Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

Elizabeth wanted to shout in frustration at being forced to inaction. Instead, she muttered an ungracious “Yes.”

The apothecary and Lucy departed. Elizabeth checked on Jane and Bingley. The couple slept fitfully. She tucked Bingley’s blanket more securely around him and stroked Jane’s furrowed brow until it smoothed.

Mr. Hurst’s snore came from the next coach, followed by an unladylike sneeze. “Mrs. Darcy?” Louisa called. “I don’t suppose your maid remembered the hot brick?”

She could not bring herself to dignify the question with a response. Mr. Jones was right — he did need her to watch over Jane and Bingley in his absence, because the rest of these selfish people could not be relied upon to do so.

She regarded Mr. Kendall’s carriage. No doubt he slumbered, too. Why let a little thing like someone’s home burning down interrupt a good night’s sleep? All his earlier snooping and skulking that night, not to mention his hasty escape from the house, had probably worn him out.

The image of him fleeing down the staircase intruded into her mind once more. She hadn’t credited the corpulent man with such speed. His coattails had actually flown behind him as his boots clattered in double time. She rolled her eyes in disgust. Yet something besides contempt nagged at her recollection.

Boots. Coattails.

At the time the fire broke out, Mr. Kendall had been fully dressed.

Elizabeth stared at Mr. Kendall’s coach, wishing she could see inside to confirm her mounting suspicions about its owner. For Kendall to have been dressed when she’d sounded the alarm, he had to have been awake when the fire broke out. According to Lucy’s earlier time estimate, it had been perhaps half-past four when she and Darcy had discovered the blaze and awakened the household. That was more than two hours after she’d seen Kendall in the library.

What had he been doing that whole while? Had he returned to the library and broken into the desk — only to discover that the papers had been moved? And to what act could his resulting ire have led him? Unable to steal them, would he try to destroy them?

She crossed to the carriage and knocked on the door. “Mr. Kendall?”

A heavy sigh issued from within. “Yes, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Might I have a word with you?”

The door opened. As she had thought, Kendall wore the same attire he’d had on in the library. He scowled at her. “What is it, Mrs. Darcy?”

Now that she had commanded his attention, she didn’t know what to say to elicit more information about his movements in the past few hours. She could hardly interrogate the gentleman like the criminal he was. “I—” She grasped for an excuse to have initiated the interview. “Many of us left the house so quickly that we are without proper clothing for outdoors. I wanted to enquire whether you need a blanket to keep warm.”

“I am fine.”

“Yes, I see that you are dressed.”

His cold expression caught her breath. Suddenly she realized her foolishness in approaching him like this alone. She already knew him to be a sneak and a thief. Were he also an arsonist, that made him a very dangerous man indeed. She took an involuntary step backward.

“I stayed up late to write letters and fell asleep in my clothes. Is there anything else, Mrs. Darcy?”

Before she could reply, Lucy slid open the door and Mr. Jones burst into the carriage house. In his arms he carried the injured maid.

Relieved by the excuse to end her conversation with Kendall, Elizabeth hurried to spread some blankets near one of the lanterns. She wondered at the apothecary’s decision to transport his new patient through the inclement weather rather than treat her where she’d already found shelter. The carriage house must offer superior lighting or comfort to that of the barn.

When he settled the maid onto the blankets, Elizabeth inhaled sharply. Though dressed in the coarse woolen uniform of a scullery maid, the woman was no servant.

“Mrs. Parrish!” she exclaimed.

“My surprise was as great as your own,” said Mr. Jones. “How she came to be wearing these clothes, one can only imagine. My questions to her have gone unanswered.”

Elizabeth removed Caroline’s wet shoes and tucked a blanket around her legs. Mrs. Parrish cradled her left hand against her chest, swaying forward and back in a self-soothing rhythm. She fixed her gaze on Elizabeth and murmured something indistinguishable.

Elizabeth leaned in more closely. “What did you say, Mrs. Parrish?”

“My hand.” Her voice was barely audible. “Please look at my hand—”

“Caroline!” Louisa shouldered her way past Elizabeth to capture Mrs. Parrish in an embrace that suggested all the warmth of the air outside. “My dear sister, I’ve been positively beside myself!”

Caroline winced as Mrs. Hurst pressed against her injury. “Louisa.”

Elizabeth straightened and backed away from the effusive reunion. “She told me she wants you to examine her hand,” she relayed to Mr. Jones.

“I tried to do so in the barn, but she resisted. Perhaps now that she’s among friends she’ll allow me to treat the burns.” The apothecary withdrew bandages and a small tin from his medical bag. “Would you assist me, Mrs. Hurst? I could use someone to hold the lantern close.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Darcy can handle it.” Louisa retreated a few steps to hover behind Mr. Jones. She addressed the maid. “Fetch my sister some more appropriate attire.”

“Lucy, please see if you can locate Mr. Parrish and tell him his wife has been found,” Elizabeth said. “Mrs. Parrish’s wardrobe needs can wait. Her present clothing, though beneath her station, is at least warm.”

Louisa gasped. “Surely you cannot be suggesting that my sister remain dressed in that — that garment?”

“I do more than suggest.” As Lucy departed, Elizabeth lifted the lantern and brought it near Mr. Jones, who had politely busied himself during the exchange by beginning his examination. “Unless you care to trade gowns with her?”

Mrs. Hurst gaped. In the welcome silence that followed, Elizabeth turned her back on her and observed the apothecary’s ministrations. Caroline’s hand glowed an angry red from palm to fingertips. Blisters swelled the base of her fingers.

“Mrs. Parrish, can you tell me how you hurt your hand?” Mr. Jones opened the tin. A pungent scent met Elizabeth’s nostrils.

“I–I don’t remember.” Caroline raised her right hand, which appeared uninjured, to her temple. “I fear another of my headaches has come on.”

The apothecary dipped two fingers into the tin and scooped up a dab of salve. When he touched the unguent to the burn, Caroline flinched and whimpered.

“There, now, Mrs. Parrish. This ointment will help soothe the pain. Just let me remove your wedding ring to aid circulation. ..” Mr. Jones tried to slide off the ring, but it held fast on her swollen finger. He worked some salve under it, tried twisting it slowly, but the ring would not budge. Caroline mewed and shut her eyes against the pain.

“Stop tormenting her, you country bumpkin!” Louisa jerked Caroline’s hand out of the apothecary’s grasp, eliciting a cry from her sister. “Caroline, the minute this storm lets up, we are summoning a surgeon from London. Someone who knows what he is about.”

Elizabeth’s face warmed with the embarrassment Mrs. Hurst should have been feeling. Mr. Jones was a capable medical man, who had seen her family through illnesses and injuries since she was a child. “Mr. Jones, I appreciate the care you have given my sister and her family tonight. We could ask for none better.”