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Netherfield - Hallway - Fletcher

F letcher stood in the hallway outside Mr Bingley’s study. Two maids were walking together speaking in hushed voices. Fletcher caught the words, ‘Mr Darcy’s bed’ and ‘Elizabeth Bennet’ followed by giggles.

He sighed, watching them disappear around the corner.

Miss Bingley was clearly doing nothing to curb the gossip-rather the opposite, if Martha’s report was accurate.

The housekeeper had overheard her speaking quite pointedly to her maid about the “unprecedented impropriety” of the situation, practically ensuring the story would spread below stairs.

Fletcher had spent years carefully managing his master’s reputation.

Mr Darcy’s dignity was as much a part of his position as his fortune, and Fletcher took pride in maintaining both.

But this situation would require particularly delicate handling.

Already the whispers were spreading through the servant’s hall: the proud Mr Darcy, carrying a young lady through the rain, installing her in his own rooms without a thought for propriety.

He would need to speak with Mrs Nicholls about establishing a proper narrative.

The truth could be presented quite respectably if handled correctly-a gentleman’s honourable assistance to a lady in distress, and giving up his room to her.

Nothing more. Though with Miss Bingley seemingly determined to paint the situation in the worst possible light…

The sound of measured footsteps made Fletcher turn. Morris approached from the direction of the entrance hall, his expression suggesting he too had concerns about the household’s current state of disorder.

“Mr Fletcher,” the butler said quietly as he drew near. “I wonder if I might have a word? These irregular circumstances…” He glanced meaningfully at the study door, behind which Mr Darcy was no doubt still pacing.

“Indeed.” Fletcher moved slightly away from the door. “I was hoping to speak with you as well. The servants’ hall will need careful management, particularly given Miss Bingley’s… observations on the situation.”

Morris’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I have noticed her particular interest in ensuring everyone understands the… unusual nature of the arrangements. Though perhaps if we were to emphasise Mr Darcy’s prompt action in securing medical attention…”

“And his immediate consideration for the lady’s comfort,” Fletcher added carefully.

“After all, those rooms were the closest to hand with a proper fire already laid, and he has completely removed himself to the blue room. The lady has been given full use of the rooms, with proper attendance from Mrs Nicholls and the maids.”

“Quite so.” Morris glanced toward the study door again. “Though I confess I am concerned about how quickly such tales tend to spread. The laundress alone will have it all over Meryton by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ah.” Fletcher’s expression suggested he’d already considered this complication.

“Then we must ensure the story is properly established before it travels beyond Netherfield. A gentleman’s quick thinking in an emergency, nothing more.

Though I do not suppose there’s any way to prevent Miss Bingley’s maid from sharing her mistress’s… particular interpretation of events.”

“No,” Morris agreed grimly. “Though perhaps we might suggest to Mrs Nicholls that any maids with a tendency toward excessive chatter might be kept busy in the far wing of the house for now? At least until this situation settles.”

“An excellent thought.” Fletcher paused as another burst of giggles echoed from the direction of the kitchen.

“And perhaps a word with the stable boys? I heard one of them telling quite the tale about Mr Darcy carrying Miss Elizabeth through the storm ‘like a knight in a romance.’” His tone suggested exactly what he thought of such dramatic embellishments.

* * *

Netherfield - Elizabeth’s Sickroom - Jane

Upstairs in Mr Darcy’s rooms, Jane watched anxiously as Mr Jones examined her sister, his weathered hands gentle but thorough as he probed the swelling around Lizzy’s ankle.

Every small sound of discomfort from her sister made Jane’s heart clench, though Lizzy remained mercifully unconscious through most of the examination.

“The ankle appears to be badly sprained rather than broken,” Mr Jones said finally, straightening up with a creak of his leather bag.

“Though that fever…” He pressed his hand once more to Lizzy’s forehead, his weathered face creasing with concern.

“You say she was exposed to the rain for some time?”

“Mr Darcy found her trapped in the overturned chaise,” Mrs Nicholls supplied, her usual efficiency tinged with genuine worry.

“She was nearly unconscious when he brought her in, soaked through and burning up. Though how long she was trapped there before that…” The housekeeper’s voice trailed off meaningfully, her hands busy adjusting Lizzy’s blankets.

Jane tightened her grip on Lizzy’s hand, trying not to think about her sister trapped and alone in the storm. If Mr Darcy had not found her… She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on dabbing the cool cloth against Lizzy’s feverish brow.

“I will prepare a draught for her temperature,” Mr Jones said, reaching for his medical bag. “And the ankle will need to be wrapped properly. She must not attempt to put any weight on it for several days at least.”

“Several days?” Miss Bingley’s voice held a note of barely concealed dismay. “Surely once the fever breaks, she might be moved to more suitable-”

“Caroline.” The firmness in her voice surprised even herself. A flicker of guilt passed through her-she had never spoken to anyone so curtly-but her gaze returned immediately to Lizzy. “Please.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of Mr Jones measuring out his medicines and the steady drumming of rain against the windows. Jane resumed dabbing the cloth against Lizzy’s flushed brow.

“Here now,” Mr Jones said, holding out a glass containing some dark liquid. “We will need to get her to drink this. Mrs Nicholls, if you would help raise her head…”

Jane moved aside to allow Mrs Nicholls better access, though she kept hold of Lizzy’s hand. Her sister stirred restlessly as they lifted her head, muttering something that sounded like “horse” and “trapped.”

“Shh, Lizzy,” Jane soothed, squeezing her hand. “You’re safe now. Just drink this for Mr Jones.”

They managed to get most of the medicine into her, though Lizzy coughed and tried to turn away from the bitter taste. As they settled her back against the pillows, Jane could not help but notice how small and vulnerable her usually vibrant sister looked beneath the heavy covers.

“I will need to see Thomas next,” Mr Jones said, packing away his supplies.

“But I will leave instructions for the next dose, and I will return this evening to check on her progress. Keep up with the cool cloths to bring her temperature down, and make sure she drinks whenever she’s conscious enough.

The ankle should be elevated…” He glanced around and spotted a small pillow, which Mrs Nicholls immediately moved to place under Lizzy’s injured foot.

“And Mr Jones,” Miss Bingley interjected smoothly, “regarding the appropriateness of the current arrangements-”

“Miss Bingley,” Mr Jones interrupted with unexpected firmness, “my primary concern is my patient’s well-being. Miss Elizabeth must not be moved until that fever breaks and she’s strong enough to be transported safely. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another patient to attend to.”

As the door closed behind him, Jane felt tears pricking at her eyes. Whether from relief at his support or worry for her sister, she could not quite say. She blinked them back quickly, focusing on refreshing the cloth for Lizzy’s forehead.

“Jane, dear,” Miss Bingley tried again, her voice honey-sweet, “you really must rest yourself. You’re still recovering from your own illness. Why do not you let me-”

Jane’s hands moved automatically, refreshing the cloth and pressing it to Lizzy’s brow.

Her heart ached with worry, but another feeling crept in-something sharper, unfamiliar.

Resolve. Whatever the consequences, she would not let her sister be dismissed or moved for the sake of appearances.

Jane’s fingers faltered slightly on the cloth.

She had never spoken sharply to Caroline before-not even when provoked.

But seeing Lizzy so pale, so still… it stirred something deeper than politeness.

“No. I will stay with her,” Jane said, not looking up. The words came quickly, before her upbringing could stop them. “But please, do not let me detain you from your other duties.”

She surprised even herself with the certainty in her tone. The instinct to yield rose out of habit-but she held fast.

Caroline drew herself up stiffly at Jane’s dismissal, colour rising in her cheeks. “Jane, there’s no need to martyr yourself. Your recovery-”

“Is progressing quite well, thank you,” Jane interrupted. She softened the words with a glance, but her tone remained steady-she could not afford to be meek, not while Lizzy lay so ill. She continued to bathe Lizzy’s forehead, though her hands trembled slightly from the effort of remaining upright.

Mrs Nicholls stepped forward smoothly. “Perhaps, Miss Bingley, you might see to the arrangements for dinner? With all the confusion today…”

“Someone must maintain order around here,” Caroline said tartly. She moved toward the door but paused, her hand on the handle. “Even you must admit this is highly irregular. Mr Darcy’s rooms…”

Mrs Nicholls said nothing. She smoothed the blankets with deliberate care, her expression unreadable-but Jane thought she caught the faintest arch of a brow as Caroline turned away.

A small sound from the bed interrupted her. Lizzy stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Jane?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I am here, Lizzy.” Jane leaned closer, relief flooding her features. “You’re safe now.”

Lizzy’s gaze wandered the unfamiliar room, confusion evident in her fever-bright eyes. “Where…?” She tried to sit up but fell back with a small cry of pain.

“Careful now,” Mrs Nicholls said, moving to adjust the pillows. “You have had quite an ordeal, Miss Elizabeth.”

“The chaise …” Lizzy’s voice trembled. “It was raining, and then… Mr Darcy?” Her eyes widened slightly as she seemed to remember something. “He was so kind… Oh!” A flush that had nothing to do with temperature spread across her cheeks.

Caroline made a small sound of disapproval from the doorway, but before she could speak, Mrs Nicholls intervened.

“Miss Elizabeth needs rest,” the housekeeper said firmly. “Miss Bingley, shall I have Meg assist you with the dinner arrangements?”

Lizzy’s eyes were already closing again, the brief moment of consciousness clearly exhausting her. She murmured something that sounded like “dripping water on the floors” before drifting off once more.

Caroline’s mouth tightened as she watched the scene. Without another word, she swept from the room, closing the door perhaps a touch more firmly than necessary.

Mrs Nicholls and Jane exchanged a look over Lizzy’s sleeping form. “Do not worry about Miss Bingley,” the housekeeper said quietly. “Mr Jones was quite clear about not moving your sister, and Mr Darcy himself insisted…”

Jane nodded gratefully, though she could not quite suppress a small sigh of worry. “Mrs Nicholls, what exactly happened?”

Mrs Nicholls busied herself adjusting Lizzy’s blankets. “Miss Bingley arranged for the chaise to return Miss Elizabeth to Longbourn. No one could have foreseen the storm would arise so suddenly, or that tree coming down. Most fortunate Mr Darcy went out when he did.”

Jane looked down at her sister’s flushed face. “I was sleeping when she left - there would have been little for her to do here.” She refreshed the cool cloth on Lizzy’s forehead. “Though I wish now she had waited…”

“No one could have predicted such a storm, miss,” Mrs Nicholls replied quietly, continuing with her duties.

Caroline’s perfume lingered long after she swept from the room, an unwelcome overlay on the warm scent of lavender and wet wool.

Mrs Nicholls added another log to the fire with practised efficiency.

“The chaise had not returned when expected,” she said quietly, keeping to her duties.

“Mr Darcy noticed the delay and went out searching with Mr Bingley and some of the men. They found it overturned near the stone bridge, where a tree had fallen across the road. Thomas had been thrown clear, but Miss Elizabeth was trapped inside.” She paused in her work.

“Mr Darcy managed to free her and brought her back on his horse, walking beside it himself in the storm. Mr Bingley and the others stayed to tend to Thomas and secure the chaise.”

“And Thomas?” Jane asked anxiously. “Is he badly hurt?”

“Mr Jones is with him now, miss,” Mrs Nicholls replied, straightening her apron. “These rooms were the nearest with a good fire, which Miss Elizabeth needed urgently. She was nearly unconscious when Mr Darcy brought her in.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted them. Mr Morris appeared, maintaining his dignified manner despite the household’s disorder. “Mrs Nicholls, when you have a moment - there are matters requiring attention downstairs.”

“Of course.” Mrs Nicholls turned to Jane. “Will you be all right with your sister, Miss Bennet? Martha can stay if you’d prefer.”

“No, thank you,” Jane replied, her attention already on Lizzy. “We will be quite well.”

Jane hardly noticed their departure, her gaze fixed on Lizzy’s pale face. She dipped the cloth in cool water once more, silently willing Lizzy’s temperature to break.