“It is horrifying!” Georgiana exclaimed. “That cannot possibly be healthful or good.”
“The body is a mysterious mechanism. There are many strange organs and processes within it that can lead to the creation or destruction of health,” the doctor replied.
In the daylight Darcy’s nighttime conviction that he was dying seemed less certain. At least, his cousin did not look particularly concerned. But he still must find something useful to do, and he needed to be as useful as he could be over the next few days. There was even less guarantee than in ordinary times of life beyond that.
A new bandage and poultice were tied around his chest—Mrs. Wickham informed him that she would replace the bandages every two hours today, to make sure the pus could easily flow out, and to keep the wound moist so that the surface would not start to heal over prematurely.
Before the doctor left, Darcy asked, “Can you give me the direction of a good solicitor?”
The doctor paused, frowned at Darcy from under his thick grey eyebrows, and then he said, “Though everyone ought to keep essential papers in good order, you are not likely to die from this wound. I do not say that as a doctor seeking to keep a patient calm, but simply as a fact.”
“But I am notcertainto survive.”
“The man who I do all of my business with,” the doctor said, “an excellent fellow, very precise and professional in all matters, is Mr. Martin whose office is along High Street, near The Spread Eagle. Your servant should find him without difficulty.”
The doctor bowed to everyone. Georgiana sat down and pressed her hand hard against her face. Both Mrs. Wickham and Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy with concern.
“I am of sound mind,” Darcy said to them.
“You said you were not yesterday. What settlements do you intend to make?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked suspiciously. Then he looked around the room. “Never mind. Tell me in private later.”
“Just ring for one of the manservants,” Darcy said, “and have them sent over to the lawyer’s address. Ask him to call on me at his earliest convenience.”
Mrs. Wickham asked with her own frown, “Do you intend to endow a monastery?”
Darcy did not reply at first. But after some consideration, he said, “I shall add something to the orphanage and the grammar school that are already under the support of the family.”
Mrs. Wickham laughed weakly, but she still frowned.
Little George came down and even before he greeted his mother, he immediately gravitated towards Darcy. The boy told him, “You look like the mouse that the cat dragged in.”
Darcy felt considerably better already.
The decision was made that they would all eat in the drawing room with Mr. Darcy, rather than having the mobile members of the party withdraw to the breakfast room, while leaving Darcy alone with broth and maid.
Laughing, George begged to be able to feed Darcy his broth.
Mrs. Wickham protested due to the mess, but when the young boy was clearly unhappy about not being allowed to be of service in this way, Darcy said that they should think nothing of the mess, and asked George directly to feed him.
The young boy made an enormous production of the whole, making bows and giving a proper pretense of being a footman in his mannerisms. He did not even do a bad job of it, only spilling half of a spoonful on each of the rug, the cushions, and Darcy’s own chest.
At first Mrs. Wickham watched with an instant readiness to intervene.
It was clear thatshewas not precisely pleased by Mr. Darcy offering this kindness to her son. Mrs. Wickham had had a dissatisfied air the entiretime since Darcy had announced that he would call a lawyer. He half suspected that she guessed at some part of the arrangements that he meant to make and found the whole line of thought unpleasant.
Eventually Mrs. Wickham left off her intent observation of Darcy and her son, and instead she put a bread roll on her plate and then tore it into tiny pieces, all without eating anything.
Darcy did not like to see her disquiet.
When he caught her eye, he smiled at her.
She stared at him.
Somehow her manner made him smile. He liked her. And then she smiled back at him, sat up straighter, took a deep breath and laughed a little. Mrs. Wickham then took Emily from Georgiana’s lap to offer the girl bits of the torn-up roll from her plate.
There was about half the broth left when Darcy began to suspect from the shifts in George’s mannerisms that the young child was becoming quite bored. “George, your mother or Miss Darcy might help me with the rest of the soup. Run off and eat your own meal.”
“Wanna eat the soup like you!”
