Page 6 of Elizabeth’s Refuge (Mr. Underwood’s Elizabeth & Darcy Stories #16)

“Awake.” She glanced back at Mr. Darcy’s seat.

“Took a while to convince him to leave. But when he felt your forehead again and decided there was no returning fever, I was able to convince the sweet master to get his needed sleep. He’s exhausted himself caring for you.

Quite a fine gentleman. I had no notion since I came back to the house that he was attached. ”

Elizabeth had had no notion that he was still so attached either. But she was happy that he was.

She tried to sit up with her legs hanging off the bed. And she managed to sit up, with difficulty, though she was still achy and weak.

“Now do be careful,” the maid cautioned worriedly, putting her cool hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Ought to have the physician back to tell you that you can stand up before you try to.”

Elizabeth shook her head and ignored Becky to place her feet on the ground. Her head swam around and around in circles, and her stomach yet felt quite tender. “More water, please.”

She gratefully drank the water and closed her eyes after she had finished the cup.

She just concentrated on the feel of thick rug beneath her bare feet. She sat for a minute, quietly with the maid, and then putting her hands under her, Elizabeth stood. Her legs were wobbly, and the only reason she did not collapse was Becky’s help.

“You don’t want to stay in bed longer than you have to,” Becky stated.

“Never in bed. Never been bedridden.”

“Fortunate you are in that. After my child was born, I had a fever that nearly carried me off. I was sick for three weeks.”

Elizabeth took several deep breaths. The longer she stood the steadier she felt. That was a good sign. “Please help me to the chamber pot. I would rather not continue to use the bedpan.”

“I’d surely prefer you to use the pot as well.” The maid laughed. “Not my normal duties, but Mr. Darcy did not wish to hire a nurse from outside the household. And while I can leave matters for the maid to dispose of, Mr. Darcy put me in charge of keeping you clean and dressed.”

“No, he would not want to hire someone from out of the house.” The thought of what she had done arose again. Elizabeth refused to consider that thought.

The maid helped Elizabeth walk to one of the closet doors, through which was a tiny room with a fine painted wooden box, whose top lifted to reveal a hole underneath which sat the chamber pot.

Elizabeth approved of setting the chamber pot in a closet instead of right in the bedroom itself.

One of the luxuries of the wealthy. A further luxury was that there was a small iron box in the cabinet for the chamber pot where hot coals had been placed that made the wooden seat pleasantly warm when Elizabeth sat on it.

It was good to be rich.

She shivered on the seat, despite the warm air of the enclosed room, for several minutes before she relieved herself and stood, holding her hands to either wall. Her wrists with the mostly healed scars from the where the doctor bled her caught her eyes.

She had nearly died.

It would have been novelistically appropriate if she had died as a balancing retribution for killing the earl, but Elizabeth was rather decidedly happy she had not.

When she came out into the main room, a maid of all work had joined Becky. From her dress and her manner Becky was clearly of a higher order of servant than the maid who under Becky’s inspection changed all of the sheets and covers on the bed.

“Just another minute, ma’am, and you’ll feel ever so much more comfortable in an entirely clean bed.”

Elizabeth smiled her acceptance and sat down gratefully in an armchair Becky pulled out for her and let her sit in. It was the same velvet winged chair Mr. Darcy had snored in the previous night. She fancied that she could still smell a remainder of his scent.

“We’ll change your clothes too. I’ve changed your night dresses every day. Soon as Susy is done, I’ll get you fixed up proper to sleep. And cook has sent up some broth. Mr. Darcy is yet asleep, and we’ve decided to leave him to sleep till he wakes naturally.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth swallowed. “He has been very kind.”

She was suddenly terribly hungry. “Please, bring the soup.”

A hot bottle and a tray was produced, and set in front of Elizabeth on the chair, and she made an effort to eat, but she only managed half before she felt too tired and weak to continue sitting up.

Becky helped her to sit on the bed, pulled off her night shirt, expertly pulled on another one, and helped her to lie back in the bed, far more comfortable than before.

She then clucked and said, “Your hair will be a right horror to manage when you are well. All sorts of tangles and snarls. But sleep now. Do not worry about that at all now . I’ve managed worse in my day, I have.

I’ll have your hair set well and pretty as can be, soon as you are recovered enough to sit up long enough. ”

Elizabeth almost laughed. The last thing she worried about was her hair.

When she woke again the light outside was dim and fading.

Occasional carriages still rolled along the street outside the window outside her door.

A different servant than Becky sat by her bed, boredly waving a ribbon in front of her own nose and watching it flutter.

The young woman blushed and put the silk piece away as soon as she saw Elizabeth’s eyes open and on her.

“Good evening, ma’am.” The servant stood and curtsied. “Do you need anything?”

This time Elizabeth could sit up easily, though she still felt achy and weak. “A glass of water, if you please.”

The servant poured and handed her the cup, and she drank it down quickly.

She felt much better than she had even this morning, though she was still dizzy if she tried to stand up.

She realized she was very hungry, and asked the servant if some food might be sent up for her.

Perhaps gruel, since she felt steady enough to take that in addition to the meat broth of this morning.

The servant bowed and left her, after opening the curtains at Elizabeth’s direction.

Elizabeth stood up and managed to walk to the window. She stared out, shivering.

There was a flurry of snow outside, and the garden square Darcy’s house sat around was decked in five or six inches of a white blanket.

With a knock the door opened and Becky and Mr. Darcy came in. Mr. Darcy blushed at seeing her standing in the voluminous wool nightgown that was a little too big for Elizabeth, and he stepped back muttering apologies.

Becky carried a tray up with the requested porridge and another hot bottle of soup. “Well, ma’am. You look better.”

Elizabeth laughed and gestured to the door Darcy had escaped through. “The poor dear. Were my clothes cleaned, and is there any chance I can change into something with which I might properly accept a visitor?”

“Yes, certainly. From something Mr. Darcy said, I believe he has a matter of some importance to speak to you upon.”

“I can imagine.” Elizabeth shivered. She remembered a hanging she once saw.

No such anxiety until it was absolutely necessary. That would not be helpful. “But first dinner. Porridge, my… well not my favorite .”

“Was the doctor’s order.” Becky laughed. “You are a fine lady, ma’am. Expect you eat ragout, and white soup for every dinner.”

“For dinner? For breakfast I say.”

Elizabeth sat back in the armchair, and fed herself first from the gruel, and then from the soup. But again she was only able to eat a surprisingly small amount before she felt quite full and unable to consume another bite.

Becky had busied herself pulling several articles of clothing that were definitely not the dress Elizabeth had arrived at Darcy house in from the closet, and laying them on the bed as Elizabeth ate.

Elizabeth asked her as she did so, “So are you married?”

“Was, my poor dear, he died, and with something of a debt. Left just me and my daughter alone. Just three months ago he died, he did. Still cry about him every day. I’d left service with Lady Monroe to marry him.

Brought him a tidy sum of my savings as a dowry too.

Poor man could not stop from gambling. Don’t blame him for it — he was the sweetest man in the world.

But just goes to show. A woman should not trust her money to a man.

” Becky laughed. “Wish we’d had one of those settlements you quality always use.

But God I loved him. Loved him heart and soul.

The Darcys were kind enough to give me a place, with no significant responsibilities in my mourning period.

My mother was the lady’s maid of Lady Anne.

The master’s mother. She was a fine lady.

A fine, fine lady. Most aristocratic featured beauty in the ton , but always a kind word to a child like me.

And she doted on our present Mr. Darcy. He’s a fine man too. ”

“The very best.”

“Don’t forget that, Mrs. Benoit. We all care for him.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Even to the point of being suspicious of strangers who do not remember their own marriages.”

“Not too suspicious!” Becky laughed. “So don’t go telling the master any of that.

Besides Joseph, that is Mr. Darcy’s gentleman, he says he remembers you from when Mr. Darcy met you, and that he always believed you were good quality and better than just a decent sort.

Won’t say the slightest more of course, and none of us would expect him to, but that settled some nerves. That it did. It is strange doings.”

Elizabeth finished the food and pushed it away. “I’d imagined I’d be much hungrier.”

“It’s the illness. You’ll be hungry again in an hour or two, I suspect, if you haven’t eaten much for a few days your stomach forgets a bit how to eat a large meal. Let me help you to dress and ready, ma’am.”

“Miss Bennet.”

“What?” Becky tilted her head as she helped Elizabeth to stand.

“Miss Bennet is my name. A secret shared too far is no good, but you already know enough to sell me out. And… I’d prefer to trust those who Mr. Darcy trusts.”

“Well that’s touching, Mrs. Benoit . I am touched.

” The woman smiled at her. “But I am quite sure you have only forgotten your marriage, some damage from your illness, I dare say, though it is clear all your other faculties are intact, because else Mr. Darcy would not have told us all that you are Mrs. Benoit.”

Elizabeth decided that was that, and she grinned at the maid. “A right strange illness, to take the memory of a husband.”

“I dare say, he must not have been a very good one, though I have suspicion you will do right better with your next.”

Elizabeth blushed at that remark.

It was easy and quick for Becky to slip the dress over Elizabeth’s shoulders, and fasten everything that was to be fastened — though she wasn’t tightened into a corset — but the harder matter to manage was her hair.

“Needs to be brushed all of the way out and worked with. Sleeping on it and tangling it for three days straight.” Becky looked mournfully at it. “I suppose you don’t want to be sitting up for so long yet, do you.”

“I have been ill,” Elizabeth replied, amused.

“Such beautiful hair! I love this shade. You have far better hair than Mrs. Monroe had — though my former mistress’s hair was quite fine. But yours has a perfect clarity and color, and once the sweat and grease is out of it—”

“You know,” Elizabeth said, laughingly, “how to mix a fine compliment together with a crushing blow to a lady’s self-importance.”

“It is my duty to ensure you look your best. You would not wish Mr. Darcy to see you with your hair all a mess, would you?”

Elizabeth flushed again, and though she had to laugh at herself on the inside, she confessed both to herself and Becky that she in fact did not want Mr. Darcy to see her with her hair a mess.

As it happened it took twenty minutes for Becky to carefully pull some of the largest tangles apart, and she worked gently enough that Elizabeth’s scalp only half felt like it had just had nails pulled out of it.

She wrapped Elizabeth’s hair into a simple braid and bun that she said should protect it from further damage until she had the chance to properly clean and brush her hair.

Then clucking her tongue, Becky used some white creams to hide and smooth away the remaining black and blue bruise on her forehead.

Elizabeth was already quite tired at this point, but she wanted very much to talk to Mr. Darcy, and so she settled into the bed again, but this time dressed in a semblance of normality, and she was seated almost upright against the giant pile of pillows carefully collected behind her.

So prepared she sent Becky off to tell Mr. Darcy that she was now prepared to receive a visitor.

As it happened, and not to Elizabeth’s surprise, he was still standing in the hallway right outside her door.