not being the brother of their friend.
“He is no friend of mine,” said Mrs. Bennet bitterly.
Elizabeth was mortified, and Darcy touched her arm in silent sympathy.
Mr. Collins, meanwhile, apologized so many times for not being related to the most admirable captain that Mrs. Bennet at last recovered her good humour. A good-looking Captain was not to be overlooked, even if he was not in line for the entail.
It was time for supper. Captain Collins escorted Kitty, and the rest of the guests began to file through to the supper room.
As Elizabeth took Darcy’s arm she gave another grimace and said to Darcy, “Do you know, I do not feel like eating. In fact, I am feeling a little unwell. I think I will retire for the night.”
Jane, who had been following Elizabeth into supper, said, “Would you like me to come with you?”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “I rather think I would if you do not mind leaving your guests.”
“They are all going into supper and after that, you know, they will be going home,” said Jane. “The weather being so bad, we thought it best to set an early end to the evening. I will stay with you until supper is over and then I will come down again to bid them farewell.”
Supported on one side by Darcy and on the other by her sister, Elizabeth made her way slowly upstairs, but by the time they reached her room it was clear that she was feeling more than a little unwell.
The baby was on the way.
Darcy, feeling suddenly helpless, stood awkwardly beside the door.
“The doctor is downstairs,” said Jane. “Go and fetch him?”
Glad, for once, to be told what to do, Darcy ran downstairs and went into the supper room. He looked about him and caught sight of the doctor at the end of the table. He went over to him and spoke to him in a low voice. The doctor nodded, excused himself, and rose to his feet. Bingley, sensing something was happening, followed them, leaving the rest of the guests to enjoy themselves.
“I think it would be as well if you were to have a message sent to the midwife,” said the doctor as he began to mount the stairs. “Her name is Mrs. Parsons, and she lives on the far side of the village green. The footmen will know where to find her.”
Darcy gave instructions for the midwife to be fetched, then made to follow the doctor upstairs.
“No,” came a voice at his ear. “You cannot go up. They will not let you in the room. I know. I tried.”
Darcy noticed Bingley for the first time. His thoughts had been so full of Elizabeth that he had not seen him, but he was very glad of his friend’s presence. There was something reassuring about Bingley’s good-natured countenance and his friendly voice.
“Of course. You know. You have already been through this,” said Darcy.
He tried to speak lightly, as though his wife had a baby every day of the week, but his voice was full of anxiety and his face was strained.
Bingley put a friendly hand on his arm.
“Come and eat some supper,” he said. “Nothing will happen for quite some time, believe me.”
“Some supper?” asked Darcy incredulously, looking at Bingley as if he had run mad. “You cannot expect me to eat at a time like this.”
“It is difficult, I know, but you must make the effort. It is going to be a long night and you must keep your strength up.” As Darcy continued to look scandalised at the mere thought of eating when Elizabeth was suffering, Bingley added, “Elizabeth might need something, and you will be no use to her if you are weak from lack of food.”
Darcy’s attitude changed at once and he followed Bingley into the supper room, but his eyes kept drifting upwards as though he thought that, by straining them, he might be able to see through the ceiling.
Bingley led him over to a spare chair and with difficulty Darcy drew his eyes away from the ceiling and sat down. The long table was laid with a snowy cloth on which porcelain and silverware glistened. Pyramids of fruit were set in the middle on ornate stands, and every kind of dish was set on silver platters in between.
Darcy looked at the appetising food as though it were ashes, for he could not think how he was going to eat any of it, but he knew he must make the effort, and with reluctance, he took some chicken and cold beef. He lifted a forkful of chicken to his mouth but it tasted like sawdust.
Around him, the other guests talked. He tried to take an interest in their conversations, but everything they said seemed shallow and inconsequential and he could not bring himself to join in. Indeed, he scarcely knew how to answer them when they asked him a question.
The grandfather clock’s pendulum seemed to swing in slow motion, as the seconds seemed like minutes and the minutes passed like hours.
After answering one particularly stupid question he found himself wishing the guests would hurry up and leave, but when they had at last all departed and he had retired to the drawing-room, he realised how much more difficult it was without their presence. The noise and the necessity of making the odd response to a question had kept him turning outwards, but now he found his thoughts turning inwards. So it was with relief that he heard the door opening and Bingley entered the room.
“Well, that is the last of them. They have all gone,” said Bingley.
“And your sisters?” asked Darcy.
“Louisa and her husband have retired for the night. Caroline offered to help with Elizabeth, but Jane told her there was nothing she could do and so Caroline too has gone to bed. Mrs. Bennet was with Elizabeth, but as she would talk of nothing but Kitty and Captain Collins, Jane has managed to persuade her that she should retire.”
“So Elizabeth is with Jane as well as the doctor and the midwife?” asked Darcy.
“Yes.” He spoke reassuringly. “She is in good hands.”
Darcy nodded, then walked over to the fireplace where he stood lost in thought.
“Come, you cannot stand about like this,” said Bingley. “You must do something. Have a hand of cards with me.”
“I cannot think of cards at a time like this.”
“A game of billiards, then.”
“No!” snapped Darcy. Adding more gently, “No, thank you.”
“You must do something, you know.”
Darcy paced to the other side of the room and took up a book, but he quickly dropped it again.
“It will be all right,” said Bingley sympathetically. “I imagined every kind of tragedy when Jane was giving birth, but here I am with a fine son and a healthy wife. It will be the same for you.”
“If only I could believe that,” said Darcy, coming to a halt. “But I keep remembering…”
He broke off.
“Yes?” asked Bingley.
“I keep remembering the night Georgiana was born.”
“Ah.”
Darcy sat down opposite his friend and leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees. He was not one to talk of his feelings in general, but there were so strong they would no longer be denied.
“It was a terrible night,” he said.
“You were ten years old at the time, I think.”
“Yes.”
Darcy could not help remembering the events of that night, although he tried to shut them out. The house had been strange. It had not been the safe and familiar home he had always known; it had been full of hurrying feet and anxious whispers.
He remembered the maids running up and down stairs with bowls of hot water and armfuls of clean sheets, and their worried faces. He had tried to talk to them but they had not had time for him and so he had gone down to the drawing-room, drawn there by the light, hoping to find someone to comfort him. His father would be there, he thought, to give him some manly words of advice. But instead he had found his father crying. He had been so shocked by the sight that he had crept back to bed again unnoticed.
The following day, he had been taken into the nursery and he had seen his little sister, Georgiana, but he had not been allowed to see his mother for three days, and when he had finally been allowed to see her, she had been sickly and pale.
