Page 6 of Grief and Grievances
“Faith,” Mr. Collins echoed, wringing his hands nervously. “Yes, of course, faith. It is only through faith that we shall persevere in these trying times.”
“Indeed, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth responded, her tone firm yet kind. “But let us not forget the importance of action as well. When the doctor arrives, we must be prepared to assist him in any way necessary.”
Her words seemed to galvanise the group, each member drawing strength from her unwavering resolve. As they waited in tense anticipation, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned inward, reflecting on the events that had led them all to this point. She understood now that life was fragile and fleeting, bound by the delicate threads of love, duty, and societal expectations. And it was her role, she realised, to help guide those around her through the tangled web of life, no matter the challenges they might face.
Chapter Three
AsElizabethlookedonthe lifeless form of Mrs. Jenkinson, her heart heavy with the weight of the tragedy that had befallen them, she felt the world around her blur into a haze of muted colours and indistinct voices. It was Charlotte, ever calm and collected in the face of adversity, who gathered herself and took command of the situation, finding useful tasks for each of them to do.
“Mr. Collins,” said Charlotte, her voice firm but gentle, “Will you fetch Mr. Turner, the farmer from just along the lane? His cart can be used to transport poor Mrs. Jenkinson’s remains.”
“Indeed, madam,” replied Mr. Collins, his voice quavering as he gazed upon the still form of the deceased, his usual obsequiousness momentarily forgotten. “I shall depart at once.”
With a quick, determined stride, Mr. Collins set off toward the nearby farm. Elizabeth could not help but admire her friend’s composure and ability to act under such trying circumstances. She knew that Charlotte’s level-headedness was undoubtedly the result of her practical nature and unwavering loyalty to those she held dear.
As the reality of the situation began to settle upon her, Elizabeth found herself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. How could so much devastation have come about in the span of mere moments?
“Charlotte,” whispered Elizabeth, her voice barely audible even to her own ears, “what do you suppose will happen now?”
“Elizabeth, my dear friend,” replied Charlotte in hushed tones, “we must keep our wits about us. There is still much to be done, and I fear we cannot afford to dwell on the unknown just yet. But worry not; together, we shall see this through.”
Elizabeth nodded, drawing strength from Charlotte’s unwavering resolve.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, observing the scene with a mixture of concern and determination, cleared his throat before addressing Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, I shall take it upon myself to inform Lady Catherine of this unfortunate occurrence and fetch her carriage for Anne’s transport, once the doctor has given his approval.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” replied Elizabeth with a grateful nod. The responsibility of breaking such dire news to the formidable Lady Catherine was no small burden, and she was appreciative of the Colonel’s willingness to shoulder it.
The Colonel remounted his horse, accepting the reins of Darcy’s horse too, as Darcy certainly would not leave Anne’s side, and rode off at a brisk canter towards Rosings. Elizabeth did not envy the reception he would receive there.
But there was still much work to be done; Charlotte, ever practical and unflappable, took it upon herself to address the immediate issue of the loose ponies. With determination etched on her face, she carefully approached the frightened animals, speaking soothingly to them as she freed them of the last of their harnesses and guided them away from the scene of destruction and toward a nearby field where they could be safely contained.
Throughout this harrowing ordeal, Elizabeth found herself overwhelmed by the myriad of emotions churning within her. Fear and anxiety threatened to consume her, yet she could not help but marvel at the strength and resilience displayed by those around her—Charlotte’s unerring calm, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s unwavering sense of duty, Mr Darcy’s ability not to panic despite his obvious concern for his cousin.
In the midst of the chaos, Elizabeth took a moment to reflect on the fragile nature of life and the importance of cherishing the connections that bound them all together. It was a sobering lesson, one which left her questioning her own capacity for compassion and understanding, especially when faced with the prospect of comforting Lady Catherine, a woman with whom she shared little common ground or affection.
The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze provided a soft accompaniment to the faint breathing of Anne, her pale face betraying the extent of her injuries. With Colonel Fitzwilliam and Charlotte attending to their respective tasks, Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves alone amidst the wreckage, the gravity of the situation pressing down upon them like an invisible weight.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy began hesitantly, his voice low as if not to disturb the air around them, “we must do something for Anne while we await the doctor’s arrival.”
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, “If you would be so kind as to look away for a moment, I shall procure the necessary materials to tend to her wounds.”
Darcy gave her a blank look. Elizabeth lifted the hem of her gown slightly, gesturing to the already-torn hem of her petticoat, and felt a slight amusement as Darcy’s cheeks flushed. With a quick nod, he turned his back and waited until she spoke his name.
“Take this and bandage that wound on her wrist,” Elizabeth said, handing him a long strip of petticoat. “It is not bleeding badly compared to this wound on her head, but any blood lost at this moment is precious.” She herself was already folding the thickest wad of fabric into a fresh pad for the contusion on Anne’s head, the original piece she had placed against it soaked entirely crimson.
With great care, they set about the task of tending to Anne’s various abrasions and contusions, their shared sense of urgency fostering a bond between them that had hitherto been absent. As they worked, Elizabeth marvelled at her own calmness under pressure, a trait she had often admired in others but never fully recognized within herself.
“Your resourcefulness is admirable, Miss Bennet,” Darcy remarked, pausing briefly in his ministrations to gaze at her with newfound respect. “I am grateful for your presence in such trying circumstances.”
“It is no more or less than my duty, Mr. Darcy; I could not possibly turn away when anyone is in such extremity.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, his eyes meeting hers with a level of intensity that left her momentarily breathless. “And it is a duty which you have discharged most admirably.”
Together, they continued their efforts, the intimate nature of their task forging an unspoken understanding between them. As they exchanged concerned glances over Anne’s fragile form, Elizabeth could not help but wonder how this tragic event might alter the course of their own lives and relationships.
As they completed their tasks, Darcy paused from his ministrations to Anne and glanced towards Mrs. Jenkinson’s lifeless body. The stark reality of her demise lay bare before them, an unspoken reminder of the fragility of human existence. Silently, with an air of solemn respect, Darcy removed his impeccably tailored coat and draped it over her still form, shielding it from the prying eyes of onlookers who might soon arrive.
As they worked together, bound by their shared concern for Anne’s well-being, Elizabeth found herself inexplicably drawn to the man beside her. Though his demeanour remained as guarded as ever, she sensed a vulnerability within him that had previously gone unnoticed.
