She gasped and slumped back into the chair. She closed her eyes. Each breath was a struggle for her. Mr. Bennet studied the child, and he thought of what must be done to keep her safe and hidden.
“He is wrong.” Amelia’s voice was so quiet that Mr. Bennet could barely hear it.
“Very wrong.”
She opened her eyes again. That smile. That old clever, mischievous smile. “I mean about Elizabeth’s birth.” A pained pause. She pressed her side. “Oh, I will be happy for this to end. It was only after she was born. It was only afterwards I violated my vows. He refused to hear. He beat her. He’d kicked me. He screamed that she was a bastard. I was scared. I worried he would not stop.”
Mr. Bennet did not know what to say to the horror of the image.
“I sinned,” Amelia repeated. Her eyes were wandering about again. “But only after. I know I shall die. I swear she has Rochester’s blood.”
“I would not think of her differently no matter who the father was, so long as you are the mother.”
“I know. But though I am an adulterer, and though I do not repent having sinned against my husband, I swear. Elizabeth had an untainted birth. Please believe me.”
“I believe you.” Mr. Bennet was frightened that she was deteriorating before his eyes. “But I shall call the doctor again.”
“It is useless, he shall just bleed me. Leave me to die.”
“I must hear for myself.”
“Very like you.” A strained smile. “Help me to the bed.”
Mr. Bennet helped her stand. Her legs were shaking.
The girl, Elizabeth, watched them. Wide eyes, one ringed by a bruise.
Once Amelia settled herself, she called to the girl, “Lizzy, climb up here next to Mama. My dear, my dear, I love you so.”
The girl desperately embraced her mother. Once a spasm of pain went over Amelia’s face, but she said nothing to the girl.
“This is Mr. Bennet.” Amelia gestured weakly. “He is a kind man. You must go with him. He will take care of you.”
“Mama!” the girl sobbed.
Amelia closed her eyes. She clearly did not have the energy to comfort the poor child. Acting on a familiar habit, Mr. Bennet picked Elizabeth up and rocked her on his shoulder. “There, there, little one. There, there. All is well. All is well.”
His own face was wet.
Amelia stirred herself and addressed Elizabeth again. “Never, never talk about your father. Or your home. Forget him. He was no one. You never had a father. Not a real father. Trust Mr. Bennet. I trust him.”
Now the girl nodded, her face blotchy and tear covered, though Mr. Bennet had grave doubts about how much she understood.
Amelia relaxed into bed. “It is done. Now I can die.”
Mr. Bennet went to the door, still holding Elizabeth in his arms, and he called the unhappy landlady. “Bring the doctor again—do not worry about the fees, I have ample money. And also bring the town’s notary, and a lawyer if the notary is not one himself.” Some speed was required. He pulled out two guineas from his purse and gave them to the woman.
She nodded at seeing the money and went off, calling her own servant to go find the doctor again.
Amelia was dying.
The rasp from her difficult breathing promised it. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the breathing sounded harsher, more gasping than when he’d entered the room.
He watched over Amelia while waiting for those he’d called to arrive. He bounced Elizabeth while murmuring a nonsensical lullaby that Mary always insisted he sing to her.
By the time the surgeon arrived, the girl was asleep, and Mr. Bennet’s arm and back were tired. The man looked at Mr. Bennet as soon as he stepped in.
“Is there any hope?” Mr. Bennet asked.
