The doctor provided him with a glass and made him drink. It was tea, very sweet, with lots of honey and sugar. Swallowing took the last of his energy. He was happy to close his eyes again.
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Since he could feel without opening his eyes, he felt first when there was more than pain and darkness, and he felt most keenly the thing in his ear. Had he been stabbed and they had forgotten to remove the knife? He reached for it again, and a hand stopped him. It was gentle but firm, hard like a man’s hand, squeezing his.
He opened his eyes (more accurately, one and a half) to the sight of his father. It was his father’s hand, and when Geoffrey focused, it was his father telling him something, very insistently, without words. There was just ringing. Didn’t he know he couldn’t hear him with the thing in his ear? With that infernal sound in his head?
The activity around him was disorienting, because the ringing made it hard for him to focus. His mother had the cup this time and made him drink. Mother would take care of everything. She would take the thing out of his ear that hurt him so badly. She squeezed his other hand and kissed it. Why wouldn’t she stop talking? He felt so guilty; she was talking and he wasn’t listening.
“I can’t hear you,” he said. Or, it was what he intended to say. Maybe he didn’t say it, because he couldn’t hear it. Maybe what came out of his mouth was nonsense, but he wasn’t sure of anything, except that his mother started crying. He turned to his father, who looked dismayed and didn’t bother to hide it. His father usually tried to hide his emotions, but Geoffrey always saw through that mask, because it had been there all his life and he was familiar with it. Now his father wasn’t even trying. He just held his hand until Geoffrey fell asleep again, which as far as he could tell, wasn’t very long. He closed his eyes because he didn’t want to see his mother cry, and once they were closed, he couldn’t open them again.
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Every time he awoke the ringing was a little weaker, and he was a little stronger, and could focus more, but there was also more activity around him. They made him drink again. It was Reynolds, his manservant, with a very concerned and emotional look on his face. He liked James Reynolds a lot, being much the same age, but he had never seen him so openly upset.
Geoffrey wasn’t tied down, but every time he reached for his ear, they grabbed his hand and spoke to him again, even though he couldn’t hear and they must have known that. “It hurts,” he tried to say, hoping that was what he actually said.
His father, again at his side, just nodded, but still held his hand.
The other ear was all right. There was nothing there. There were bandages around his head, but nothing around his other ear, the right one, where the ringing originated. Why didn’t they do something? He wouldn’t ask; then they would just put the spike in that ear and then it would be in both ears and the pain would be unbearable. No one (and he could not for the life of him keep track of who was in the room) stopped him from inspecting that ear. But that was where he’d held the gun –
He remembered now. He’d fired the gun to shoot Hatcher. Maybe he’d shot him and maybe he hadn’t, because he didn’t remember anything after the gun fired. The sound was tremendous. The vibrations knocked him out cold and now he was safe in his bed at Pemberley. Where was Hatcher? Had his shot hit or missed? Where was Georgiana?
“Someone tell me something,” he demanded, and his parents expressed concerned glances. Had he said something odd? Had the words not come out right?
Maybe he slept a little bit before they produced the cards and maybe he didn’t; he really couldn’t tell. His mother held up two cards – one that read “yes” and the other “no”, written in bold strokes of a brush on crème paper.
“Did I shoot Hatcher?”
Yes, she held up.
“Is he dead?”
Yes.
“Is – Georgiana – I don’t remember.” He realized he was confined to the cards.
Yes.
“Georgiana – is she all right?”
Mother hesitated, and held up, No.
“Is ... is she dead?”
No.
Hatcher attacked her. He threw her into the water. She was bleeding. In what order that all happened, he couldn’t quite process. “Will she be all right?”
Yes.
He nodded, then immediately blacked out.
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He would not nod again. That had been stupid; his head was hurt too badly. When he awoke his parents were still there, in similar positions, but someone else was there as well. It was an old man, not too old, in very nice clothes, who started giving orders to the servants. Where was Dr. Maddox? But he didn’t have time to ask as they flipped him on his side and the old man pulled out the spike. It was just a bar, made of glass, which Geoffrey saw only briefly when he was finished screaming, so tiny and covered in blood.
His mother was there, kneeling under the doctor, squeezing his hand and speaking to him. He could tell what she was saying by instinct. It’s all right. Or something like that. She was trying to reassure him as they placed a pan under him.
“Dr. Maddox,” Geoffrey said. He didn’t want this doctor. He wanted Dr. Maddox. He was feeling ominous about the pan and all the instruments the doctor was sorting through. Eventually Dr. Maddox did appear, and smiled reassuringly, but did not stop the other doctor from taking a needle and putting it in his ear.
He must have been screaming very hard. His throat hurt from it. They were ready to hold him down as he felt the liquid drain from his ear. It smelled bad. The doctor had hurt his ear something awful and wiped him up, removing the pan, which was now filled with a yellow gunk. Then he reproduced the glass rod.
“No. Please, no.” He prayed to God they heard what he said. Dr. Maddox shook his head sadly; his mother held his hand, but they got the rod back in, and it was worse than everything previous, even the gunshot, but somehow he stayed awake. By the time they had him on his back again, he was able to take only a sip of broth before closing his eyes.
*****************************************
It was the first time he’d managed to keep his instinct in check. Geoffrey reached for the rod that was in his ear and then put his hand back down. He turned his eyes and Dr. Maddox held up a card. We have to keep the ear open. He held up another one. I’m sorry.
“I can’t hear,” Geoffrey said.
A stand was there now, and not only a pen, but a brush and a jar of black ink. Dr. Maddox made large strokes, normally an unthinkable waste of paper. He had to blow it dry before he could hold it up. We are trying to save your hearing.
But he couldn’t hear, and his right ear felt fine. “My ear – ” Geoffrey lifted his hand and grabbed his right ear.
Dr. Maddox shook his head.
Geoffrey sighed. Even with the ringing going down, and the pain subsiding, his dread was increasing. We are trying to save your hearing, the card had read. They were trying. He had blown out his right ear. The left was their last hope.
“How’s Georgie?”
Dr. Maddox, ever the attentive doctor to his patient, wrote and held up, Better.
“Can I see her?”
No.
“Why not? Is she too hurt to be moved?”
Yes.
“Is it permanent?” Like his ear.
No.
Dr. Maddox did not allow for more questions until Geoffrey drank something. This time it was not just tea, but also a salty meat broth. His manservant attended to him, giving the best smile he could.
Geoffrey tried to understand on his own, because it was easier for them to answer questions with yes and no. “Is the other man a doctor?”
Yes.
“Is he some kind of ear specialist?”
Yes.
It must have taken time to get him. Of course, he had no idea of the passage of time. Sometimes he woke and it was clearly day, and sometimes he
woke and it was clearly night. Every time he was tired, regardless of the actual hour.
“Do you have any medicine? For pain?”
Dr. Maddox sighed. There had to be a reason, and he actually sat down to write it, producing one card as the other dried. You slept for a long time, he wrote. You were in a coma.
“So?”
The medicine makes you sleepy. We are afraid to use it. The doctor held up the card, I’m sorry.
“I understand.”
The doctor must have understood him, because he nodded. Geoffrey couldn’t hear his own voice so he was never sure, but apparently he was saying actual words and they could understand him. That was a small comfort to pass the time before he fell asleep again.
*****************************************
He woke to find them changing the bandages on his head. The ear specialist had used a mirror to get the candlelight right into his eye, the one that he had only just succeeded in opening all the way. The feeling of something pressing down on his head was not as bad, and the ringing was fading. He wished other sounds replaced it, but they did not.
The first face he saw was George Wickham, who must have said something like “Hello.” It sort of looked like it on his lips. George sat on the bed and petted Gawain. Usually George was not particularly affectionate with the dog, but he was now. He touched the area with the little scar from the healing wound.
That was right. They shot his dog. Mr. Wallace shot his dog, and then Hatcher hit him. It was coming back to him. But Gawain was all right, and he was getting better, and Hatcher was dead.
There was a white-haired man at the far end of his bed, next to his father. For a second Geoffrey was frightened it was the awful doctor, but it was not. It was old man Jenkins, nervously playing with his worn hat, talking to him. Finally someone handed him a card and he held it up. He probably couldn’t even read it. It was the ‘I’m sorry’ card.
“It’s all right,” Geoffrey said. He wasn’t sure what Jenkins had done. Surely if it was serious, he would be arrested, not free and apologizing. His father would never let a man of that sort into Pemberley. He didn’t want to forgive him because there was probably nothing to forgive. “I feel better,” he said.
Mr. Jenkins smiled hesitantly and bowed. Then his father shooed the visitors away, including George, leaving Gawain on the bed as Dr. Maddox appeared with a new pile of papers. Answer these questions, said the first.
“All right.”
What year is it?
“1823.”
Who is the king of England?
“His Majesty King George the Fourth.”
What is your name?
He felt a little insulted, but he hid it. They were testing his memory; he could tell that much. “Geoffrey Darcy, son of Fitzwilliam Darcy, heir to Pemberley and Derbyshire.”
Dr. Maddox and his father both smiled, and it made Geoffrey feel warm inside. Still, he was thankful they didn’t ask the month, because he honestly did not know if it was still March, or if he had lost time and it was April – or worse, it had been even longer than that.
*****************************************
The next day (or time he was awake; he wasn’t sure), Reynolds came and shaved him, as he had the beginnings of a beard, and when he was done and perhaps somewhat presentable, Geoffrey saw his sisters. They all talked a lot to him, and his mother said something that was undoubtedly to mention he couldn’t hear them, but Cassandra and Sarah were ready, and held up a crayon sign that said, We love you. Get better soon.
“I am trying.”
The doctors entered – Maddox and the one he didn’t like, and he immediately tensed. This time, however, Dr. Maddox produced a vial of green medicine, and made him swallow a spoonful of the awful stuff before they turned him over to empty his ear again. It was not as bad this time, either because he was better or because he was drugged, but as the doctor took his time looking into his ear with a gigantic lens before reinserting the rod, Geoffrey felt sleepy. He still screamed, but it was all a little distant, and when it was over, his ear was not as painful, just quite uncomfortable. They asked no more of him. He could rest.
*****************************************
When he woke, George was there, reading a book. Apparently he wanted to do more than just wile away the hours staring at an unconscious cousin. “George,” Geoffrey said, startling him.
George had a letter all ready to go and handed it to him. It took some time for Geoffrey’s eyes to focus, but he could read it.
I’m leaving, George had written. Term starts at Cambridge in a few days. Charlie and Frederick left for Eton but you were much sicker and we didn’t want to wake you.
“You’re saying goodbye?”
George nodded.
He would miss Eton. Geoffrey would not finish there, in this condition. It wouldn’t affect his entrance into Cambridge, and to be perfectly honest he had never cared much for school, but he had been preparing for that sense of accomplishment, and now he would miss it. Even though there were things to feel worse about – like being deaf – he was struck by the sudden sadness of it. Gawain somehow sensed his mood, sitting up next to him and licking him until he was shooed back into position with a good scratching behind his ears. “Good dog.” He looked back at George. “Can you understand what I’m saying? I can’t hear myself.”
George nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened? Do you have time?”
George held up the Yes card, and sat down most studiously at the desk, drawing a fresh sheet of paper and a pen, and began to write. Geoffrey dozed. He could feel Gawain’s breathing as the hound’s stomach moved in and out, but he couldn’t hear him growling softly with content. He just knew that he was.
George shook Geoffrey’s hand to wake him, and handed him the letter. The lettering was large but not exceptionally so, and as much as it was a strain to read the writing, much less the several pages George had produced, Geoffrey did – all of it, even the unbelievable bits. Hatcher and his demands. His father trying to break the entail. Dr. Maddox had visited him and had told him about Gawain. So had Georgiana – unbelievable, but George was not the type to lie, especially in writing. If it had been anyone else, except maybe his father, Geoffrey would have questioned the validity of what he read, but he couldn’t. “Is Georgie in trouble? I mean, because of this.”
George nodded.
“And they’re all not speaking to each other.”
Yes.
“I want to see her.”
George quickly scribbled, I will see what I can do.
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Their first real attempt to sit him up was a monstrous disaster. First, the rod in his ear fell out and rolled away. By then he was so dizzy he was nauseous, and he lost the soup they had just forced down his throat. His head was still spinning when they laid him back down, propping his head up at his harried demand, which he was almost too blindsided to say. Added to the embarrassment of throwing up on his father (of all people) was the sudden appearance of the other doctor, and he just thought, I’m done for.
But his father wasn’t upset – he was only concerned. So concerned that he started talking to Geoffrey, as if forgetting that his son couldn’t hear him. Although he might have caught a word or two if he could have focused his eyes, but he couldn’t. When the doctor came at him as well, Geoffrey said, “Leave me alone!” It was probably a lot louder and angrier than he meant it to be. He just wanted to be left alone and close his eyes until the room stopped spinning.
It was lucky that he was too weak to be violent, because it took his father, Dr. Maddox, and Reynolds to hold him down as the other doctor put the needle in again, turned him over, and put something in his ear that made it burn, then over again so it could pour out. “Stop it! Stop it! I’m going to be ill!”
He could see his father saying something over and over as he held him down, and he liked to think it was, ‘You will be all right.’ But Geoff
rey just wished he could pass out or go to sleep and the burning would end and they wouldn’t put the rod back in. Maybe he was sick again and maybe he wasn’t; either way, they had to clean him up and set him aright, and suddenly it was all over.
But he didn’t sleep. His head was spinning and he felt as though he were moving and so he couldn’t sleep. His father shed his waistcoat and sat down beside him as the others talked in the background. They still hadn’t put the tube in yet. That was coming. He was dreading it. His father’s grip on his own hand said it all – You’re going to be all right. That was what he was trying to say, even if it wasn’t true.
Geoffrey swallowed. At least he wasn’t really moving and at least he wasn’t ill again, and when the doctors came back into his vision, Dr. Maddox held up a card. Geoffrey had to concentrate to stop his head from spinning long enough to focus on it. The inflammation has gone down.
“Oh, good.” Actually, he had no idea what that meant.
His father asked him something, maybe to him, maybe to the others. Geoffrey was tired but couldn’t rest, which was the worst kind of tired there could be.
Can you hear anything? Read the next card.
“No.”
They had reverted to using a charcoal pencil to make the words big enough for him to read. It will come back.
He wished he could believe it.
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The Knights of Derbyshire Page 21
