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Mrs. Collins gave her a grateful look and, as soon as her guests had been served, she apprised them of all she knew.

“I fear that for the last week, I have been much occupied nursing my husband and have had little time for worrying about anything else. However, yesterday morning Mr. Collins seemed a little improved and so I took the time to walk over to Rosings and ask after Lady Catherine. I was surprised to discover that, not only had Lady Catherine not been seen outside of her rooms since the accident, Miss de Bourgh knew nothing at all about her mother’s injuries. ”

Darcy was taken aback, and immediately demanded, “But how can this be?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I asked the same, for, when I was summoned to the house a week ago to retrieve Mr. Collins after the accident, it was made clear to me that her ladyship was injured very severely indeed. Yesterday, I spoke with Mrs. Jenkinson and she told me that the doctor has allowed no one but himself and Lady Catherine’s maid to enter her bedchamber.

He has informed Miss de Bourgh only that her mother suffers from a chill and that she should not go near her chambers for fear of its catching.

“The staff has been told to keep the true state of affairs from Miss de Bourgh because her delicate constitution would suffer serious harm from such a shock. They’ve obeyed without question; it was only when so many days passed with no word of any improvement that Mrs. Jenkinson began to wonder.”

“But your letter said that Lady Catherine had been wounded and was bleeding a great deal. That doesn’t sound like the same diagnosis at all!” exclaimed Lizzy.

Charlotte shut her eyes for a moment and sighed.

“My reaction was much like yours, Eliza.” She glanced guiltily at the gentlemen.

“I fear that when Mrs. Jenkinson took me to speak with Miss de Bourgh, I was not as gentle as I could have been and my manner frightened her, for she immediately demanded to see her mother.”

Mrs. Collins paused and pursed her lips, searching for the right words. Darcy and Fitzwilliam watched her intently, but it was Elizabeth, reaching out to squeeze her friend’s hand, that gave her the courage to speak frankly.

“When we were let in to Lady Catherine’s bedchamber, it was instantly clear that she was in a very bad way.

Your aunt was so feverish that she did not recognize her own daughter and, though it was obvious that every movement gave her great pain, the servants were having difficulty keeping her from thrashing about. ”

Charlotte paused to rub a hand over her tired eyes. “I’m so sorry… I could not stay more than a few minutes—my own maid arrived just then to tell me Mr. Collins had worsened.” She sighed. “I wrote to you, but I know I should have done more…”

Mr. Darcy responded immediately. “Mrs. Collins, you have done a great deal and my family is indebted to you. Without your express, I wonder if we would have been informed until it was time for the funeral.” He was about to continue when the door opened and a maid carried in a wailing infant.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but ‘e just won’t stop cryin’.” The girl stopped and blushed, having not known that her mistress was entertaining callers.

Charlotte responded with her first smile of the day. “It’s alright, Millie. He just wants his mum.” She took the bundle and held her son close in her arms. “There, there, my little man. No more tears.”

Elizabeth leaned over and laughed when the hairless babe grabbed her finger and held on tightly. “Oh Charlotte, he’s a dear. Have you decided on a name, yet?”

Mrs. Collins shook her head good-naturedly, forgetting her troubles for a moment. “No, we are still calling him ‘Baby Collins.’ We will have to decide soon, though, for the christening is next week.”

Suddenly recalling her new circumstances, Charlotte shut her eyes and corrected herself falteringly; “Or I shall have to choose, I suppose I should say.”

Elizabeth wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders and looked to her husband. He nodded and said kindly, “Mrs. Collins, thank you for the tea, but I believe my cousin and I should go on to Rosings and discover the situation ourselves. Again, we are most grateful for your letter.”

The gentlemen stood to leave and, with an encouraging smile to her friend, Elizabeth followed them outside in order to have a quiet word with her husband alone.

“I believe it would do more good for me to stay here with Charlotte while you go on to Rosings. We both know that my appearance is unlikely to soothe your aunt, and here I can help Charlotte begin putting up the mourning drapes and making such arrangements as are necessary.”

Despite their public position, Darcy could not resist briefly touching his forehead to hers. “I fear what we will find,” he murmured.

Lizzy touched his cheek. “Courage, my love. You have only to send word if you need me.”

After a few more words of reassurance, Darcy turned resolutely to join his cousin in the carriage.

Elizabeth stood for a minute, watching the coach turn back onto the lane and disappear around a hedge.

She too wondered what he would discover; with all of her imperious attitudes, it was hard to imagine Lady Catherine de Bourgh weakened, and impossible to imagine Rosings Park without her presence.

Eventually Lizzy shook herself from such melancholy thoughts and returned to the parsonage.

After a brief conversation with Charlotte, Elizabeth sent the exhausted mother and child to rest and began doing what she could, setting two of the Darcys’ footmen to hanging black crepe at the front of the house and the parlor, while a maid was sent to bring down two of Mrs. Collins’ old dresses to dye black.

Elizabeth herself checked that the undertaker in Hunsford had been notified and then settled at Charlotte’s writing desk to compose a note informing her father that Longbourn’s heir had breathed his last.

Meanwhile, Darcy and Fitzwilliam had discovered that the situation at Rosings was even worse than they had feared.

For reasons that they could not begin to comprehend, their aunt had retained the services of Dr. Humphrey, the very same physician who had so injured Anne’s health over the years with all his opiate poisons and other quackery.

Mrs. Jenkinson admitted that he had used Miss de Bourgh’s shock upon seeing her mother’s condition the day before as an excuse to dose her again, and Darcy feared to see his cousin returned to a laudanum-induced stupor.

Of more immediate concern, however, was Lady Catherine.

The cousins found her shut up in a smoky, airless bedchamber, occasionally mumbling but incapable of being woken.

By questioning the maids, they discovered Dr. Humphrey had ordered that the fire be kept piled with coal and the windows shut tight and covered.

As Fitzwilliam strode to throw them open and air out the room, Darcy focused on the lady’s maid.

It took very little urging for her to admit that the doctor had done nothing for the mistress but bleed her regularly and keep her in an overheated room under a pile of blankets despite a raging fever.

Darcy was deeply concerned by his aunt’s pallor, but it was Richard who fearlessly moved aside the bedding so that they might inspect the wound.

Both men were horrified by what they saw; although a few stitches held the gash closed (and poorly, at that), it was oozing pus and the skin around it had turned an angry red.

The cavalryman had been around enough battlefield injuries to recognize a wound gone bad—he could smell the purulence from across the room.

Turning to the maid, he demanded, “Dawson, is it?” At the woman’s frightened nod, he began firing questions at her.

“How long has it looked like this? What has been done? Has it been drained, or just left to fester?”

It quickly came out that, after running a few stitches to close the gash immediately after the accident, Humphrey had refused to look at it again, claiming that he need do no more than tap her chest and feel her forehead to assess his patient’s progress.

Fitzwilliam snorted, having spent enough time in military hospitals (where traditions were less important than whatever kept the injured alive) to know the uselessness of such attitudes. Before he could say so, however, the physician himself burst into the room, bristling with outrage.

“What the devil is this?!? I ordered this room kept closed!!!” Suddenly he noticed that the maid was not alone in the room. “And who the devil are you two?!? My patient must not be disturbed! ”

Will rose to his full height and stared down the rotund little man. “ I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and this is Brigadier General Richard Fitzwilliam; we are Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s nephews.”

Mr. Humphrey could not hide his shock entirely but managed to recover with admirable speed. “Regardless, you should not be in the lady’s sickroom—my patient requires absolute silence!”

“Why? Have her ears been injured as well!?!” exploded Richard, making no effort to hide his anger.

“From what I have seen, sir, you are a sorry excuse for a doctor and, as far as I am concerned, you no longer have any patients in this house. I suggest that you remove yourself now before I give in to the desire to toss you out myself.”

The corpulent gentleman continued to protest, even when Fitzwilliam stepped forward and carried out his threat none too gently.

Although Darcy would have gladly assisted his cousin, he found that his attention was required elsewhere. The raised voices had roused Lady Catherine enough that she could recognize her nephew’s tone.

“Darcy, is that you?” she whispered weakly before descending into a coughing fit.

Will moved closer so he might hear her better. “Yes, Aunt—Richard and I have just arrived.”

Lady Catherine attempted to speak but began to cough again, grimacing in pain.