Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

Elizabeth gratefully pulled the blanket about her more tightly. “Lucy, you are a godsend. Is Jane all right? What of her husband?”

“I think they’re fine, ma’am. But they sure will be glad to see Mr. Jones.”

The trio made their way to the carriage house with as much haste as the weather allowed. Elizabeth felt sorry for Mr. Jones having to walk through the slush with no shoes, but the apothecary uttered not a single complaint. He did, however, immediately procure some boots when they reached shelter.

To her overwhelming relief, she found Jane and Bingley both conscious. They spoke groggily, the effects of the drug and the accident and fatigue still evident. Coughing spasms seized them as smoke worked its way out of their lungs. But they were alive and safe once more. Mr. Jones moved one of the lanterns to a nearby crate and began to examine his patients for the second time that day.

The Hursts sat on the back of their coach, huddled beneath separate blankets. Mr. Hurst wore a pair of borrowed fishing waders beneath his nightclothes, lending him an absurd appearance that Elizabeth wished she were in a better mood to appreciate. Ever the lady, at least in her own mind, Louisa had taken the time to don her dressing gown and a pair of now-soaked slippers before fleeing the house.

“Where is everyone else?” Elizabeth asked. “Where’s Mr. Darcy?”

Mrs. Hurst sneezed and looked about for a handkerchief. Spotting none, nor an appropriate substitute, she self-consciously dabbed at her nose with the corner of the blanket. “After we got Jane and Charles here, he left. I think perhaps he’s helping Mr. Parrish look for Caroline.”

“And Professor Randolph?”

“Also looking for Caroline.”

“Mr. Kendall?”

“Right here, Mrs. Darcy,” boomed a voice from within Kendall’s coach. The gentleman had drawn the curtain across the window. “Thank you for the enquiry. I didn’t know you cared.”

Odious man.

Elizabeth took her sister’s hand. “Dear Jane, what a wretched day you’ve had. First the carriage accident and now this! Have you any idea what happened?”

“No.” A coughing spasm seized her. “I was sleeping so soundly,” she continued when she could speak once more, “that I didn’t even know we were in danger until I woke up and found Mr. Hurst carrying me outside.”

“And I woke up beside her — slung over Darcy’s shoulder,” Bingley said. “Slept right through a fire in my room, but this weather sure is rousing.”

As if in confirmation, Louisa sneezed again. Mr. Jones nodded toward the assorted footwear someone had piled in the corner. “I suggest you trade your slippers for something dry.”

She cast him a look colder than the draft that threatened to extinguish the lanterns. “Servants’ boots? No, thank you.” She shuffled to the doorway, where, with great exertion, she slid one of the doors partly open. Darkness still gripped the sky.

“Does anyone happen to know the time?”

“I think it’s about five, ma’am,” Lucy answered. “Perhaps half-past. Mrs. Nicholls says she was already awake when the bell rung.”

Elizabeth joined Louisa and squinted into the blackness. She wished the sun would rise, that the storm would abate, that something would happen to end this gloomy night that seemed intent on stretching to eternity. Confusion gripped the entire grounds of Netherfield. People dashed about everywhere, yet she looked in vain for the one face she most longed to see. Where was Darcy? Though she knew he was quite capable of taking care of himself, she could not be easy until she saw him again.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with that Mr. Parrish,” Louisa muttered. “He’s doing an abominable job of caring for my sister.”

Elizabeth longed to respond that it was Caroline herself who continually presented poor Mr. Parrish with the most obstacles to that goal, but she knew her point would not carry. “He seems to be trying his best,” she said.

“An Englishman would try harder.” Mrs. Hurst returned to her coach and asked her husband to hand her inside where she could sit more comfortably. “Mrs. Darcy, if your maid is done attending you, perhaps she could fetch me a hot brick. My own maid seems to have disappeared.”

“A hot brick?”

“Yes, for my feet.”

Elizabeth blinked. “I’m sure there are plenty in the burning house. Would you like some tea as well?”

“That would be lovely.”

Elizabeth met Lucy’s gaze. The maid regarded her uncertainly. She had served her only a short time, since Elizabeth’s engagement, and had not yet learned to read her mistress’s moods.

“Lucy, without getting in the way of anyone working to put out the fire, please enquire among the servants whether anyone has injuries requiring Mr. Jones’s attention. Also ask whether anyone has seen Mrs. Parrish or my husband. If you happen to encounter Mrs. Hurst’s maid, kindly relay her requests.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a relieved expression, Lucy set off.

The apothecary finished his ministrations and, aided by Mr. Hurst, moved the weary couple to the relative comfort of the Darcys’ coach. Jane and Bingley each rested against one side and stretched their legs the length of the padded seats. Elizabeth sat on the coach floor for a time, holding Jane’s hand and speaking with her softly, but her thoughts were too scattered and her heart too anxious to attend her own conversation. Fortunately, her sister soon drifted back into slumber. Bingley followed shortly.

She left the coach and wandered restlessly about the carriage house. She longed to do something. She’d promised Mr. Parrish she’d help look for Caroline, and Darcy’s prolonged absence distressed her more each minute. Mr. Jones observed her agitation without comment, but his expression clearly discouraged her from succumbing to the impulse to leave this sanctuary. Who was he, though, to stop her? A man, just a man, with no real power over her save his own disapproval. And how often did she let mere disapproval by an outsider sway her actions?

She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, preparing to go back outside. Darcy had told her to get out of the house, and she would honor his wishes in keeping her promise to Mr. Parrish. She would begin her search on the grounds — perhaps Caroline had exited the mansion but didn’t know where the rest of the family had gathered.

If, however, in the process of seeking Caroline she learned that Darcy had not yet made it out of the burning building, the fires of hell itself would not keep her from going back in after him.

Ignoring Mr. Jones’s objections, she slid open the door to find Lucy just returning. She quickly drew the drenched maid inside. “Lucy, what have you learned?”

“No one’s seen Mrs. Parrish, ma’am. Mr. Parrish is a-looking everywheres for her. He says you should stay put. The professor’s helping him look.” She blew on her hands through chattering teeth. “Only one person’s hurt so far. One of the maids — nobody I talked to seemed to know if she’s an upstairs or downstairs maid, but anyways she’s in the barn with some bad burns.”

Elizabeth retrieved a dry blanket and draped it across Lucy’s shoulders. “And my husband?”

Lucy bit her lip. “He’s still in the house, ma’am. Directing everyone putting out the fire.”

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Darcy being Darcy, of course that’s where he was. She should feel pride, but all she could muster was anxiety for his safety.

Mr. Jones picked up his medical bag. “Can you lead me to the maid?” At Lucy’s affirmation, he turned to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy, your husband needs to focus on what he’s doing, not worry about you running around putting yourself in danger. And I need you to keep an eye on Mr. and Mrs. Bingley for me. Can I trust you to stay here?”