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Amnesia & Alienation ~ Section IBy Carmen M.Section I, Posted on Sunday, 14 March 1999 Author's note: This P&P story was inspired by Anne Perry's "Face of a Stranger" Chapter 1 Hunsford Parsonage, 09 April, 1812 "...and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness." And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and leave the house." (P&P, Ch. 34) At this moment, as Fitzwilliam Darcy nearly ran from her sight, it can be assumed that he hated her more than he hated himself for his actions. Suffice it to say that the regret of his manners and his behaviour towards her would come soon enough, with full strength no less. For now he only wanted to get away from her, away from this humiliating situation he had put himself in, only moments ago. He felt the urgency to lay as much space between her and himself as possible. No, he would not enter his aunt's house just yet, sick at the bare thought of the society awaiting him, of the duties that would be required of him, empty civilities, meaningless conversation. Darcy wanted nothing more than to aim his anger at someone else, not to think of his responsibility for his failure. Entering the stableyard he ordered his horse. He was not a cruel man, but the harsh way he treated his horse the moment he sat in the saddle let the stableboy curse under his breath, shouting at him to be more careful with the animal. In full gallop Darcy ventured into the beginning darkness. That only his mind could go blank, that he had not to think, to remember, but the faster he rode the image of her became clearer and clearer and her harsh rejection was ringing in his ears. It was sheer agony. Deep in his sorrow, not aware of his surroundings, and at full speed he rode through the night. He could not see the low hanging branch of the oak tree that sent him flying of his horse, even if he had seen it, he was too fast. With a loud thump he landed on the damp ground and fell unconscious. It was like this that he was found on the morrow, blacked out and with dried blood all over his face. Colonel Fitzwilliam had searched nearly all night, but since it had been moonless, there was not much to be done, without risking his own life or that of the many servants and tenants of his aunt's estate consigned to the lookout. He was the first who arrived at the spot where his cousin lay seemingly dead. With anguish the Colonel jumped off his horse groping for Darcy's pulse. Panicking as he could not find it, he laid his head on his cousin's body. There, he could feel the slight up and down movement of Darcy's chest. Meanwhile the rest of the search party arrived, and the stableboy was immediately sent after the local physician. They all feared moving Darcy without the doctor's consent. A frightful half hour passed in which they tried their best to warm the lifeless form. Arriving from an early delivery, the doctor a Mr. Grant examined the patient. His diagnosis amounted to two broken ribs, and he could only assume that according to the high fall Darcy had taken that he would surely suffer a concussion of the brain. More he dared not, could not, say. Time only would reveal if there were inner injuries or even permanent damage to his head, if he would awake from his unconsciousness or not. The Colonel watched as his cousin was carefully lifted onto an open curricle and slowly driven to Rosings Park, where his aunt Catherine demanded that a specialist from London was to be fetched and that her other numberless good advices were to be followed on the spot. She was still arguing with the doctor about the advantages of gruel bandages over vinegar ones, while the men where carrying the badly-injured Darcy to his rooms, undressing him as quietly as possible, bathing and dressing his wounds. Rosings Park, The Second Night After The Fall. 1 A.M. Something or someone was hammering in his head and behind his eyes, causing a throbbing pain. He wanted to stop it or them. But the only thing that left his lips was his hot breath. He so desperately wanted to scream but it was a helpless case. First he needed some water, yes that would be the solution, if he could only put his dry lips in contact with some fluid, he would be able to utter one syllable that would stop the hammering and this infernal pain. Trying to move his body, his arms, even his fingers was a fruitless business, panic began to wash over him. What was this, a nightmare? Well then he had better wake up. He willed his eyes to open. And only this little effort left him breathing heavily at the end of the process. But somehow it was accomplished. His lids were heavy and fluttering, but eventually for what seemed an eternity, they opened and he could see. There was complete darkness surrounding him, nearly suffocating him. Was he still dreaming? But no, there was something as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Just opposite to him at the far end of his bed there was a fireplace with some still-burning embers. And there beside him on the nightstand he could even see a flickering candle. He let his eyes wander and realised he was not alone in this strange and unfamiliar room. It was a young man, rather youngish, dressed in regimentals, and he never had seen him before. Maybe this was the help he needed. He could see the longed-for glass of water standing just beside the candle. But still he could not move a bone. Ahhhh, again he tried to speak and failed. He attempted it again and this time he was himself frightened by the hoarse groan escaping from his lips. He was dreaming. It was a light and pleasant day, and she was smiling at him. Welcoming his addresses. He stirred in his dreams. It was hopeless and in vain, he would never see her again, now that he was resolved to have her even against his better judgment, even against his means. Too late, she was gone for ever, gone from the parsonage today, this he had been told by his aunt at lunch. If he met her again, even knowing that this was not a realistic prospect, he would propose to her. He could not bear to live without Elizabeth Bennet in his life. As soon as his business here was resolved he would seek her out. Smiling in his dreams he remembered lunch, the only occasion he had left the bedside of his cousin on demand of her Ladyship, to give Anne the opportunity to nurse her beloved cousin for five minutes, for longer her precious condition would not allow. Gggggrthhhhhhhhh, in just a moment he was fully awake, good grief, he had fallen asleep while Darcy had awaken. "Darcy, I am so relieved to have you conscious again. How are you feeling, uh, I am sorry do not try to speak. Water? Yes here have some, careful, do not lift your head. I told you not to, now you are suffering again, slowly, slowly just one draught at a time. Thirsty are we?" Richard Fitzwilliam realised he was rambling, but could not stop himself, there was something akin to horror in Darcy's eyes. It seemed that his cousin was unable to move or even to utter one syllable near to be forming a word. Goose bumps of horror were forming on the Colonel's neck, was his cousin injured worse than imagined, his brain damaged beyond repair? He could not bare to think that his cousin would never be able to move or to talk again. "There, there you had enough, fine. I will be leaving you for just one moment to fetch the specialist from his bedroom." Rosings Park, The Following Day. 2 P.M. "Georgiana, good to see you," Richard Fitzwilliam greeted his shaking cousin with a warm embrace, "I am sure everything is going to be all right--thus Mr. Goode, the specialist from London, informs us, but he wants to speak to the family and Fitzwilliam's closest friends, for there are some precautions to be taken care of concerning your brother." "Can I not see him first," Georgiana shyly asked. "No, at the moment none of his nearest family are aloud near him, but he is taken care of by his valet, who I am sure will tend to his every need." Richard managed to maneuver his trembling cousin towards the room in which not only Lady Catherine and Anne were gathered but also his own parents, Lord and Lady Matlock his two older brothers, the physician and the Bingley family. Once all the greetings were delivered, Mr. Goode turned to speak. "My patient will no doubt make a full recovery within less than two months, where his physical abilities are concerned." He raised his hand to calm down the small assembly. "As to his mental capacities, I am not that sure." Sharp intakes of breath could be heard from several of the men and a sob here and there from the women. "You mean he will stay mentally deranged," Lord Matlock managed to ask. "No, no, I am sorry, I was referring to his ability of remembrance, to his memory. I fear he is suffering from amnesia*, and at this early stage I am not sure when or if he will ever regain his full memory. Or even parts of it." Mr. Goode began pacing the room, trying this time to be more careful with his words. "Just yesterday I was hoping that it was just a partial amnesia that he at least could remember bits and pieces of his past, but I fear he was merely trying to adjust, to repeat the things that were suggested to him, concerning his name, his family, everything." "That is why I felt it necessary to assemble all of his nearest relatives and friends. For you," now again facing the party, "have now the duty to help this poor man to recover, without giving him false evidences of his past like he may have remembered it before his fall. You see, every person has different memories concerning the same experience." He resumed walking. "It is crucial that no one tells him anything of his past, he has to remember by himself, and I am sure he might, but only if this precaution is fully met." "But what does he remember and where does he have to begin? What achievements has he forgotten?" Lady Matlock asked with a trembling voice. "I believe in most ways he still is the young man of eight and twenty that he was before this accident. He is in possession of all the learned achievements, like speaking, reading, writing, he remembers how to behave civilly, he remembers his station in life, or rather how to behave in it and in society. What he lacks are memories concerning the bare facts of his life. He recalls feelings, emotions, like being cared for by loving parents or deep mourning for his mother. He even seems to remember a younger sister, but I could discern he was not sure if this particular feeling was reliable." "In cases like these I like to compare the situation of an amnesiastic patient with that of someone being blinded after a life used to sight. Mr. Darcy is groping for bits of facts of the life he used to know, but he can never be certain if the emotions he remembers are true or just something, he has heard of or read of but are not really belonging to his life. He will ask questions, and answering them carefully is your responsibility," Mr. Goode cast his eyes on every person gathered in this parlour. "You may only answer with yes or no, and maybe one or two words more, but you may not elaborate on the particular question, revealing facts he did not ask for. Only then can we be certain that he will gain full access to his memory in time. And it is not unusual in cases like his, that he may remember things in chronological order. So please refrain from telling him facts he is not yet able to recall. Of course we have to tell him how he is related to all of you, these are facts he is allowed to be told, but nothing else, nothing that may cause him to store a memory differently from how he used to view the particular event in question" *Author's note: I don't know anything about this and hope not to offend any specialist amongst you on this topic. Chapter 2 Posted on Tuesday, 16 March 1999 London, The Townhouse Of The Darcy Family, 30 June 1812 It had been the longest two month of his life, Darcy pondered, looking out of the library window. Nearly one month he had been confined to his room, slowly recovering from his broken ribs, gradually remembering bits and pieces of what seemed to be his former life, under the strict precautions of Mr. Goode. The second month he was allowed downstairs--a fact he had learned to regret after spending about two hours in his aunt's presence. He was glad Richard and Georgiana were there and at first the memories that came back were always connected to either or both of them. Fond recollections of his upbringing, his love for his parents and Georgiana, even the frightening experience of his mother's death and his father's declining health. Happy memories of his vacations at the Matlock estate, scampering about the grounds with his cousins. He supposed, he had also remembered something about his aunt Catherine, but somehow these recollections did not seem to be entirely happy ones. In the last week of his stay at Rosings, he had been utterly disgusted when his aunt tried furthering his memories by stating the aspiration of his dear mother and his aunt concerning the marriage between his cousin Anne and himself. Darcy was glad that he could answer to this with a truthful, "I am sorry Ma'am but I really do not have any remembrance on this particular wish, but as soon as I do I will contemplate it." He did not want to be more specific at the time, but in his soul he knew, even if this should proof to be the wish of his mother it would remain wishful thinking. He could not imagine himself bound to such a poor creature as his cousin Anne was, even if he pitied her station in life. Had he then thought there was nothing more appalling then his unnerving aunt he was to be proven wrong as soon as he was introduced to her slimy vicar. He contemplated how someone would actually marry such a sorry excuse of a husband. Fortunately he had survived the rest of the second month. Yesterday Georgiana and Richard had accompanied him to his townhouse. Darcy was disturbed in his musings by a knock at the library door. "Mr. Bingley to see you, Sir." "Yes, thank you, let him in, Jenkins" Darcy began pacing the floor. He contemplated his visitor. He knew Bingley, they went to Oxford together and were the best of friends. He just knew, he was not yet able to say he remembered, damn it, not even after two months. Two months after this accident, this stupid totally useless fall, but he did not even remember that. Everything he knew now, he had been told by Richard, Georgiana or Mr. Goode. And he had to believe them, believe that he was indeed this Mr. Darcy, rich, owner of a large estate in Derbyshire, curse it, he had not even been there yet. But there were memories, yes, he recollected his parents, he had seen them before his inner eye in Kent and when he had seen the portrait of both of them, here in the library over the mantelpiece, he was so relieved, he had remembered rightly. And then just yesterday on the carriage ride back from Kent he commemorated the fairy tale he used to tell Georgiana as she was little, the look on her face as he told her, that was pure bliss, another memory gained back. "Welcome back, Darcy," Bingley approached and both men shook hands. "'Tis good to see you back in London old chap." "And you, Bingley, what brings you here." "Merely a social call, you do remember about those tedious habits?" "Yes, yes, is it not strange I can recall all these unimportant social skills, but nothing of what happened between my sixteenth birthday and now." "So you do remember some facts." "Yes, bits and pieces, and since I entered this house yesterday there are so many more impressions so many more recollections I believe, I remember, but I can never be sure, I always have to ask Georgiana or Richard as to the correctness of any particular memory." "Have you erred, yet." "No, no, I suppose that's to be a good sign. But enough of myself." "Are you prepared to enter London's society to throw yourself in the path of young ladies and there matronly mothers, yet? For there are one or two jolly good balls tonight." "Well, I am not sure, why cannot we tell society that Mr. Darcy owner of Pemberley and worth about ten thousand pounds a year has lost his mind, or rather his remembrance--that would be what I would call jolly good." "Err, I, well..." "No need to answer that, it was merely a joke." Darcy furrowed his brow. He looked at the man sitting before him. Somehow it was a familiar face, but that could be just because it was sort of ordinary. Maybe it could be called handsome, but what would remain in one's mind after looking at his features was the friendliness that seemed to be Bingley's second nature. It was the face of a man who would never, could never willingly harm anyone. But deep there in the eyes of his friend, Darcy could discern something more, a hint of sadness a shadow of some hidden sorrow, one would not have supposed to see in this man who appeared the impersonation of happiness. Suddenly Darcy began smiling, a funny image turning up in his mind. "...you are not listening to one word I say, Darcy." "Um, sorry, my mind was elsewhere. I just have this image popping up before me, us being outside college in the middle of the night, running like hell not to be caught by the guards. Say do you remember this, too." "Yes, I do, I do, you lost your hat and had to run back to retrieve it and they nearly had you. I say that is, um, well I don't know, some might say capital. Really, so glad you begin to remember things." "If I have to recollect every day of this last ten or twelve years, day by day, I will be an old man at the end of it, surely." "Then we will have to do something to cheer you up, a ride through the park will do you the world of good." "Yes, maybe, but first tell me, why are you unhappy, Bingley." "Me unhappy, nonsense whatever gave you that idea?" "I can see it in your eyes, man, so confess, and do not try to feed me with a story of a lost opportunity at the card table or something as trivial, I can distinguish that look from the one present in your eyes ." "Since when are you so perceptive, did you hurt some vital parts of your brain after all," suddenly realizing what he had just said, Bingley looked completely shocked and stammered out an excuse, "Sorry, forgive me, I didn't mean to.." Bingley was not sure he liked being read so easily, he just knew he did not feel like dwelling on his sorrow with someone else. He would deal with this pain in his own way in the privacy of his own rooms. "It is of no consequence, but yes if I seem more perceptive after my accident, than I am glad. Was I such a patronizing ass in the past, that I would not have discerned such a look of utter devastation in a friend's face. Was I so devoid of any consideration for the feelings of others before. This is a question, so please answer it truthfully, you know what Mr. Goode recommended." "All right, you want the truth, so do not be angry with me if it does not comfort you. I am not sure if you would have taken into account how anyone around you felt, before your fall, at least as long it did not concern your own well-being or that of Georgiana. However I am sure you would never have spoken about emotions or enquired after somebody's feelings, other than the civil, "how do you do's". "I do not mean to say that you were anyhow cruel or disobliging to any one near you, you never were uncivil to anyone, whether family, friends or servants, but yes, somehow you have been patronising towards most of us, our best intentions in mind of course, but never really seeing through to our own feelings. Look Darcy I am sorry for this, but I think I should go now, I do not think I should have said thus much, remembering Mr. Goode's good advice. Therefore I will leave you before I reveal anything else you have not yet recalled yourself. Good day Darcy." With that he left a perplexed and utterly shamed Darcy to contemplate the past half hour and its out-coming. The same evening Darcy approached his cousin, Georgiana having already excused herself for the night. "Tell me Richard, was I a pompous ass before my accident?" "Whatever gave you that idea," the colonel laughed out. "Bingley, well it was more something he said, like not caring for the feelings of others. He tried to mask it as virtue afterwards, but he was not very convincing at it." "Well, let this not bother you, Fitzwilliam. You always are a kind considerate brother a likable landlord and master a reliable cousin and real gentleman. Bingley is not himself at the moment, matters of the heart, surely," Richard bit his tongue, he nearly had related some facts to Darcy that he had not yet recollected by himself. "Yes, yes, that is exactly what Bingley meant, it all sounds virtuous but somehow cool, distanced. I am not sure I like this Darcy fellow after all, are you sure that he and me are the same person, " Darcy laughed but the smile never reached his eyes, "Good night, Richard, I think I am tired." Chapter 3 Posted on Monday, 22 March 1999 London, 02 August 1812 It was not for another month and half in which Georgiana, Richard and Darcy traveled to Pemberley and back, and several new old memories later that Darcy and Bingley met again. It was on occasion of a small dinner invitation issued by Lord and Lady Matlock. "Georgiana and Richard told me that you now remember practically everything between your birth and your eighteenth birthday. I am so glad my dear boy," Lady Matlock whispered to Darcy while the general greetings were exchanged. "Yes, thanks to the endless forbearance of both of them. I am sorry that Richard had to leave last week, but I am glad that he was able to stay away from his regiment that long at all." "Yes, but he is not going directly, has he not told you? I believe that he made a conquest in Kent and that he now wants to renew his addresses to the lady. He is even staying at Bingley's estate in Hertfordshire." "No I did not know, I am happy for him, he seemed a bit gloomy as of lately." Dinner was a quiet affair, Caroline Bingley as usual trying to get Darcy's attention. As he did not as yet remember Caroline's schemes, he managed to be a picture of civility towards her. Darcy glanced around the dinner table, to his right sat Georgiana, shy as always, as always, yes he remembered her as a child now, growing to fast, her figure thin as result of it, adoring him her elder brother. As he came to know her better - for a second time, he added in his mind -, she was beginning to turn into a lovely young lady, but he had to do something to draw her out into society, to make her more secure amongst her equals. There was something about her he could not put his finger on, it was as though she was hiding something from him, concealing a secret, perhaps. He could not imagine what this could be, maybe a little romance, maybe even something he had been aware of before this pointless accident. It surely was something he should retain but trying as he might, he could not. He knew she would tell him if he asked her, but he should not, as Mr. Goode had advised him, and it would be highly unfair on her, for he knew she would not be able to keep a secret from him, when asked directly. For the thousands time since his fall, a sense of failure of total helplessness crept into Darcy's mind. He was beginning to tire of this endless journey back into his soul, he was not yet feeling comfortable in his body, let alone in his mind. He knew not if he was able to endure this much more. The more effort he put in, the harder he tried to remember things, the longer it seemed to take before his mind would come up with a useful new memory. It was as if they were locked up in one part of his brain and he had not yet found the keys. But he had seen Pemberley at last. He thought back on the journey: The night before they were to arrive at the Darcy estate, Georgiana, Richard and him had stayed in a small inn near --. In that night sleep would not come easily, and he seemed to drift in and out of it, and than he had had this dream: He was riding on horseback towards Pemberley on a hot summer day, fast approaching the house. Through an opening in the trees suddenly becoming aware of an enormous building, glowing in the midday's heat, Pemberley, home at last; deciding to take a quick dip in the pond sheltered in a small valley, hidden from general view; dismounting, untying the cravat, removing hat, coat, vest and shoes and finally jumping into the water. Water it was, all right, dipping down on him, leaving him soaking wet, with his muscular body shining through the linen of his shirt, but he was not in a pond. He was in his bed. By moving his arms as if swimming he had pushed the jug water on the night-stand right into his bed. Darcy smiled at this reminiscence, not noticing the dinner party around him and the face Caroline made at him, thinking his smile aimed at her. He took a sip of the spectacular burgundy wine, Lord Matlock had supplied for his guests. Still lost in his reveries on his journey home. What a relief he had felt when they arrived at Pemberley and it was exactly like in his dream, the opening in the trees, the huge building, the pond. The familiarity of the surroundings had overwhelmed him, another memory found and remembered correctly. It seemed all he needed for recollection was any sort of association, a picture, a room, a face, and with Pemberley it only had been the nearness to it that made him remember the look of it. However this did not work with any regularity. Some rooms he would know and visions of occupations and occupants of this room would come and others were unfamiliar, the same with the servants, he remembered Mrs. Reynolds but not the butler. Not even after their one month stay did he have any recollections of him. Some facts he just knew, he knew that his parents were both dead, but as to the death of his father he had no memory. It was exactly like his aunt stated earlier, as far as his remembrance was concerned he was only eighteen. Well he hated being an immature boy, at least where his memories were concerned, with the knowledge and looks of a man of eight and twenty. At both ends of the table his aunt and uncle were seated, he recalled some fond memories, these were kind upright people, that much he knew. Opposite him sat Caroline Bingley. Some would call her beautiful, he considered. But she was definitely not beautiful enough to tempt him. Her face was faultless, the skin was wonderful as was her complexion, yet she had a sharp, shrewish look in her eyes she could not hide, even if she tried hard to. Her figure was tolerable, he supposed, but she was too much on the skinny side for his taste. There was something haughty in her manner, bordering on incivility whenever she had to deal with someone supposedly beneath her. Someone should tell her that orange did not suit her, Darcy grinned. Caroline turned towards him with such an expression on her face that he had difficulties staying earnest. She looked as though at any moment she would pinch him in his cheek and make baby noises. He took another sip and nearly choked as he felt something cold and damp moving up his leg, caressing his thigh. To his greatest relief his aunt choose this moment to stand up and lead the ladies to the drawing room. Caroline still having some decency in her, blushed just a little bit and followed Lady Matlock, nearly leaving the slipper she had removed for her daring approach. Lord Matlock safely choose subjects over port that would not make his nephew feel uneasy. Darcy examined his friend. Bingley was trying hard to be his old light-hearted, jovial self, but Darcy could still discern the sorrow in his eyes. Darcy had been a bit shaken at the thought that perhaps before the accident he would not have seen these hidden emotions in his friend. Somehow he could not, would not believe this, but he could not do anything to find out for sure now. He hoped and prayed that he would not change back or fall back into his old habits, once he gained back his full memory. Even if he could not believe that his old character really had been so different from his "new" character. Charles surely just had been taken aback by his friends invasion into his privacy. Darcy knew he had to apologize to his friend for prying as soon as possible. After half an hour of discussing the newest foibles of Prinny, the men stood up to follow the ladies. "Uncle, please excuse me, but I have to speak to Bingley in private, for just one moment. Bingley will you do me the favour?" "No, problem, nephew, see you both later." With this his lordship left the room, shutting the door quietly behind his retreating form. "Darcy, I think I owe you an apology for the things I said to you the other day. I did not mean to be rude. What I wanted to say was that you do care for your friends, but the way you think best. Oh I am not helping matters, am I?" "Apologies accepted, but I think I was at fault too, for being the patronising ass who I was. I will change my ways a bit, all for the better, I hope. And I am truly sorry for hinting so bluntly at your hurt feelings. "I know that for now you may want to keep this pain private, but being friends should also mean sharing not only the brighter moments in life but also the dark ones. If you want to share, please know that I will be there to listen." "Thank you," Bingley eyed his friend curiously and it was obvious to Darcy that he still did not know what to make of this change, maybe he did not believe it would last through the moment Darcy would gain back his full memory, "Maybe it will not be necessary, for I am going to visit some friends in Yorkshire and who knows, when I come back I will no longer feel moody, or perhaps a new sorrow will have replaced the old. Do not worry old chap, I will come back a new man or rather the same old cheerful self I was before." Bingley moved towards the door. "Yeah, and pigs can fly," mumbled Darcy under his breath, following his friend outside. Chapter 4 Posted on Monday, 29 March 1999 Oakham Mount Near Longbourn, 02 August 1812, Late Afternoon Elizabeth Bennet ran down the hill. Running always had a relaxing, clearing effect on her and her mind. Not that she had the right to be in need for rela...
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