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“Pardon, monsieur!” she apologized.

When he asked for Bingley in French, she stared at him stupidly, after which he repeated his request in German.

She indicated a door across the hall but protested in her Viennese accent when he opened it and, pushing aside the curtain, barged into the room. Bingley was stark naked, in bed with two blond women similarly attired. They looked like twins.

“I am going,” Darcy stated bluntly.

“Well, hang it, Darcy. I’ve hardly got started here!” protested Bingley.

There was a pause: a contest of wills.

“I shall see you back at the hotel, then,” said Darcy, conceding, and he marched out.

Darcy next encountered Bingley looking very dull-eyed when he walked into their private dining room at the Király Palais for a late breakfast. The rest of the party was ready to depart for their tour of the city, with the princess’s carriage expected in less than fifteen minutes. Caroline and Louisa sat chattering near the hearth, dressed as finely as if they were attending court, but they broke off when their brother entered the room. Bingley glared resentfully at Caroline when she scolded him for his tardiness. Ignoring her, he proceeded to pile his plate with broken meat and eggs. He sat down at the part of the table furthest removed from his sisters and began scoffing his food. At Darcy’s signal, a waiter placed a tankard of beer in front of Charles.

Turning his chair so that he faced Bingley but had his back to Caroline, Darcy whispered, “When did you get in?”

“A couple of hours ago,” said Bingley from the corner of his full mouth. “They threw me out at dawn. I suppose they wanted to get some sleep.”

“Well! You weren’t exaggerating when you said you were frustrated! I am sorry I barged in on you. I just wanted to get back to my own bed.”

“No problem,” said Bingley, washing down the contents of his mouth with beer. “I am afraid I was a bit late starting—the combination of the champagne and beer last night was a bit much for me, if you know what I mean.”

Darcy nodded and then let his friend concentrate on emptying his plate. Charles had consumed the best part of his breakfast when Caroline announced the princess had arrived. With a last swig from his tankard, Bingley wiped his mouth with a napkin and followed the rest of the party to the waiting carriage.

Wearing a hat bedecked with ribbons and feathers, complete with a veil to spare her complexion in the open carriage, Caroline adopted a completely new aspect during their carriage tour of the monuments of Vienna. She was gracious, witty, spoke with a plum in her mouth and treated Darcy like a brother, or at least how she might have treated a brother whom she respected more than Charles. The princess was instantly her bosom bow.

Princess Brunhilda quickly appraised Caroline as an encroaching female likely to stick a knife in her back at the first opportunity. After exchanging an amused glance with Madame Bamberg, the princess treated Caroline with friendly tolerance.

Following their morning tour, they repaired to the Király Palais for lunch, after which the princess and Madame Bamberg departed so that they might all rest before venturing to the opera in the evening.

It was during the celebratory dinner at the Linzer Palais the next evening that Darcy first began to feel unwell. He initially noticed it as a general feeling of lethargy. When he stood to propose a toast to the princess and her hosts, he momentarily saw stars before his eyes. By the time he deemed it late enough to excuse himself politely, Darcy knew he was running a temperature. He retired, fully expecting to feel better after a good night’s sleep.

Finn became aware of a problem in the wee hours of the morning when a crash in Darcy’s bedchamber pulled him from slumber. Rising from his cot in Darcy’s dressing room, he went to investigate. He found his master with a soaring temperature, thrashing about in delirium. Finn immediately began to bathe Darcy’s brow with cold water, sending also for vinegar. But his alarm quickly grew when Darcy did not calm upon his ministrations. Another maid was dispatched to rouse Mr Trevor, who arrived five minutes later in his nightcap.

“Mr Trevor,” said Finn, “we need to find a doctor. The master is seriously ill.”

Running back to his room to retrieve his outer gear, which he donned directly over his pyjamas, Clive Trevor flew down the stairs to bang on the door of the concierge. After finding the direction of a physician, he ran out into the pre-dawn light to hail a passing cab.

He arrived back at the palais with the physician in tow within the hour to find that exigency had prompted Finn to lower his master’s unconscious body, still clothed in his night shirt, into a cool hip bath with the help of a footman and two maids. This measure had at least stopped him thrashing about.

The doctor looked grave upon viewing Darcy’s condition but forbore to make any prognosis, merely praising Finn’s efforts to lower the patient’s temperature. He retrieved a notebook and, sitting down, began to question the men on Darcy’s health and his movements over the last few days. However, when dark spots began to appear on Darcy’s lower limbs an hour later, he shook his head, indicating that he wished to speak to Mr Trevor outside.

“I must tell you that your master has an infectious complaint that has broken out in the city in the last fortnight. The first three patients I attended like this died quite promptly after contracting it.”

Mr Trevor gasped.

“I believe I have learnt a little about its treatment in the last few days. Your servant has done well in attempting to lower his temperature promptly. He should be kept in isolation and care should be taken in handling his bodily fluids. Gloves and masks should be used. In terms of treatment, the most important thing is to keep him hydrated. He should be attended constantly by someone to squeeze water into his mouth.”

“Anything!” assured Mr Trevor. “It will be done as you wish. I am in the employ of the Earl of Matlock. Mr Darcy is his nephew. He is a very important man, a very rich man. Everything possible must be done to preserve his life!”

“I can make no promises,” replied the doctor, “but myself and several other leading physicians are meeting every day to exchange notes and ideas. I will do everything in my power to give him the best treatment, but it is a very grave disease.”

After checking the patient once more and giving instructions, the doctor went off to procure supplies and two nurses.

Once he left the room, Mr Trevor exchanged a look with Finn and sank down onto a chair to wipe his brow, his jelly legs no longer able to support him.

Chapter 23: Into the night