Papa joined them. Nodding at Mr. Darcy, he took Mama’s arm. “I suggest we return to Longbourn to oversee the wedding feast before our guests descend upon us.” To Elizabeth, he said, “Mr. Jones is waiting tosee you in the vestry. I have already spoken with him, and he suggested that Mr. Darcy be present.”
“Here? Now?” Elizabeth asked.
Father nodded, his wordless reply reminding Elizabeth of the seriousness of her injury. Of the severity of her loss.
CHAPTER 12
Mr. Jones, Meryton’s apothecary, was a short, rotund man with a pink complexion and an inveterate smile. The man appeared in a constant state of joviality, an appearance which he no doubt attempted to remedy with long, lamb chop whiskers … to no effect.
He was not an easy man to take seriously, and Darcy was not convinced his opinion was the most appropriate to seek. Mr. Jones had, however, requested Darcy’s presence, and the apothecary’s invitation allowed for a greater degree of tolerance.
The vicar had cramped three chairs into the vestry, and at Mr. Jones’ gesture, Darcy and Elizabeth sat opposite him.
“I came as soon as I could,” he began, pulling out several papers from the case on the floor beside his chair. “As you know, the care I offer as an apothecarydiffers quite drastically from a doctor of the mind — such men are rare and often contradictory. Too little is understood of the workings of the brain.”
Darcy crossed his arms over his chest. This was not a promising beginning. He would rather not waste his time when a trip to London to search for a qualified physician awaited him. “Are you capable of helping Miss Elizabeth, or not?”
Mr. Jones shuffled through the pages, replying absentmindedly. “I believe I can. Not through any treatment, mind you, but with this information in my possession.” He lifted one page up in triumph, then placed it on top of the pile on his leg, smoothing them carefully. “I subscribe to all the medical journals available, and I believe I may offer some guidance by way of facts. That was why my arrival was delayed.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Jones,” Elizabeth said. “I would not have missed my sister’s wedding for an examination anyway.”
His smile widened. “I thought as much, Miss Bennet. Now, your father told me the details of the accident, but I would like to hear what you recall from the time leading up to the incident and immediately after.”
Darcy would not let Mr. Jones near Elizabeth unless he proved his qualifications. It was a point in the gentleman’s favor that he did not offer treatment by means of a miraculous tonic. But Darcy needed adegree of certainty that Mr. Jones’ advice would not do more harm than it would help.
Before Elizabeth could reply, Darcy asked, “Which medical journals did you consult?” He did not boast any particularly profound knowledge in science and medicine, but he enjoyed deep conversation with thinkers more sagacious than himself. He knew which sources they trusted, and which they discredited.
“Oh, of course. How thoughtless of me. My apologies, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy marveled at the gentleman’s ability to smile and apologize while giving every appearance of sincerity.
Mr. Jones tapped his papers. “I have consulted withThe Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, for one.”
“Recent journals?”
“Their older articles are hardly worth consulting. I appreciate the attention their present-day writers give to details, and I find their inclusion of failed experiments convincing of an unbiased study — the work of the medical members on their committee, no doubt.”
Darcy remained skeptical. “I have spoken with several studied men who criticize their caution as excessive.Philosophical Transactionsis well-known for not stating any opinion without sayingperhaps it is soorit may seem apparentorit is not improbable.”
Mr. Jones chuckled. “They do, at that! You keep good company, Mr. Darcy. I am relieved you are notignorant regarding the source of research I must rely upon. Allow me to assure you that I do not consult their findings to instruct me on how to proceed but rather to enable me to come to my own conclusions for the benefit of my neighbors, with whom I have the advantage of intimacy.” He nodded at Elizabeth as a father would.
Elizabeth returned his smile, then turned to Darcy, a mischievous twinkle in her fine eyes. “Are you satisfied Mr. Jones is reputable enough to see to my injury, Mr. Darcy, or do you have any more questions?”
Darcy’s heart lightened, overjoyed at her display of humor. She was not as altered as he had feared. Playing along, he teased, “I am nearly satisfied. Perhaps Mr. Jones would tell us what other works he consulted?”
Mr. Jones was happy to oblige. “I brought a study in which the methodology is emphasized with admirable clarity. The experimental description is second to none. Were it my field of medicine, the detail would allow me to replicate the study.” He pulled out another paper, pressing it to his breast before extending it to Darcy. “This is the one.”
“Edinburgh Medical Journal,” Darcy read aloud. This was the source his personal physician most often cited.
“Yes, the author, a renowned doctor of the mind, the foremost authority in the nation, focuses on the disease...”
Darcy cringed. Elizabeth was not diseased. Just injured.
Unaware of the effect his choice of words had on his audience, Mr. Jones continued, “... I find his descriptions professional and methodical. The work of a doctor and scientist with a great deal of experience.”
Speaking over the lump lodged in his throat, Darcy said, “I thank you for allaying my doubts, Mr. Jones.”
“Any sensible gentleman would require the same, Mr. Darcy. Now, if I may, I have several questions for Miss Bennet.”
