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The first part of the journey in the carriage was uncomfortably crowded, but the farmer and his wife who were sharing his seat got down at Maastricht, allowing the remaining passengers to more comfortably arrange themselves. In Cologne, he quickly downed a large breakfast of sausages and eggs, washed down with beer, before hiring a horse to ride to Bonn, and thence on to Koblenz. He grabbed another sausage for lunch, eating it in the saddle as he set out for Frankfurt.

From Frankfurt, he had hoped to repeat the pattern of the previous day, resting before taking the overnight Postvagn from Frankfurt to Nuremberg. When he discovered the coach had already left with room to spare, he decided to catch up with it, reasoning that if he found it had taken up extra passengers, he could always stop at the next town to rest overnight instead. He was in luck, joining the coach at the village of Jügesheim.

By the time the passengers reached Nuremberg in the morning, Richard was feeling rather stiff and weary, despite his sleep in the carriage. After eating his breakfast, he dutifully climbed into the saddle, but by the time he made Ratisbon at lunchtime, he knew he was developing saddle sores.

Thus, after eating his meal, he walked down to the docks, hoping to avail himself of a more restful mode of travel. Again, chance favoured him. He encountered a trader mending his ropes in a lateen-rigged skiff. This man was willing to take him down the Danube. Once the sailor heard the sum he was offering for conveyance, he engaged to go all the way to Vienna for a little more, if only the colonel would be willing to wait till his wife packed him some supplies. They agreed to set off in an hour. The colonel returned to the boat with a bottle of port, some bread and a cheese, as well as a blanket and pillow he had purchased from a nearby inn. The sailor came back with a basket and his ten-year old son.

Thus, they set off for Vienna. After repairing his sleep deficit and stiff muscles by kipping in the bow of the boat for a couple of hours, the colonel joined the trader and his son in the stern, sharing his port and cheese in return for some smoked fish. When the father took a nap in the afternoon, Richard amused himself by getting the boy to show him how to sail the boat. From then on, he took his turn adjusting the sail and the tiller on their journey.

Although travelling by boat was a welcome respite from his hours in the saddle, it allowed Richard too much time for reflection. The niggling imp of worry about his cousin that had dwelt in the back of his mind since reading Mr Trevor’s letter, now issued forth like a genie from a bottle to consume his thoughts. Darcy and he had grown up together in Derbyshire. Two years younger than himself, Darcy had been so smart as a child that, despite their age difference, they had become boon companions from the time Richard was eight. He had ridden to Pemberley every day to take his lessons with Darcy once his brother Robert had gone off to Eton for his education. Darcy had been more of a brother to him than Robert ever had. At seventeen, Richard had got his pair of colours and embarked on a military life, leaving Darcy behind in Derbyshire, studying for Little Go. When Richard came back from the Continent, he found their relationship much changed. To his own mind, Richard had become a man of the world, whereas Darcy had become enmeshed in the esoteric knowledge they espoused at university. Although they had grown apart intellectually, their childhood bond was still strong.

After Darcy’s father died, Richard’s father had taken Darcy under his wing, although who was rescuing whom in that relationship was debatable. Initially preoccupied with his useless mathematical proofs, Darcy had become more practical as he slowly repaired the Fitzwilliam family coffers, while the earl congratulated himself on being the making of his nephew. Richard and Darcy had begun to see more of each other after the war, even spending a fortnight together last spring at Rosings, their aunt’s estate in Kent. Darcy had recently started managing that as well, at the earl’s request. Their aunt spent all her money on the manor house and its environs at the expense of the working part of the estate. She was losing tenants. Darcy had been sent down to stop the rot.

What would become of the Fitzwilliams if Darcy, having been Master of Pemberley for a mere seven years, followed his father so quickly to the grave? Richard wondered. Indeed, what would happen to Darcy’s own estate? With only Darcy’s inexperienced sixteen-year-old sister to inherit Pemberley, the prospects of the Darcy-Fitzwilliam clan would be bleak.

It was with great trepidation that Colonel Fitzwilliam docked in Vienna three days later. Jumping down from the fiaker in front of the Hotel Király, Richard knew he looked like a vagabond. His uniform was grubby and he smelt, but at least he had managed to shave on board the boat.

The concierge took him straight to Darcy’s room, responding to his enquiries as they climbed the stairs. The gentleman had been near death but was recovering. The best doctor in the city had attended him.

Ostensibly relieved at this prognosis, Richard was, however, disturbed that his more alarmist imaginings had not been so wide of the mark. He had been battling these dire prophecies by assuring himself throughout the trip that he would find Darcy hale and hearty after a bout of something no more serious than the grippe. But the concierge’s information suggested it had been something worse.

The door was opened by Mr Trevor, whose only utterance of “Thank God, you are here, sir!” did little to relieve the colonel’s mind. He knew his father’s secretary to be a competent man of a sanguine nature.

Stepping outside the room, Mr Trevor briefly explained the situation.

“Brain fever!” exclaimed Richard. “My God! I have heard of whole villages dying of such! Was he the only one taken ill?”

“Of our party, sir, yes,” replied Mr Trevor. “The doctor says he knew of some twenty cases in the city. Amongst the affected, the death rate was high. So, Mr Darcy is very fortunate just to be alive.”

“No doubt the doctor’s prompt action saved him. But why did you not relate what you knew in your letter?”

“Merely to save you any further anxiety, sir. His life was in the balance. I could only urge you to join us quickly. As it was, I had to make the decision to drill into his skull; though with the advice I was given, I do not think I could have made any other choice. As to the amputation, fortunately Mr Darcy was able to make that decision himself.”

Richard shook his head in disbelief. Had an injury of a similar nature befallen one of his comrades on a battlefield he would not have blinked, but to be overcome by such a malady in the most expensive part of Vienna seemed incredible. “So, besides the hole in his head and the loss of his toes, he is recovering?”

“The fever is gone, sir, and his reason has returned, but he cannot see and is having difficulty moving his lower limbs.”

“And this is temporary?” asked the colonel, trying to will it to be so.

“The doctor was of the opinion that he might walk again, sir, but he is not optimistic about the blindness. He believes that if Mr Darcy’s sight was going to return, it should have done so by now. He has also been very low, sir, and prone to uncharacteristic fits of temper.”

Richard wiped his brow and leaned heavily against the wall.

“Give me a moment, Mr Trevor, while I compose myself. Is there anyone else in there?”

“Only Mr Finn and I, sir. The princess has arrived every day to visit, but once Mr Darcy regained his senses, he would not admit her.”

“And what of Mr Bingley and his party?”

“They have gone off, sir.”

“Gone off? Where?”

“Back to England, sir.”

“When did this occur?”

“I believe it was the day after the doctor amputated Mr Darcy’s toes, sir.”