Carrie Bebris - The Deception At Lyme

Darcy put his hand on the woman’s back and detected a slight rise and fall. “She breathes. I feel broken ribs, however.” The lady likely suffered other broken bones as well, but Darcy could not with propriety examine her. He turned to Elizabeth, who was already consigning their daughter to Georgiana.

As his wife moved to the other side of the injured lady, Darcy looked about. Had nobody else noticed the inert figure lying on the wet pavement? The quay’s warehouses blocked this stretch of the Cobb from the view of most of the dockworkers, and the attention of those within sight was consumed by the frantic activity of launching rescue efforts and battening down hatches before the storm unleashed its full fury.

“Good heavens.”

Elizabeth’s words wrenched his attention back to her. She had lifted the woman’s cape, and now raised her gaze to his. “She is with child.”

“Is the baby—”

She reached toward the woman’s abdomen and was silent for several very long minutes. “Yet alive,” she said at last. “I feel movement. She needs a surgeon.”

“Sir Laurence,” Darcy said, “if you would escort my family to our lodgings and send a surgeon hither, I would be most obliged.”

“Nay, I should be the one who remains.”

Much as Darcy would prefer to conduct his family safely home himself, the baronet was the logical choice to go. “You are more familiar with Lyme. You know better than I the fastest way back through the town and where a surgeon might be found.”

“You will be escorting only Miss Darcy and Lily-Anne,” Elizabeth added.

Both gentlemen objected to her not seeking shelter, but she refused to yield. “This woman is unconscious, with child, and has just suffered a traumatic accident. If something occurs with that baby before the surgeon arrives, have either of you any notion what to do for her?”

Darcy and Sir Laurence exchanged glances.

“Very well,” said Sir Laurence. “I will send a surgeon with all possible haste and return myself after seeing Miss Darcy and your daughter to safety.”

Lily-Anne offered the only additional objection. “See, Mamma!” The toddler lunged so violently toward her mother that the unexpected weight shift nearly caused Georgiana to lose her hold on the child.

The baronet reached for Lily. “We can walk faster if I carry her.”

But Lily-Anne would have none of that, and clung to her aunt with tenacity. Sir Laurence attempted to disengage her, but Georgiana shook her head. “I can carry her. Let us not lose another moment.”

Darcy watched them depart. Sir Laurence walked between Georgiana and the harbor, so that Georgiana and Lily received as much shelter as possible from the wall. His left arm circled Georgiana’s back to hold her far elbow, supporting her balance on the slick stones and the arm which bore most of Lily’s weight. It was a posture Darcy would have adopted with his wife under similar conditions, and he never would have countenanced such familiarity between the baronet and Georgiana were the safety of his sister and daughter not in question. As it was, the sight of the trio—man, woman, and child—so intimately grouped gave rise to a fleeting image of Georgiana established in a family of her own. Though he had given matters such as her marriage settlement due contemplation, the marriage itself had always been a vague, distant event. He was not ready to admit a specific face into his indistinct visions of Georgiana’s future, but he wondered whether his sister was.

More lightning flashed, and he forced these thoughts aside. He had a crisis demanding his full concentration. He turned to Elizabeth, who ministered to their patient as best she could. “I wish you had gone with Georgiana and Lily-Anne,” he said.

She met his gaze. “I could not in good conscience leave.”

“I would have managed.”

“I know.” The look she gave him left no doubt of her confidence, nor her devotion. “But just because you are capable of handling difficulties by yourself does not mean you should have to. I would not abandon you to deal with this alone.”

It seemed, however, that they were no longer entirely alone. Despite the storm and rescue efforts, some of the men working on the dock had at last noticed the injured woman and paused in their activities long enough to cast occasional curious glances their way. Discovering a surgeon among them would be a stroke of fortune too propitious to come Darcy’s way this dark morning, but he approached them nevertheless. They might prove helpful in another way.

“Do any of you know that lady?”

“I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her before,” piped a gaunt, pockmarked fisherman. “Comes to Lyme every so often. Usually see her around the Cobb with a gentleman. I’ve not seen him this morning, though.”

“I did,” said a burly fellow. “Well—I think it was him. Didn’t pay ’em much mind, but she was talkin’ to someone up there on the wall before she fell.”

“Did you witness her fall?”

“No, sir. But there was another young lady fell off the wall not too long ago, and I saw that. Thought she was dead for sure, but she recovered. She stayed with the family in that house until she was mended.” He pointed toward a small group of modest cottages in Cobb Hamlet.

“Does anybody have additional information regarding this lady?”

No one did, and all were anxious to resume their own business. Darcy returned to their patient. The unfortunate lady had not moved in the slightest since they came upon her. “I hope the surgeon does not arrive too late.”

“I wish she would open her eyes.” Elizabeth had removed the lady’s bonnet, revealing dark blond hair—and swelling at her temple. “Ma’am? Can you hear us?” The woman’s facial muscles tensed, and it appeared that Elizabeth might be granted her wish. It was the hope of a moment, however, dashed as the stranger’s face became expressionless once again.

More drops fell from the sky. Darcy removed his coat and placed it over Elizabeth’s shoulders. The patient received some protection from her own cape, but the weather was worsening, and her likelihood of recovery diminished the longer they waited for a surgeon. He peered toward the beach, barely able to discern Sir Laurence and Georgiana in the misty darkness. They had reached the Walk but yet had a considerable distance before reaching the town. Once there, Sir Laurence still had to locate an available surgeon, who then would have to travel back through the elements to reach his patient.

“We need to move her to shelter,” Darcy said.

“I had the same thought. But where?”

The nearest buildings were the quay warehouses—full of frantic activity and rough workmen. They might provide protection from the rain, but were hardly an appropriate venue for the surgeon to treat a lady, particularly one in a family condition.

Yet transporting her all the way to town was impractical, if not impossible. Darcy looked toward Cobb Hamlet. As he tried to recall whether he had seen any promising sanctuary there when they had passed through on their way to the Cobb, he became aware of someone approaching.

“Darcy, is that…?”

It was. Of all people, the sailor they had encountered on the beach last night—the one who had prevented Georgiana’s fall—now strode in their direction. Darcy presumed he was headed to the quay to assist the other seamen, but he instead came straight to them.

“Is the lady all right? Oh! I see she is not.”

“We have sent for a surgeon but need to get her out of the rain,” Elizabeth replied.

“Of course. How might I be of use?”

Despite Darcy’s unfavorable previous impression of the man, he appreciated the offer of assistance. “We do not know where to take her.”