Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory
Chapter Six
“Will you do me the honour, Miss Elizabeth?”
Reluctantly, I accept and place my hand in his as he leads me to the centre of the grassy knoll. His handsome features are smug as if he knows exactly what kind of power he can wield with the fairer sex. I want to resist him, knowing that Mr Darcy needed no further reason to look down his straight nose at me, but like the pull of his hand, I am swept up into his space with little will to do otherwise.
As if compelled, my eyes seek his and lock with the dark blue depths of them, all the while his arms pull me this way and that in the steps of a dance. A dance outside? I struggle to make sense of it. My cheeks flood and I am conscious of the scene we must be making. I am furious with myself for my inability to look away. Although I can hear people around me and know they must be speaking of us as we dance, I cannot help myself, for my eyes are hungry for his. They crave the compulsion to follow what Mr Darcy demands, the security felt within his gaze.
In the next twirl, Mr Darcy shocks me as he pulls me right up to his chest, changing our positions seamlessly into that of a waltz. I open my mouth to rebuke him, my heart clamouring, my blood heating my skin. His eyes assault me, compelling me to look only at him. Faster and faster we spin, my mind becoming dizzy and faint. Mr Darcy grows more focused with each turn, pulling me closer to him till I can feel the strength of his shoulders under my fingers and the warmth of his body overwhelming me.
His eyes—midnight blue and piercing—seem to tell me something, but the world around me fades faster and faster, the knoll getting smaller and my senses tumbling out of control.
We stop so suddenly, I feel my insides continue to whirl within. Only then am I able to break gaze with my partner. But the lush hill is gone now, and all I see is dark, dank earth, and we are surrounded by it. Then it moves, closing in and pressing on us.
Naturally, I turn to Mr Darcy, a scream at the ready, for we are soon to be crushed by the earth, buried and pressed into the soil. His hands go to my shoulders and begin to shake me.
“Elizabeth, Elizabeth!” he repeats as his eyes lose their focused stare. They beg me to find something, to see something in their depths, but I cannot. The ground will soon swallow us up. My heart blocks my throat and I cannot breathe.
“Elizabeth!”
* * *
When my eyes opened, I was staring at the white plaster ceiling above me, my temples slick with sweat and my breaths coming in quick succession. Utter terror still swam in my veins like a disease. The torture that radiated from my ribs brought me quickly to the present, and I realised I had only experienced another alarming dream induced by the laudanum. With a final shudder, I vowed to not take another dose.
“Elizabeth!” Jane called me gently, her hands on my shoulders where Mr Darcy’s had been. It was her voice that called me from sleep.
By force of will, my mind pushed away from the feelings that still cascaded through me, singeing through my veins, and I allowed myself to gladden at her appearance.
“Jane,” my little-used voice croaked.
“You were dreaming again, Lizzy. I feared you would do yourself an injury with all your thrashing about.”
The bedclothes were tangled around me, pulled tight and restricting. With exhausted hands, I fumbled to pull myself free, and Jane, soon discerning my intent, was quick to lend some help.
Once free of the blankets, I felt I could finally let go of the remnants of the dream that still lingered like a fog in my mind. I told myself that, as Mr Darcy and I had both experienced the horrifying ordeal, it was only natural for my mind to force his presence into my dream state. Besides, the drug was known to have ill effects such as strange dreams. In the several days since our rescue, I had been prescribed laudanum for the pain, and with each dose, my mind would enter a fevered otherworld with only one other person: Mr Darcy.
Sometimes the dreams were simply fanciful with strange animals and vivid colours, though Mr Darcy’s presence was a constant. At other times, like this most recent one, the dream was all too terrifyingly realistic. A waltz with Mr Darcy felt mortifyingly real, though something I had never experienced. My skin prickled with gooseflesh as I recalled the feel of his arms about my person, the warmth of his breath on my brow, and the unfathomable depths of his eyes.
Given that I had sworn never to dance with that gentleman, it was more than disconcerting to find we had partnered for more than one set in my drug-altered dreams. It must also have been due to the elixir that I found our dream dances as pleasurable as they were unnerving.
“Here, Lizzy, have some tea. I had Hill refresh the pot only a few minutes before you woke.”
I attempted to sit up further, and Jane quickly bent over to assist me in the process. With clenched teeth, I managed the move with barely more than a low moan escaping my lips. Once upright, I took a moment, eyes closed tightly, to breathe through the pulsing that I felt from the change in position.
“Oh, Sister…” Jane’s eyes filled with tears as she tried to adjust a pillow, her hands fluttering around too uselessly to offer me any real relief. “Are you in very much pain? It is near enough time that you might have another small dose.”
I needed to speak, to object, regardless of whatever anguish I was likely to endure as a result. I simply would not continue to have such disconcerting and confusing hallucinations as I was having.
I lifted my hand in supplication, and to my intense relief, Jane set down the dark glass bottle next to the tea pot.
“No more, Jane. I cannot take more of it.”
“But you can, Lizzy. As I said, ’tis not too soon.”
“I cannot take more, because I cannot stand any more of the vile stuff.”
Jane frowned at me in disapproval. “Mr Jones said you ought to spare yourself the pain of your injury; it will allow you to recover sooner.”
I disagreed, for I was sure I was not resting any easier with Mr Darcy invading my consciousness in all manner of impossible ways. I would much rather battle the discomfort than have the effects of the laudanum if I might gain a measure of my sanity back.
“I experience the most…the dreams are too much. I feel like I do not know what is real and what is not most of the time.”
She was hesitant to allow me to have my way in this and so I waited, hoping she would see the desperation in my eyes. The pain in my sides was beginning to throb again something awful, and while I had not moved to give my ribs any further reason to protest, I could tell from this increase in discomfort that the previous dose was indeed wearing off. I could not allow her to know how plagued I was, or she would never concede to my wishes to give up the medicine.
I reached for her hand and pressed it gently for a moment. I had never kept anything from my dearest sister nor told her so much as the smallest falsehood, yet the lie came quickly to my lips.
“Truly, Jane, I am well. I feel I am healing and do not need more.”
My watery smile was returned as she smoothed hair off my brow with the utmost of tenderness. Her actions nearly forced a confession from me. This was my dear sister, who wanted only to see me hale and healed with the least amount of discomfort to be had in the process.
I held her hand to my face and smiled as best I could.
“Oh, Lizzy, I do not like it, but if you say you are doing better, I will not insist.”
I wanted to breathe deeply at her reply but knew I ought not. Feeling the thick straps of binding about my chest, I remembered that I probably could not anyway.
“I was so very worried for you,” she whispered, her emotion hidden in the task of preparing a cup of tea for me. “I tell you, when the ground began to shake, I hardly knew what was happening!”
My interest was piqued, and I felt I must know everything. This was the first time she had willingly spoken of our walk to Bodden Chapel. Since our rescue, little opportunity had arisen to speak to her of the events of that day due to the near constant state of detachment I felt from the elixir. Another reason to push through without it.
“Please tell me what happened as you saw it.”
I knew she was hesitant because she bit the edge of her lip in that way she does when she is nervous. I could see in that moment, as her eyes clouded with pain, that she, too, found that day difficult. Even though she was not injured, the torment she had to endure was worrying for me.
“I fear you had a sore trial waiting for word of us.”
Jane nodded and a single tear edged out of her full lashes. “It was excruciating. I thought…we all feared you were gone.”
Dead. I realised that it must have seemed likely. I shuddered and suppressed the groan that such a movement wanted to produce.
Jane haltingly described what happened when the mudslide occurred. She and Mr Bingley, thankfully, had stepped back some from the ruin walls when the trembling began. Mr Bingley was trying to discern what it was that his friend was focused on behind us, and so he had guided Jane to step away from the stone wall with the intent to look up, as Mr Darcy was, at the slope behind the ruins.
Then Mr Darcy shouted to Mr Bingley to run just before he leapt at me. In that moment, Mr Bingley pulled Jane, stumbling, away down the hill and against a tree. Despite the picture forming in my mind of the horrific scene Jane was describing, I could not help but smile secretly at the way Jane blushed at this moment. Mr Bingley had held her firmly against him, his back to the moving earth, and she was protected between a large tree trunk and the gentleman.
“He held my head pressed against his chest and covered it with his other hand. I did not know what to expect, Lizzy. I had not seen what he had, and it all happened so shockingly fast.”
The noise from the mudslide was described as a dull moan of sorts, then the low clatter of rocks as they fell on each other was all she recalled for a few moments after that. They were far enough away that loose soil and small stones tumbled around them, and Jane described her surprise at seeing the mud wash around their ankles like a tide of earth. Luckily enough for my dear sister, that was all that troubled them of the collapse. The earthen wave of soil hardly came to their knees as it pushed around the base of the tree and travelled a little farther down the hill.
“Oh, Jane, how heartedly glad I am for Mr Bingley! His quick thinking had you safely against the strength of the tree.”
She was blushing, I assumed, at recalling the moment herself. I could picture everything she described; I believed I could even recall the stout English oak of which she spoke, a tree of some significance. I was trying to assimilate it all with the memories I had. None of this was part of my recollection, because by this time, Mr Darcy and I had been buried and were insensate. I could not suppress the tremor that dragged through me like a rake in the leaves, leaving me raw and exposed.
“Miss Bingley, I am afraid, did not fare so well. Poor dear, it all happened so quickly—who could blame her for the state of things?”
I focused my thoughts once again on Jane. “What happened to her?”
I had not heard of any other injuries beyond that of Mr Darcy and myself, and I was sure had there been anything worse, I would have been told by then.
“Mr Darcy passed her quickly to our cousin before he went after you. Do you recall that part?”
I nodded, though the image that came vividly to me was of the fierce determination in Mr Darcy’s eyes before he grabbed me. His movements just prior to that—passing his companion off to my cousin—were just a mist in the background of those eyes that bored into me like lightning striking straight to my heart. This time when my limbs shivered at the memory, Jane frowned and pulled my blanket further up my body. I felt an urge to know of Mr Darcy, to hear how he was, though inexplicably, my throat closed to any attempt.
“I would say our cousin cannot be blamed either. It was quite slippery with all the rain…”
I raised my brow at this, encouraging Jane to elaborate, pushing thoughts of Mr Darcy aside for now. It seemed that Mr Collins had lost his footing when Miss Bingley was placed in his care so unceremoniously that, as a result, the two of them slid down the wet grass slope, limbs intertwined, skirts fluttering, and Miss Bingley screaming the entire way.
A small laugh bubbled up through me, and I felt the release it brought. When was the last time I had felt unburdened enough for joviality? My amusement was soon tempered when I spied the disapproving frown in Jane’s expression.
“Hush, Lizzy! ’Tis not for us to find humour in the suffering of others. Miss Bingley and Mr Collins will likely have to marry now!”
I wish I could say that the fate of either of those two individuals being tied together was enough to sober my thoughts, but little would that be the truth. I was sorry they were forced into such a match for neither of them would ever be happy with the other, but somehow, I could not shake the feeling that it might just be exactly what each deserved. It was cruel of me, and I felt ashamed for my sentiments the moment that Jane, good and kind Jane, chastened me again.
“Lizzy! Miss Bingley is made quite unhappy by this and should warrant our pity.”
“I should think I would have pity for any woman forced to marry our cousin. You are correct, and always the soul of goodness. Miss Bingley deserves our sympathy, for it would be the wickedest fate to be forced to wed Mr Collins, let alone where there is no affection.”
I expected Jane to agree with me, to share a consoling comment for either Miss Bingley or Mr Collins. Instead, she was strangely silent on the matter. When I studied her face, it barely concealed the thoughts in her head. Pity and concern were indeed sentiments she felt, but they were coupled with a nervousness that I could not explain.
I did not like the foreboding I then felt studying my sister, who could no longer look at me directly. Perhaps it was self-preservation, perhaps it was a sense that the consequences of that mudslide were further reaching than a few broken bones, but I did not wish to know what she was thinking.
Instead, I purposely made my voice light as I asked, “What happened then? What of a rescue attempt?”
Jane hesitated almost as though she had come to some decision and felt she needed to follow it through. After a moment she shook her head and answered me.
“As soon as the earth ceased trembling and the ground stopped, Mr Bingley assured himself that I was well and bade me stay by the tree. He called for his grooms to assist his sister and for Mr Collins to stand and see Miss Bingley to the carriage safely. He was so focused and commanding, Lizzy. It was…it was…pleasing.”
I smiled at the pink of her cheeks with this confession.
“Soon after, he directed his men to assist him in locating you and Mr Darcy. I was so terrified. We called for you but could not hear any response. All we saw of the ruin was piles of rocks and mud and…you and he…we did not know how you could have survived.”
I reached for my sister’s hand and received a surprisingly strong squeeze in return. I listened to Jane narrate the rest of what should have given me any number of intense feelings, but instead I heard it all with a strange detachment. The men tried multiple times to move the earth and rock to dig us out, but the ground was unstable. The rains were coming down so rapidly that with every attempt to gain purchase on the rubble, more ground would fill in their meagre efforts. Mr Bingley was reluctant to step aside and stop the search for his friend until my sister persuaded him.
“With difficulty, I stepped my way to Mr Bingley to entreat him to wait for further help, for the rain to stop, for anything but to keep digging, only to have more ground fall on you both. I feared further collapse doing greater damage or resulting in more injuries to others.”
I was impressed by my sister in that moment. I knew that a gentleman like Mr Bingley would not stop at anything to find us, but given how Jane described the ever-shifting ground, I am thankful she entreated him to halt. Although it could not have been easy for her to insist on a delay in the rescue—as I know she would have been quite distraught with worry for me—she possessed foresight that might have saved our lives. It did not bear considering what further collapses might have been created under such wet and unstable conditions.
“How such a choice must have haunted you, Jane!”
I gathered her into my arms, and with the utmost care, she climbed onto the mattress beside me. For a few moments both of us let out some much-needed tears. It was a purge of the pain and worry built over hours of anguish, the anguish that comes with not knowing.
With hiccupping breaths, Jane said that the rest was quite hard to recall, as they, with heavy hearts and burdened souls, reluctantly prepared to leave. Mr Bingley left a groom to attend—and to attempt a rescue again should the rain let up and allow conditions to be more favourable. Mr Bingley vowed to return as soon as possible with more help.
The carriage had been loud and Jane felt a megrim begin, which would more than explain her lack of memory of this part. She recalled only that Miss Bingley was screeching and could not be calmed by her brother. Mr Collins was ceaseless in his speaking, uncouth speculations of death and disfigurement upon his lips. Jane was left comfortless as tears ran down her face while Mr Bingley looked on helplessly, impotent to give comfort to her or save their trapped loved ones.
“It was horrid. The rains did not stop, and by the time we crossed the bridge, it was a near thing to even manage it. I looked to Mr Bingley, and we both knew in that moment that a return before daybreak would be impossible.”
“Dear Jane, I shudder to think how you suffered for me, and it torments me. We are safe now, you see. No harm done.” My heart clamoured against my ribs, a query about Mr Darcy’s health on my lips. I could not ask it though; it felt foreign to feel such a concern for a man I had had little enough care for before the accident. Embarrassed at my lack of charity for my rescuer, I forced my lips silent. “And I daresay, in time, we shall all return to as we once were.”
Jane sat up, her brow troubled as she looked me in the eye. Her mouth opened to speak but all she uttered was a feeble, “Lizzy…”
The sense that the world was closing in on me, as it had in my dream, consumed me again. I did not dare ask her what that look meant, certain it could not mean glad tidings with the way my dear sister’s cornflower eyes dimmed.