Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

The apothecary returned the tin to his medical bag, rose stiffly, and handed Elizabeth a roll of cotton cloth. “Perhaps Mrs. Hurst would prefer to bandage her sister’s injury herself. It should be covered lightly. I will go check on Mr. and Mrs. Bingley.”

Elizabeth offered the bandage to Louisa, silently daring her to take it. Mrs. Hurst snatched it up and proceeded to make a bungled attempt at covering the burn. She first applied the dressing so loosely that it fell off the hand, then pulled it so tight that tears sprang to Caroline’s eyes, all the while loudly criticizing the inferior supplies of country doctors. Eventually, Elizabeth took pity on Mrs. Parrish — and everyone else in auditory range — and offered to perform the task herself.

“If you insist.” Louisa shoved the bandage back into Elizabeth’s grasp.

Elizabeth studied Caroline’s hand before applying the bandage. On the palm side, blisters and swollen tissue almost eclipsed the ring. If only they could remove it, Caroline’s pain might lessen and her injury could heal more quickly. “Mrs. Parrish, would you like me to try one last time to take off your ring?”

Caroline squeezed her eyes shut but nodded.

“You’re as bad as that bumbling apothecary,” Louisa snapped. “Leave it be.”

The carriage house door slid open, arresting further debate. Mr. Parrish and Lucy entered. Behind them, early streaks of dawn revealed that the storm had at last abated.

“Caroline! Thank heaven you are safe!” Parrish hurried to his wife’s side. His hair was soaked; rivulets of water streamed down the greatcoat he’d obtained at some point since Elizabeth had last seen him. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

He reached for her hand but stopped when he saw the injury. “Oh, darling — you’ve been hurt!” He looked to Elizabeth, his expression seeking an explanation she could not supply.

“Mr. Jones has just finished treating her hand,” she reassured him.

Parrish sat down beside his wife, put his arm around her shoulders, and drew her to his side. “You’re safe now, darling.” Caroline rested her head on his shoulder.

At the tender display, envy touched Elizabeth’s heart. The Parrishes were safe; she could only pray that Darcy was, too, and that at the end of this awful ordeal she would know the solace of her own husband’s embrace. As if reading her thoughts, Lucy departed again with the stated intention of learning more about Darcy’s progress against the fire.

Parrish watched Elizabeth finish dressing the burn. “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy, for taking care of my wife. You are a good friend to her.”

Elizabeth shrugged, disconcerted by Parrish’s gratitude. Despite having been thrown into Caroline’s company more often in the past fortnight than she’d ever thought herself capable of enduring, she’d developed no further attachment to Jane’s new sister-in-law than she’d harbored previously. The solicitude she’d shown Mrs. Parrish was simply the concern she’d feel for any fellow human being in similar circumstances. “I’m sure she derives more comfort from your presence than anything I could do.”

Indeed, the patient soon dozed off in her husband’s arms, a fitful slumber that paralleled Elizabeth’s own agitation. Mr. Parrish pulled her against him more securely and whispered something indiscernible in her ear. Her troubled features smoothed and she relaxed into his side.

Parrish’s face, however, became graver as he studied his wife. He opened his mouth several times as if to say something, but shut it again with his thoughts unuttered. Finally, he spoke. “Mrs. Darcy, have you any idea how my wife burned her hand?”

Elizabeth confessed ignorance.

He glanced about the carriage house, at Mr. Jones resting just outside the coach occupied by Jane and Bingley, at the other carriages with their silent inmates. “I have been contemplating the question as I sit here,” he continued in low tones. “I have also been wondering what caused tonight’s fire. I–I do not like the direction my thoughts are taking.”

A chill traveled down her spine. Mr. Parrish hinted at an idea that had grazed the edges of her consciousness, suspicions so unpleasant she’d dared not articulate them even in the privacy of her own thoughts. The location and nature of Caroline’s injury, her reluctance to tell Mr. Jones how she’d burned herself, her unknown whereabouts at the time the fire broke, her wandering earlier that night and other strange behavior…

“Do you grasp my meaning, Mrs. Darcy? Pray tell me I needn’t say more.”

She understood. But could so distasteful a thought be true? Had Caroline started the fire? Inconceivable notion! “Perhaps you draw conclusions from mere coincidence,” she tried to reassure him.

“I want more than anything to believe that. But your sister and her husband — indeed, the whole household — could have died in this blaze. I—” His voice broke. “I no longer fear for only my wife’s safety.”

Parrish’s speculation provoked disquiet within her, the same uneasiness she’d experienced upon waking from her repeated dreams of the carriage accident. Never had Netherfield seemed such an ominous place as it did tonight, an abode of mishaps and misfortune. They had been here but two days and had known scarcely a moment’s peace of mind. Or did the howling storm and her own flagging reserves only make it seem such?

“Mr. Parrish, doubt feeds on exhaustion. When we have all had a chance to recover from tonight’s events—”

“While still more mysterious accidents occur? To turn a blind eye is irresponsible.” He smoothed Caroline’s hair, stroked her cheek. “I don’t want to believe my wife capable of the unthinkable. Yet I know my feelings for Caroline cannot help but cloud my judgment. I am in need of advice, Mrs. Darcy. You have a quick mind and a compassionate heart. What do you think I should do?”

Elizabeth studied Caroline in silence, the fatigue of a long, sleepless night settling upon her. She could think of little beyond crawling into a warm, dry bed with her husband and sleeping for two days straight. “We need not decide anything in this moment. Let us ponder the situation when our minds are clearer and we know more particulars of the fire.”

It was an evasive answer to a serious question, but she could spare no further energy on the Parrishes and their problems. Not until she beheld Darcy safe once more.

Surely the blaze was under control by now. Where was he?

Despite weariness that seeped down to his bones, Darcy strode to the carriage house with rapid steps. The flames were out, the house saved, the servants organized, the landlord summoned. He now sought a few precious minutes with Elizabeth before sending her and the others off to the sanctuary of Longbourn while he continued to oversee details of the fire’s aftermath. He wished he could have relocated the party sooner, but no one could be spared to drive them, and the weather and darkness had rendered the roads too hazardous to attempt travel anyway. Even now, in full but dreary daylight, the memory of yesterday’s carriage accident made him hesitant to let Elizabeth undertake even the short distance without him.

“The landlord will be furious, I suppose?” Randolph kept pace with Darcy’s long strides. Once Caroline Parrish had been found, the professor had appeared at Darcy’s side, offering to help in any way necessary and working ceaselessly until the last ember died.

“I have met Mr. Morris only once, but he seems a reasonable man. Accidents happen.” So did intentionally set blazes, but Darcy was keeping those suspicions to himself. When Bingley’s chamber had at last been cleared of both smoke and people, he had sifted through the ashes and found no evidence of arson. Yet he could not overlook Lawrence Kendall’s earlier threat against Bingley, or Elizabeth witnessing him riffling through Bingley’s records. How far would he go to destroy proof of his larceny?