Page 17 of Reckless, Headstrong Girl
“You are all very quiet here, and it is a pleasant day. Shall we not go for a walk? I know you cannot be seen to be enjoying yourselves, but we could stroll to that little wilderness area and look into the spinney, perhaps. The goldfinches must be about in the grasses, and the nuthatches will be tapping at the bark. Surely, we should not sit here if we could be elsewhere.”
Jane melted entirely and took his arm, and off they went together, not really attending to whether anyone was following or not. Elizabeth sent Mary and Kitty after them, and then she went upstairs to her mother’s room.
“Mama,” she said in the gentlest of voices, “Mr. Bingley has come.”
“Mr. Bingley?” her mother asked in a pitiful whine.
“Charles Bingley. He has sent to London for a doctor for you. And he has taken Jane outside for a walk.”
“We are saved,” she whispered. “He will marry Jane, and Lydia cannot stay away from her sister’s wedding.”
Elizabeth put a cloth of lavender water on her mother’s head. “You must rest now, Mama. This endless fretting will do you no good. When the doctor comes, I will help you put on that pretty robe with the ruffle and your best lace cap. But first you need to sleep. Later, would you like some cream biscuits with your tea?”
“Yes, Lizzy.” Her mother closed her eyes and patted her hand. “You are a good girl in spite of everything.”
Chapter 16
East of St. Giles Rookery, London…
George Wickham lay in bed—pale and sweating—with a red streak spreading from his neck to his ear.
Darcy spoke calmly in an almost disinterested way. “Well, George. Here you are.”
“As you see, Darcy. To what do I owe the honor? Does Georgie miss me?”
“Your swagger does you credit. I am told you are very ill.”
“It is the knackers for me, Darcy. As you see.” He gestured weakly at his suppurating wound.
Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet stood gravely in the shadow at the edge of the room. Darcy could feel their impatience with his casual interview, but he knew Wickham far too well to even think of goading him just yet. Darcy pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Did someone stab you?” he asked, feigning interest.
“The witch bit me,” Wickham said with a chuckle that devolved into a painful cough.
Darcy brought the water glass from the bedside table and put it to Wickham’s lips.
“It was kind of Mrs. Younge to take you in. Has she brought a doctor to see you?”
“A quack she knows. Says I am done for.”
“I am sorry. Can I get you anything then?”
Wickham’s fevered eyes focused on Darcy for the first time. “What brings you to my bedside all charity for once? Are we to be old friends again, Darcy?”
“I want to know where you set Lydia Bennet down.”
“Ah.” Wickham closed his eyes and seemed to go to sleep. A minute later he opened his eyes and said, “What is it worth to you?”
“A very great deal, George. Do you want a better doctor? To be moved to an infirmary? A pretty pair of nurses?”
“Nurses,” he said with a faint grin, “and a bottle of good brandy.”
“Is that wise?”
“Surgeon says I would only hasten the end with drink. I am not inclined to linger, Darcy.”
“Where did you set Lydia Bennet down?”
