The face that looked back at her from the mirror was pale and drawn.
She pinched her cheeks to put some colour in them, for she did not want her aunt to worry, and then she went downstairs.
Her aunt and Mrs Stacey were already there at the breakfast table. They looked up as she entered the room and their faces were grave.
‘This is a dark day, Lizzy,’ said her aunt.
Elizabeth nodded.
She took her place at the table, sweeping the skirt of her gown beneath her so that it should not crease, and looked at the breakfast laid out before her. There was a pot of chocolate and there were hot rolls and cakes, but she did not want any of it. She did not want to eat.
‘You must,’ said her aunt, as if reading her thoughts.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Stacey bracingly. ‘There is only one thing to be done, and that is to carry on as normal.’
She had been through this kind of thing many times before. As the wife of a staff officer she was used to conflicts and her advice was good.
Jane came downstairs soon afterwards, followed by Mary and Kitty. They took their place at the table but the conversation was subdued. Normally, after a ball, there was much lively chatter as the Bennet sisters discussed their dancing partners, the music, the food, the clothes and every other aspect of the ball. But this morning no one wanted to talk about it.
No one except Mrs Bennet, that is. She came in a few minutes later and she was her usual self. She had had a fright the evening before, but it had not been so great a fright as when Lydia eloped, for Mrs Bennet was always more interested in her own family than anyone else.
‘You danced very well last night,’ said Mrs Bennet to Mary as she helped herself to a plate full of hot rolls and cake. ‘I dare say Mr Manningham will be calling this morning.’
‘He is going to speak to the Duke of Richmond about joining the reserves,’ said Mary. ‘He has a weak chest and so cannot join the regular army but he says someone must defend the city if Napoleon is victorious on the battlefield.’
The hot roll which Elizabeth had been attempting to eat turned to ashes in her mouth and she put it back on her plate, with only the smallest bite taken out of it.
‘He has a weak chest?’ asked Mrs Bennet, seizing on the only part of the conversation which interested her. ‘Dear me. He seemed such a healthy young man. But even the best of husbands has something. Has he said anything to you yet about speaking to your Papa? I am sure Mr Bennet would be happy to give him permission to marry you. You must encourage him, Mary. Gentlemen need a bit of encouragement.’
‘Mamma,’ said Elizabeth in low tones. ‘Did you not hear what Mary said? Mr Manningham has gone to join the reserves in case Napoleon invades the city.’
‘I am sure I don’t mind if Napoleon invades Brussels,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘Why, when he invaded cities before he held the most splendid balls, as long as no one opposed him. I would not say no to a smart French officer for one of my girls. Kitty is not yet spoken for.’
They could not get her to think seriously on the subject and so as soon as breakfast was over, Elizabeth took a turn around the garden. It was small and enclosed but she felt better in the fresh air, and here she was not so much reminded of the conflict going on just a few short miles away, with Mr Darcy possibly wounded or dead.
I will not think of it, she said to herself resolutely.
Here in the garden it was peaceful, but in the city beyond there was a military atmosphere. There was the constant sound of bugles and drums, with the wail of bagpipes adding to the noise. Soldiers were running through the streets with orders, there were horses neighing and hooves clattering and a sense of urgency which had been missing only twenty-four hours before.
Jane soon joined her.
The two ladies sat down on a bench and Elizabeth confided in Jane, telling her everything that had happened at the ball and her fears for the future.
She felt better having done so. There was a strong bond of love and affection between them and the mere presence of Jane consoled her more than an hour’s conversation with almost anyone else could have done.
The day passed slowly. Mr Manningham called in the afternoon to see how the ladies did and to tell them that he had been accepted for the reserves.
‘We, too, must be of use,’ said Mrs Stacey in her practical manner, once he had gone. ‘There will be wounded men coming into the city before long. We must make bandages.’
Mrs Bennet was horrified. She had visions of a triumphant army returning in shining uniforms, ready to dance the night away, or Napoleon marching in unopposed and arranging a ball. She had no wish to make bandages or nurse the sick. But when Mrs Gardiner added her voice to Mrs Stacey’s, Mrs Bennet could no longer talk of triumphant balls and retired to her room with a bad head.
Elizabeth was glad to have something to do. Mrs Stacey was very good at organising everyone and soon they were all busy.
It was half way through the afternoon when they heard a booming noise and Elizabeth looked out of the window at the clear sky. She had expected to see clouds covering the sun and rain pouring down. But there was nothing.
A minute later it came again and she realised it was not thunder, it was the sound of cannon.
The battle was coming closer.
The following day, things were worse. As Elizabeth helped her aunt and Mrs Stacey prepare the spare bedrooms for injured men, and thought how the downstairs rooms, too, could be turned into accommodation for injured troops if necessary, there came a rumour that the Allies were in retreat. The news came from the Netherlandish battalions who flooded the city, saying all was lost.
‘This is a rumour, nothing more,’ said Mrs Stacey firmly. ‘In war time, all sorts of rumours fly about.’
‘But the men were on the battlefield. They must know,’ said Jane.
Her voice was frightened.
Elizabeth took her hand and squeezed it but she too was frightened.
‘They know what happened on their part of the battlefield, and to their battalions,’ said Mrs Stacey bracingly. ‘They do not know what happened elsewhere, and to other battalions. We will not believe this until the rumour is confirmed. In the meantime, ladies, we must carry on.’
‘Other people do not feel the same,’ said Kitty in frightened voice. She looked out of the window, where carriages were hurrying past, full of people trying to escape. ‘Oh, please send for the carriage. I want to go home.’
‘I know, my dear,’ said Mrs Stacey. ‘But it is no use sending for the carriage. The streets will soon be blocked and we are better here, in the house, where we can be comfortable, instead of being cooped up in a carriage getting hot and bothered and going nowhere.’
‘Mrs Stacey is right,’ said Mary. ‘We must carry on.’
Mary no longer spoke in a prosing tone. She had some experience to guide her and although she had not lost her desire to moralise entirely it was now well regulated and her comments were useful rather than preaching.
They all returned to their work, but they did so with heavy hearts.
‘I am sure he is safe,’ whispered Jane to Elizabeth. ‘He is with his cousin, who is a very experienced military campaigner. He will come through.’
‘Oh, Jane,’ said Elizabeth, with a sob in her voice. ‘What if he doesn’t?’
‘Now, now, we will not think of that,’ said Mrs Stacey, who had overheard them.
‘Mrs Stacey is right, Lizzy,’ said Mrs Gardiner in a more sympathetic tone. ‘It is always better to hope for the best. If you imagine the worst and it never comes to pass then you have tortured yourself unnecessarily.’
‘And if it comes to the worst?’ asked Elizabeth in a drooping voice.
‘Then you have extended the pain.’
Elizabeth saw the sense of her aunt’s argument and she vowed to remain as cheerful as possible, and as useful as possible, until – and unless – she knew there was a reason to be otherwise.
Mrs Stacey’s words proved prophetic. Mo
re and more carriages crowded the streets until they could not move as people tried to flee the city before Napoleon arrived.
But there was no time to worry about it, for soon afterwards, carts began coming the other way, bringing the wounded into the city.
Elizabeth wanted to run out of the house and look for Mr Darcy, in case he should be among the wounded, but her arm held her back.
‘Let Mrs Stacey’s servants go,’ she said. ‘They are used to it. I will ask them to enquire for our friends and I will number Mr Darcy among them.’
Elizabeth gave her aunt her heartfelt thanks.
Soon, wounded men started to appear at the house. Those with serious injuries were taken elsewhere but those with light wounds were taken in by any house which would take them.
‘Are the Miss Bennets prepared for this?’ Elizabeth heard Mrs Stacey saying in a low voice to Mrs Gardiner. ‘There is no shame if they are not. The men are filthy and blood-soaked.’
Elizabeth stepped forward.
‘We will manage,’ she said.
‘Good,’ said Mrs Stacey. ‘Bravely spoken. If you feel faint there is no shame in it and you should withdraw to your room until you feel better. But I would value your help if you feel able to aid me. It will not be proper for you to tend anyone who needs too much assistance. The servants will assist Mrs Gardiner and I with that. But there are many men with light sounds who still need help, and who would value someone to write a letter for them or simply lift their spirits.’
Elizabeth, Mary and Jane were soon helping. Kitty was distressed at the sight of the injured men and Mrs Stacey saw it, so she asked Kitty to sit with Mrs Bennet.
‘You will be performing a vital duty,’ she said to Kitty. ‘Your Mamma needs someone with her at this trying time.’
Kitty was relieved to have a task more suited to her abilities and she retreated with her dignity intact.
Indeed, it was a vital duty, since Mrs Bennet had gone into hysterics when she entered the drawing-room expecting to find afternoon tea, and had been confronted with gentlemen who had bloody bandages on their hands and heads instead. She had retreated to her room and taken Hill to comfort her, but Hill was a sensible body who was in fact a great help, once Kitty had taken her place in attending to Mrs Bennet.
The day passed in a blur. Everyone was glad to be busy since it stopped them thinking and fearing the worst. At last, exhausted, Elizabeth climbed into bed. She fell asleep at once and dreamt of Mr Darcy.
Chapter Fourteen
The following day was June 18th, and if all had gone according to plan, Elizabeth would have been on her way home. Instead she woke to the knowledge that today, like the previous day, she would be needed to help the wounded who made the way to Mrs Stacey’s house. She rose and bathed then went downstairs. Jane was there, and so was Mary. Mrs Stacey and Mrs Gardiner had already breakfasted and were tending to household duties and making sure the wounded lodged with them were comfortable. Kitty had eaten her breakfast on a tray in Mrs Bennet’s room and was continuing with the valuable work of tending to her mother, so that Mrs Bennet did not make life more difficult for everyone concerned.
After breakfast, Elizabeth helped a wounded man write to his mother so she would not worry about him and then she read to another wounded gentleman who was in low spirits. She made her voice cheerful as she read an amusing story but it was not easy for her, since her thoughts were elsewhere, with Mr Darcy.
Where is he? she wondered.
And, a less welcome thought, Is he alive or is he . . .
She would not allow herself to finish that thought.
He must be alive, she thought.
Her aunt knew how worried she was and so she suggested they pay a call on Miss Darcy.
‘It will be quite proper,’ said her aunt. ‘You have been introduced and it is natural you should enquire about her cousin and brother. Besides, it will do you good to leave the house. Your sisters should come, too. You have all been kept indoors by necessity, but the flow of injured troops has slowed and there are people strolling in the park. Mr Manningham and Mr Stacey are both cautiously optimistic that the tide of battle has turned. It is too soon to be certain but there is room for hope.’
Elizabeth gratefully put on her pelisse and bonnet, for she loved to be out of doors and she had found it a sore trial to be confined to the house. Her sisters, too, appreciated the diversion and, taking a footman with them, they set out for Lady Fitzwilliam’s house.
The day was fine and there was a warm breeze blowing. Elizabeth breathed in deeply, glad to be in the fresh air. She both looked forward to, and dreaded, arriving at Lady Fitzwilliam’s house. What if there had been news? What if it was bad?
She felt her feet dragging as they neared the street on which Lady Fitzwilliam’s house was placed, but once they turned the corner and saw the house before them she felt a sense of relief. The curtains were not drawn, as they certainly would have been if there had been news of a death.
They approached the grand house and the footman knocked at the door. It was opened by a stately butler who bowed them inside. They were shown into the drawing-room, where Lady Fitzwilliam was receiving visitors with her daughters and her niece, Georgiana Darcy.
‘How good of you to call,’ said Lady Fitzwilliam.
She invited them to sit down and they arranged themselves on the splendid sofas, which had gilded arms and legs. The room was furnished in opulent style and gilding gleamed from the mirrors and the edges of side tables, as well as the sofas and chairs.
‘I am glad to see you all well,’ said Lady Fitzwilliam. ‘These are trying times. I hear that Mrs Stacey has opened her house to the wounded and that the young ladies have been tending the injured.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Gardiner.
Elizabeth wondered what Lady Fitzwilliam’s reaction would be. She was sure that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would have thought it unsuitable but Lady Fitzwilliam said, ‘I am glad to hear it. It is a charitable act that will be appreciated by the mothers and sisters of every wounded gentleman, whether or not their own particular relatives were tended in Mrs Stacey’s house.’
Mrs Gardiner thanked her for her words.
‘It must be an anxious time for you,’ continued Mrs Gardiner.
‘Yes. My son and my nephew are both on the battlefield but I pray they will come through safely.’
‘As do we all,’ said Mrs Gardiner.
As their elders talked, the young ladies all talked together. Elizabeth admired Miss Darcy’s sampler, which she was stitching assiduously.
‘It is for my brother,’ said Miss Darcy, ‘when he returns.’
‘It is beautiful,’ said Elizabeth.
‘It is of Pemberley,’ said Miss Darcy, displaying the beautiful cross stitch which was half finished.
‘I have heard much about it, but nothing has done it justice,’ said Elizabeth. ‘It is said that a picture paints a thousand words and it is true. Your needlework has given me an appreciation of the beauty of Pemberley which no description could do.’
‘I hope one day you will see it,’ said Miss Darcy. ‘I know my brother would like to show it to you. He has spoken of it and said he hopes we will be friends.’
Those words, so artlessly spoken, warmed Elizabeth through.
‘I am sure we shall be,’ she said Elizabeth.
Jane, Mary and Kitty spoke to Lady Fitzwilliam’s daughters and they all parted at last feeling well pleased with their visit.
‘A very fine family, with no false pride or sense of superiority,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘Lady Fitzwilliam is a sensible woman and I find the family charming. You seemed to be enjoying your conversation with Miss Darcy, Lizzy.’
‘Yes. I did,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Miss Darcy is a lovely young lady.’
The sun had come out and they walked back to Mrs Stacey’s house with the spring warmth on their cheeks. The scent of flowers was carried to them on the breeze and there was a more hopeful air than there had been for days. The pe
ople strolling through Brussels were no longer anxious. The slowing of the injured had had its effect and there were rumours of the tide turning against the French.
They returned refreshed and ready to take up their nursing again.
Mrs Stacey took Mrs Gardiner aside when they entered the house and the young ladies went upstairs to remove their outdoor things. When they came down again, Mrs Gardiner said, ‘I would like your help, Lizzy.’
Elizabeth went with her aunt, following her into a small downstairs parlour which had been converted into a sick room. There was a gentleman sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He was dirty and dishevelled, but Elizabeth’s spirits soared, for it was Mr Darcy. There was a bloody bandage around his head and another on his hand. There was a third around his leg. But he was alive and in one piece and as she entered the room he looked up and a look of love flooded his face.
‘Elizabeth!’ he said.
He tried to rise but he winced at the pain in his leg and sat down again abruptly.
‘She flew across the room to him and knelt beside him.
‘You have come back to me!’ she said.
‘As I promised,’ he said with a tender smile. His gaze travelled over her face, drinking her in. ‘You are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen,’ he said. ‘Your eyes are like diamonds.’
And indeed they were, for they were glistening with tears.
‘You must not cry,’ he said, gently brushing away a tear with the back of his hand.
‘I am crying with happiness,’ she said.
He lifted his other hand to brush away a tear from her other cheek but he winced and she looked at the bandage.
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 Page 28
