Their heads were bent together over the wound, breath misting in the cold air, hands slick with blood but unmoving. Time passed—seconds, years, she could not tell. Her arms trembled, her knees ached from the cold earth, her mind drifted.
Time blurred.
Then—the sound of rattling wheels.
Bingley’s voice called through the trees, and she looked up in a daze to see a cart rolling toward them, flanked by footmen and Mr. Bennet, pale and panting. The footmen jumped down, carrying a board and blankets, and Mr. Bennet rushed to her side.
“Lizzy!” he cried, crouching down. “You’ve done more than enough. Let us take over now.”
Her hands were pulled away as others replaced them. She staggered to her feet, dizzy, the blood on her fingers no longer warm. Everything felt distant, muffled—like looking through glass.
Her knees buckled slightly, but her eyes did not focus.
“Elizabeth?” Mr. Bennet exclaimed in alarm.
She turned toward the sound, tried to respond—but the world tilted, the trees swayed, and everything went black.
And then there was nothing.
Chapter 16
The world returned to Elizabeth slowly.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she felt as if she were rising from the depths of a dream. It was confusing, filled with blood and shouting and desperation.
But there had also been safety… a voice speaking low in her ear, steady hands pressing down on hers, warmth and strength wrapped around her…
“Lizzy?”
She blinked, attempting to make the blurred images come into focus. Mrs. Gardiner sat beside her bed leaning forward with concern on her face. Beside her, Mary of all people was perched with a book closed in her lap, her forehead wrinkled.
“You are awake,” Mrs. Gardiner breathed out, reaching forward to touch her hand. “You certainly gave everyone quite a fright.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “What… what happened?” Her voice was raspy, and Mary quickly poured a cup of water from a pitcher by the washbasin.
“You fainted,” Mary said matter-of-factly. “Mr. Darcy carried you back to the house. He looked quite pale when he did so, I might add.”
Elizabeth blinked again, trying to make sense of it. “Carried me…?”
“You’ve been unconscious for several hours,” said Mrs. Gardiner gently. “I was paying a call when Mr. Bingley came tearing into the house, shouting for your father. When Mr. Darcy arrived with you, we sent for Mr. Jones. He told us you were merely in shock and to call him again if you did not wake soon—or if you were in any pain.”
“I am not hurt,” Elizabeth murmured, propping herself up on her elbows slowly. “Truly, I am quite well.”
She glanced down—and froze. Her gown was stiff with dried blood, the sleeves and bodice soaked through in a pattern too familiar to mistake. Her heart began to pound.
“Smithson,” she whispered, breath catching. “He was—he was dying—and I—”
“It is alright, Lizzy.” Mrs. Gardiner leaned closer. “Sir William is here now and wishes to speak with you, but there is no rush.”
Memories slammed into her: Smithson’s weight against her knees, his blood coating her hands, the eerie intensity in his voice as he rasped those cryptic words—Tell the raven it was the crow.
Her chest began to heave. She pressed a hand to her face, the tremors starting deep in her stomach and traveling to herfingers. “I did not know what to do—I thought if I let go, he would die—I could not let him die—”
“Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner said gently, calling her name again. “Lizzy. Breathe.”
She did, shallowly, until the tremors began to ebb. Mary stood and poured a glass of water, setting it on the side table with a surprising gentleness.
“You do not have to do anything today,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “We can delay the interview. Sir William will understand. Mr. Bennet is downstairs, and so are both of your uncles. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley stayed as well.”
