A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

  Mr. Jack snatched the glass from her hand and sniffed the contents. He took a tiny taste, swirled around his mouth, and spat it out, tossing the remaining liquid into the fire where it sizzled. “Pour that out and never give it to him again.”

  “It helps his cough,” Elizabeth protested.

  “And makes it harder for him to breathe,” the highwayman snapped. “What sort of fool gives laudanum for consumption? He should have paregoric, nothing else.”

  And he claimed not to be an apothecary! But there was no point in arguing with him. She would make her own decision about Timothy’s medicine later.

  Mr. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a short wooden tube, just like the one the Meryton apothecary carried, because of course all highwaymen would carry apothecary tools. “Timothy, I want to listen to you breathe. I need to put this against your skin.”

  Timmy obediently unbuttoned his coat. Despite her grievance with Mr. Jack, Elizabeth helped him out of it. Even an outlaw apothecary was better than no apothecary, and at least Mr. Jack agreed with her on fresh air and exercise for Timmy.

  “Nurse still wraps my foot every day,” Timmy volunteered. “The new doctor said it was a waste of time, but I told her I wanted it anyway.”

  “Clever boy,” Mr. Jack said absently. He tugged up Timothy’s shirt and pressed the tube against his chest, bending to put his ear to the other end. Every few breaths, he would move it to a new spot and listen again. His tight expression made it clear he did not like what he was hearing. Finally he put away the tube and tucked the boy’s shirt in again.

  “Is it bad, then?” Timmy asked hesitantly.

  “Bad enough, and you will have to work very hard to get better.” From any other man, Mr. Jack’s words would have sounded unusually harsh, but in comparison to how he spoke to Darcy about his injury, it was practically gentle.

  Timothy must have been used to Mr. Jack’s ways, for he seemed unsurprised. “Do you want to see my foot?”

  “I had better, and then we will go for a walk.”

  Elizabeth said firmly, “Nurse already took Timmy out this morning.”

  “That was this morning. He is going to walk until his feet will not carry him, and then he will ride, and learn to row a boat, and once he is rested, he will do it all over again,” he said tightly.

  “I will be happy to hear your recommendations,” said Elizabeth. “But my aunt gave Timmy into my care, and there are matters you are not aware of.”

  “Such as?” he sneered.

  “Such as that if you take him for a long walk, he will collapse. Until I brought him here almost a month ago, he had not been allowed to walk more than a few feet under his doctor’s orders. He was bled and given purgatives regularly. He has improved his stamina since coming here, but a short walk around the grounds is still a challenge for him.”

  “Damned idiot! He needs exercise, not rest.”

  Elizabeth hoped he was speaking about the doctor rather than her, but she refused to be cowed. “I agree he needs exercise, but you cannot undo the weakness in his legs overnight,” she said evenly. “Threatening to shoot me or push me over a cliff will not change the facts.”

  He snorted. “Let me see that foot, then, lad.”

  The door opened and Nurse peeked in. “Are you awake then, Master Timothy?”

  “Yes,” Timothy said brightly. “Look who is here!”

  Nurse stopped short, her eyes widening. “Mr. Jack?” she squeaked.

  Elizabeth ground her teeth and left the nursery before she could say anything she would regret.

  Before she could reach the stairs, Nurse caught up with her, wringing her hands. “May I speak frankly, Miss Merton?”

  “Of course. Is something the matter?”

  “Well, it is just that I dinna know whether your aunt would approve of Mr. Jack being Timothy’s doctor again.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Is he doing something you disapprove of?”

  “Oh, no, miss!” Nurse shuffled her feet. “It is only...well, it is just that...I do not know.”

  Not more mysteries! “Pray be so good as to tell me why you are concerned.”

  Nurse squeezed her eyes shut as if she expected to be struck. “Mr. Jack said, well, that your aunt blamed him when Miss Imogen died.”

  Elizabeth stared at her in shock. What could Mr. Jack have done? “I think you had better tell me the entire story. Do you feel Mr. Jack was at fault?”

  The older woman bowed her head. “I dinna know! He gave her the same treatment as the others, even if he spent more time with Timothy because he was so much sicker. No one expected him to survive. Miss Imogen was so strong, and she barely seemed sick until almost the end. But Timothy lived, and Miss Imogen died.” Nurse wiped away a tear. “So did two of the maids.”

  “What was the matter with them?” Elizabeth had always been hesitant to ask her aunt about Imogen’s death.

  “’Twas scarlet fever, miss.”

  “What did Mr. Jack do to treat them?” She had always heard there was little to be done for scarlet fever sufferers.

  “Cooling baths with Epsom salts, and we had to keep trying to make them drink, though it hurt their poor throats so. Your aunt wanted him to bleed Miss Imogen when she was failing, and he wouldna do it. Said it would only make her worse. Your poor aunt was so devastated when Miss Imogen left us.”

  Elizabeth had never been convinced that bleeding helped anyone, and certainly Timmy was better for having stopped it, but it was unlike her aunt to be unfair. Still, losing her only child so soon after her husband’s death could make the strongest woman irrational. “Do you think Mr. Jack did his best for Imogen?”

  A martial light kindled in Nurse’s eye. “Of course he did! He would have slit his own throat if he thought that would save his brother’s only child!”

  Stunned, Elizabeth stared at Nurse in disbelief as a number of odd things suddenly began to make sense.

  DARCY LABORED OVER his letter to Georgiana, trying to distract himself from the prospect of his next encounter with Elizabeth. Even if she had forgiven him for the previous evening, and there was no evidence of that, she would doubtless be unhappy about his self-inflicted injury, and there was little he could say in his own defense. So it was not a surprise when she hurried into the room with a look of exasperation, but his heart sank anyway.

  She threw her hands out to the sides and exclaimed, “I do not believe this! I simply cannot believe it!”

  “I apologize,” he said humbly. “I should have told you the truth about my leg.”

  “Oh, not you. Do you know who first brought Timothy to my aunt and asked her to take him in? Do you know?” The pitch of her voice rose in aggrievement.

  Timothy? How had Timothy come into this? “I have no idea,” he said cautiously.

  “Mr. Jack, that is who! Yes, Mr. Jack, the highwayman who threatened to kill me. He was the one who convinced my aunt and uncle to give Timothy a home. And do you know why he was so interested in Timothy?”

  Most likely his natural son, at a guess, but he could hardly say that. “Pray do not tell me they are related.”

  She shook her head. “No. He was Timothy’s doctor. His doctor! When Timothy’s mother was dying, she begged him to keep Timmy out of the orphanage, so he took him to my aunt and uncle. And can you guess why he chose to ask them for help?”

  “Fellow clansmen?” Darcy guessed. He had never seen Elizabeth so agitated.

  “Because my uncle was his brother, that is why!” She collapsed into a chair and covered her face with her hands. “It is beyond belief! That my uncle’s brother, a doctor, should turn highwayman and threaten to kill me!”

  “MacLaren the Younger said he was not a highwayman, though,” Darcy said.

  Elizabeth threw up her hands. “Call him what you like – smuggler, free-trader, outlaw. He held up my carriage, and that makes him a highwayman as far as I am concerned. And when I ask anyone how he came to be an outlaw, they seem to forget how to speak English!
Is everyone here daft?”

  Darcy blinked in surprise. “Your uncle’s brother? I had suspected some sort of medical training, but not that. He must have run afoul of the law somehow.”

  “Well, he is certainly on the wrong side of the law now!” Elizabeth expelled a long breath. “I do not like discovering that the most exasperating man in Scotland is my uncle’s brother!”

  Darcy eyed her carefully. “It is a relief to me. I rather thought you considered me the most exasperating man in Scotland.” And he was grateful to Mr. Jack for somehow irritating Elizabeth enough to make her forget her anger with him.

  She gave a gurgle of laughter. “No, you will need to try much harder if you wish to surpass Mr. Jack in that regard. He is upstairs turning Timothy’s medical treatment on its head. He plans to treat him himself, and I would not be a bit surprised if he threatens to shoot me again if I stand in his way.”

  Darcy felt a surge of sympathy for poor Timothy being subjected to Mr. Jack’s bedside manner. “I suppose Mr. Jack’s real name must be MacLaren, then.”

  “I had assumed that given how the clan treats him, but still. My uncle’s brother!” She shook her head in frustrated astonishment.

  Mrs. Graham walked in, a book in hand. Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Darcy, and said, “Pray do not permit me to interrupt your letter.” She clearly did not want to discuss Mr. Jack in Mrs. Graham’s presence. Of course not; Mrs. Graham must have known his identity all along.

  “Not that ye will be able to send it until the pass opens,” said Mrs. Graham wryly, apparently not fooled.

  “No, but it has been much longer than usual since I wrote to my sister, so I must make up for it with an extra long letter. It is hard since I have little to report to her, as I have done nothing apart from sit in this chair,” said Darcy. “Fortunately, she has had a fascination for the Highlands since she first discovered Walter Scott’s poetry, so telling her about the view from the window will still interest her.”

  Elizabeth said, “You can tell her all about Kinloch House, as long as you do not mention my name.”

  Mrs. Graham snorted. “Why should he leave ye out? Ye have been respectably chaperoned. Or will they consider a Scotswoman not respectable enough for the job?” she demanded.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “That is not the issue. Mr. Darcy comes from a life I left behind when my aunt adopted me, and I want no one in England to know he has seen me. It is a personal preference, nothing more.”

  “I will say nothing of you,” he said automatically. Then her words sank in, and a hollow opened in the pit of his stomach. “But I must tell you the truth. I have already told certain people I have seen you.”

  All the color fled from her face. “Who?” she whispered, her hand rising to her throat.

  “Only Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bingley. They both already suspected you were in Scotland with your aunt, and I did not tell any of them the name you were using or how to find you. So you need not worry.” But he could see how distressed she was.

  She shook her head slowly as if in disbelief. “Need not worry?” Her voice rose on the last words. “You know nothing of my reasons for leaving England, and you tell me I need not worry? How could you? Did it never occur to you that if I wanted them to know my whereabouts, I would have told them myself?”

  “It was not like that. Bingley had written to me, thinking I was in London, to say that he had learned you were in Edinburgh and that he and your sister planned to come looking for you, so I had to tell him I had found you already. Your uncle Gardiner has been so very worried about you that I felt obliged to tell him you were well and happy.” He gazed at her, imploring for her understanding.

  “Happy?” She turned her face away. “Do you think I did not know they were worried? Do you think I did not want to reassure them? I had my reasons for not doing so, but you – you had to know best and to try to fix everything,” she said bitterly. “At Christmas dinner, you said you would tell no one. And I believed you!”

  “I thought you meant I should not tell anyone in Edinburgh. I meant no harm.” But God help him, he had not given it a moment’s thought whether she would want them to know or not, only to relieving their understandable concern. But why would she be upset that they knew she was alive and well? Why did it have to be such a secret? “I will write them straight away and warn them not to mention it to anyone else. I am certain they can be trusted.”

  “Trusted? Like my sister Jane could be trusted not to tell Charlotte that I was with my aunt, and Charlotte could be trusted not to tell you?” she demanded, her voice breaking.

  In a low voice, he said, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am to have caused you such distress. Is there nothing I can do to ameliorate the situation? Why is it so terrible for them to know you are alive?”

  She froze in place. “Have you not heard a word I said? I have asked you again and again to leave this be. I tried to stay away from you precisely to prevent a situation like this. You do not need to know my reasons. Why must you continue to pry into matters that have nothing to do with you?”

  He flinched. “You are correct that I have not respected your desire to stay away from me. I have no excuse. I am a selfish being, and perhaps I have not attended sufficiently to the concerns you have expressed. But my desire to help you is genuine and deeply felt.”

  She jumped to her feet. “Stop trying to help me! It just makes matters worse. The only way you can help me is by forgetting you ever knew me and never mentioning my existence once you leave here.” She started out of the room, then stopped short in the doorway and turned around slowly. “How could you write to my uncle Gardiner? You never met him,” she accused.

  “I needed his help in finding you. After I asked your father for your hand and he refused me –”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “You asked my father for me?”

  “Of course. As soon as I discovered what had happened to you, but he would not tell me where you were and all but threw me out of Longbourn. I remembered you had an uncle in London, so I found him and asked him for his help. He and your aunt were very kind to me. Since I came to Scotland, I sent him reports whenever I learned something new – when I first saw you, when I found out more about Mrs. MacLean, and after I spoke to you at Christmas dinner. I received a response from him just before I came here, expressing his great relief.”

  Tears shone in Elizabeth’s eyes. She turned and fled the room.

  “Well, ’tis a royal mess ye have made of that,” observed Mrs. Graham.

  IF ONLY HER HEART WOULD stop pounding! Blood rushed through her, making it impossible to think clearly. How could he have betrayed her this way? After all she had left behind to protect her secret, all she had lost, and he had simply given it away.

  How many people must know by now that Darcy had seen her? Bingley would have told Jane, whose tender heart would have insisted on sharing the news with their mother, who would have gossiped to Lady Lucas, who would have passed the news to her son-in-law Mr. Collins, and he would have run straight to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  Her father might even now be under arrest and awaiting trial, and she was helpless to stop it.

  She clapped her hand over her mouth as her stomach heaved. Was it already too late? There must be something she could do! She would write immediately and tell them...what? To keep a secret they most likely had already spread? To tell her straightaway if her father was arrested? But then she would have to explain the entire story and if by some miracle they had told no one, that would only add to the danger.

  With trembling hands, she lifted her lockbox from the drawer of the bedside table. It took three tries to fit the delicate key into the lock before she could open the top and remove the thick paper that lay inside. She unfolded it and began to read the words that had been burned into her memory.

  No. They would not have arrested her father yet. They did not care about punishing her, only keeping her from marrying Darcy. Once they arrested her father, there would no lo
nger be anything to stop her from turning to Darcy, and that was what they wanted to prevent.

  If word had reached them, they would already have someone en route to Scotland to put a stop to her connection to Darcy, ready to threaten her again, to force her to go away again, even farther this time. To leave the aunt and city she had grown to love.

  But that meant she had a little time. Her father and family were safe for now. Her breath came easier. She smoothed the contract.

  A line near the end caught her eye. If either party should contract to marry another...

  That was it. It was a straw, but she would grasp at it. As soon as she could reach Edinburgh, she would ask her aunt to find a man willing to betroth himself to her. If luck was with her, it would prove unnecessary, and she could break the betrothal later. Her reputation would be damaged, but her father would be safe.

  She stilled as a new thought struck her. Perhaps she might need not go even that far. It would not matter if Bingley or Jane told people that Darcy had seen her if they also said she was married. It did not have to be true, if only they believed it. Yes. That one lie could save everything. Yes.

  WHEN ELIZABETH FINALLY returned to the drawing room, she curtsied to Mrs. Graham and Darcy and said, “I must apologize for my loss of composure and harsh words. Mrs. Graham, I find myself in need of a few minutes’ private discourse with Mr. Darcy. Since he cannot be moved easily, may I impose upon you to allow us a brief time alone?”

  The older woman shrugged and gathered up her embroidery. “If ye wish.” She shuffled out of the room, leaving the double doors open, and stationed herself in the library where she could still see them.

  Elizabeth turned to Darcy and said in a quiet voice, “There is one thing you can do to help me. You can tell Mr. Bingley and the Gardiners that I am married.”

  He looked bewildered, which was hardly surprising. “But you are not married.”

  “If they believe I am, I can rest easy.” She watched him steadily.

  “Why would that make a difference?”