Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

He left to check on his wife, leaving the others in contemplative silence.

Madness. Darcy had ascribed that possible motive to Caroline Parrish, but had not truly considered it where Randolph was concerned. Elizabeth, however, had — she’d suspected the professor of fanaticism. Though she thought he’d used supernatural means to aid his crime, a hypothesis Darcy still could not seriously entertain, a misguided attempt to appease imaginary powers could explain actions that reason could not. Perhaps the connection between Randolph and Kendall amounted to no more than Kendall presenting himself as a convenient victim for some dark rite.

Were that the case, Randolph was a very dangerous man — unpredictable and violent. Though they must initiate pursuit to save others from his demented zeal, Darcy was glad the madman no longer roamed Netherfield’s environs freely.

At least, he hoped the lunatic had indeed fled.

Suddenly, he needed to assure himself of Elizabeth’s whereabouts.

“Mrs. Nicholls, fire me if you want, but I won’t do it! I won’t be in there with her by myself — not with her cutting up her own husband with that ring he give her! Her sister sat with us yesterday while I did her toilette, but I can’t find her today and I’m not walking in there alone! Not with all the goings-on round here and her acting so crazy!”

Elizabeth paused at the head of the stairs, surprised to find the housekeeper and Caroline’s maid openly arguing in a public part of the house. They stood in the corridor that led to the new family quarters. Though they did not shout, their voices carried in the empty hallway.

“Nan, I can’t spare anyone else right now just to—” Mrs. Nicholls broke off as she spotted their audience. She colored. “Mrs. Darcy. Excuse us, ma’am. We should be holding this discussion elsewhere.”

Elizabeth sympathized with the maid. A murder in the house, Mr. Parrish attacked, Caroline sinking into madness, Randolph doing God-knows-what… the carriage accident, the fire… Netherfield was hardly an ideal place to be employed at present. “Perhaps I can help. You seek Mrs. Hurst?”

“She kept Mrs. Parrish company while Nan attended her yesterday.” Mrs. Nicholls crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the maid. “But she hardly need be troubled again—”

“I can come.” Elizabeth had been seeking something to occupy herself anyway, and had been avoiding Darcy since their argument the night before. She was also anxious to see whether Caroline’s condition had improved — or worsened — since Randolph was relieved of his pocketwatch.

“Ma’am, please don’t inconvenience yourself. Nan can—”

“It’s no bother.” She walked to the Parrishes’ door and knocked softly. “Mrs. Parrish? It’s Mrs. Darcy. Your maid is here to attend you, and I wondered if I might come in?”

She heard movement within. A minute later, Caroline answered the door in an extreme state of dishabille. Her hair had come loose from its braid overnight; long strands stuck out from her head in all directions, while what remained of the plait hung lopsided behind her left shoulder. Her dressing gown was tied haphazardly and parted to reveal an unevenly buttoned nightdress. She wore no slippers to protect her feet from the cold wood floor.

Mrs. Parrish seemed, however, oblivious to the appearance she presented. She stared through the servant, but blinked as her gaze drifted to Elizabeth. “Come in,” she said. She pushed the door open farther and ambled to her vanity, leaving Elizabeth and the maid to enter and close the door themselves.

Caroline sat down and stared at her reflection. She fingered a tortoiseshell comb but didn’t lift it. Her burned left hand continued to mend, the swelling having subsided, but still glowed an angry red. The bright pink scars on her wrists offered a hideous counterpoint.

Elizabeth drew a chair near the dressing table and sat beside her. “How are you this morning?”

She made no answer. Nan stepped behind her, removed the tie that had so poorly secured her braid, and reached for the comb. Caroline seized it and handed it to her, causing the maid to flinch at the unexpected movement. Nan stepped back and accepted the comb with a pincer grasp, eyeing Caroline’s wedding ring cautiously.

“I thought I might take a walk in the gallery today,” Elizabeth continued as the maid combed Caroline’s hair and swept it into a chignon. “Would you care to join me?”

“Perhaps.” The word seemed almost a heavy sigh, as if it had required great effort to utter.

Nan picked up several hairpins and started to secure the knot. When she ran out, Caroline handed her three more. Once again, the maid flinched as the oversize ring neared her.

Elizabeth took pity on the maid. “Mrs. Parrish, that heavy ring cannot feel good on your injured finger,” she said. “Shall we remove it while your hand heals? We can give it to your husband for safekeeping.”

Caroline’s half-focused gaze met Elizabeth’s in the mirror. She nodded her assent. With slow, deliberate movements, so as not to startle or threaten her, Elizabeth reached for her hand. Her skin was cool, except for the injured area around the ring, which emitted heat. How agonizing the burn must be still! No wonder Caroline seemed preoccupied — in constant pain, she probably could not think of much else.

Elizabeth gently tugged on the ring. She expected the gold to also be very warm, having absorbed the skin’s heat. To her surprise, she found the band ice-cold. Unfortunately, it resisted removal.

Elizabeth hesitated to apply more force, but Caroline nodded again. She pulled more firmly. This time the ring loosened, but the movement made Caroline wince in obvious suffering.

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll stop—”

“No,” she whispered hoarsely. She extended her arm fully, spread her fingers wide, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Sorry she ever suggested this, for it troubled her to see even Caroline Bingley in such distress, Elizabeth grasped the ring tightly. She pulled once more, rotating the band in hopes it would slide more easily. Mercifully, the ring at last slipped off.

She found the ring no more attractive up close than she had when viewing it on Caroline’s finger. She noticed an inscription on the inside: Deux coeurs, une pensée. Two hearts, one thought. A pretty sentiment, but Elizabeth still preferred her own, simpler, wedding band.

“There.” She set it on the vanity. “Maybe now your burn will heal more—”

Caroline seized her hand. Gripping hard — surely a painful effort given her injury — she met Elizabeth’s gaze directly. Her eyes had lost their cloudiness; indeed, she regarded Elizabeth fiercely. “He—”

“Darling! I’m so relieved to see you safe!” Mr. Parrish came bounding into the room. Startled by the sudden intrusion, Caroline dropped Elizabeth’s hand and jerked back. “You, too, Mrs. Darcy,” Parrish continued. “Have you heard the news? Randolph has disappeared! Heaven only knows where he is or what he might—”

He spotted the ring. “What’s this?” He grabbed Caroline’s wrist and, in one swift movement, swept the ring from the vanity top and back onto her finger. “My dear wife, I understand you have been a little forgetful of late, but your wedding ring isn’t something that ought to be left lying around.”

Pain flashed across Caroline’s face — from the haste with which Parrish had restored the ring or the humiliation of being reprimanded before others, Elizabeth could not tell. The maid scurried out. Elizabeth wished she could escape the embarrassing scene as easily.

Caroline said nothing in her own defense. She stood still, her gaze on her husband, the distracted look back in her eyes. Elizabeth wondered if she’d only imagined the fleeting moment of lucidity.