Part I
It was not often that Dr. Richardson had been called to Pemberley; in his twenty years of being the family's physician the causes had not been alarming. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy's pregnancies, several ailments of the children and some accidents and sicknesses in the household. He couldn't remember the family in anything but constant happiness, seldom spoiled by little matters. All this had changed five months ago when the only son, Richard, had died due to a dreadful fever. As long as he lived he wouldn't forget the agony in Mrs. Darcy's eyes as he informed her of her child's departure. Richard Darcy had died at the age of fourteen, a tragic event for everyone who knew him. He had not been a sickly child, quite the contrary...
As Dr. Richardson was led to Mrs. Darcy's bedchamber he wondered what her reason could be to ask for an examination. Her last pregnancy had been several years ago, it ended in a miscarriage. All thoughts were brushed aside by her appearance. Elizabeth Darcy was sitting in an armchair close to the fireplace holding one of her cats. Beholding the doctor she got up and greeted him with a weak smile.
"Welcome, Dr. Richardson." With a nod of her head she allowed him to be seated.
"How can I help you, Mrs. Darcy?" Dr. Richardson inquired.
"For several months I've been feeling unwell and sick. I fainted in chapel, was plagued by nausea and grow tired within hours. My appetite decreases each day, I'm losing weight and I feel extremely weak. Mr. Darcy and I are very concerned about my health and that is why I sent for you, Doctor. Please examine me and tell me what is torturing me."
The symptoms sounded dreadful and alarming. After a normal examination he found his fears confirmed in several growing swellings on her abdomen but before giving his verdict he had to ask several questions.
"Mrs. Darcy, does it hurt you to look into the light?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I keep lying in the dark to soothe my headaches. Is this alarming?"
"Well, we'll see. Do you feel the nausea only when you eat something?"
"No. I feel it after not having eaten for days as well. It's accompanied by severe headaches and fainting. It's hard to hold things in my hands; I keep dropping them because my eyesight becomes blurry from time to time. Doctor, your look isn't promising! Tell me the whole truth!" Elizabeth was shaking with fear.
"One last question, Mrs. Darcy. Are you also suffering from severe fever? Do infections last longer and appear more often recently?"
"Well, if you ask me ... True, I have had a cold for weeks ... Doctor Richardson, tell me!"
He stroke through his beard before he answered, his voice was firm but kind. "Mrs. Darcy, what I have to tell you will not be easy. Please, remember that there'll always be new methods to treat several illnesses." He paused for a long moment. "Mrs. Darcy, you're suffering from cancer. Not only in your abdomen but also in your brain it seems."
Her reaction was surprisingly firm. Only her biting her blanched lips betrayed that she had understood the meaning of his verdict, it meant suffering, pain and a dreadful death. "What will happen to me? How much time have I left?" Her fingers were shaking as she tried to pour tea in their cups; he came to her aid immediately but was brushed aside harshly.
"I'm not helpless yet! Stop treating me like a baby! Give me the facts immediately!" Her hissing was understandable; it was obvious that she was about to collapse in despair.
"Well, there are many possibilities. Usually it starts with the symptoms you mentioned. As for the tumour in your brain it seems to harm your coordination and eyesight. It'll grow worse; eventually you'll be blind, paralysed and helpless. When the tumour reaches a centre essential for your lungs, heart or something else that important it leads to either loss of senses or immediate death. Usually it ends with either suffocation or slipping away during sleep."
"Dr. Richardson, I'm only forty-one. My husband, my children, how will they bear it? How can I tell them?" How can I tell myself?
"Mrs. Darcy, if you like I shall speak to Mr. Darcy. Is there any way I can help or support you?" He couldn't help but admiring her courage and strength. She had taken the news as firm as a martyr his torment, what an incredibly grand Lady.
She shook her head violently. "No, I shall speak to William. Together we'll get through this. We always survived every tragedy, even Richard's death. I must not give up hope. There are possibilities to treat this aren't there?"
"Mrs. Darcy, we hardly know anything about this illness yet. Maybe if you go to London there'll be something more soothing to know." He wanted to tell her that all treatment was in vain but as he saw hope sparkling in her fine eyes he couldn't bring himself to crush her blooming hope. Giving her some recipes for teas and medicine and left in a hurry.
Had he stayed for another instant he would have witnessed her breaking down on her bed, clutching to the sheets violently while tears turned her hair and pillows soaking wet. Her mind was playing tricks on her she kept telling herself. This was a nightmare, a nightmare that would end just as they always did. Suddenly white hot anger flooded through her, hatred for God and his cruelty dominated her thoughts.
Who are you? What are you? You call yourself God of love and yet all you do is punish and torment! You took my boy from me but you shall not conquer me! I shall remain here with my family. If necessary I'll fight you for as long as I have to live. Be accursed! Never in my life shall I bow before you again! In her pain she couldn't see that she was addressing the wrong target. It was not God who was to blame. In her fear and loneliness she aimed at the first target, which came to her mind. After her tears had dried she decided to bear her lot with dignity, as it befitted Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy's wife. She would not lie to him but tell him all the truth.
After having put on a fresh gown she sat down in front of the mirror. It wasn't too hard to comb her hair but she had a huge fight with the hairpins. They kept falling out of her hands, her fingers started to sweat and shiver. Finally she rang for Lucy to help her. Why did it always take her forever to appear she wondered in her anger. As Lucy rushed in there wasn't even a sign of her usual smile and happy manners. And when Lucy dropped a hairpin she exploded.
"Silly girl! I can do that myself if all it takes are clumsy fingers!" she snapped.
Lucy's cheeks flushed violently, she muttered an excuse and continued plaiting Elizabeth's long curls.
"I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm not myself today. Please, will you go to my husband and tell him to come here immediately? Say it's urgent!"
Lucy smiled and ran off to Mr. Darcy's apartments.
Mr. Darcy's desk was filled with letters and business papers he needed to see through. As he bade Lucy enter he sensed that something was wrong. Lucy's usually cheerful eyes were red, it was obvious that she had cried.
"Well, Lucy, tell me. Does Mrs. Darcy want to see me?"
"Yes, Sir." Lucy's fingers clutched to the folds of her apron. "She said it's most urgent."
"Thank you, Lucy. I'll go to her immediately." Dropping the letter he was working on Darcy got up and went to Elizabeth's apartments. As he opened the door to her bedchamber he was taken aback by her unnatural cheerfulness. She welcomed him with a long embrace and a pile of laughter.
"William, I'm glad that you came here so soon. Please, lets sit down and talk."
"Well? Elizabeth, calm down, you're giddy!"
"I'm not giddy I'm ill! But thanks for your concern!"
"Lizzy, please. What did the doctor say?" He knew her so well, as soon as he had entered the room he had sensed that she was shielding something from him. But he wouldn't have it. But as much as he longed for the truth he dreaded it.
"Well, it's hard to tell. First you must know that this can be treated. There are possibilities! In London and..."
"Lizzy!"
"It-It is cancer. In my abdomen and ... You see, this is why I have difficulties concentrating on things, why I drop things and have problems with my eyesight. This is caused by a tumour in my brain..." She covered her face with her hands abruptly. In her frenzy she had told him everything, had scared him to death. How would he react? How would he live with the thought that she was to die in the next ... Suddenly she remembered that she had not asked Dr. Richardson how much time the illness had left her.