Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley

Chapter Twenty-Six Death Interrupts

A loud shout sounded from above and a gunshot crack rang out. The carriage stopped precipitously with a lurch as several voices erupted with yells. Lizzy released a startled squeal as Darcy's hand flashed under the seat. She gasped and eyes widened at the sight of the pistol he retrieved and hastily tucked into the waistband of his breeches at the small of his back. Eyes yet riveted to the window, he reached behind to squeeze her leg, jerking backward in reflex when a grizzled face abruptly appeared at the window.

Lizzy clutched frantically onto Darcy's arm, heart pounding crazily. The man outside brandished a pistol, gesturing for Darcy to exit the carriage. “Elizabeth,” Darcy's deceptively calm and icy voice commanded, “stay inside if you are allowed; otherwise, keep close and to my left side. Do not argue or resist and keep your eyes on me.”

She nodded, not that he could see her as his focus was on the angry man outside, who was now banging on the locked door. Darcy unlocked and opened the carriage door, holding his hands up so the man could see he was unarmed.

“Get out! Now!”

Darcy complied with a quick glance at his wife. Lizzy could see the towering fury in the steeliness of his eyes and clenched jaw, but she also saw the intense fear that she knew was all for her. She kept her seat in hopes that it would be over quickly, the bandits surely wanting money which Darcy could provide, and then they could be on their way. Terror paralyzed her, rising further as the burly man grabbed her husband's arm as he descended and yanked hard, Darcy stumbling on the steps. He righted himself, straightening to his full and impressive height, broad shoulders blocking the doorway.

“I have money,” Darcy offered in a tone of cold authority and command, “take it and be on your way.”

“Not so fast, guv’ner,” a voice answered. “We are in charge here. I reckon a smart lookin’ fella like you has got more than just a money belt.”

“Check inside, Clyde,” another voice spoke. “He ain’t alone. And you, up there, throw us the luggage and get down.”

“There is no luggage,” Lizzy heard Mr. Anders reply.

Darcy interrupted, “My wife and I are on a pleasure ride. We have nothing but the clothing on our backs. Allow me to give you…”

“Enough!” shouted the first voice. “You two, down! Clyde, move rich boy out of the way and get the wife! She probably weighs a ton with jewels.”

Darcy pivoted quickly, leaning in for Lizzy before Clyde could obey his boss. “Elizabeth, come. Stay close.”

“Out of the way!” Clyde yelled, grabbing Darcy's arm. “I am in charge here!”

Darcy's face was livid, Lizzy panic stricken as he turned to the highwayman with a gleam of pure murder evident. “My wife is with child. I will assist her from the carriage…”

Suddenly the pistol was pointed square at Darcy's forehead, a mere inch away. “You will step away, hero, and do as I say.” The moment seemed to stretch, although in truth it was only a fraction of a second, as Darcy glared into the eyes of the thief.

Lizzy leapt forward. “William, it is alright. I can exit myself. Please step back as he said!” Darcy looked at her, absolute terror warring with supreme fury. He nodded brusquely and stepped away, but only a foot, his eyes never leaving Lizzy. She carefully disembarked, Clyde near with pistol waving between her and Darcy. Darcy instantly and painfully gripped her right elbow, pulling her to his left and predominantly behind his body.

This is the scene as Lizzy now beheld it: She and Darcy stood near the rear of the coach with the identified Clyde now pointing the gun straight at Darcy's chest. Mr. Anders and Phillips were positioned by the lead set of horses, another scruffy, dirty bandit covering them with a pistol. The remaining two highwaymen were some ten feet to the side of the road, mounted on horses with muskets loaded and aimed, pistols on each hip. Compared to the two mangy-looking characters on the ground, these two men were fierce and hardened. One appeared to be in his thirties, commanding and calm, a faint smile playing about his lips as if this sort of behavior was of tremendous amusement. The second man was quite young and handsome in a rugged way, probably about Lizzy's age, but there was an edge of menace in his flat, grey eyes that was altogether frightening. He was staring at Lizzy in a manner far too bold and extremely discomforting.

Darcy was rigid, the tension radiating in nearly visible waves. Lizzy could hear him taking deep breaths in an effort to regain control of his emotions and anger. For her part, Lizzy had never experienced such fear, even when facing Orman. The sensation of being utterly at the whimsical mercy of men with obvious low morals and disdain for the law was petrifying for her, but to a man of generally supreme dominance like Darcy, it was torture. The internal struggle to overcome formidable rage and equally daunting anxiety for his wife was enough to buckle him, but he fought the emotions and gradually mastered.

Mere seconds had passed; the older mounted man finally speaking, his voice identifying him as the first man Lizzy had heard and undoubtedly the leader. “Lou, check the pockets of those two,” he waved to Mr. Anders and Phillips. “They are servants, so likely have nothing, but we may get lucky. Victor,” he said as he nudged his fellow horseman, “get the jack-a-dandy's money clip and check the woman. Clyde, keep our hero in your sights. I don’t trust ’im.”

Victor dismounted, drawing his pistol and pulling a canvas sack out of his saddlebag. He approached with a swagger, grinning evilly. “Hand it over and don’t fuss. Doubt the loss will hurt you any.”

Darcy moved warily, removing his money clip, which was quite thick due to his planned evening of gaming with Rory Sitwell, and retrieved his pocket watch, placing both in the sack. Lizzy bit her lip to prevent a whine escaping. The pocket watch she knew had been a gift from his father when Darcy graduated Cambridge and was therefore dear to him.

“That's it?” Victor asked in doubt. “Thought you dandies carried all kinds of useless baubles.” He patted the pockets of Darcy's jacket and waistcoat, Lizzy nerveless with the certainty that he would discover the hidden pistol, but he did not. His search apparently focused on hidden treasures without suspecting a “dandy” would have a weapon.

“There is nearly three hundred pounds there and the watch is valuable. You have no complaints.” Darcy's voice was quiet and placid. Lizzy, however, saw the clenching jaw and thin-set lips, as well as detecting the muted iron in his tone. Victor stared into Darcy's eyes, clearly noting the same and considering it a challenge of sorts.

Peering unblinking at Darcy, he addressed Lizzy, “How's about you, pretty? Got something for me?” His tone was lecherous and not lost on Darcy, who stiffened even further and gripped Lizzy's arm so firmly she nearly yelped from the pain. Victor's leer broadened as he suddenly shot a hand out and grabbed Lizzy's left arm, yanking her forward.

She did emit a sharp cry as a tug-of-war ensued, Darcy refusing to relinquish his grip even when Victor cocked the pistol and dug the barrel end into the flesh of Darcy's forehead. “Let go or I’ll kill ya and then what good would ya do her?”

“William, please! Do as he says!” Lizzy shouted, her fear for her husband outweighing her own for the moment. The sight of a gun yet again aimed at him was more than she could take. She was trembling violently, tears cascading down her face and eyes pleading. Darcy hesitated another second then reluctantly released her arm. Lizzy let lose a sob of relief and terror.

Victor smiled smugly, meeting Darcy's murderous gaze boldly. “Don’t worry about the little wife. I’ll take very good care of her.”

“You lay one hand on her and I promise I will kill you,” Darcy replied in a tone of pure venom and conviction. Lizzy noted a glimmer of uncertainty in Victor's eyes and then it was gone, to be replaced with arrogance. He led her away a dozen paces with pistol trained on Darcy. The hold on her arm was surprisingly tender and almost caressing. Lizzy shivered in revulsion; Darcy's countenance grim and eyes anguished.

“Okay, pretty, give me those earrings and the necklace. Not particularly fine specimens, are they? Rich boy don’t share his wealth with the missus, huh? Want you for only one thing, does he, and no compensation for the job? Maybe you need a real man who will appreciate your charms.” He ran the back of one hand down her cheek, Lizzy shuddering and jerking away.

Darcy released a growl of pure animal intensity and lunged forward, only to be brought up short by Clyde's pistol in his gut. Lizzy vaguely heard a sound to her left from the direction of Phillips, but her eyes were tightly closed with tears streaming.

“Enough playing!” shouted the leader from his horse. “Get the rings, Victor. Clyde, check the carriage for anything else. This is taking too long.”

Victor scowled but obeyed. “Give me the rings, pretty. Hurry up!”

Lizzy's eyes flew open in shock, hands instinctively enfolding to her chest. “My… my rings? No, please, they are my wedding rings! You cannot…”

“I can and I will. Now hand them over!”

Lizzy cried in silence, hands shaking so badly that she barely managed to remove the rings, neither of which had ever left her finger since Darcy placed them there. With incredible difficulty she dropped them into the bag, hands instantly covering her face as she dissolved into sobs.

Glancing to Darcy's stony face and smiling insolently, Victor slid one arm around Lizzy shoulders and stroked her neck while murmuring placatingly and smirking at Darcy, “Don’t fret, pretty lady. Victor knows how to make you feel good. I’ll bring you with me and we can have some fun.” As he spoke, he moved his gun-toting hand upward and brushed his fingers over one breast.

At that precise moment, several things happened at once.

Lizzy, in an impetuous explosion of rage and abhorrence, screamed hysterically while pitching her entire upper body into Victor's. He was taken completely by surprise, flailing wildly as he vaulted backward from the force of her shove, pistol flying through the air.

Darcy was already moving toward Lizzy in manic wrath, Victor's pointing firearm inconsequential at that point, but reacted instantaneously and proficiently to her unwitting diversion. He yelled to Phillips while simultaneously drawing the hidden pistol with his right hand and lunging toward his wife. He was sidetracked, however, by the reemergence of a startled Clyde, who was just exiting from the carriage with his pistol and Lizzy's reticule in one hand and their lunch basket in the other. Darcy latched onto his neck with a strangle hold and viciously smashed the back of his head against the carriage railing, Clyde crumpling in a heap.

Meanwhile, Phillips and Mr. Anders drew their concealed weapons. Lou was distracted by the antics of Victor and Lizzy, completely unaware of the fist heading his way until Phillips, who was a big and remarkably strong man, connected with an echoing crunch to his jaw. It was an impressive hit and a weaker man would have succumbed easily. Lou, however, was hired for his brawn and not brains. He staggered but rallied quickly, rounding on the amazed Phillips with pistol ready. The tall footman had no time to bring his own gun to bear, instead choosing to rush the smaller man and grab the pistol-wielding right hand. Thus ensued a dramatic, if at times strangely humorous, wrestling match between the two mismatched men.

The leader responded with the same cold efficiency as Darcy. Immediately, he lifted his rifle and focused on Darcy, deciding he was the greater threat. The shot was well targeted and fired rapidly. Darcy was missed by mere inches, saved when he attacked Clyde. The ball hit the corner of the carriage, wood splintering and showering fragments onto Darcy. Undeterred, the leader pulled one of his two hip pistols and reacquired his target, Darcy rapidly pivoting toward him with gun raised and lethally aimed, the two men in a sudden stand-off dependant on who would pull the trigger first.

Lizzy was feral, panting and yelling as she unremittingly kicked the fallen Victor—in the ribs, head, back, or wherever else he was exposed—as he flipped about on the ground screaming. Her sturdy walking boots coupled with robust legs and deranged ire inflicted a substantial amount of damage.

Mr. Anders, a coachman and groom by profession and not well accomplished in the art of marksmanship, nonetheless proved his worth by readily identifying the greatest immediate threat as the mounted leader. He stepped away from the grappling Phillips and Lou, calmly sighted his quarry, who was centered on Mr. Darcy, and fired. The bullet hit and shattered the left shoulder, not where Mr. Anders had aimed but effective. The leader flew off his horse, Darcy's shot missing him completely which was a shame, as it was well centered and would have been fatal. Still, it was providential as the shot fired in Darcy's direction was also precise and it was only the impact of Mr. Anders's ball which lifted the bandit's gun at the last second, his shot erratic and harming no one.

Lizzy continued to pummel Victor, the man seriously hurting from two broken ribs, a split lip, broken nose, and numerous bruises. Darcy glanced at his raging wife with a mixture of awe and fright, striding briskly to retrieve Victor's gun off the ground and rushing toward the leader who was already rising.

So far the entire spectacle had consumed barely a minute.

Once again, Darcy leveled his newly acquired pistol at the leader, who was on his knees with blood soaking the left side of his body but right arm rising with his other pistol steady as a rock. Darcy hesitated nary a millisecond, cleanly dispatching the man with a perfect blast to the heart. Bending to ensure the man was no longer a threat, Darcy claimed the last functioning gun and swung about to assist his wife, the blood rage still coursing through his body.

Mr. Anders, in the meantime, was torn between aiding Phillips or helping Mrs. Darcy, who was clearly at risk of harming herself in her frenzy. As he had no time to reload, his pistol was useless except—enlightenment dawned on him—as a blunt object. Deciding that Mrs. Darcy was well enough for the moment, he turned toward Phillips just as Lou's gun discharged.

The shot was random and entered Phillips's left thigh. He screamed, hands instinctively clutching at the area that was promptly slick with gushing blood as he fell to the ground. Mr. Anders swiftly raised the pistol and bashed the wooden grip forcefully onto the top of Lou's head, the man slowly sagging like a sack of grain.

Darcy rushed toward his wife, the next moments eerily dragging as if time slowed. Every second was as a minute and the clarity of the scene between Lizzy and Victor was bizarrely crisp and all-inclusive.

A frantic and agonized Victor finally managed to capture one of her flashing ankles. He wrenched harshly with a grunt of satisfaction. Lizzy was unbalanced, legs flying up as she landed on her bottom with a sharp exhale and crunch of her teeth. The impact onto the rocky ground was hard on her tailbone and felt through the stretched muscles of her lower abdomen, Lizzy clutching her belly with a groan. Victor, blood streaming from nose and lip, was no longer smirking but grimacing in pain and anger. He twisted her ankle, hauling his injured body partially onto hers. His free hand encircled her throat and with a snarl he began to squeeze, Lizzy's screams of terror and pain abruptly cut off. His other hand roughly groped under her skirts, pinching and kneading up her inner thigh.

Darcy saw it all and his thus far controlled rage boiled over into a blinding, destructive fury bordering on madness. He roared a vile expletive and latched onto the robber's hair, tossing him off Lizzy with astounding force, clumps of hair and scalp ripping painfully. “I warned you not to touch her,” he bleakly intoned to a suddenly white-faced Victor. Without blinking, Darcy fired, Victor not feeling a twinge of pain as the ball penetrated his brain.

Abrupt calm fell. Clyde and Lou were unconscious; Victor and the nameless leader were dead. Phillips moaned in torment, Mr. Anders at his side attempting to halt the bleeding.

Darcy was breathing heavily but dropped the pistol and knelt next to his sobbing wife, gathering her into his arms. Neither spoke, words simply unthinkable at this juncture. They only wanted to hold each other. Darcy's hands began roaming all over her body, testing for injury and assuring her existence. He began to tremble, clutching her face and possessively kissing with a soft sob. Both sensed their control slipping, Lizzy's hysteria rising again and Darcy's chest constricting as he was overcome with weakness.

A cry from the injured Phillips penetrated their fogged minds, Lizzy's head snapping his direction. “Phillips!” she exclaimed, struggling from Darcy's embrace. He helped her up, moving together to the fallen footman. Action was necessary for both of them to regain mastery over their shattered emotions.

Lizzy dropped to her knees beside Mr. Anders by Phillips's left leg. “William, give me your cravat. Hurry!” The wound was gaping, blackened about the edges from the gunpowder. She examined it quickly, discerning no exit wound, which meant the ball was lodged in his leg, probably in the bone. She grabbed the hole in his breeches and ripped, exposing the entire thigh. Phillips's screams were turning to weak moans and his hands were now loose by his side and face dreadfully pale. The wound continually spurt blood through Mr. Anders's pressing hands. Darcy handed the cravat to Lizzy who immediately and with surprising efficiency tied it tightly around Phillips's upper thigh above the seeping hole.

Darcy was observing her with deep curiosity and amazement. “How do you know what to do, Elizabeth?”

“That medical book in your library has a section on emergency treatments. I thought it interesting, although I never imagined having to utilize the knowledge! This is called a tourniquet and halts the bleeding by restricting the circulation. See?”

She was correct, as the bleeding had fallen to a slow trickle. “Think, Lizzy, think!” she murmured to herself. Phillips was bordering on unconsciousness, a faint bluish tint circling his lips. “Mr. Anders,” Lizzy said, “there are napkins in the picnic basket, as well as water and wine. Bring them to me and give me your cravat as well.” The coachman jumped to the task, Lizzy turning to her husband and whispering, “William, I only know to halt the bleeding and a little about shock. He must get to a physician immediately!”

Darcy nodded, standing and surveying the mess around them as the mantle of command and decision making fell over his shoulders as a warm, familiar covering. Mr. Anders returned with the entire basket and his cravat. Lizzy formed a wad with the napkins and used it as a bandage over the wound, tying snuggly with the neckcloth.

“Mr. Anders, find something to place under his feet. The legs should be elevated, I think.” She frowned, mind frantically trying to remember what she had read. She moved to Phillips's head, his glazed eyes open and blurrily focusing on his Mistress.

“Mrs. Darcy?” he murmured, “Are you… unharmed?”

“I am fine. Now hush, Phillips. Save your strength.” She lifted his head onto her lap, placing the wineskin at his lips. “Drink slowly, as much as you can. That's it, very good…”

While Lizzy continued in her gentle ministrations to the stricken man, Darcy pulled Mr. Anders aside. “We need to leave this place as soon as possible, Mr. Anders. Phillips requires a physician. Are we closer to Clowne or Whitwell?”

“Clowne is nearest and not as remote, sir. If they do not have a doctor there, Staveley and Eckington are both within a few miles.”

Darcy nodded, thinking. “It is likely unwise to move him, but I do not wish to stay here.” He scanned the area with piercing eyes. “Obviously they were alone, as no others have come to the scene, but I would rather not risk it. Mrs. Darcy must be away from this place.” He paused. “Do you have any rope?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Restrain these two firmly, hog tied and secured to the wagon.” he gestured toward the still unconscious Lou and Clyde. “I will gather the firearms and reload just to be prepared. I will require your assistance placing Phillips into the carriage. Then I want you to take one of the robber's horses and run fast into Clowne. Summon a physician and alert the local constable. We will follow slowly so as not to enhance his injuries.” Mr. Anders jumped to obey his Master.

He glanced at his wife, softly crooning to the servant while daubing his forehead with a water-soaked napkin. He frowned. As thankful as he was at her calm focus, it seemed odd under the circumstances. His heart was yet racing with the frayed edges of panic barely mastered due to years of dealing with tragedy and stressful situations. A large part of him wanted to collapse with her in his arms, and the effort not to do so was enormous. How could she maintain her composure? He paused to observe her, realizing that nursing Phillips was as much a result of primordial instinct and concern as it was a diversion necessary to forestall crushing shock. He would need to carefully watch her. No stranger to the effects of shock, having seen it dozens of times in wives and families of men killed or injured, as well as experiencing it himself, he knew that it would consume her eventually.

Mentally adding it to his list, he turned to the urgent demands. Retrieving and loading the weapons was speedily done, Darcy tossing all but one of them onto the driver's bench alongside the sack containing their stolen property. The extra pistol was given to Mr. Anders so that he now carried two. Darcy glanced to the gruesome sight of Victor's body lying near the coach, but there was no time to shield the scene from his wife. A barely controlled sense of panic and fear impelled him to step quickly and vacate this locale as rapidly as possible.

Moving Phillips was not an easy task. Bodily, he was only two or three inches shorter than Darcy and nearly as broad in the shoulders. Darcy and Mr. Anders together struggled carrying his bulk, not to mention getting him into the carriage. Phillips screamed once when lifted and then abruptly fainted.

Lizzy discovered that her legs had lost all feeling, moving them a quandary. Couple that with the aching bruise to her backside and the intermittent, sharp pains to her lower abdomen which she continued to ignore, and Lizzy was in misery. With tears of pain stinging her eyes, she sluggishly battled to rise. Darcy, fortunately considering the current crisis, did not see her striving to move. By the time she joined him at the carriage, her legs were functioning and the other numerous aches and pains were tightly controlled and hidden.

Darcy sent Mr. Anders on his way. Lizzy climbed into the carriage to check on Phillips, who remained unconscious but whose wound was no longer bleeding even when she loosened the tourniquet.

“Elizabeth?” Darcy was at the doorway, love and desperate concern allowed to nakedly wash over his face. He reached for her bloodstained hands, enfolding them with his warm ones. “Are you well, beloved? You are very pale and trembling still.”

“I am fine. Just worried about Phillips. We must hurry, William.”

He searched her face, greatly discomfited by what he saw there but unable to delve into the cause at the present time. “Very well. I will drive as speedily as feasible. Keep the window open and call for me if you need.” He cupped one cheek, drawing her in for a brief kiss. “I love you.”

She smiled wanly, lips quivering and eyes blinking, and shakily whispered, “I love you, too.”

“I managed to remove the bullet from his leg,” the physician said to Darcy and Lizzy while washing bloody hands in a basin. “It hit the bone but does not appear to have broken it. He is most fortunate in that regard. Unfortunately, he has lost a tremendous amount of blood and the risk of infection is severe. On the plus side, he is healthy and very strong, so should mend well with careful nursing. Your intervention, Mrs. Darcy, was fortuitous. I have no doubt he would have bled to death without the tourniquet.” He smiled at Lizzy, and Darcy squeezed her hand in pride.

Turning to Darcy, the surgeon resumed, “Your servant will need to stay here for a while, Mr. Darcy. A week or two at the very least, depending on the course of the infection.”

“Of course,” Darcy said. “We want him to receive the best care possible. However, whenever you deem it safe, we would like him transported to Pemberley. His family is there and it is home.”

The physician nodded, glancing at a silent Lizzy. “Naturally, Mr. Darcy. If I may have a word in private?” The two men drew apart, Lizzy barely noticing.

They were in Staveley. Clowne's lone physician was attending to another emergency involving a young boy, so they had been informed, forcing them to drive five miles further. Dr. Welles in Staveley dwelt in a modest home with an attached miniature hospital of sorts. He seemed highly competent with a staff of three nurses. A discriminating Darcy had carefully peered about the place and instantly recognized an efficient facility. For an hour, he and Lizzy had waited inside the small antechamber while the doctor tended to Phillips, cries intermittently erupting from behind the closed door.

Darcy's concern for Phillips was negligible compared to the growing panic regarding his wife. Lizzy had said few words since arriving, refused to meet his eyes, frequently quivered and clenched her fists in her lap, and avoided physical contact as much as possible. Darcy sat close, watching and worrying, but any attempt to engage her in conversation was met with monosyllables or silence. He must have asked her if she was well a hundred times but she kept repeating she was “fine.” This alone was proof that she most assuredly was not fine because his Lizzy would have snapped at him long ago for his persistent questioning.

She shivered and felt cold despite the heat of the late afternoon. He placed his jacket about her shoulders, but she did not seem to notice and continued to tremble.

His fear for her mental state was threatening to overwhelm him, but he did not know how to deal with her withdrawal. Now, the physician was questioning him about Mrs. Darcy's obvious shock, but Darcy had no answer. Dr. Welles suggested he take her someplace calm and comforting. “She most probably needs sleep more than anything,” he advised.

Lizzy was in a daze. As long as she had Phillips to fixate on, the horror nipping at her consciousness was kept at bay. She was truly concerned for the footman, Phillips being a frequent companion since Darcy insisted the burliest footman in his employ guarded her whenever she ventured beyond Pemberley Manor. Nonetheless, honest solicitude notwithstanding, a small portion of her brain recognized what she was doing. She absolutely forbade her thoughts to stray beyond the man hurting behind the door. This willful regulation had carried her through the agonizing carriage ride and for the first thirty minutes at the hospital, but the discipline was slipping rapidly.

The periodic pains to her abdomen, which she knew on some level were ominous, continued. Her tailbone ached, feet throbbed, and legs hurt. The vision of her heart's existence with a gun pointed at his body repeatedly danced before her eyes. The images of sightless eyes staring in violent death with blood pooling refused to go away.

Primarily, though, it was him.

Victor.

His leering face. His insinuating words. His touch.

She hung her head, eyes closing in misery. She could still feel him, smell him, hear him. His blood and some other unmentionable bodily fluids stained her dress. Filthy, that is how she felt, but not from the mess all over her body.

She stared at her hands. Darcy had cleaned them thoroughly and tenderly, displaying his love through even that simple task. She had watched him in silence, the emptiness of her finger glaring at her accusingly. Then he had kissed her palms and started to say something, but she jerked away, leaving him standing by the basin in anxious perplexity.

She knew it was wrong. Foolish even. Yet she was plagued with the revolting sensations. She felt violated. He had touched her. Her skin crawled and goose pimples rose. The memory was repulsive and she bit her lip to prevent a whine from escaping. For the thousandth time, she shuddered, breathing deeply to avoid bursting into sobs, and wrenched her thoughts to Phillips.

Coherency was no longer an option. She walked in a cloud of pain and misery. Vaguely she heard voices: something about Phillips sleeping now and then about departing for the Sitwell mansion where she could bathe and rest. Darcy was there, naturally, lovingly guiding her to the carriage, but it was all a blur. Strangely, she noted that the carriage was immaculate. No evidence of Phillips's blood or the dirt from the ground. She remembered sitting here on the interminable ride into Staveley and staring with rapt interest at several leaves and pebbles which had fallen onto the seat and floor. Now they were gone and her mind experienced a leap of panic wondering what she would now focus her attention on.

She looked through a long tunnel with no light at the end. Weariness and physical discomfort ruled her, with perception distorted and sounds muted. Meaning was skewed, rationality altered. Someone was talking to her, but she could not recognize the voice. It was a man and now he held her hands, caressing gently with soft fingers and warm strength. It was pleasant but faintly disturbing as images flashed in her mind of hands touching her. Hands very different from these, rough and dirty with blunt fingers. Hands that took instead of giving. Hands that demanded and caressed with false intent. Hands that robbed her of something precious and vital to her heart and soul. Hands that stole her rings.

Her rings! She needed her rings! They were important to her, although she could not readily grasp why. And now here they were; golden glints of metal and sparkles of diamond and blue sapphire slipping over her knuckles. Large boned fingers that fluctuated from long and elegant to stubby and grimy touching her slender fingers and assaulting her precious rings.

“No!” she screamed, jerking away from the clawing hands of the thief and clutching her rings, the cool metal and hard gems digging into her palms. “You cannot take them! They are mine and I need them! No! No! No!”

“Elizabeth! Stop! Listen to me!” Darcy grabbed at her flailing arms but she screamed louder. Words now tumbled disjointedly from raving lips, her body nearly convulsing in a combined attempt to attack him and withdraw as far as possible. He had read somewhere that the cure for hysteria was to slap the person very hard, but he could not slap his wife. Instead, he fell to his knees before her thrashing body, moving in, heedless to the scratches she bestowed, and clamped her face firmly between his palms, wrenching her glazed eyes to his.

“Elizabeth, look at me,” he commanded in the coldest, most authoritative tone he could muster. She whined, fighting to withdraw but was no match for his strength. “Elizabeth Darcy, open your eyes and look at me!”

Tears were streaming down her face; the fight abruptly halting as all energy drained and she slumped, as if boneless, with a whimper. “Please,” she moaned and sobbed, “Please do not take my rings. Please do not touch me. Please do not hurt him, you cannot… hurt him… I need him, please. I… need… William, my… husband… I… need…”

“Elizabeth, look! It is me: William. I am here, my love. Focus! Hear my voice. I am here.”

Again and again, patiently and firmly he pleaded for her attention through her incoherent ramblings. Struggling had ceased, but her eyes remained dazed for several terrifying minutes. Darcy felt his panic rising, almost ready to instruct Mr. Anders to return to Staveley and Dr. Welles when she finally spoke the first lucid word.

“William?”

“Yes, Elizabeth, it is me! I am here, beloved. All is well, shhhh, hush now, my love,” he sobbed in relief.

Lizzy's hazy vision cleared and she saw finally that it was him. Her William. His loving gaze full of tenderness and profound distress for her, his face so near, his grip powerful, and his radiant heat all real and alive. She collapsed into his embrace, weeping and clutching his body with an iron grip. Now it was her who roved all over him with seeking and pressing hands and fingers.

He held her tightly, rocking and swaying with the movement of the carriage, smoothing her hair as she cried and clasped him. Slowly, very slowly, she began to calm and he felt his anxiety waning. He moved back onto the seat with her in his arms, still crying but more controlled, her trembling lessening slightly.

“It is over, beloved. We are safe now. You are with me and we are safe. Hush now.” Continually he reassured, murmuring endearments and love as she gradually quieted.

Releasing a massive shudder, she stiffened briefly then wilted against his shoulder with a prolonged groan. “He… touched me, William. I cannot erase it and I feel so, so… filthy!”

“We will be at the Sitwell's soon, love. You can bathe and sleep. I will not leave you and will hold you until you forget.” He bent to look into her eyes, finding that she still evaded his gaze. “Elizabeth, I love you. Will you please look at me?”

Haltingly, she lifted her eyes to his. Darcy with monumental devotion and care, smiling tenderly; Elizabeth with torment and shame. He cupped her cheek, caressing away her tears. “It is over, my heart. No need to fear. I love you.” He bent and brushed her lips fleetingly.

“He hurt me, William. I… hurt,” she whispered against his lips, Darcy withdrawing an inch to see her anguished eyes.

He frowned. “What? Where? Your bottom?”

She nodded, staring at him with intent fear. “Yes, a little. My legs and feet, too. And…” She swallowed, Darcy's alarm rising. “William,” she squeaked, tears filling her eyes yet again, “I am having pains, sometimes, in my belly.”

Darcy paled, heart constricting as if outwardly squeezed. “Oh God!” His hand instantly reached to cradle the small bulge of their son, so warm and soft. Elizabeth was trembling anew, lips quivering as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. His mind raced without coherent thought aside from the murderous wish to run back to Victor's corpse and fill it with a dozen more pistol holes.

The carriage halted at that moment, forestalling any further words. Darcy glanced up, realizing they were at Reniswahl Hall. As quickly as the panic rose with her words, he shoved it down, command naturally falling over his shoulders. Pressing his lips tight, he kissed her forehead and then fiercely stared into her troubled eyes.

“It will be fine, Elizabeth. I promise. Our son is fine.”

Briskly and with cool capability, he leapt from the carriage, scanning the front of the Hall. Rory and Julia Sitwell were descending the stairs with concern written all over their features. Darcy spared no time with pleasantries.

“Rory, Elizabeth needs a physician, now. She is having abdominal pains. Julia, I need a comfortable bed, hot water for bathing, and a clean nightgown.” He did not wait for an answer, turning to the carriage while Rory barked orders to a servant. Carrying Elizabeth in his arms, Darcy followed Julia to a large, airy bedchamber. A flurry of activity ensued, all the required items provided in record time while Darcy stood aside holding his numb wife, eyes never leaving her face.

“Mr. Darcy, the bath is ready and the physician should be on his way soon,” Julia said. “Can I help?”

“No, thank you, Julia. I will care for her and ring if I need assistance. Send the doctor the moment he arrives.”

Lizzy murmured a weary thank you, Julia squeezing her arm then hastily departing. Finally Darcy relinquished her onto a sofa and began removing her filthy clothing, tossing the garments in a far corner to be disposed of later.

“Beloved, tell me about the pains.”

“They started after I fell, when… he…” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before resuming, “They are not overly painful and intermittent, but it scares me, William. The book said pains are not right until closer to the end.”

“It also said stress can bring on labor pains, Elizabeth. I remember that. Today assuredly qualifies.” He had most of her clothing off, only her chemise remaining. He held her gaze, speaking calmly as he untied the ribbons to her undergarment, “Do you feel any bleeding? Has the baby been moving?”

“No bleeding, I do not think, and he has been active. He is now.”

Darcy placed his hand over her bared belly, their child lazily flipping under his palm. Despite his fears and anxiety, he could not resist smiling. He bent for a kiss, caressing her gently. “He is strong, my love, and feels healthy and unperturbed.” He lifted his eyes with a smile, meeting Elizabeth's. She was watching him with a strange expression, pale and haunted. He frowned, rising hastily to clasp her chin with his fingers, studying her disturbed countenance. “What is it? Are you in pain now?”

She shook her head, staring. “I… William, do you still want… Are you repulsed by what he… his hands touching me? I feel so dirty and ashamed! I was so afraid he would kill you that I willingly went with him and then he… if I disgust you, I understand.” Her words were halted by a crushing and thorough kiss, Darcy's hands firm about her neck with thumbs stroking her cheeks. It only lasted a few seconds, ending with tender nibbles to her lower lip, Darcy breathing heavily.

His voice was husky with emotion when he spoke, eyes blazing with ardent love. “Elizabeth, I love you! Nothing that happened today was your fault. Nothing! As soon as you are well, I shall obliterate any memory of another's touch. I will remind you of my devotion on every inch of your skin, burning away any trace of him. I promise you this! In the meantime, let me wash away all evidence of today.”

Darcy bathed his wife head to toe with a touch gentle and loving, for the first time ever not becoming aroused by her nakedness. His only desire was to comfort. Stripped to the waist, he sat on a stool by the tub, soaping and scrubbing while she relaxed, nearly falling into a doze. They spoke little, although she did tell him the pains had ceased and there was clearly no bleeding.

The physician arrived just as Darcy placed his damp wife onto the bed. Allowing a maid to dress Lizzy in a nightgown of Julia's, Darcy explained the events of the day to the doctor and described her complaints. A complete exam showed all to be normal. The doctor's recommendation was for her to rest, staying immobile for a couple days at the least. Her bottom was bruised, which may cause some discomfort, but otherwise, he concluded, she was in remarkable health, all things considered.

“Mr. Darcy, I am fairly confident the pains were a result of the stress and shock, augmented by her reported frenzied activity and the fall probably irritating weakened muscles. She needs quiet and rest. The episode has emotionally disturbed her and she needs comforting. However, no activity for two days if the pains remain absent, longer if they resume. No activity, is this clear?” His penetrating gaze left no question as to his meaning.

Darcy flushed slightly, for the first time consciously aware of his improper state of dress. He stiffened, not sure he appreciated the insinuations, but nodded. “I understand.”