The Knights of Derbyshire

by Marsha Altman

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy, please, I didn’t mean – ”

  Darcy immediately pointed his gun to the figure that seemed to be old Jenkins. So it began and ended with the same person. The man seemed legitimately terrified. Darcy’s attention was not very long with him when he spotted Geoffrey, slumped against a tree, a gun beside him. “Geoffrey!”

  “Jenkins – ” Bingley said.

  “The water,” he said, pointing. No explanation was needed.

  Darcy ignored it. Part of his heart did go out to Bingley, who immediately began stripping himself of his coat and waistcoat, but Darcy’s concern was his son, who did not respond to his call. He knelt beside him, dropping his weapon. “Please God,” he said, his voice wavering on a cry. “Please God.” He reached for a pulse. Geoffrey’s neck was cold and clammy, but there was a beat there, slow but steady. “Thank you,” Darcy whispered, but he was not entirely relieved. Geoffrey’s forehead was colored by bruising and blood, both wet and dried. He checked under the eyelids, but his pupils were rolled back into his head. “Geoffrey,” he whispered. “I’m here.” There was some kind of dust, like powder, in his ear, and when he probed it, blood came out. “I’m here,” he repeated, cupping a wavering hand on the boy’s face as he heard a splash. Surely Bingley wasn’t –

  - Surely they weren’t losing both of their children in this?

  “Mr. Darcy,” Jenkins said quietly behind him. “He only woke long enough to talk me into coming here and to shoot Hatcher.”

  “And besides that?”

  “Nothin.’”

  As reluctant as he was to take his hand away, Darcy had to stand up and take his bearings. Bingley was somewhere under the water, his white shirt barely visible. Everyone else could have no idea that Geoffrey was here, and was looking for him elsewhere. Darcy pulled the fireworks out of his pocket and loaded them into his gun, and fired them up into the sky through the hole in the foliage. On any other day, he might have appreciated the beautiful red display, even if it was daylight.

  Bingley surfaced in the center of the pool with a heavy gasp. In his arms was an unconscious Georgiana, and Darcy’s heart sank at the sight. Her face was marred by war paint, which held up considerably well to the water and still formed what looked like two bars down her cheeks. He realized, nearly laughing with some hysteria and with some guilty humor, that with both of them soaked, Bingley and his daughter had almost identical hairstyles.

  “Bingley,” he said as calmly as he could, which considering his mental exhaustion, was considerably calm. He offered his hand, and Bingley took it and together they brought Georgiana to shore as Bingley regained his breath.

  “She’s not breathing,” Bingley said, still heaving. “God, Darcy, she’s not breathing!”

  Ignoring the wound on her side for the moment, Darcy knelt beside her and pushed down on her stomach. Water gushed out her mouth. “It’s the water in her lungs,” he said, and held up her arms. “When I say, push down on her chest.” Bingley nodded in mute understand. “All right. One, two – ”

  He hadn’t done this since university, since he’d resuscitated his fencing team captain after a drinking bout his middle year at Cambridge. Still, it came easily enough, as he tried to force water out and life back into his niece. It took a few tries and some desperate pushes, but she finally started coughing on her own.

  “Flip her over,” he said, removing his coat. When she was kneeling, a semi-conscious Georgiana began hacking up all the water she’d swallowed, and some blood as well. It seemed endless, and Darcy covered her back with his dry coat as they held her up. When she finally finished, and was coughing only air, she shuddered and went limp. Bingley took her into his arms, and with her thin, exposed limbs she suddenly seemed tiny, and certainly was, in comparison to any of them. He cradled her, kissing her on her very wet head.

  “My darling,” Bingley said quietly, and seeing his job was temporarily finished, Darcy went to his own child. Geoffrey still would not stir, but his condition had not worsened. Darcy pried him a bit, with no response, and steadied himself by touching his chest and feeling his heart beating. Despite everything, his son was alive. Georgiana was alive. Hatcher and his right hand man were dead. The situation could be salvaged. “Is he all right?” Bingley asked from behind.

  “I’ve no idea,” Darcy admitted. “But he’s alive.” So there’s hope. “I’m not sure he can be moved without the doctor.”

  “I carried ‘im here, Mr. Darcy,” said Jenkins reverently, only to be rewarded with a cold stare.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have,” Darcy said. “But – I suppose ...” He found no words to finish his sentence. He found no strength to lay judgment on Jenkins. Instead he turned to Bingley. “We should – clean her up.”

  “What?” Charles Bingley was in a similar mood; that of a slightly incoherent parent distracted by his desire to protect his child.

  “If we can,” Darcy said, his words slightly slurred by a sudden exhaustion, “the others shouldn’t see – this.” He added for emphasis. “Her mother shouldn’t see her like this.”

  “Her mother is going to see her – ”

  “I mean,” he said patiently, trying to remember they were both extremely distressed, “that it would be better if we kept this wolf business as quiet as possible. For her sake.”

  This idea seemed to take time to settle into Bingley’s thoroughly distracted brain, but he did eventually agree. Though they had not the collective thought power to concoct a story, they did remove most of the paint with water and force, but could not remove the blue stripes on her arms and ankles, which had apparently been inked into the skin. Darcy removed her necklace of what looked like wolf claws and was about to toss it in the water before Bingley grabbed it from him. “She’ll want it.” Darcy had not the strength to argue, and it was stuffed in a pocket before he returned to his son.

  “It is done,” he said. “Geoffrey, you can wake up now.” He stroked his hair, so lightly as to not bother his head, watching the blood pour out of his son’s right ear. “You can wake up now.” But still there was no response. “Your mother’s going to be so happy to see you.” He knelt beside him, grasping his hand to elicit a response, and yet there was none. “She’ll be so happy.” His son was alive, Georgiana was alive, Hatcher was dead, and he had so much to be happy for. And yet, he was weeping.

  Still Geoffrey did not respond.

  Chapter 16 – The Non-Magic Bullet

  All the women and children at Pemberley had been watching all morning for any new arrivals. So when Constable Morris walked up the path to the door, he was taken aback by the sight of them. The greeting was a little awkward, furthered by the fact that when he questioned Mrs. Darcy as to why her husband had taken the matter into his own hands instead of waiting for the authorities, she disregarded him as an officer of the law and treated him more like a man who had shown up to the ball after dinner had been served. He tried to make some headway by speaking to Dr. Maddox, but was interrupted by two successive displays of fireworks in the distance, which set off a chain of timed responses. The first one – blue – meant there had been fighting. The second, further away, was red, and meant someone had been injured.

  Despite whatever objections the constable had, as he continued to be ignored, Nadezhda Maddox was the one who led the party with the stretchers and guns. The display was miles away, and the wait intolerable, so much so that Mrs. Darcy distracted herself by shooing the smaller children back inside.

  “Charlie,” Jane said to her son, “fetch your sister.” Since Eliza was standing beside him, she clearly meant Georgie.

  “She’s in the chapel,” Charlie replied nervously, showing signed his mother might have noticed had she not had other things on her mind.

  “You told me that already. Go fetch her now! She ought to be with the rest of her family.”

  Not really knowing what else to do, Charlie Bingley headed inside and into the chapel, which of course was empty.

  “I knew it,” Geor
ge Wickham said, startling his cousin, who hadn’t realized George had followed. “I knew she was up to something. She told you to lie for her?”

  “She said Aunt Nady would do it, but she left with the group. What am I going to tell – ”

  The side door of the chapel swung open, which prevented any further conversation, and suddenly Georgiana Bingley was in the chapel, held in the arms of her very wet and distressed-looking father. “Get the doctor.”

  “How did – ”

  “Now, Charles!”

  That was all the incentive his son needed. Bingley laid his daughter on one of the pews. She was small enough to fit, even sideways. George looked over her in shock; she was barefoot, wearing some kind of tunic, and half of her shirt was stained with blood. Like her father, she was also soaking wet, and wrapped in what looked like Mr. Darcy’s jacket.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Bingley whispered, but she just coughed and spit blood onto the stone floor. “Just fine. Look – George is here.”

  Georgiana’s eyes were shut tight, her body twisted and her arm holding on to what was obviously a wound on her side. “Hello, Georgie,” he ventured, but she didn’t respond to his presence.

  “I didn’t want to cause a scene,” Bingley said. “She’s been shot. There’s no exit wound, so the bullet must still be in her.” He added, “Geoffrey’s alive, but unconscious.”

  “Hatcher?”

  “Dead.”

  “Uncle Darcy?”

  “Everyone else is fine. Except one of Hatcher’s men. Brian took his head off.” He turned away from his daughter to glare at George with an intensity that George had never seen in him before. “Did you know she was running about the countryside being a wolf?”

  “What?”

  “The wolf that attacked Hatcher yesterday; it was no animal, it was Georgiana in costume. Did you have the least of suspicions that she might be doing something that would in endanger her own life like that?”

  “No,” George replied. “My imagination did not extend that far.” He was going to say she would never do something so wild and stupid, but clearly it was within her capabilities. Fortunately the arrival of Dr. Maddox and Aunt Bingley meant he did not have to speak.

  “She was shot,” Bingley said to his wife as the color went out of her. Dr. Maddox, despite all his experience, didn’t look his best either. “She found Geoffrey and she saved us from Hatcher and his men, but he shot her.” He motioned for the doctor to come over so he could embrace his wife. “She’ll be all right. It’s just a flesh wound.”

  She didn’t believe him. “Our daughter – Charlie said – He was lying to me!” Jane cried. “What happened to her? Where are her clothes? Where are her shoes?” She pulled free of Bingley and ran to Georgiana as her daughter gave a cry at Maddox’s prying hand. “What happened to my baby girl?”

  “She was shot in the chest,” Dr. Maddox said, “but the bullet seems to have missed her vital organs. She’ll be all right.”

  Mrs. Bingley grabbed her daughter’s hand, which was bare and covered in blood. Her arm was stained with blue ink. “Mama,” Georgie said. Her voice was barely distinguishable.

  “We need to move her,” Dr. Maddox said.

  “I carried her here,” Bingley said.

  “Then you’re relieved of your duties, Mr. Bingley. George?”

  Georgiana was not very heavy. George had never carried a person her size, but he was capable of it, as Dr. Maddox led the way past some very confused servants to a room where she could be set down on a bed. The doctor called for his surgical tools, and when they arrived, he threw everyone out to make his assessment.

  There was a commotion in the hallway on the other side. One crying sister greeted another, as Geoffrey Darcy was brought in on a stretcher, his head bandaged, with his father by his side. Concerned as he was about his own son, he still had the wherewithal to inquire, “Where’s Georgiana?”

  “She – she’s inside with Dr. Maddox,” Bingley said, gesturing to the door. “How is he?”

  “The same as he was when you left. Nadezhda and Brian are dealing with the constable – Mr. Wallace is under arrest.” Aside from missing his coat, Darcy appeared much as he had when he left, except for considerable emotional duress that he didn’t bother to hide as Geoffrey was taken upstairs. Elizabeth went with him, leaving the others in the hallway until Dr. Maddox emerged.

  “Mrs. Bingley,” the doctor said calmly. “Your daughter needs a surgeon.”

  “To state the obvious – ”

  “It’s very delicate work,” Doctor Maddox said. “I – I can’t do it. We need someone else. Now if we stop the bleeding she’ll hold until someone arrives from Cambridge - ”

  “We don’t want someone from Cambridge!” Jane, in her over-agitated state, was literally shaking him by his coat. “We need you!”

  Dr. Maddox shamefully lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “For God’s sake, leave my husband alone!” Caroline Maddox broke in, and her voice was so demanding that it silenced the room.

  “It’s that bad?” Darcy said quietly. “Your sight.”

  “As I said,” the doctor mumbled, “I can’t do this kind of work. It’s too delicate. The shot is too close to her lung. I can’t – I-I can’t focus my sight and work at the same time.” He added, “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t know there would be a need for such a surgeon.”

  No one quite knew what to say. Doctor Maddox’s sight was not a subject anyone normally dared to broach.

  The first person to speak was the only one besides the doctor himself who had any real knowledge and comfort with the situation. “You could supervise someone, though?” his wife asked.

  “Yes, I suppose. But it’s very complicated – ”

  “It’s an extraction and stitching, I assume,” she said, her voice steadier than any of theirs. “What kind of stitch?”

  “Uhm, a surgical suture, like tying a knot at the end of a cross stitch, maybe. It depends on where the bullet is and the complexity of the extraction.”

  “And you have all of your equipment?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then,” Caroline said, “I know a cross stitch. I’m an accomplished woman, after all. The rest can’t be much harder than embroidery.”

  He blinked. “You will never fail to astonish me.”

  “Lady Maddox,” Darcy said. “If he says she can wait for a surgeon...”

  “Why risk it? If Daniel thinks I can do it, then I certainly can. And if you don’t think I haven’t seen or assisted in an operation before, then you have no idea how much trouble Frederick has gotten into over the course of his life.”

  “That is regrettably true,” the doctor said. “They were all rather minor incidents in comparison, but I don’t see anyone else here jumping up to do the job – anyone with knowledge of needlepoint, that is,” he said, silencing Bingley’s attempted protest. “This may be the best option.”

  “Doctor – ”

  “If she’s willing to do it, I’m certainly not one to stand in Caroline’s way,” he said. “My bag is already in there. We need a lot of water and towels, and Darcy, you should send for the surgeon anyway, for Geoffrey. There’s a Professor Fergus who is also an auditory specialist. Tell him I’ll owe him a favor and he’ll come. And don’t try to rouse Geoffrey with smelling salts or anything. But if he does wake, get me.” He felt for the handle and opened the door behind him. “No family during the procedure, excepting us, who will be working.”

  “I want to see my daughter first,” Jane insisted. “If there’s time.”

  He looked at her softly. Obviously, he was not completely blind. “I need to check on Geoffrey in the meantime. Yes, there is time.”

  *****************************************

  Bingley was somewhat used to the anxiety of waiting on the other side of the door for a woman in distress, but this pain was far different from childbirth. It was his child, his daughter, and she was not giving birth. S
he could be dying. This time, though, he had Jane in his arms, though he was mostly comforting her. Darcy disappeared up the stairs for a bit and then returned. “The same,” he said to Bingley’s look of inquiry as Jane cried into his shoulder. “Elizabeth and his sisters are staying with him. But he was awake, earlier – long enough to fire a gun. So, that must be a good sign.”

  They fell into silence as Darcy collapsed on the settee. Only the appearance of Brian Maddox, very loudly announced by all of the metal he was wearing, alerted them at all to the world beyond their suffering. His headgear and shoulder pads had been removed, and he was soaked with sweat from running around in armor. “Where’s Danny? In surgery?”

  “Caroline’s doing it.”

  “Caroline?”

  Bingley nodded. “Your brother is supervising, but he said he can’t do it himself.”

  “It must have been serious, for him to admit it,” he said, and then realizing the gravity of it, added, “but Georgiana will be fine. She is clearly the toughest woman in England.”

  “We thoroughly blame you for this,” Darcy said, not looking at him.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, you crazy Japanese whatever you call yourself – ”

  “Samurai.”

  “Yes, that,” Darcy said dismissively. “You brought this into our family. I suppose you trained her as well.”

  “No!”

  “Don’t deny it,” Bingley said.

  “No, I didn’t!” Brian said, a little alarmed by the sudden need to take the defensive. “I swear; I’ve never once given Miss Bingley any sort of ... instruction of the sort. Yes, I do let my nephew play around in the garden with bokken. But he’s a boy, and it’s not so different from the fencing and such nonsense that we all teach our children. Bingley, doesn’t your son know how to fence?”

  “Not well,” he said, “but yes. But this is entirely different.”

  “And I am entirely uninvolved in ... whatever Georgiana’s been up to. How would I even be? I don’t live in Derbyshire and she hardly strays from it. Yes, I brought Mugin into our lives, but that was years ago! She was a child when she last saw him! Besides, what does it matter?”