The room they entered served as the kitchen and drawing room, with a door in the back wall that must lead to the family’s bedroom. The sick little boy, perhaps four years of age, had been laid on a pallet near the fireplace. At the other end of the room, an older boy played quietly with a child about three and another little girl about five. Hmm. Were they twins?
Elizabeth occupied one of the room’s only chairs while the distraught woman Darcy had seen earlier hovered over the sick boy’s pallet. They both stood upon the men’s arrival. Elizabeth started and frowned at the sight of Darcy, but she quickly smoothed her features into a welcoming smile. “Mr. Darcy, you made excellent time. Thank you for fetching Mr. Jones. You have met Mrs. Greeves.” She gestured to the plump woman. “And this is Mrs. Wiley, one of Mrs. Greeves’s neighbors.” Elizabeth indicated the woman who had come to Longbourn’s door.
Darcy surveyed the room, striving to ascertain the source of subtle wrongness he experienced.
Why was Mrs. Wiley in the cottage? Perhaps Mrs. Greeves had sent her friend to summon help while she cared for her ill son, and maybe her friend remained to lend assistance. But that did not account for Mrs. Greeves bustling around the room, her face etched with lines of worry, while Mrs. Wiley had tear tracks on her face and was unable to draw her attention from the sick child. While Mrs. Greeves was neatly attired, Mrs. Wiley’s dress was disheveled and wrinkled—while her hair fell in wisps around her face. How strange.
Elizabeth herself seemed uncharacteristically anxious, hovering around Mr. Jones as he crossed the room to the pallet and knelt by the sick child’s side. “Why this is—” he started to say.
Elizabeth took the man’s hand. Had she given him something? “I know it is shocking to see little Tommy like this, Mr. Jones. He is usually so lively and quick. His mother assures me this fever came upon him very quickly.”
Mr. Jones’s eyes darted to Mrs. Wiley and then to Darcy as if he were figuring something out. Then he turned back to his patient. “How long has he been like this?”
There was a long pause. Mrs. Wiley gave Mrs. Greeves a meaningful look, and finally that woman answered, “Eight hours.”
This was further confirmation of Darcy’s suspicions. He would wager his horse that Mrs. Wiley was the boy’s mother, not Mrs. Greeves. Everyone in the cottage knew the truth except for Darcy.
Why had they undertaken this elaborate charade? Certainly there was no need to deceive Darcy about the boy’s parentage; he knew nothing of Longbourn’s tenants. But they must fear he would reveal something to someone. As the apothecary examined the boy, Darcy’s eyes roamed about the room, but nothing suggested an explanation about why they would perpetrate a deception.
The boy started moaning in pain, increasing Mrs. Wiley’s agitation. “What can you do for him, Mr. Jones?” she asked in a strangled tone.
Mrs. Greeves was regarding Darcy skeptically, and two of the children were openly staring. Regardless of the reason for the deception, the boy was obviously ill. My presence is not helping anyone. I can only hinder his treatment at this point.
“Perhaps I will wait outside,” he said in the general direction of the others. “I pray you, call out if I might be of any assistance.” Mrs. Wiley appeared not to hear, but the other woman waved vaguely. He nodded to the apothecary and gave Elizabeth a significant look before ducking through the cottage’s doorway.
***
Elizabeth tied the ribbons on her bonnet, ignoring the mixture of relief and anxiety churning in her stomach. Mr. Jones believed Tommy Wiley would make a full recovery and had promised not to reveal the Wileys’ presence at Longbourn. Standing by the cottage’s kitchen table, he expressed disgust at Collins’s behavior toward the young widow and praised Elizabeth for sheltering her.
However, Elizabeth’s joy at the boy’s fate was tinged with concern. Mr. Darcy was a clever man. Deep in their concern for the boy, neither of the farmers’ wives had been particularly adept at concealing the truth. He had surely guessed. Then he need only drop the name “Wiley” to anyone in the neighborhood to discover that the family had been evicted from Longbourn. If only I had managed to find another estate that would take the family!
At this very moment Darcy could be spilling the entire story to Mr. Collins. Perhaps instead of trudging to the manor when she exited the cottage, Elizabeth should race to the stable for a cart to transport the Wiley family’s worldly possessions. And then Elizabeth herself might be in need of a new living situation. Banishment from Longbourn would be a terrible fate; however, she feared Collins might exert his wrath on her mother and sisters as well.
Closing the cottage door behind herself, Elizabeth was so engrossed in her own musings that she did not immediately recognize Mr. Darcy sitting on a tree stump near the road. He stood as she emerged. “How fares the boy?”
This is a good sign. If he cares about Tommy’s health, he is unlikely to want to see the family evicted. “Mr. Jones believes he is out of danger.”
“That is excellent news.” The muscles in his face loosened; he really had worried about a boy he did not know. How different he was from her cousin!
“Might I accompany you back to the manor house?” he inquired.
She would rather face Napoleon’s army, but it was impossible to decline. “Yes, of course.”
They started along the road, climbing the slight incline that would let them reach the house. He did not offer her his arm. Was that a sign of anger? Disgust? He walked quite deliberately, his posture erect. Darcy held the reins in one hand as the horse trailed behind his owner.
A minute of silence passed. A bird trilled in a tree over her head, the sound grating on Elizabeth’s nerves. She did not dare to speak. If only Mr. Darcy would say something! Or would he pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred in the cottage?
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I take it that Mrs. Greeves is as much Tommy’s mother as your ball gown was fitted for Georgiana.”
This drew a startled laugh from Elizabeth, but she did not respond.
“I have tried,” Mr. Darcy continued, “but for the life of me, I cannot fathom why everyone would pretend Tommy belonged to Mrs. Greeves when he was so obviously Mrs. Wiley’s son.”
Elizabeth could find no plausible way to deny his assertion. Her skin prickled, uneasy with the subterfuge, and guilt dragged on her shoulders. She was a child who had been called to account for stealing sweets. But, she reminded herself, Mr. Darcy is certainly not my father; I owe him no obedience. “Do you believe you are entitled to an explanation?” She immediately winced at her challenging tone. There was no reason to antagonize a man who was in possession of such a closely guarded secret.
He stared straight ahead in silence for a moment. “Perhaps not entitled,” he said finally. “But if I am to be drawn into your deception, I would prefer to know why.”
There was a hint of rebuke in his voice. Elizabeth stared down at the tips of her boots. “I apologize. It was not my intention to draw you into this matter. I will not ask you to lie.”