Page 36 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
“Lydia, pray do not try to speak anymore,” Jane ordered, rushing over to take the glass from Elizabeth’s hands. “And Lizzy, you sit down as well. Wickham struck you very hard.”
“Where is that villain?” Bingley demanded, his usually cheerful countenance dark with fury. “He deserves to hang for this outrage!”
“Our Uncle Phillips and two of his manservants left some minutes ago to see if Wickham was still at the courtyard; if so, they intend to escort him to the barracks and wake up Colonel Forster.”
The door opened at this juncture, and everyone but Lydia, whose eyes were closed again, turned as Mr. Phillips entered the room, his boots leaving bits of snow on the well-polished floor.
“Husband, what has happened?” Mrs. Phillips demanded, appearing suddenly from a corridor which led toward the back of the house. “Is that vile man locked up?”
Phillips bowed to Darcy and Bingley and then addressed his captivated audience. “Wickham was not in the courtyard,” he said bluntly, “though there was blood mixed with the snow and hoof prints and carriage wheels. I suspect the miscreant has run away toward London.”
“You must go after him, Mr. Phillips!” his wife exclaimed. “He cannot be permitted to get away with such a vicious act.”
“Moreover, he may have Miss King with him,” Elizabeth said worriedly. “She cannot marry him, she cannot!”
“Surely Miss King is too sensible to marry a man who would attack a lady!” Bingley said.
Elizabeth shook her head and said, “Lydia told me that Wickham sent Miss King and the carriage a short distance away before he attacked her. I doubt that Mary King knows of his perfidy.”
“I certainly am concerned about Miss King,” Jane interposed, “but I am more concerned about my sisters! Uncle, is Mr. Jones on his way?”
“I do not know where he is,” Mr. Phillips said, his face drawn with worry, “and I sent Tom to fetch him some time ago!”
The drawing room door opened, and a boy of some fifteen years, dressed warmly in homespun, entered the room, panting with excitement. “Sirs! Madam!”
“Tom! Where is Mr. Jones?” Mrs. Phillips demanded sharply.
“He is at the blacksmith’s house,” the boy replied, looking around with wide eyes. “Lieutenant Wickham is there and badly hurt! Mr. Jones asked me to find out whether you need him urgently, because he is now attending to Mr. Wickham.”
There were multiple gasps at these words and Bingley demanded, “Wickham is injured? In what way?”
“I saw him lying on a settee in the sitting room, sir,” Tom said, enjoying the attention of his betters. “He is asleep, with a terrible wound on his head, and his breathing is most peculiar.”
Elizabeth cried out at these words, which drew the attention of everyone in the room. “I ... I hit him with something – a brick? – when he was strangling Lydia!” she rasped. “I hit him hard. Oh, I had no idea ... did I ... did I...?”
She trailed off, her skin ghostly white in the candlelight, and her uncle hurried forward and said, “My dear niece, I beg you not to distress yourself. He would have murdered Lydia if you had not interfered. I confess to much relief that the blood I saw in the courtyard was his and not yours.”
“I would feel better if Lydia did see Mr. Jones,” Jane said, even as she patted Elizabeth’s arm reassuringly, “but it seems we will have to wait if Wickham is so badly hurt.”
“Fanny should know what has happened,” Mrs. Phillips declared. “Tom, you must ride to the Hunting Lodge...”
“No, no!” Lydia cried out. “No, pray do not summon Mamma. She will be so angry, and I meant to...”
“Meant to do what?” Jane asked gently, walking over to kneel by her sister.
“I meant to be a heroine by saving Miss King!” the girl sobbed.
She coughed a couple of times, took another drink, and managed to continue, “Mamma has been so angry with me about the fire, and so proud of Mary, and I thought that if I ... if I saved Miss King from a bad marriage, Mamma would no longer despise me, and the village folks would stop their vile staring and murmuring...”
“Oh, Lyddy!” Elizabeth said. “Oh, my dear sister!”
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said softly, pulling her attention to his grave, sympathetic countenance, “with all due respect, I believe your father would be more useful during these difficult circumstances than your mother. He is in London, I believe?”
“Yes, at my Uncle Gardiner’s home on Gracechurch Street,” Elizabeth said. “Oh, how I wish he were here!”
“We will send an express,” Bingley declared, having overheard the conversation. “I have no doubt your father will be here within hours of receiving the express.”
“Moreover, may I send a message to my private physician in London?” Darcy offered. “I have great respect for Mr. Jones, but given the serious nature of the attack, a physician might well be helpful.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, I could not ask such a thing!” Elizabeth said immediately, though her expression was hopeful.
“Nonsense, Elizabeth,” Bingley said. “Given the circumstances, we must have a physician from Town, and Darcy’s doctor is very skilled, I know.”
Elizabeth found that she could not refuse and indeed, she did not wish to. She hoped that Lydia was not too badly hurt, but she could not be certain, and she would feel far better if her youngest sister was examined by a reliable doctor.
She stared at Darcy, momentarily at a loss for words, though her emotions surged, and she briefly longed for him to take her hands once more. She wished to express her gratitude, but given her exhaustion, all she could manage to say was, “You are both very kind. Thank you.”