Page 69 of Roses from Pemberley
He chuckled. “Of course; I always do.”
“And write whether or not there is news.”
“I shall.”
He handed her into the carriage, then Bingley followed close behind her. Darcy closed the door, and the carriage began to pull away.
Elizabeth looked back through the window - at Darcy, standing under the gaslight and becoming dimmer and dimmer, as the London fog pressed between them.
She sat in the forward facing seat with her mother, while Jane and Bingley sat opposite them. Mrs. Bennet remained strangely quiet but thankfully no longer seemed as troubled as before. Instead, there was a kind of resignation upon her face which made Elizabeth realise how much her mother had grown in the past weeks.
Bingley spoke on occasion, pointing out landmarks and commenting on their good fortune that the roads were dry. The miles passed and they stopped at an inn between London and Hertfordshire. After refreshing themselves and having a light meal they continued northward and arrived at Longbourn just a little after noon.
Mary and Kitty were both standing at the front portico when the carriages pulled into the drive. Elizabeth jumped down even before the steps were placed and went directly to her sisters.
“Is he..?”
“Papa is alive, Lizzy,” said Mary. “But he is very weak and has a fever. Dr. Stephens does not know whether or not he will recover.”
“Dr Stephens?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy sent him from town. Did you not know of it?”
“No, but…perhaps he forgot to tell me…”
Bingley, Jane and Mrs. Bennet had alighted now and made their greetings. Afterwards, everyone entered the house.
“Mamma, may I assist you to Papa’s room?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, Lizzy, I should like to see your father.”
They entered Mr. Bennet’s room, followed by Jane, and saw that Mr. Bennet was propped up on three large pillows. Dr. Stephens, who had been sitting with him, stood up as they entered.
“And how is my husband, sir?” Mrs. Bennet asked him.
“He is doing a little bit better, Mrs. Bennet. But, unfortunately, he may have aspirated something during his apoplexy...”
“I do not understand, Doctor. What does that mean?”
“Aspiration,” answered the doctor, grimly, “is when the contents of the stomach end up in the wind pipe, sometimes leading to an infection of the lungs. And, in the case of your husband, I am afraid that that is what has happened as he has developed a slight fever. Hopefully it will subside soon. However, his weakened state may hinder such recovery.”
“An infection of the lungs!” cried Fanny Bennet, now coming to sit by her husband. “And have people been known to…die from this?”
“They have, at times,” replied the doctor hesitantly. “But others have survived. It is simply a matter of waiting, seeing how the body responds to ward off the infection.”
Mrs. Bennet looked mournfully at their father and exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Bennet, I cannot bear to lose you!”
He seemed barely able to move his arm but turned his head to her and said in halting tones, “There, there, Fanny. I amstill here, as the doctor has said, and may continue for another few days…at least.”
“Oh, good Lord!” cried Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth sat on the other side of his bed and regarded her father ruefully. He seemed so weak, so diminished; and his speech so slow. But at least his thought process was sound, and for that she was thankful.
“Do not worry, Fanny dear,” said Mr. Bennet, looking sympathetically at his wife, “You shall not be thrown in the hedgerows…not yet, at least.”
“You must not tease me so, Husband!” she responded, “for I have been worried sick about you.”
She began to sob so violently that Dr. Stephens took the opportunity to say, “I shall just step out for a moment to allow you some privacy.”
