Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

“Come.” Elizabeth beckoned. “Let’s return to your chamber.”

She took Caroline by the hand, noting that her usually well-manicured fingernails were broken and dirty — another sign of the toll her illness had taken upon her. What was happening to this woman? The Caroline Bingley that Elizabeth had known just a week ago would have meticulously maintained even the smallest aspect of her appearance till her dying breath.

Mrs. Parrish allowed herself to be led like a child to her room. When Elizabeth knocked softly on the door, Caroline grasped her arm tightly. The strength of the grip surprised her.

“It’s all right,” Elizabeth said. “This is your chamber.”

The door opened. Mr. Parrish was dressed in his shirtsleeves. “There you — Mrs. Darcy!” The startled gentleman quickly recovered himself. He glanced at his wife, then back to Elizabeth. “Forgive me — I did not expect to find you at my door at so late an hour.”

“I discovered Mrs. Parrish wandering in the hallway.”

“Darling, I was just coming to look for you.” Parrish took both Caroline’s hands in his and drew her into the chamber. “Have you been sleepwalking again?”

Caroline nodded vaguely.

“She may be yet,” Elizabeth said. “She hasn’t spoken a word to me.”

“Well, she’s safe now.” Parrish studied his wife a moment, anxiety stealing into his gaze. He then half-closed the door so that Caroline could not overhear them. “I can see that even here at Netherfield I need to keep a closer eye on her. Thank you, Mrs. Darcy.”

She left the unfortunate couple to themselves and returned to her own bed. Darcy rolled over and spooned against her. “Where did you go?”

“Mrs. Parrish was sleepwalking again.”

“Is she all right?”

“I believe so.”

His arm tightened around her. “You seem to have become her guardian angel.”

She would have laughed at the irony, were the situation not so serious. Caretaker of Caroline — what had she done to deserve that?

Grey clouds hung heavy in the sky, cloaking the landscape in shadow. Bare trees, some scantily clad in tattered leaves tenaciously clinging to their branches, stood as forlorn sentinels along the roadside, while brown patches of dead grass poked through a thin blanket of snow like strands of hair straying through a moth-eaten wool cap.

Elizabeth tucked her lap blanket around her knees and rested her boots atop the hot brick on the carriage floor, grateful for the warmth that crept into her toes. The three-mile ride to her parents’ house seemed long this bleak afternoon, though whether because of her mood or the scenery, she couldn’t say. She leaned back, impatient for their trip to end, depressed that familiar landmarks indicated they’d traveled less than a mile.

Bingley and Jane had set out earlier to tour Haye Park, leaving her and Darcy to follow in their own coach and meet them at Longbourn. Darcy had proven a quiet companion on the journey, no doubt overwhelmed with delight at the prospect of spending a full afternoon conversing with her mother. Perhaps she would take pity on him and suggest an after-dinner walk to interrupt the visit. Or perhaps not. She remained a bit vexed with him for last night’s discussion with Professor Randolph.

Darcy was Darcy — logical to the very center of his being, firmly rooted in reality — and she wouldn’t change him for anything. He’d had to grow up more quickly than she, losing his mother as a boy and his father as a young man barely past his majority. Such a childhood left little time for imaginative play, as he prepared to take on the responsibilities of a great estate and those who depended upon it for their livelihoods. While he respected her mind, he had the advantage of her in education, having studied with private tutors and later taking a degree at Cambridge. As a male, he moved in a world to which she had no access — a world of business and solicitors and politics and law. All of these things made him the man he was, the man she’d chosen to wed. She trusted him to make wise decisions, to know the right answers at times when she did not.

On most matters.

But, God bless him, must he always be so very sure of himself? Must the truth as he saw it and The Truth invariably be one and the same?

“You were unkind to Professor Randolph last night.”

His face registered surprise at the admonishment. “How so?”

“You dismissed his work as silly in a roomful of people who are practically strangers to him.”

“Am I to pretend belief in the ridiculous?”

“No. But we’re surrounded by ridiculous people. Most of the ton lead ridiculous, useless lives spent in dissipation and selfish pursuits. Just look at some of the people right there in the drawing room with us. Has Mr. Hurst ever exerted himself beyond running trump in a game of whist? He is fortunate to have been born a gentleman, because I don’t think the man could survive if he ever had to support himself. Yet we tolerate him, and others like him, because he has money and social standing. At least Randolph spends his time seeking to understand something beyond himself.”

“Perhaps I spoke too strongly — I did not mean to make him uncomfortable. However, if his studies are legitimate, he should be able to defend them without considering the debate a personal attack.”

“Darcy, sometimes your manner lends the air of a personal attack to an observation on the weather. You can be very intimidating, you know, especially to strangers.” Not wishing to upbraid him too severely, she lightened her tone. “Though, of course, you never frightened me.”

“Does anything?”

She pondered the question a moment as the carriage turned at a bend in the road. “The thought of someone close to me suffering injury. And you?”

He was equally reflective. “The same. Or losing my mental faculties, like we fear Mrs. Parrish may be in the way of. I sincerely hope the professor’s efforts prove beneficial in that regard.”

“See — even you think some part of his knowledge holds merit.”

He shrugged. “I have more faith in folk medicine than in folklore. If he wishes to perfume her with spearmint, I do not see the harm.” He smiled. “Though I believe Mrs. Parrish prefers French scents.”

“Enough of Mrs. Parrish. Though I pity her circumstances, I look forward to a day spent free of her.” Beyond her own wish to escape Caroline’s presence for a time, Elizabeth took comfort in the small size of today’s party, as it meant her mother would have only Darcy and Mr. Bingley to whom to expose herself.

“But you and Mrs. Parrish have become such intimate friends, strolling Netherfield’s halls during the night.”

“Oh, yes,” she said dryly. “If our acquaintance continues to warm so quickly, we’ll be using Christian names by this afternoon.”

“Pray, what bosom confidences have you lately exchanged?”

“She has related to me every particular of Mr. Parrish’s assets.”

His brows rose. “Indeed? And what have you told her in turn?”

“That you snore.”

They passed a few more minutes in light conversation before the coach suddenly slowed. “Sir?” their driver called from without. “I think you’ll want to take a look ahead.”

Darcy stuck his head out the window to peer down the road. Elizabeth’s heartbeat accelerated as their vehicle came to a halt altogether. “What is it?” she asked.

He brought his head back in and looked at her. His face had drained of color. “Bingley’s carriage overturned.”