Page 40 of Leave Her Wild
Her back ached from standing over him for hours upon end. Elizabeth had sent Mary and Jane and Miss Darcy to bed at a respectable hour. Mr. Sheffield had stayed longer than the others, but she finally convinced him to sleep for a few hours, while denying herself the same time to rest.
Somehow an idea had lodged in her soul that if she left him, Mr. Darcy would die. The tray of food sent to her by Jane remained untouched.
Each time Elizabeth wiped his face with the cool water, Mr. Darcy fought her. His fever raged, and he turned his head from side to side, as if fighting not only the fingers of death, but also her. Frustrated, Elizabeth finally jerked his chin to the side where she might speak to his beloved countenance. “Stop fighting me, Mr. Darcy!” she ordered. “I am here to save you. I cannot bear the idea of losing you!” His eyes flickered open and shut a few times, and, though she knew he did not see her, she could view herself in his eyes. Elizabeth knew her hair was a mess and there were dark circles forming under her eyes, but, in that moment, for the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Her heart stuttered as if in a foot race, but then he closed his eyes and rested more easily.
She had eventually permitted Mary to watch over him, but Elizabeth had not gone far. She had a quick bath and a meal in her quarters, thanks to the kindness of the maid Hannah, to whom she had taken an immediate liking. Then, she had gathered pillows from the beds of several of the empty bedrooms along the hall and had made herself a “bed,” of sorts, on the floor behind the screen, where she dozed more soundly for a few hours than she had expected until she heard a man addressing her sister, along with Miss Darcy.
“I appreciate your efforts, ladies,” a man in uniform was saying when Elizabeth stepped from behind the screen while straightening the braid in her hair.
“My sister, Miss Elizabeth, Captain. Elizabeth tended Mr. Darcy all night.”
“Captain Kinsel, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a bow of respect. “I do not see how Mr. Darcy may not recover with threesuch lovely ladies to tend him,” the man said smoothly, only to remind Elizabeth of Mr. Wickham’s style of placating.
Elizabeth, therefore, cocked one eyebrow. “Perhaps such platitudes impress those in London’s ballrooms, sir,” she warned, “however, I would tell you neither my sister Mary nor I have known society, and Miss Darcy is too young to have done so. Miss Mary and I are accustomed to tending our father’s tenants, not an aristocrat. Speak honestly and without all the flattery. Do not, however, offend us with foul words to mark your authority over us.”
The captain glanced to where Miss Darcy looked on, and, though Elizabeth suspected the girl was only as strong as a butterfly, even a butterfly was sturdy enough to fly in a storm: A butterfly is a divine creation that propels the caterpillar within and cheats an array of predators. Therefore, Elizabeth said, “Miss Darcy wishes to know the truth of her brother’s recovery.”
Mary stepped up beside the girl and slid an arm about Miss Darcy’s waist.
“I am more accustomed to battlefield injuries,” the captain began.
“We are not asking you to amputate Mr. Darcy’s leg or arm,” Elizabeth scolded. “We are asking what we must do to ‘encourage’ Mr. Darcy’s recovery.”
“I had to remove several bone chips and splintered parts of the bullet, though it passed through Mr. Darcy’s shoulder. There was also the matter of threads of the clothing he wore. We will know in a day or two if I missed a thread of the fabric of his coat or the shirt he wore. We rinsed out the wound several times before we closed it the first time.”
Elizabeth had not realized the bullet had pierced Mr. Darcy’s back along with his chest, but she waited patiently for the captain to finish his evaluation. “The manner in which the bullet moved through Mr. Darcy’s chest caused him to lose agreat deal of blood, and his fever has remained higher than I would prefer, but he is a young man—capable of healing and recovering . . .”
“But?” Elizabeth asked.
“But, I am not confident Mr. Darcy wishes to recover.”
“That is ridiculous!” Miss Darcy declared. “William would not purposely leave me nor would he abandon Pemberley. He is to marry and produce an heir for the family estate.”
Miss Darcy’s words struck Elizabeth powerfully, but she said nothing to contradict the girl.
“Could we not ask Miss Bennet to come and to speak to William?” Miss Darcy pleaded, and Elizabeth looked away, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out against the injustice of their situation, but she made a silent promise to continue to fight for his life, nevertheless. She could not imagine a world in which he was not a part of it.
“We thank you, Captain,” Mary said while looking beseechingly at Elizabeth. “It is best we know what must be executed to save Mr. Darcy’s life. A reason or rather reasons for him to fight to survive. Reasons to recover.” Mary nodded to Elizabeth in a knowing manner. “If you are finished, Captain, Miss Darcy and I shall show you out and seek out my older sister, Miss Bennet. Elizabeth, you should ring for fresh lavender water.”
The captain looked oddly upon Elizabeth, but he made no comment. Gathering his instruments, he motioned Mary and Miss Darcy to lead. With their exit, Elizabeth wrapped her arms about her waist, fighting the need to cry. For a minute, she remained bent over and permitted her sobs to shake her to her very core. But she could not waste the precious time Mary had purposely orchestrated. Therefore, she pulled the straight-backed chair beside Mr. Darcy’s bed to claim his hand.
She brought the back of his knuckles to her lips and kissed them. “Mr. Darcy,” she whispered. “Fitzwilliam. You must hear me. Must understand me. I cannot conceive of a world in which you do not exist. In which you are not here. You must . . . must fight to recover. You are my heart. Do not leave me broken. You must . . . Please do not leave Miss Darcy or Pemberley or me. We all depend upon you.” She kissed his knuckles a second time. “Please, William.”
She closed her eyes and began to repeat a prayer while her tears flowed down her cheeks until she realized Mr. Darcy had tightened his grip about her fingers.Her eyes sprang open to view his were open as well. Grey orbs stared at her with such intensity that Elizabeth knew he truly did not see her, but he had made the attempt to look upon her again. “Elizab . . .” he rasped.
“Yes, William. I am here and watching over you. I shall not leave you. I warrant it. Come back to us.”
The moment passed too quickly for her to know true comfort: He was again thrashing about in the bed, but this time, she thought he was fighting his demons, and, therefore, she would continue to fight them also. Her world could not exist if he was not alive and somewhere in it.
Chapter Sixteen
Three days had passed, and, though Mr. Darcy’s fever had lessened at times, each return was marked with cruel intensity. “I do not understand it,” Elizabeth told her sisters, Miss Darcy, and Mr. Sheffield. “By now, I would expect his fever to have disappeared.” In her mind, Elizabeth heard Captain Kinsel’s warning, “I am not confident Mr. Darcy wishes to recover.”
“Mr. Sheffield,” she said, “I would like for you and Mr. Thacker to examine Mr. Darcy’s body, inch by inch. Misses Mary and Georgiana and I will step into the hallway. Look carefully to determine whether there is another small cut or scratch that is inflamed—something that is infected and causing the gentleman’s body to continue to be rocked with a fever.”
Elizabeth had actually conducted her own search last night, while the rest of the household slept. She had inspected his arms and legs and the trunk of his body. Her face and ears had known great embarrassment, and she would never speak of her boldness to another. However, if she could save him, her private shame would be a secret to take to her grave.
“Yes, miss,” Mr. Sheffield said with the authority of an upper servant. “We will see it done properly. You find yourself some place to sit and rest. Thacker and I will also wash him, will we not, Thacker?”
