Darcy looked at Elizabeth helplessly. He had managed difficult tenants, legal wranglings, and Caroline Bingley. None of it had prepared him for this. He felt utterly useless, and although Mrs Goose barely reached his shoulder, she had the authority of a battle-hardened naval commander. She prodded him with a plump finger in the chest with more force than he would have guessed she possessed.
"Mrs Goose—"
"Downstairs, Mr Darcy."
Burke, who had followed them up carrying Elizabeth’s small trunk and several blankets, gave a cough from the doorway. "Best do as she says, sir."
Darcy had no choice but to obey. Mrs Goose closed the door in his face and for a moment he stood in the passage staring at it. Burke waited beside him. "You heard the lady," he said firmly. "Downstairs."
Darcy looked down the passage, jaw tight. "There is only one room."
"Yes."
"And she believes Miss Bennet is my wife."
"Yes," said Burke. "But right now there is a lady in there who is very unwell. One problem at a time, sir."
???
They returned to the taproom, where the occupants had mostly resumed their conversations but continued to glance towards Darcy whenever they thought he would not notice.
Mr Goose was a broad, cheerful man with thinning hair and a waistcoat that strained at the buttons. He assured Darcy that his horses had been stabled, rubbed down and fed, and the coachman was already in the kitchen with a bowl of hot stew. Burke’s arrangements were also, apparently, being seen to. Mr Goose had found him a small attic room, which Burke accepted with a regal nod of his head.
Darcy heard and saw very little of this. Burke pushed a tankard into his hand. "Drink," he commanded and Darcy drowned the ale quickly before glancing for the third time in as many minutes at the door that led to the bedrooms.
For several minutes neither of them spoke. Rain beat against the windows and the taproom door opened twice to admit men soaked almost as thoroughly as they had been. Each time thewind swept in, Darcy felt his shoulders tighten at the thought of Elizabeth upstairs, pale and still and far too cold.
At last Burke leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You should know, sir, I sent young Thomas back to Barley Cross as soon as the horses were settled."
Darcy turned to him.
"To ask after Mr and Mrs Frost," Burke continued. "And to find a doctor if there is one to be had. The road will be slow, but he knows what he is about. He is a canny lad, and strong."
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you."
Of course Burke had already done it. He possessed an almost supernatural talent for anticipating precisely what would be required several minutes before anyone else. It was one of the reasons Darcy trusted him with almost everything. It was also one of the reasons he occasionally considered strangling him.
A short while later Mrs Goose appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Darcy rose so quickly his chair nearly toppled. "How is she?"
Mrs Goose came towards him wiping her hands on her apron. "Warmer than she was, but not as warm as I should like. She has taken a little broth, though I cannot say she knew much about it, poor dear. She is not properly awake, but she is not as deathly white as when you carried her in."
"May I see her?"
Mrs Goose hesitated only a moment. "You may, but quietly. And do not go upsetting her. She has had quite enough excitement for one night."
Darcy nodded and followed her upstairs.
The green room was now close and hot. A fire roared in the grate and steam lingered in the air from the bath that had been dragged behind a screen. Elizabeth lay in the bed beneath a great mound of blankets, her damp hair loose around her shoulders and her face still pale against the pillow. She looked very young and very vulnerable.
Mrs Goose checked the bricks at the foot of the bed and tucked the blankets with brisk efficiency. "She keeps shivering. That is not always a bad sign, mind, but I do not like how cold she still is. You may sit with her if you wish, Mr Darcy. She should not be left alone tonight."
Darcy did not turn his gaze from Elizabeth. "I will sit with her."
He thought of correcting Mrs Goose as to their relationship. But the words died in his throat. To explain that Elizabeth was not his wife, had never been his wife and would likely rather marry a cooper than become his wife, seemed both necessary and impossible. The inn had one room. Elizabeth required care. Everyone below had seen him carry her in shouting like amadman. Whatever truth he announced now would only make matters worse.
Mrs Goose left him with a bowl of broth, a cup of sharp-smelling tea and strict instructions to call if the lady worsened. Darcy sat in the chair beside the bed and watched Elizabeth sleep, though sleep did not seem quite the right word for it. She stirred now and then, turning her head restlessly against the pillow, her lips moving without sound. Once she shivered so violently that he rose at once and pulled the blankets higher around her shoulders.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said quietly.
