They left their tree-lined carriage path and arrived at the Meryton road. To their left, it stretched out about ten miles, all the way to the Great London Road. To the right, it led almost directly to Netherfield’s drive two miles away. Jane paused briefly to glance at it, as though she might see the estate from here.
When she at last turned away, Jane rubbed her arms and said, “It is growing colder. Shall we turn back?”
Elizabeth blew out a breath. “Jane, would you indulge me? I cannot go back just yet. Mamma is sure to harangue me the rest of the day, and I cannot yet bear Mr. Collins’s wounded pride with equanimity.”
“Very well,” Jane told her, pulling her cloak a little tighter. “Perhaps we can walk along the road here for a bit.”
“Thank you.”
They walked another twenty minutes or so in silence, and Elizabeth allowed her mind to clear. Just as she was about to tell Jane they might return home, they rounded a turn in the road and found a saddled horse standing some hundred feet before them, its reins on the ground. It stamped its hooves at them.
Elizabeth looked at Jane, and her sister looked back.
“Do you think it just ran off?” Jane asked hopefully.
“That horse did not just escape from its stall, Jane. It is saddled, and the bags are full.” Elizabeth was a little frightened, but she had to see whether the rider had come to harm. She approached the animal slowly, speaking words of comfort. Once she had come close, she peeked over the edge of the road into the ravine that bordered it. She saw the back of a hand and gasped. Then the fingers moved, and she felt as though she could breathe again.
“Elizabeth . . .” Jane said slowly, touching the saddlebags that were stamped with an ornate CB. “This is Mr. Bingley’s horse.”
Carefully, Elizabeth eased her way down to the man who was hidden in the rushes. She could see now that it was him, wearing a blue coat, hat missing, his face obscured by a mass of golden-brown, curly locks. “Mr. Bingley,” she said calmly, “it is Elizabeth Bennet. Where are you injured?”
He moaned. “Shoulder. Leg.”
A gentle voice said, “Oh.”
Elizabeth glanced up to see Jane standing above them, her hands covering her mouth.
“Jane,” she said immediately, “you are the better rider. Take the horse home and get help. Tell Papa we shall need the carriage, or the wagon if it is quicker. Mr. Bingley cannot ride as he is.”
Her sister nodded and flew into action, mounting Mr. Bingley’s horse so efficiently that later, Elizabeth never could recall precisely how she had done it. In the back of her mind, she stored away the amusing sight of Jane riding off to the rescue side-saddle. Elizabeth would have ridden astride and created a terrible scandal.
Perhaps then Mr. Collins would give up wanting to marry her.
“Well, Mr. Bingley,” she said briskly, pushing away the worst of the frozen grasses so she could see him better, “Jane has gone for aid. Are you able to sit up?”
The arm that was thrown wide of his body did not seem to be the one with the injury. She helped him roll onto his back and off the offending limb, which gave him some relief. His countenance was deathly pale and despite the weather, drops of perspiration trailed from his forehead down the sides of his head. He grabbed the injured arm with his good hand, bending it at the elbow and holding it still against his chest.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, for the sleeve of his greatcoat was very damp.
“Cannot . . . say. Early. Mischief . . .” His breathing became laboured, then he took a breath and said in a pained rush, “Horse slipped. Ice. Poor landing.” His lips were faintly blue.
“I would say so,” Elizabeth agreed. Fortunately, Mr. Bingley’s leg was straight, and he was moving it slightly in an attempt to find comfort, so she did not believe it was broken. “Did you strike your head at all?
“No.” He paused. “Cold. Slept.”
That was not promising. Elizabeth removed her cloak and covered him with it. The cold immediately raised gooseflesh on her arms, but she shook her head at his feeble protests. “You will be very ill if you do not warm, sir,” she told him, trying to be gentle.
“Thank . . .” His voice faltered.
“We will have you at Longbourn in no time,” Elizabeth assured him.
“Why Longbourn?” he said between gritted teeth.
Elizabeth glanced down the road. Jane had already vanished from view. “It is more than a mile closer and will be faster, for now. Your sisters and friend can come collect you from Longbourn once you are warmer and your injuries have been tended.”
He shifted and grimaced.
“Do not try to move, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth warned him. “You will need your strength for when the men come.”