Page 10 of Grief and Grievances
Though he understood his aunt’s distress, Darcy marvelled at her ability to retain her sense of entitlement even amidst such dire circumstances. It was a testament to the strength of her character, albeit one that often grated upon his nerves.
“Mr. Darcy,” Lady Catherine addressed him suddenly, her eyes locking onto his somewhat dishevelled form as he clambered down from the rear of the carriage. “You must assist in this matter! We cannot afford any delays in seeing to Anne’s care.”
“Of course, Aunt,” Darcy replied, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement. His mind raced with thoughts of how best to support Anne in her time of need and ensure that the frenzied atmosphere did not worsen her already precarious health.
As he watched Lady Catherine move away to continue her barrage of instructions, Darcy could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. Despite her overbearing manner, it was evident that she loved her daughter dearly and would do anything to protect her. The truth of Anne’s prognosis would absolutely devastate her.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, sensing his cousin’s mounting frustration, approached his aunt with a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “My dear aunt,” he began, his soothing tone a balm to the storm, “Darcy and I shall see to Anne’s transfer inside. You need not worry.”
“Very well,” Lady Catherine conceded, her voice quivering with a blend of anger and concern. Her eyes remained fixed on the unconscious form of her daughter, lying prone within the coach.
“Why is Anne on the floor?” she demanded. “It is hardly fitting for a de Bourgh to travel on the floor…”
“The doctor instructed it, Aunt Catherine. Please. Let Darcy and I take Anne to her room. We will come to you in the parlour shortly.”
“Very well,” Lady Catherine agreed finally, turning away to enter the house. They heard her shouting immediately for the housekeeper, but at least she was no longer over their shoulders, making an already tense and delicate situation worse.
“Thank you, Colonel,” Darcy murmured, grateful for his cousin’s intervention. Turning to Elizabeth, whose countenance remained resolute amidst the turmoil, he said, “Miss Bennet, I would appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” she replied softly, her gaze meeting his with compassion shining in her fine eyes.
Turning to the carriage driver, Darcy issued a swift command, his voice firm.
“Find out where the birth is that the doctor is attending,” he ordered. “Take the carriage there and wait until he is done, then bring him directly here to attend Miss de Bourgh.”
“Of course, sir!” stammered the driver, taken aback by the gravity in Darcy’s tone.
With the arrangements for medical aid set in motion, Darcy’s attention returned to the task at hand. Together, he and Colonel Fitzwilliam carefully lifted Anne from the plush seats, cradling her fragile body between them. The servants flanked their sides, offering additional support to ensure a smooth and steady transfer.
The air was thick with tension, their every movement cautious and measured to avoid causing further harm to the fragile woman they carried.
“Steady now,” Elizabeth murmured, her voice laced with concern as they manoeuvred Anne through the grand entrance of Rosings. Darcy, despite his natural inclination towards authority, found himself following Elizabeth’s lead, grateful for her calm presence amidst the chaos.
The journey up the staircase felt interminable, each step a small triumph as they inched closer to Anne’s chambers. Darcy’s heart hammered in his chest, worry gnawing at him like a relentless spectre. Through it all, however, he could not help but marvel at Elizabeth’s composure—her unwavering focus serving as a beacon of stability amongst the storm that threatened to consume them all.
“Here we are,” Elizabeth announced softly as they reached the doorway to Anne’s bedchamber. Her eyes met Darcy’s, their gazes intertwining in a moment of shared understanding before they carefully guided Anne inside.
The room took on a sombre atmosphere as they laid Anne upon the bed. The once-pristine linens were quickly stained by the remnants of her accident, a stark reminder of the ordeal that had befallen the young woman.
A maid sobbed quietly as she rushed to the bedside with a basket full of clean bandages. By the window stood the housekeeper, Mrs. Watson, sobs shaking her stout form. Darcy knew Mrs. Watson had been very close to Mrs. Jenkinson; doubtless the news of her friend’s death had been communicated.
As Darcy surveyed the room, the oppressive weight of grief threatened to crush his composure. Chaos swirled around him, yet his mind remained fixed on Elizabeth. Even with her hands stained by his cousin’s blood, her strength and compassion shone through.
He watched as she tried in vain to rouse the inconsolable Mrs. Watson from her anguish. Seeing the housekeeper lost to her sorrow, Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Collins. “Charlotte, perhaps you could oversee the arrangements needed? The staff requires guidance, and I fear Lady Catherine cannot presently fulfil that role.”
Darcy admired Elizabeth’s wisdom in seeking order through Charlotte’s steady hand. Mrs. Collins’ calm assurance and management skills would prove vital in restoring equilibrium to the distressed household.
Darcy murmured, “Your presence has brought invaluable comfort and reason, Miss Bennet. I know not how we would manage without you.”
Seeing uncertainty cloud her fine eyes, he knew she doubted the propriety of her actions. “Mr. Darcy, I hope I have not overstepped. But in such turmoil, I thought Charlotte’s composure might provide some order.”
Considering her words, Darcy recognized the truth in them. “Miss Bennet, your suggestion shows both prudence and insight. Mrs. Collins has demonstrated exceptional household skills, despite her husband’s… singular qualities. I am confident in her abilities to aid us now.”
Relief washed over Elizabeth’s face at his reassurance. In their shared concern for Anne, Darcy felt an unexpected connection growing between them, one he longed to nurture and understand.
Turning to Charlotte, he confirmed his faith in her temporarily taking charge of the household. As they moved to grapple with the duties before them, Darcy marvelled at the solidarity forged by this tragedy. And through it all, the vision of Elizabeth’s courage and compassion remained emblazoned in his mind, a light guiding him through the darkness.
With a determined nod, Charlotte excused herself and departed to assemble the staff, her newfound authority settling upon her like a mantle. As she walked down the hallway, Darcy could not help but admire the strong-willed woman who had so willingly taken on the responsibility of managing a household in crisis.
