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“Georgie…we must stop her!” Lizzy felt all the helplessness of her position, her lack of resources.
“She will let Donavan kill him,” Georgiana whispered. “He will die, and she will call it merciful.”
Lizzy saw the girl was about to give way to hysteria, an understandable temptation. But it was her own mother’s response to ill news, and it never, ever helped. She must distract them both with action, if possible.
She took a deep breath. “Remember, we must think only of your brother. We need Mrs Taylor, and we need her quickly. Mr Sharp must not be allowed in. I feel certain she will know some way that might be accomplished once she understands the situation. Will you—very discreetly—fetch her while I attempt to remove these bindings?”
Georgiana blinked, shuddering. Then, with renewed resolution, she nodded, hurrying out.
Lizzy approached the bed. Had Mr Darcy heard Lady Catherine? His eyes were yet closed; he was as still as death. She began picking at the knotted leather gag. It was impossibly tight. His mouth must be so sore! Her fingernail tore in the futile process, and she told herself her tears were from pain.
“Stupid, stupid,” she whispered, swiping at her eyes. Who would beat a sick man? Her own inability to do this simple thing, ease him in this tiny way, shredded her self-possession. A sob escaped, and she bit her lip to stop herself. She checked his breathing again. He is so quiet! “It will be well, Mr Darcy. We will fix this, somehow. At least you are no longer chained. Knots can be untied.” But those knots were ruthlessly snarled, and she could make little progress.
Where is the housekeeper with Georgie? Does Mrs Taylor refuse to assist her, even now?
Although she was expecting and hoping for assistance, the sound of approaching steps on the stairs several minutes later gave her pause. If it was Mr Donavan, he would throw her out. She did not even care if he tried. Picking up a nearby candlestick, she ran to the other side of the bed, prepared to do battle. She would beat him with all the strength within her if he even tried to approach Mr Darcy, and to the devil with any consequences.
But it was Mrs Taylor, alone, at first astonished at the sight of Lizzy wielding a candlestick—then shocked at the sight of Mr Darcy in such straits.
Lizzy did not give her time to question her presence in the sickroom. Lowering the candlestick, she asked, “Might you procure a knife? I cannot undo these stupid knots.”
The woman nodded, plainly too astonished to comment further, withdrawing a tool from her apron pocket and moving beside Mr Darcy. Efficiently she cut the gag, then sliced the bindings at his feet. Finally, she severed the strings fastening his wrists. They flopped to the mattress lifelessly. Lizzy worked with her to withdraw the binding garment from him, pulling it off his arms.
They both gasped at the same time.
Large bloody splotches marked his shirt’s back—the garment sticking to his skin where blood had dried.
“Merciful heavens,” Mrs Taylor whispered.
“Miss Darcy must not see this. Where is she?” Lizzy whispered back, a lump in her throat preventing her from speaking any louder.
“She came to me and said her brother needed me desperately and that we must on no account allow Mr Sharp entry. I have Frost on the lookout—he will send him on his way. As we walked up the stairs together, Lady Catherine called to her and demanded she play for her—at once. Miss Darcy did not know what else to do except keep her ladyship occupied.”
“That is as well,” Lizzy said, still staring at the wounds. “I wonder—have you any sandalwood?”
Mrs Taylor looked taken aback. “Why…I do not think so, miss. Whatever for?”
“It can be used in a treatment for ulcerations, I have read. The cloth and any impurities in the flesh must be cleansed and removed.”
But the housekeeper was distraught. “I’m sure I don’t know, miss! I will call for James, and we will bathe him and dress these wounds with a special ointment prepared from my own stillroom. Something must be done at once!”
Lizzy had been so caught up in thinking of how to ease Mr Darcy’s trauma that she had briefly forgotten just how highly irregular Mrs Taylor must find her presence.
“I apologise, Mrs Taylor. I am well-known at home for my remedies.”
The woman nodded distractedly, obviously too upset to pay attention to the bleatings of a young houseguest. “If you’ll excuse me, I will fetch James now.”
Lizzy tried once more, wanting nothing more than to assist in Mr Darcy’s recovery. “Lady Catherine will not appreciate any interference. You, James, even Mr Frost might risk her wrath for aiding him.”
“James is my nephew and loyal to me as well as Mr Darcy. Frost and I have worked for the family for many years and may be relied upon,” she said, in a voice grown suddenly offended.
“Of course. I did not mean to imply otherwise.” Lizzy felt she had no choice but to remove herself from the room, but not before she caught sight, as the housekeeper cut off his nightshirt, of what Mr Darcy had endured; it was horrifying, his back mutilated.
After James entered the nursery, she paced to and fro along the corridor, wishing she was allowed to offer something besides pity. It seemed like hours but was probably less than one before Georgiana reappeared, flushed and anxious.
“They are caring for him, dear,” Lizzy said. “Mrs Taylor and James.”
“Lady Catherine believes us resting now. I did not know what else to do when—” Georgiana began, but Lizzy interrupted.
