“Do you speak again of taking Caroline to America?” Bingley asked.
“I think she is even less capable of such a journey now than she was before,” Darcy declared.
“I agree. How I wish a retreat to my home could cure what ails her! But no — unfortunately, I fear we must investigate another type of home for her.”
“You mean an asylum.” Louisa made the statement without emotion.
Parrish let silence serve as his affirmation. Outside the wind howled its own protest.
Elizabeth’s mind revolted at the notion. She bore no love for Mrs. Parrish, but cringed at the image of her in such a place. The hospitals, with their inhuman conditions, were holding cells, not places of healing, a last resort for families who had given up not just hope but also conscience. Once Caroline entered, she would be lost to them forever.
“Surely there exists a less extreme solution?” Darcy asked.
“If I could think of a better plan, I’d offer it.” He threw out his hands in despair. “This is not the marriage I envisioned when I took my vows less than a fortnight ago. I married Caroline for better or worse, in sickness and health, and I meant those words when I spoke them. Sickness has come. Worse has come. And I remain steadfast. But I cannot allow her to endanger all of you any longer. We cannot wait until she assails someone with a more deadly weapon than a wedding ring. Or until the next house burns all the way to the ground. Or until she… finishes what she attempted back in London.” His voice shook. “Standing by her doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to peril. It means making decisions in her best interest even if doing so breaks my own heart.”
Elizabeth wondered anew how Caroline had managed to win such devotion. For a time no one spoke. All were visibly moved by his passion — except for the red-faced Mr. Hurst, who appeared only marginally aware of what was being discussed.
“You are her husband. It is your choice,” Bingley said finally. “I will support you in whatever course of action you deem best.”
“As will I,” said Mrs. Hurst. Jane concurred. Mr. Hurst downed another glass of wine.
Affecting as Parrish’s speech had been, Elizabeth was yet troubled by the idea of committing Mrs. Parrish to a mental hospital. She wondered that no one but Darcy had offered the slightest resistance. Back in London, when Randolph had suggested sending Caroline to Louisiana, the entire family had engaged in considerable debate. Yet now that an even worse fate was contemplated, no one voiced an objection. She could only surmise that in Jane and Bingley’s case, the ordeal of the fire, not to mention their carriage mishap, had worn down their ability to cope with other matters. The Hursts’ complacency she attributed to the laziness and selfishness that motivated most of their decisions.
In Elizabeth’s opinion, what Caroline needed most was to escape Professor Randolph and his “help.” His motives were suspect, his methods objectionable. Whether he possessed real power or only delusions of it, his attention seemed of little benefit — and perhaps considerable harm — to Mrs. Parrish. Free of his proximity, how rapidly might she improve?
“Maybe Mrs. Parrish could take up residence in a quiet cottage with a full-time companion?” Elizabeth suggested.
“All of us together have been unable to chaperone her here at Netherfield,” Parrish replied. “How could a single companion — along with myself, of course — keep up with her?”
“Multiple companions, then,” Darcy said. “Well-trained nurses devoted to her care — and supervision.”
Parrish shook his head dismissively, but then paused as if reconsidering. “A secluded cottage… The idea does bring a feeling of peace with it, doesn’t it? And with the right sort of help… Perhaps — perhaps — Mrs. Darcy, you are invaluable! I shall start looking for just such a place directly.”
They were joined presently by Professor Randolph, who apologized profusely for his lateness. “I lost track of the time,” he explained.
How could he, Elizabeth mused, with that pocketwatch he constantly employed? At least his ability to influence Mrs. Parrish with it would soon come to an abrupt end.
“No matter, Professor,” Jane assured him. “Dinner has been delayed anyway.”
He took his seat and nodded at the others in greeting. When his gaze landed on Parrish, he started. “Good heavens, Mr. Parrish! Are you all right?”
“Caroline has suffered a setback.”
His shoulders sagged. “I thought I’d observed some improvement of late.” He began to rise. “I will go speak with—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Randolph sat back down. “But if I could meet with her yet this evening—”
“She rests. In the morning, I intend to search for a quiet cottage for us to retire to, one without the distractions of Netherfield.”
“Indeed?” He pushed his spectacles to the bridge of his nose. “Well, I can certainly post my observations to Dr. Lancaster from one location as well as another.”
“I appreciate your offer to continue meeting with Caroline, but I think she needs solitude.”
“Surely her withdrawal from society should not include me?”
“You have your next expedition to think about.”
“A delay is of no consequence if by postponing those plans I can be of service to Mrs. Parrish.”
“Your service is no longer required.”
Elizabeth inwardly applauded Parrish. Apparently, she and he were of like mind where the eerie archeologist was concerned.
Randolph seemed about to protest further, but then thought better of it. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “Yes — well, then.” He glanced nervously around the table, conscious that all eyes were upon him. “As soon as the storm breaks, I’ll return to London.”
“When persons sit down to a card table, they must take their chance of these things, — and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object.”
