AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dazed, Lizzy found herself on the quiet street, blinking in the sunlight. For a few moments, blind panic wanted its way, but she kept it at bay by the thought that if Lady Catherine watched, she must not be given the satisfaction of seeing her humbled.
With a sigh, she began walking. There were not many people about, and those, mostly servants sent on errands. Dressed as plainly as she was, in her neat linen cap, she probably had the look of an upper servant and had not drawn any notice despite her lack of companion. Thus, she kept moving, attempting to appear as though she had a direction and purpose, and tried to think.
A hackney sped by—how did one make it stop for a passenger, she wondered? And she needed, quite desperately, her guinea, secreted in the lining of her trunk. And The Pilgrim’s Progress—all she had left of her girlhood. Well, she must have her belongings, that was all. How could she retrieve them?
Perhaps if she returned to Darcy House later, presenting herself at the tradesman’s entrance, Mrs Taylor might be persuaded to return her trunk. But where was a safe place to wait until she could? The old lady must suspect she would try to recover her things.
Georgiana would want to help, but how could Lizzy gain admittance to her? And even if she reclaimed her belongings, what then? Again, the wave of panic threatened.
No. I will keep my head. I have strong limbs to walk. The weather is fine. I will not think of Longbourn or my sisters or if-onlys or Mr Darcy or—
Tears threatened, and one escaped. Mr Darcy! But she must not consider him, and ruthlessly crushed the thought; she could not fathom, at this moment, how even to save herself.
* * *
Georgiana stared at the closed door in horror. “Aunt, we must at least—”
But at that moment, Lady Catherine caught sight of herself in the large looking glass over the mantelpiece, startling at her frowsy appearance and wild hair. “Dawson! Dawson!” she barked stridently, turning towards the stairs, paying no mind whatsoever to Georgiana’s distress as she hurried away. “Why does everyone require my attendance at such an abominable hour? Taylor! I am not at home!”
For a moment, the three of them stood frozen in the entry.
Then Donavan’s supercilious expression returned. “I shall see my patient now,” he announced.
It was all Georgiana could do not to scream. And yet, Lizzy’s words echoed in her head—‘Remember, we must only think of your brother.’ What would Lizzy want her to do? Delay him, at the very least. It would not take Donavan long to shout the house down if he went to the nursery and discovered the absence of his patient.
“It is quite early, Doctor,” she managed. “H-have you had your breakfast? I believe the, um, the…” her mind blanked as she tried to think of what foods she had been eating only minutes before.
“The apple tart, did you mean?” Mrs Taylor put in. “With clotted cream, of course.”
Georgiana was fairly certain those had not been on the sideboard earlier. “Oh, um, yes, that was it. And fig pasties, I think?” Figs were a delectable, rarely found treat, and Cook liked to have them on hand in case a visitor required impressing, so there would probably be some about, somewhere. “With your bacon, of course.”
One could see the gluttony blooming in the doctor’s eyes. “Why yes, er, I did miss breakfast this morning in my eagerness to attend to the patient.”
“Very good, Mr Donavan.” Mrs Taylor nodded. “If you will follow me to the breakfast parlour.”
The moment they departed, Georgiana raced for the stairs. She wished, how she wished, to run after Lizzy—but it was vital that they do something more to protect Fitzwilliam, and quickly. She burst into his chambers, heedless of any kind of propriety, startling James into jumping from his chair.
“Brother, the doctor is here! He insists upon seeing you!”
Fitzwilliam, however, lay motionless and unresponsive. She bit her lip—he looked so very ill. Lizzy had said he was resting, but perhaps it was something worse than sleep. She looked at James, for the first time realising that he was only a few years older than herself. While a sturdy lad, he could hardly pick up her brother and carry him down the stairs.
“We must move him. To, um, somewhere more secure.”
“Yes, miss,” he replied, then looked at the unconscious man and scratched his head. “Um, where would ye like me to put ’im?”
She took Fitzwilliam’s hand in hers. It was hot. “Brother,” she said urgently. “Fitzwilliam, please wake up. Please, please wake up!”
Nothing.
“Fitzwilliam! You must arise! Donavan is in the house! He will hurt you again if he finds you!”
Still, no response.
She squeezed his hand. “Brother! Aunt has tossed Lizzy from the house! She put her out in the street, all because she tried to stop Donavan from coming to you! You are in the gravest danger! Wake up!”
He opened one eye. “Liz-zy” was all he said.
* * *
