She cast him an arch look. “Now it is my turn to ask if the honeymoon is over — I hope you don’t grow weary of my company already?”
“Quite the reverse, Mrs. Darcy. Once we do reach Pemberley, I may never wish to leave it again.”
They were interrupted by the entrance of a servant. “A letter for you, madam. Just arrived — the rider waits for a reply.”
She exchanged a puzzled glance with her husband. Whatever could be so urgent? As she reached for the note, she recognized the handwriting immediately. “It’s from Jane.” She broke the seal and quickly scanned the contents. “Caroline Parrish has suffered an accident. A surgeon has seen to her injuries but Jane and Bingley desire our counsel. They ask us to meet them at the Parrishes’ townhouse as soon as possible.”
She looked into her husband’s face, which mirrored her own concern and confusion. What could have happened that required their opinion on the matter?
He turned to the servant who had brought the letter. “Tell the messenger we will meet them directly.”
The Darcys arrived to find Parrish, Jane, Bingley, and the Hursts all gathered in the drawing room. Parrish, his face in profile, stared outward as he leaned against the window. He had been speaking softly to Bingley, who stood beside him, but stopped as the butler entered with Elizabeth and Darcy.
As soon as the servant departed, Jane, her face more grave than her sister had ever seen it, immediately crossed the room and took Elizabeth’s hands in her own. “I’m so glad you are come. The most shocking thing has happened — we don’t know what to make of it.”
Elizabeth glanced from Jane to the others. Bingley stood stiffly, his normally carefree countenance clouded by anxiety that matched his wife’s. He exchanged a glance with Parrish, who pushed away from the window to stand with a defeated posture. Louisa, hands in her lap and fingers unconsciously playing with her rings, studied the floor. Mr. Hurst sprawled on the sofa, a degree of seriousness quickening his usual bored expression. An unnatural silence hung in the air as all seemed reluctant to speak of the situation that had brought them here.
Jane drew her toward the sofa. “Come sit down.” Elizabeth, her curiosity mounting, sat beside Jane as advised.
Darcy followed her to the sofa but remained standing. “Mr. Parrish? Bingley? Could someone tell us what has transpired?”
Parrish cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I still find it difficult to give voice to this incident. Early this morning, my cook found Mrs. Parrish lying on the kitchen floor with two knife wounds.”
Elizabeth gasped and looked to Jane, who nodded in confirmation of the incredible news. “Is she — will she recover?”
“The surgeon thinks so. Her injuries are painful but not very deep. She’s resting now.”
Her mind struggled to comprehend the intelligence. Caroline Parrish had been attacked in her own home? “How — Who…?”
Darcy’s hand touched her back. “Has a constable been summoned?” London’s feeble police force wasn’t renowned for its competence, but Elizabeth supposed the assistance of some authority figure was better than nothing.
“He’s been here and gone. Pompous lout.” Parrish crossed to a vacant chair and slumped into it. His red eyes and accompanying dark circles testified to a long night with little sleep. The once lighthearted American seemed to have aged years in the two weeks Elizabeth had known him. “He declared that all the evidence points to a desire for self-destruction.”
She could scarcely believe the words. “A suicide attempt?”
Darcy’s unguarded expression revealed equal bewilderment, but he quickly recovered his composure. “What led him to such a conclusion?”
“The location of the wounds — her wrists. And we found the knife still in her hands.”
“Perhaps she struggled with her attacker and wrested the knife from him before losing consciousness,” Jane offered.
“Perhaps,” Parrish said flatly. But no one, Jane included, appeared to think that explanation probable.
“What has Mrs. Parrish said?” Darcy asked.
“She was unconscious when the cook found her. She roused briefly while the surgeon attended her injuries, but had no recollection of events. She’s been sleeping since.”
“Did the surgeon also believe her wounds to be self-inflicted?”
“He was too tactful to say so outright, but I sensed by his manner that he did.”
A small cry from Louisa Hurst drew the party’s attention toward that quarter. “This is all just too terrible.” She dabbed dry eyes with a handkerchief to underscore her distress. “The scandal! That horrible constable and the surgeon are no doubt even now gadding about town trumpeting the news. None of us will be able to show our faces in society again.”
Ah, yes — the scandal. Of course that would be uppermost in Mrs. Hurst’s thoughts while her sister lay bleeding into her bandages. Elizabeth was no stranger to the disgrace into which younger sisters could plunge their relations, but she liked to think that even during the Wickhams’ elopement she’d maintained concern for Lydia’s well-being along with the family’s reputation. But then, she’d always known the Bingley sisters to demonstrate different priorities. She wondered anew that Charles, whose face registered a blend of sadness and disgust at Louisa’s outburst, had sprung from the same stock.
After an embarrassed silence, Darcy continued as if the utterance had never taken place. “What were your own observations last night?” he asked Parrish.
“Very few, I’m sorry to say. Professor Randolph joined us for dinner but did not stay late. Once he departed, Caroline retired early — as you know, she hasn’t been feeling quite herself these past few days. I grew restless and went down to White’s, where I wound up in a political debate the others wouldn’t let drop. By the time I returned, it was nearly five in the morning, and I no sooner reached my bedchamber than Cook discovered Mrs. Parrish on the kitchen floor. I sent one man for the surgeon, another for the constable, and did my best to staunch her wounds while awaiting their arrival.”
Bingley, who had been slowly shaking his head in disbelief during Parrish’s narrative, threw himself into a chair and rubbed his forehead. “I just don’t understand this. Less than a week ago, my sister was the happiest woman on earth, and now she’s tried to — to — it’s so awful, I can’t even say it!”
“It was even worse to behold,” Parrish said quietly.
“What did you mean about her not feeling quite herself lately?” Bingley asked. “Has she been ill?”
“There have been episodes—” Parrish looked to Elizabeth and Darcy. “Your friends can bear witness. Caroline’s behavior has been erratic. Sleepwalking, losing control of her horse, trouble remembering events.”
“Good grief! Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I hoped it would pass, or that things were not as they seemed. But this latest incident…” He leaned toward Bingley, elbows on his knees, fingers forming a pyramid. “Charles, I understand this is information a family wouldn’t wish to share with a young woman’s suitors. But Caroline is my wife now. I need to know — has she a history of unusual actions? Behavior that suggests a troubled mind?”
“No — I tell you, this is not like her at all. I am most distressed!”
“As am I. It grieves me to see—” Parrish cut his words short at the butler’s entrance. Not, Elizabeth supposed, that there were many secrets about the household’s mistress unknown to the servants at this point.
“Professor Randolph has arrived, sir.”
“Show him in.”
Elizabeth wondered that Parrish would welcome the intrusion into their family council of a person so unconnected to Caroline. The expressions of the others revealed they were of like mind. The unfortunate professor therefore entered a room oppressively silent.
He appeared, however, not to notice. He nodded in brief acknowledgment to the assembly, then crossed to their host. “I came as soon as I received your summons. What has happened, and how can I help?”
That Parrish had actually requested Randolph’s presence amazed Elizabeth still more. They must be intimate acquaintances indeed for Parrish to reveal to him the details of Caroline’s recent behavior. Perhaps Parrish sought the moral support of his own friend in the midst of this conference with his new wife’s family.
As if answering the unspoken question, Parrish addressed the party. “I asked Randolph to come because I value his opinions and connections as a man of science. Though he has not directly studied nervous disorders, he has colleagues who specialize in that field, and may know of someone who can help restore my wife to herself.”
“You are most welcome indeed, sir,” said Bingley. “I hope my sister benefits from your attention.”
“Though I’ve not yet heard the particulars, I hope I may be of service.”
Randolph listened solemnly to Parrish as he described Caroline’s unusual activities and demeanor since the wedding. When the narrative concluded, the professor, like Parrish, enquired whether Bingley or the others were aware of previous occurrences. All denied knowledge of any such behavior until now.
He pondered their replies a moment. “Has the lady resided in London long?”
“Off and on since our father’s death a couple years ago,” Bingley said. “Before her marriage, Caroline stayed with our sister, Louisa, and Mr. Hurst in their townhouse when she wasn’t helping me oversee domestic matters at Netherfield. That’s my country household.”