Actually, so incessant had been Mrs. Hurst’s discourse on tardiness that to Elizabeth the brief period felt like an hour. She would sooner listen to the sleet pelting the window glass. Bingley had tried to divert his sister to another topic of conversation, while Jane, Elizabeth, and Darcy made occasional nods and polite listening noises. Mr. Hurst sat in stupid silence, exerting himself only to raise his glass in a mute demand for more wine. His hand shook so much that the housemaid, instead of giving the glass back to Mr. Hurst after refilling it, set it back on the table lest she take unfair blame for an accidental slosh on the tablecloth.
Jane nodded her permission to the servants to serve the soup. No sooner did a footman bring the tureen to the table than Mr. Parrish entered.
All gasped at his appearance.
Three deep scratches ribboned his face, including an ugly gash perilously close to his right eye. The bleeding had stopped, but the fresh wounds yet shone.
“Good Lord!” Louisa blurted. “What happened to your face?”
“I had a little accident.”
Bingley jumped from his seat. “Was Caroline with you? Where is she?”
“She will not be joining us this evening.” Parrish slumped into his chair. His whole countenance expressed defeat.
Bingley regarded Parrish uncertainly. No other information appeared forthcoming. He addressed the nearest housemaid. “Go to Mrs. Parrish’s room and enquire whether she needs anything.”
“Don’t bother, Bingley. She’s sleeping now.”
Jane waved her hand, dismissing the servants. “Mr. Parrish? Will you now relieve our anxiety?”
Parrish hesitated. “This is not an easy thing for me to say.” He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, gripping the locks at his crown. “I believe Caroline’s condition is worse than we imagined. Indeed, I fear her mind too disturbed to recover.”
Mrs. Hurst issued a small mewing sound. “My poor sister!”
“Dear Caroline.” Bingley slowly sank back down onto the chair. “What leads you to say so?”
“Less than an hour ago, she attacked me.”
The table erupted in exclamations. Mrs. Hurst denied it was possible; Jane thought perhaps Mr. Jones ought to be summoned. Bingley looked as though he were going to be sick. Mr. Hurst swallowed more wine.
When Caroline’s aggrieved family had quieted, Parrish continued. “I entered our chamber to dress for dinner. She was unusually agitated — pacing, talking to herself. When she saw me, she flew across the room at me in a frenzied rage and struck me repeatedly. I was so shocked that I scarcely defended myself. I called out for help and fortunately her lady’s maid heard me. We managed to subdue her.”
He stared, unseeing, at a spot on the tablecloth as if trying to reconcile himself to the image of his wife having completely lost control. “The whole while, she looked at me as if she didn’t even recognize me.” He met Bingley’s gaze. “Me — her husband! I gave her some laudanum to calm her down. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“None of us would have been prepared for such a scene,” Jane said. “You handled it as well as could be expected.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bingley. I wish your kindness could relieve the heaviness of my heart. She rests now, but what new trouble will confront us when she wakes? She has become utterly unpredictable — God help her, she has become violent!” He glanced at each of them one by one. “You are her family. You love her as I do. What is to be done?”
Elizabeth wished she had an answer for the unfortunate Mr. Parrish. Every attempt to check Caroline’s advancing illness had proven futile. Apparently, even the locket he’d petitioned the family for help to create — as unlikely a source of aid as he’d conceded it to be — had failed… if he’d followed through on it at all. She couldn’t recall having seen Caroline wear such an article since Parrish had requested the locks of hair. He must have given up on the far-fetched idea.
“Whatever we do, it must be done quietly,” Mrs. Hurst declared. “I cannot bear the thought of my poor sister becoming an on-dit at Almack’s.”
Parrish nodded. “We must protect her as much as possible,” he said. “But not just from gossip — from herself. And…” His voice broke. “I’m afraid we must protect others from her. Removing to Netherfield has not had the effect we’d hoped. We must consider a more drastic alternative.”
“Do you speak again of taking Caroline to America?” Bingley asked.
“I think she is even less capable of such a journey now than she was before,” Darcy declared.
“I agree. How I wish a retreat to my home could cure what ails her! But no — unfortunately, I fear we must investigate another type of home for her.”
“You mean an asylum.” Louisa made the statement without emotion.
Parrish let silence serve as his affirmation. Outside the wind howled its own protest.
Elizabeth’s mind revolted at the notion. She bore no love for Mrs. Parrish, but cringed at the image of her in such a place. The hospitals, with their inhuman conditions, were holding cells, not places of healing, a last resort for families who had given up not just hope but also conscience. Once Caroline entered, she would be lost to them forever.
“Surely there exists a less extreme solution?” Darcy asked.
“If I could think of a better plan, I’d offer it.” He threw out his hands in despair. “This is not the marriage I envisioned when I took my vows less than a fortnight ago. I married Caroline for better or worse, in sickness and health, and I meant those words when I spoke them. Sickness has come. Worse has come. And I remain steadfast. But I cannot allow her to endanger all of you any longer. We cannot wait until she assails someone with a more deadly weapon than a wedding ring. Or until the next house burns all the way to the ground. Or until she… finishes what she attempted back in London.” His voice shook. “Standing by her doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to peril. It means making decisions in her best interest even if doing so breaks my own heart.”
Elizabeth wondered anew how Caroline had managed to win such devotion. For a time no one spoke. All were visibly moved by his passion — except for the red-faced Mr. Hurst, who appeared only marginally aware of what was being discussed.
“You are her husband. It is your choice,” Bingley said finally. “I will support you in whatever course of action you deem best.”
“As will I,” said Mrs. Hurst. Jane concurred. Mr. Hurst downed another glass of wine.
Affecting as Parrish’s speech had been, Elizabeth was yet troubled by the idea of committing Mrs. Parrish to a mental hospital. She wondered that no one but Darcy had offered the slightest resistance. Back in London, when Randolph had suggested sending Caroline to Louisiana, the entire family had engaged in considerable debate. Yet now that an even worse fate was contemplated, no one voiced an objection. She could only surmise that in Jane and Bingley’s case, the ordeal of the fire, not to mention their carriage mishap, had worn down their ability to cope with other matters. The Hursts’ complacency she attributed to the laziness and selfishness that motivated most of their decisions.
In Elizabeth’s opinion, what Caroline needed most was to escape Professor Randolph and his “help.” His motives were suspect, his methods objectionable. Whether he possessed real power or only delusions of it, his attention seemed of little benefit — and perhaps considerable harm — to Mrs. Parrish. Free of his proximity, how rapidly might she improve?
“Maybe Mrs. Parrish could take up residence in a quiet cottage with a full-time companion?” Elizabeth suggested.
“All of us together have been unable to chaperone her here at Netherfield,” Parrish replied. “How could a single companion — along with myself, of course — keep up with her?”
“Multiple companions, then,” Darcy said. “Well-trained nurses devoted to her care — and supervision.”
Parrish shook his head dismissively, but then paused as if reconsidering. “A secluded cottage… The idea does bring a feeling of peace with it, doesn’t it? And with the right sort of help… Perhaps — perhaps — Mrs. Darcy, you are invaluable! I shall start looking for just such a place directly.”
They were joined presently by Professor Randolph, who apologized profusely for his lateness. “I lost track of the time,” he explained.
How could he, Elizabeth mused, with that pocketwatch he constantly employed? At least his ability to influence Mrs. Parrish with it would soon come to an abrupt end.
“No matter, Professor,” Jane assured him. “Dinner has been delayed anyway.”
He took his seat and nodded at the others in greeting. When his gaze landed on Parrish, he started. “Good heavens, Mr. Parrish! Are you all right?”
“Caroline has suffered a setback.”
His shoulders sagged. “I thought I’d observed some improvement of late.” He began to rise. “I will go speak with—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Randolph sat back down. “But if I could meet with her yet this evening—”
“She rests. In the morning, I intend to search for a quiet cottage for us to retire to, one without the distractions of Netherfield.”