“Go downstairs. See whether Darcy has gotten Jane and Bingley to safety. Then help Mr. Parrish find his wife.”
Lawrence Kendall made no offer of aid, just fled down the steps as fast as his boots could carry him. Mr. Jones had the presence of mind to grab his medical bag. “I have a feeling I’ll be needing this,” he said as they descended the stairs.
When they reached the landing, so much smoke filled the air that she could barely discern the servants who had formed a bucket brigade and already worked to douse the flames. Had Darcy gotten Bingley out yet? And Caroline — where was she? She headed toward the mayhem, but Mr. Jones caught her arm. “Where are you going?”
“I promised Mr. Parrish I’d help him look for his wife.”
“He has probably long since found her. Doubtless, they wait with the others outside. Where you should be.”
“But Darcy—”
“Will vivisect me if I allow you to remain in this house a moment longer. If you must help someone, come with me to attend your sister.”
She did not need further prompting to seek out Jane. Her lungs burned as she and Mr. Jones groped their way down the final flight and across the entry hall. Coughs wracked her, slowing their pace.
At last they reached the door and burst into the night. Icy pellets stung her, rapidly drenching the thin shift she wore. The stone steps froze her bare feet.
The lawn was pandemonium. Servants raced about everywhere. Some of them carried buckets toward the house, while others carried valuables out. She saw no sign of Darcy or the Bingley family.
“Mrs. Darcy, thank heaven!” Her lady’s maid appeared at her side and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, rescuing her from both the elements and indecency. She handed another to Mr. Jones, who also wore only nightclothes. “I’ve been waiting here for you, just a-praying you’d come out soon!” She bent down and slipped a pair of unfamiliar shoes onto Elizabeth’s feet. “I hope these fit — they’re mine. I couldn’t get to your chamber for any of your things.”
“Lucy, I can’t take your shoes from you!” The servant probably had just the one pair.
“Oh, not to worry, madam. One of the men brought me a pair of Wellingtons from the barn. I’m sorry I don’t have a pair for you, too, sir, but there are more boots and blankets in the carriage house. That’s where Mrs. Bingley and the others are gathered.”
Elizabeth gratefully pulled the blanket about her more tightly. “Lucy, you are a godsend. Is Jane all right? What of her husband?”
“I think they’re fine, ma’am. But they sure will be glad to see Mr. Jones.”
The trio made their way to the carriage house with as much haste as the weather allowed. Elizabeth felt sorry for Mr. Jones having to walk through the slush with no shoes, but the apothecary uttered not a single complaint. He did, however, immediately procure some boots when they reached shelter.
To her overwhelming relief, she found Jane and Bingley both conscious. They spoke groggily, the effects of the drug and the accident and fatigue still evident. Coughing spasms seized them as smoke worked its way out of their lungs. But they were alive and safe once more. Mr. Jones moved one of the lanterns to a nearby crate and began to examine his patients for the second time that day.
The Hursts sat on the back of their coach, huddled beneath separate blankets. Mr. Hurst wore a pair of borrowed fishing waders beneath his nightclothes, lending him an absurd appearance that Elizabeth wished she were in a better mood to appreciate. Ever the lady, at least in her own mind, Louisa had taken the time to don her dressing gown and a pair of now-soaked slippers before fleeing the house.
“Where is everyone else?” Elizabeth asked. “Where’s Mr. Darcy?”
Mrs. Hurst sneezed and looked about for a handkerchief. Spotting none, nor an appropriate substitute, she self-consciously dabbed at her nose with the corner of the blanket. “After we got Jane and Charles here, he left. I think perhaps he’s helping Mr. Parrish look for Caroline.”
“And Professor Randolph?”
“Also looking for Caroline.”
“Mr. Kendall?”
“Right here, Mrs. Darcy,” boomed a voice from within Kendall’s coach. The gentleman had drawn the curtain across the window. “Thank you for the enquiry. I didn’t know you cared.”
Odious man.
Elizabeth took her sister’s hand. “Dear Jane, what a wretched day you’ve had. First the carriage accident and now this! Have you any idea what happened?”
“No.” A coughing spasm seized her. “I was sleeping so soundly,” she continued when she could speak once more, “that I didn’t even know we were in danger until I woke up and found Mr. Hurst carrying me outside.”
“And I woke up beside her — slung over Darcy’s shoulder,” Bingley said. “Slept right through a fire in my room, but this weather sure is rousing.”
As if in confirmation, Louisa sneezed again. Mr. Jones nodded toward the assorted footwear someone had piled in the corner. “I suggest you trade your slippers for something dry.”
She cast him a look colder than the draft that threatened to extinguish the lanterns. “Servants’ boots? No, thank you.” She shuffled to the doorway, where, with great exertion, she slid one of the doors partly open. Darkness still gripped the sky.
“Does anyone happen to know the time?”
“I think it’s about five, ma’am,” Lucy answered. “Perhaps half-past. Mrs. Nicholls says she was already awake when the bell rung.”
Elizabeth joined Louisa and squinted into the blackness. She wished the sun would rise, that the storm would abate, that
“I don’t know what’s wrong with that Mr. Parrish,” Louisa muttered. “He’s doing an abominable job of caring for my sister.”
Elizabeth longed to respond that it was Caroline herself who continually presented poor Mr. Parrish with the most obstacles to that goal, but she knew her point would not carry. “He seems to be trying his best,” she said.
“An Englishman would try harder.” Mrs. Hurst returned to her coach and asked her husband to hand her inside where she could sit more comfortably. “Mrs. Darcy, if your maid is done attending you, perhaps she could fetch me a hot brick. My own maid seems to have disappeared.”
“A hot brick?”
“Yes, for my feet.”
Elizabeth blinked. “I’m sure there are plenty in the burning house. Would you like some tea as well?”
“That would be lovely.”
Elizabeth met Lucy’s gaze. The maid regarded her uncertainly. She had served her only a short time, since Elizabeth’s engagement, and had not yet learned to read her mistress’s moods.
“Lucy, without getting in the way of anyone working to put out the fire, please enquire among the servants whether anyone has injuries requiring Mr. Jones’s attention. Also ask whether anyone has seen Mrs. Parrish or my husband. If you happen to encounter Mrs. Hurst’s maid, kindly relay her requests.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a relieved expression, Lucy set off.
The apothecary finished his ministrations and, aided by Mr. Hurst, moved the weary couple to the relative comfort of the Darcys’ coach. Jane and Bingley each rested against one side and stretched their legs the length of the padded seats. Elizabeth sat on the coach floor for a time, holding Jane’s hand and speaking with her softly, but her thoughts were too scattered and her heart too anxious to attend her own conversation. Fortunately, her sister soon drifted back into slumber. Bingley followed shortly.
She left the coach and wandered restlessly about the carriage house. She longed to
