As Darcy wrote down the last of what Elizabeth — not Elizabeth, Netherfield — needed, an urgent thumping sounded from the front door. As he rose from his chair, he watched Elizabeth. She took a step in that direction.
“Let me.” He moved down the corridor.
Elizabeth followed.
Darcy opened the front door just as a man with a cloth tied over his mouth like a highwayman raised a fist to pound again.
Darcy stepped forward, blocking the opening to protect Elizabeth.
The man took a step back. “’Scuse me, sir.”
Confused by this behaviour, Darcy looked more closely at the man’s clothing. He wore the Bennets’ livery.
Elizabeth called out from behind him, “Wilson! You should not be here — you have never had the chickenpox.”
Darcy relaxed a little and slid to the side, allowing Elizabeth to step forward.
“Miss Elizabeth.” Wilson swiped the hat off his head and bowed. “I brought Mr. Bennet, miss. ’e’s come down with the pox. Mrs. Hill said ta bring ’im here.”
The colour that had just begun to return to Elizabeth’s lovely face during their task now drained from her complexion. One bandaged hand fluttered up to her open mouth while the other took hold of the doorjamb.
Thinking she might swoon, Darcy reached out to steady her, but the lady was made of sturdier stuff. Before he touched her, her spine straightened. Darcy was two paces behind as she rushed down the steps to the carriage. The servant hung back.
“Papa!” she called out as she opened the carriage door. Elizabeth, along with a portly woman inside the carriage, assisted Mr. Bennet, covered in fresh marks, to slide towards the door.
As Elizabeth’s father disembarked, Darcy took over. Reaching for Darcy’s shoulder, Mr. Bennet said, “Mr. Darcy? What are you doing here?”
“It is a long story, Mr. Bennet. I will come to pay my respects later and explain. For now, please allow me to help you into the house.”
Mr. Bennet raised both eyebrows and observed his daughter.
Elizabeth nodded.
Stooping to allow Mr. Bennet’s arm over his shoulder, Darcy slid an arm around the older gentleman’s back. Even through many layers of clothing, he could feel the fever burning through the man. Mr. Bennet covered his mouth with a handkerchief and coughed violently.
Darcy switched his gaze to Elizabeth, who was staring at her father with fear clouding her eyes.
When Mr. Bennet stopped coughing, she put her father’s other arm over her own shoulders and an arm around his waist.
Earlier, Darcy had warned Elizabeth it was worse for adults to contract chickenpox. That unfortunate knowledge had come firsthand.
The sound of Mr. Bennet’s wheeze near Darcy’s ear had him fighting off a shudder. Memories of his own mother’s battle with the same illness, which quickly led to pneumonia, flooded his mind, as did the sorrow of losing her.
Mr. Bennet’s situation did not look good.
Elizabeth spoke to the woman, “Mrs. Hill, you are immune to chickenpox, are you not?”
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet ordered me to stay with Mr. Bennet, and stay with him I will. It’ll be easier to cook from here and not send food in baskets every day. Now I can do it the other way ’round — less people, so less of a need for food at Longbourn, anyway. But Wilson’s gotta leave right away after unloading some things I’ll need, miss.”
“Of course.” She called out to the man in Bennet livery, who was backing away to the furthest corner of the landing as they climbed. “Wilson, as soon as we are in the house, do what you must and then return to Longbourn. There is no sense in your catching this. Mrs. Hill will leave a basket for you with food every day, in the same place as before. Take care of Longbourn while my father is here.”
Wilson bowed. “Yes, miss. I will.”
Mr. Bennet could barely stand. The activity was causing the gentleman’s breathing to become even more laboured. Darcy almost suggested that he be carried, but he suspected Mr. Bennet would rather endure this discomfort than suffer indignity before his servants and daughter.
Finally indoors, Elizabeth motioned to a bench in the entry hall. All the noise must have attracted the maids’ attention because they both came out of the sickrooms.
Elizabeth said, “Stay here for a few minutes, Papa. Emily must help me bring down a mattress.”
Her father slumped into the chair, and another coughing fit began. Mrs. Hill busied herself tucking a blanket around him.
Darcy spoke up. “I will go with Emily, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth blinked rapidly.
He could only imagine she was surprised he would lower himself in such a way. Every time he indicated he could do anything without a servant, or teased her in some way, she was shocked.
He brought this on himself. When she stayed with Bingley whilst her sister recovered here last October, though he was drawn to her so completely he could not avoid her, he fought his attraction to her by remaining aloof and at the same time, tried to communicate the differences in their social status. Between the way Caroline Bingley treated her and the way he had behaved, he obviously had done too thorough a job of it. Yes, he was above her socially, but he was not pampered, and he was not a dandy. Nevertheless, it was the way she thought of him. It would not do.
“Stay with your father.”
The soft light in her eyes conveyed her thanks. He gestured to Emily and headed up the stairs.
Apparently, Emily had been here the entire week and knew exactly which rooms still had mattresses. He had to steer her away from his own, but they found another in good time.
When they made their way downstairs again, Elizabeth was sitting with Mr. Bennet in a chair in the men’s quarters, and Mrs. Hill was nowhere in sight. Judging by the heavenly scent already floating down the corridor, Darcy guessed she was in the kitchens.
Resting seemed to have given Mr. Bennet a little more strength. Elizabeth and Hannah were in the process of shifting one of the beds over to make room for the new arrival.
Darcy was near Mr. Bennet when the older gentleman waved Elizabeth over. He rasped out, “Not there, Lizzy!”
Darcy tried not to listen, but he was too close to avoid it.
Confused, Elizabeth examined the room. “But there is more space on this side — ”
“Absolutely not, Elizabeth. I would rather be placed in the entry hall than next to that rascal.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Darcy could feel his own expression mirror hers.
Darcy’s gaze darted to where Hannah still moved things about. When he saw who was in the bed nearest that area, he almost dropped the mattress. His gut clenched. Good Lord, it was Wickham.
When Darcy was here last, he had understood Wickham was welcomed by everyone in the Bennet household, including Mr. Bennet. What had happened to turn him against Wickham?
He listened on purpose now.
Elizabeth lowered her voice, but Darcy could still make out what she said. “Papa? I do not understand. You have always enjoyed Mr. Wickham’s company.”
“You have not received a letter from any of your sisters lately, have you?”
“Hannah brought letters, but I have not yet read them.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Why, what is wrong?”
“Lydia brought the chickenpox with her to London, and now all your sisters and youngest cousins have caught it.”
“Oh, no!” She shook her head and looked at Emily, who held the other side of the mattress angled away from the pair and did not seem to be able to hear what they said. Elizabeth glanced at Wickham again, then returned her gaze to her father. She appeared to be avoiding directly meeting Darcy’s eyes. “But what does that have to do with Mr. Wickham?”
“He is the one who gave the illness to Lydia.” Mr. Bennet’s nostrils flared. “You know how Kitty lets loose all her secrets whenever she has a fever? Let us just say that as a result of her babbling, Jane informed me that Lydia has been meeting with the man secretly.”
Darcy almost let go of the mattress.
Wickham could not have been hunting a fortune this time, for the Bennets had none. Perhaps he should have run Wickham through when he had tried to elope with his sister, Georgiana, so the rat could not have become a threat to any other young ladies.
Sick or not, Wickham deserved a thrashing.
~%~
Elizabeth’s knees gave out, and she sank into a chair next to her father.
“Kitty has been chaperoning their encounters, but it seems he has been trying to convince Lydia to meet him alone.”
“So Lydia is not…”
“Ruined? No. They have never been alone,” Mr. Bennet said.
“Thank God.” Elizabeth placed a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. If Lydia had been ruined, it would have tainted all of her sisters’ reputations, as well. No respectable gentleman would have wanted anything to do with any of them.
A moment later, Elizabeth raised her head. “But knowing Lydia and her obsession with red coats, if left unchecked …”
“Yes, exactly.” Another coughing fit necessitated a pause. “A week ago, the day before so many became ill, I overheard three shopkeepers in discussion with the tavern owner, all speaking about Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, both in response to her father’s discomfort and the subject of conversation. How could she have been so wrong about Mr. Wickham’s character? Her heart did not want to hear any more details of this rogue’s misdeeds, but Papa wished to tell her, and her mind knew she had to listen.
“It seems he has used his charm to run up credit all over the village. One of the shopkeepers had been in the militia a few years ago and said that unless Wickham was independently wealthy — and by his own admission, he is not — he could never earn the amount of money needed to repay what he owes already, even just to those four, before the regiment leaves the area.”
She helped her father take a drink.
Good heavens! This — all of it — must have been what Mr. Darcy alluded to when he had tried to warn her against Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends – whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.
Her father continued, “I joined their conversation, asking them to speak to the other shop owners and bring me a list of what he owes to them all.
“Then so many became ill, and I have not seen anyone since. When I am feeling better, I will go to speak to the colonel about this. Do not worry, Lizzy — of course, for the sake of all my daughters’ reputations, I will leave out his other offence.
“It is a good thing there is no rush and Wickham is laid up, for I began feeling ill two days ago. My marks broke out yesterday. This morning, I had trouble breathing, and Mrs. Hill practically man-handled me into the carriage to come here.”
“She was right to do so.” Elizabeth touched her father’s sleeve. “I will place your bed between Mr. Jones and the wall on the opposite side of the room.”
“That will be safer for everyone, my dear Lizzy. I do not have the energy to cross such a large room on my own right now in order to beat the man senseless.” Mr. Bennet drooped against the chair back. “I believe I am in need of a nap.”
Elizabeth scurried away from her father. She had to get his bed set up as soon as possible.
~%~
Darcy told Emily he would call her if he needed her assistance again, but for now, she should see to the patients in the other room.
He crossed to where Elizabeth was busying herself. Taking a water pitcher from a table along the wall, she turned and almost ran into him.
He stooped and put a hand on each side of the small table. “Where do you want this?”
She hesitated a moment, then pointed. He moved it there.
She approached. “You heard all that?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I was in a position where I could not help but hear it.”
Her countenance was tense as she placed the pitcher on the table.
He said, “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth.”
“For listening to a private dialogue?”
“For allowing that scoundrel to live long enough to … to bother anyone else.”
She examined his face for several moments and then looked away, blushed, and again met his gaze. “You did try to warn me about him at Mr. Bingley’s ball, sir.”
“But I gave you no good reason for you to believe my warning. No explanation. Nothing specific. Certainly not enough to warrant anyone’s taking precautions against what he might do.”
“Will you help me with this, sir?” She moved to the far end of a long side table that was in the way of where he knew she wanted to place her father’s mattress.
“Do not push yourself so hard, Miss Elizabeth. Let Emily or Hannah do this,” he said.
“Hannah has travelled since before sunrise, and Emily has worked as hard as I have, if not harder.”
He gestured to her hands. “They do not have blisters from mucking out stalls.”
Annoyance danced in her eyes. She straightened. “Mr. Darcy, I will not pull them away from their duties to do something I can easily do myself. You are unoccupied at the moment, but if you do not assist me, I will drag this table across the room alone.”
She would do it; he had no doubt. He bit back a smile and raised the other end of the table. When she lifted her end, he walked backwards to the part of the room furthest from the hearth, where most of the furniture they were not using was now pushed together.
She carefully released her side of the table and brushed off her hands. “Sir, may I ask a favour? Would your driver be willing to take Hannah to my aunt and uncle’s home on Gracechurch Street? If my sisters are ill — ”
“You said Hannah just arrived today?”
Elizabeth nodded. “She did not even mention my sisters were ill.”
“From what your father said, your family must have been ailing for several days. If they sent Hannah, I must assume it was determined they were able to spare her. I doubt anyone would want you to feel guilt for accepting support.”
Her brow furrowed, and her gaze sought out Hannah. “I must speak to her about it before your driver leaves, to be sure.”
“Go. Emily and I will finish making room for the mattress and help Mr. Bennet to it, then I will send Roberts on his way with the note for my doctor and your list of needs.”
“We had best go out to the woods soon after my father is settled.” She brushed a wayward curl away from her forehead. “I must return in time to serve the midday meal.”
He nodded, and she bustled away towards Hannah.
As upset as she must be after hearing such news, she would not put off her responsibilities, not even for a moment.
What an amazing woman.