When the coaches arrived in Herne Bay, Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy instruct his coachmen to take Wickham and Lydia directly to St. Martin Church. He then settled her into a room at the New Dolphin Inn, and followed after them.
She expected him, in company with the Wickhams, to return within an hour, but the hour turned into two. She was tugging nervously at her hair, pacing back and forth, when someone finally knocked upon her door. Opening it, she found Darcy’s head coachman, Wharton, standing there. He hurriedly asked her to take care of his master in the adjacent room for the time being.
Elizabeth did not understand his request, but he was gone before she could utter a word. She ran to the room and found Mr. Darcy lying on the bed, with bandaged wounds on his head and his chest, as still as…
Fearing the worst, she ran to him, but closer inspection showed that, although his eyes were closed, he was still breathing.
“Mr. Darcy, what happened? How were you injured? Where are Lydia and Mr. Wickham?” She shook his shoulder lightly.
Darcy opened his eyes and looked at her, barely able to speak. “Elizabeth, forgive me. I am truly sorry. They are gone.”
“Gone? You mean they have escaped again?”
He shook his head, then groaned in pain.
The sound spurred Elizabeth to action. She summoned warm water and food from a servant. Then she helped him eat a little, but he only wanted some water to drink. She proceeded to gently wash away the bloodstains on his head and chest. One of the bandages was already soaking through. He needed a doctor!
Her eyes widened with the sudden terrible memory of his words…
She had to know at once. “Mr. Darcy, do you mean to say that they are both… dead?”
Sadly, he nodded his head.
Had their earlier conversation become a reality? She could not…would not accept that he might be responsible for murder and possibly be sent to prison. In a trembling voice, she asked, “Who…who killed them?”
“Mrs. Younge’s sister.”
Elizabeth released a big sigh, relieved that Darcy had not been the one. “But why?”
“It seems that Wickham had previously seduced the woman, before he went to Hertfordshire, and that he had promised to marry her when he returned. He did not keep in touch with her. But yesterday when he was in the neighbourhood, she happened upon him. They had an argument when she saw your sister with him. That was why Wickham and Miss Lydia fled. She then followed us to the church, but she arrived after the ceremony had finished. She attacked and killed him when we were walking out of the church. My burly servants were not there and I was not quick enough to stop her. Your sister jumped ahead to struggle with the assailant. I am so sorry, but… she was killed during the struggle.”
“Oh, Lord!” As the news of Lydia’s death finally sank in, Elizabeth sat down next to him, speechless, with tears streaming down her face. She could not believe that Lydia, so young, so full of life and laughter, could be gone in the blink of an eye. How very tragic to be married one minute and then to meet her judgment immediately afterwards. “Oh dear, what will Mama and Papa say? They shall be heart-broken.”
Mr. Darcy held her hands, barely able to respond again. He patiently waited, desperately wanting to comfort her in his arms. When she finally composed herself, he whispered, “Elizabeth, I am so very sorry. I should have acted faster and held your sister back.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She was certain that he had done the best he could. Before she could reply to him, however, the doctor arrived to tend to his wounds. She left them together and waited in the hallway, only to hear Mr. Darcy groaning in pain.
She decided to seek out Wharton and ask him to recount how his master had been injured. The man replied that Mr. Darcy had tried to shield the newly wed from the mad woman, and was injured in the process. Afterwards, he had succeeded in subduing the woman. Wharton had helped him hastily bandage up his wounds, and they then saw to the care of the couples' bodies and reported the killings to the authorities. The coachman explained to Elizabeth that his master had insisted on taking care of everything else first, when he should have immediately been attended to by a doctor.
After the doctor finished treating Darcy’s wounds, he informed Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy had lost a great deal of blood, but that he was a strong man and was not in any life-threatening danger. However, he asked Elizabeth to keep an eye on the patient throughout the night, in case he developed a fever. In addition, the doctor told her how to clean and re-dress Darcy’s wounds to prevent infection.
That night, Elizabeth stayed with him as he became somewhat delirious from fever. He tossed and turned violently, murmuring incoherently of his childhood escapades with Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth wiped the sweat from his face, neck and chest throughout the night, keeping cool cloths on his head to help reduce his fever. At one time, when his sleep seemed most disturbed, she sat down on the bed and pulled him over her lap, massaging his head and shoulders. Her calm ministering manner seemed to settle him. Only when he was peaceful again did Elizabeth feel that she could stretch out next to him, to rest a little herself.
The next morning, Mr. Darcy woke to find Elizabeth on the bed with him once again, only this time she was dressed in gentlemen's clothing. His head had rested again on her bosom as his pillow and, in spite of the pain he felt in other parts of his body, his heart was quite contented by her embrace. Then, abruptly, he remembered the terrible events of the previous day. Wickham, dead! He had been a scoundrel, and had deserved punishment for his deeds, but surely nothing as severe as to meet such a violent death.
He pulled his aching body up, waking Elizabeth in the process. They greeted each other with embarrassment and sadness. She wanted him to rest for another day before leaving for London but he was determined to lose no more time. He told her he was feeling fine.
Mr. Darcy remained silent throughout the journey back to London. His body ached, and his thoughts were in turmoil.
Depending upon circumstance, six months could be either a long or a very short time. For Elizabeth, the six months spent in mourning were extremely long. She had not seen Mr. Darcy since they parted at Gracechurch Street. His last parting gaze at her was imbedded in her memory, grim and disheartening. He had made all of the arrangements necessary for her to leave London, and had further taken care of the transportation of the bodies of Miss Lydia and her brief, yet legal husband Mr. Wickham. All had arrived safely back at Longbourn in the comforts provided by Darcy's carriages. He had sent Elizabeth home with her sickly father and his man servant, with the addition of a maid to accompany her.
But since that day, a long six months ago, she had received no communication from Mr. Darcy or his sister. She no longer knew what he thought of her, or whether she would ever see him again.
Life at Longbourn was bleak and depressing. Mrs. Bennet, hysterical, was inconsolable upon learning of the
