looks like the apothecary left behind quite a few items on that table. Are you certain that that is the remedy for nausea?” The long speech left her nearly breathless.
Darcy felt his face scorch with shame. He would have to tell her the truth, or else she would not allow him to attend her properly at all.
“Lady Catherine summoned no apothecary, madam.”
“Then how, what…?”
Hesitantly, the young man reached into the medical bag, produced a piece of paper, and handed it to her.
“Perhaps that will ease your mind as to my qualifications, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth took the certificate, read it three times over, and then let it drop upon the bed as she stared at him.
“You belong to the Royal College of Physicians?! I thought that you were a landed gentleman!”
Darcy nodded, looking her straight in the eye.
“I am both,” he admitted. “I confess to having a few peculiar pastimes and interests during my time at university. I do not blame you for being surprised; even my nearest relatives know nothing of it.”
“You are a licensed physician,” Elizabeth repeated, as if unable to process that piece of information.
“Yes, I am,” Darcy replied, beginning to smile at her incredulity. “And as a physician, I am ordering you to take this powder at once.”
This time, Elizabeth consented to swallow, and remained in quiet reflection and contemplation for several minutes before speaking again.
“Mr…Dr…Darcy, what exactly happened to me? I doubt that you risked betraying your secret just to bring me out of a common swoon?”
“You should know that I would risk anything to help you,” he replied, gazing at her. Unaccountably, Elizabeth found her cheeks flaming. Why did it have such an impact upon her? “But I must admit that what you went through was not a normal moment of faintness.” He clasped her hand before continuing. “You were poisoned, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth eyes widened with disbelief and even humor.
“Have you gone mad?” she inquired blithely.
“Alas, no, madam. I have good reason to believe that a certain exotic drug was slipped into your soup tonight. You displayed all of the expected symptoms, especially the most telling one, a fruity fragrance on your breath. Furthermore, the antidote worked admirably. That is why I could not give you herbal tea for the nausea; it would weaken the action of the antidote, and we could not hazard that. It was a close enough call as it was.”
The perfectly serious explanation destroyed some of Elizabeth’s incredulity, but still not willing to yield to the fearful truth, she said,
“I mean no disrespect, doctor, but have you ever seen the condition caused by this compound before? You said yourself it was exotic.”
Darcy suddenly rose from the bedside, paced the length of the room and back in an agitated manner, and leaned against the post at the foot of the bed. Looking straight into his darling’s eyes, he admitted.
“Yes, I have. Once. It was a few weeks before I gradated Cambridge. George Wickham was my roommate. I was studying for final exams late one night when he came back, weaving back and forth. I thought him intoxicated, as usual, and paid him no mind for several minutes. But before long I noticed that he was oddly quiet. It was customary, you see, for him to mutter abuses at me or to sing drunkenly after he had indulged in the bottle. But on this night, he had simply collapsed on the sofa in silence. I went up to him and noticed that his breathing was peculiar, and what was more, the scent of fruit, not liquor, lingered on his lips. I was only a month or so away from becoming a full-fledged physician, and knew from his symptoms that he was at death’s door. There was a terrible storm that night, and it was so late that I was certain he would be gone before a more experienced medical man arrived. Even though I had not been on friendly terms with Wickham for several years by that point, I did not desire his death. I rushed to my medical books, and after a few minutes of searching I found a page on poisoning which described all the signs that he was displaying. Fortunately, the treatment was listed therein as well. I administered it immediately, and somehow Wickham managed to pull through, even though he was very ill for days afterwards. So ill, in fact, that he never knew that I was the person who attended him. It later turned out that he had been invited to dinner that night by one of his most ruthless creditors, the sort who idolized money and cared naught for the trouble of putting those who owed him in debtor’s prison. It was not extraordinary for his defaulters to suddenly take ill and die. Wickham apparently owed the man a heap of gambling debts, and even he was not as foolhardy to ask my father for fifteen thousand pounds to clear it.”
Elizabeth shaded her eyes with her hand as realization flooded her mind. Mr. Wickham’s forwardness, his unknown past, his frequent and tarnishing claims…how could she have been so gullible?
“But who would wish to poison me?” she asked at great length. “I have no gambling debts, I assure you, sir.”
For the first time that trying evening, Darcy’s composure and restraint completely slipped away. He jerked away from the bedpost he had been leaning on, and in two bounds returned to head of the bed. In a frenzied yet extremely tender move, he lifted Elizabeth’s head and shoulders a few inches off the pillows and pressed her to his heart. Before the bewildered young woman could form or voice an exclamation, he broke out wildly,
“Forgive me, my love! It was my fault. Mine. I allowed myself to be carried away by my affection for you, and displayed my attentions too clearly. I always knew my aunt to be a woman given to unreasonableness, selfishness, and delusions of grandeur, but I never dreamed that she would go this far.”
“What attentions?” Elizabeth gasped out, lifting her head and staring at him. She had not yet fully processed his assurance that he felt affection for her.
“You know, darling. I have been unable to keep my eyes off of you since I arrived at Rosings. All my struggling throughout the winter to overcome my passionate and ardent admiration had been in vain. My aunt saw how I hurried over to the pianoforte to gaze at you as you played and sang, and with her sharp eyes, she might have even deduced that I was walking around the grove each morning so that I might meet you.”
Unable to return his gaze, Elizabeth actually leaned against Mr. Darcy and buried her face in his coat as he continued stroking her hair and whispering regrets. He loved her. That explained the constant staring. So all those encounters in the park had been planned, at least on his part! What was happening? She ought to be furious, terribly displeased by this turn of events, especially since he admitted that he had tried to forget her all winter. And yet, she felt safe and comforted in his arms. How could that be?
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said, leaning down towards her ear. “I love you so. Will you marry me?”
Elizabeth considered his offer. Earlier in the evening, she would have spurned it without delay. But now, so much had changed. The hatred that Wickham had implanted in her heart was gone, having been rooted out by a candid evaluation of that young officer’s true worth. Mr. Darcy, likewise, was not the man she thought him. Despite his pride, he had spent years learning how to help others, no doubt exposing himself to any variety of contagions and risking his wellbeing during the process. And now she owed her life to him.
Before she knew it, she had said the fateful words.
“I would be honored, Mr. Darcy.”
“Fitzwilliam, my dear!”
“Fitzwilliam,” she repeated, with a smile. Her heart sped up again, but this time it was not because of a toxic drug.
Her betrothed bent down, and pressed a lingering kiss upon her lips. After straining her to his heart for a few more minutes, he finally laid her down upon the pillows gently.
“Let me feel your pulse, mon amour,” Darcy said, reaching for her hand. Pulling out his pocket watch, he flipped the cover open and commenced timing the beating of her heart. “You are improving,” he commented, satisfied, after half a minute.
She smiled at his relieved and grateful countenance. That was as far as they got before the door was unceremoniously thrown open without a single knock.
Chapter 7:
“See, Mrs. Collins?” Lady Catherine’s voice snapped in aggravation as its owner flounced into the room. “Miss Bennet is resting and perfectly well. I told you there was no need to concern yourself with…,” Lady Catherine’s stopped short when she recognized Miss Bennet’s attendant.
“Lizzy, are you well?” Charlotte put in anxiously.
Elizabeth had no chance to reply before Lady Catherine lashed out,
“Darcy, have you taken leave of your senses? What are you doing in here with her? The next thing you know that woman will claim that you compromised her and demand that you marry her!”
“I can assure you,” Darcy said haughtily as he rose, “that Miss Bennet is not the type of woman who would resort to such tactics. And in any case, she has no need to utilize them. I have just proposed matrimony to her myself, and am delighted to report that she has accepted. You may be the first to congratulate us, madam.”
Lady Catherine de Bourgh stared at her nephew. Then she placed her hands upon her hips and shrieked,
“You did what? How dare you, Darcy?! After all the trouble I went through…Do you not remember your mother’s…”
“That trouble you went through,” her nephew snapped. “Would it by any chance involve slipping poison into her dinner?”
Lady Catherine blanched, but she made no reply as she considered that someone had to have given her out. Most likely, it had been Mildred, the maid. That useless girl would be fired without delay!
“I will see to it that this whole matter is investigated, and that you and your accomplices are held accountable, your Ladyship. You have my word,” Darcy continued ominously, before turning and gathering Elizabeth in his arms.
“Where are you taking her? Leave her be,” Lady Catherine demanded, recovering her voice.
“At Rosings? So you can finish her?” Darcy returned, furiously, as Elizabeth put her arms around his neck.
“Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte put in hesitantly, “I do not mean to interfere, but she looked so ill less than two hours ago…perhaps it is not wise to move her just yet.”
“Thank you for your concern about my fiancée’s health, Mrs. Collins, but I assure you that a short carriage ride to my London townhouse will not do her any harm as long as she does not attempt to walk.”
Mrs. Collins still looked a bit unsure, but Elizabeth laughingly put in,
“You may be easy, Charlotte. I am certain that Mr. Darcy knows what he is doing, in this matter at least.” Turning to her intended, she murmured, “Darling, let me retrieve a few of my belongings from that side-table.”
Darcy immediately comprehended that she was attempting to keep his secret from his prying relative. He brought her over to the said table and bent down so that she could replace his certificate and medications in the black bag before locking it. She slipped one arm around his neck once more, using the other to keep a firm hold on the enigmatic briefcase. Despite his aunt’s shrieking protests, Darcy removed his precious treasure from the bedchamber, and shouting orders to his servants to have the carriage brought up front, departed Rosings with her, one of the footmen sitting inside the conveyance with them as chaperone.
Chapter 8:
Three months later
The door slammed behind her, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh looked around the small room, nay, cell, which the judge had decreed she would call home for the coming two years. For the first time, it hit her that for seven hundred thirty days, there would be no one to impose her intelligence upon, except for a few brief minutes when the maid came in to scrub out the chamber or when she was allowed to mingle for an hour or so in the yard with the other prisoners. Mr. Parker would be among them, the courts had seen to that as well.
In a thousand years she would never have supposed that it would come to this. She had known that Darcy was not the sort to utter threats lightly, but still, she had supposed that in the end, his clannishness would win out over his indignation. But it was not to be. Within twenty-four hours of her nephew’s and Miss Bennet’s departure, private investigators descended on Rosings. Unfortunately for its mistress, they proved to be an honest sort, not accustomed to taking bribes. They quickly arrived to the root of the matter, and before Lady Catherine knew it, she had been summoned before a judge.
Her attorneys had comforted her, assuring her that all she and Mr. Parker had to do was testify that the liquid had been a helpful tonic, and that Miss Bennet had simply had an unexpected and unusual reaction to the mixture, which led all present to believe that it had indeed been a harmful drug. After all, they reasoned, no physician or apothecary had attended her guest, thus no one could disprove their tale.
Thus, Lady Catherine’s entire defense had been based on that premise, and it had run on smoothly enough, until Darcy had been called to the stand. Lady Catherine had actually relaxed as he answered the preliminary questions. After all, what could a man of eight and twenty say of any import on the matter? That a woman he loved had fainted and he had watched her regain consciousness?
But then the attorney had asked,
“What is your occupation, sir?”
“My primary one is that of gentleman.”
“I see. Have you any secondary occupation or profession, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy had taken a deep breath, and with a firm and dignified tone, replied,
“I am also a member of the Royal College of Physicians.”
Nearly everyone in the courtroom had started, his aunt most of all. Her nephew went on to detail how he had come by that title, and gave his professional opinion that his beloved had been deliberately poisoned by a lethal dose of a particular drug. And he named the drug, correctly. Lady Catherine, by that juncture, had gone completely pale. Her fate was sealed when Dr. Bray took the stand, and testified that Darcy indeed had once been one of his best pupils and was undoubtedly correct in his diagnosis, judging by the reported symptoms.
What could Lady de Bourgh do now, but admit the truth? She informed the court that she had indeed known the nature of the concoction, but that she had not ordered it to be used in such abundance upon Miss Bennet. When Mildred’s story collaborated this, the charge of attempted murder was converted into a less serious one, but one which still bore a possible long prison sentence.
But as the trial concluded, she noticed Elizabeth Bennet whispering earnestly to her nephew. He seemed, for once, reticent to do her bidding, but by dint of her fine eyes looking pleadingly at him, he consented, stood, and asked if he might submit a request to the court. When he was given permission to speak, Darcy requested that the court deal with his aunt leniently, citing the fact that she was unaccustomed to hardship and suggesting that her disappointment at not marrying off her daughter had clouded her mind when she decided to pour the fateful mixture into Elizabeth’s dinner. When Mr. Bennet, likewise prodded by his daughter, echoed his future son-in-law’s sentiments, the court was persuaded. The returned a sentence of two years in prison, rather than the ten they had planned on.
Catherine de Bourgh sat down on her small, cot-like bed. Closing her eyes, she reflected that the woman she had nearly killed was the one who probably saved her from dying in a prison cell.
“Perhaps, just perhaps,” she muttered to herself, “that Bennet girl is not so bad…even if she never had a governess!”