The man who supervised the dippers used a glass to look out over the waters, and confirmed that it was indeed Anne, alone, and much further out than she ought to have been, but she did not seem to be in distress. He passed the glass to Elizabeth, who peered into it, to see Anne swimming out to the horizon. Her friend suddenly stopped swimming, then turned back toward the shore, saw the crowd watching, and waved. She suddenly disappeared from view as she ducked beneath the waters, and Elizabeth shrieked in concern. A moment later, Anne emerged from the waters again, as she made her way back. About halfway, the dippers reached her, and dragged her back to the bathing machine.
Anne did not bother to change from her bathing costume before she tumbled out onto the sand when the machine emerged from the water. “Apparently one never forgets how to swim, I have not had such excitement since my father taught me when I was eight years old! Did you see how far I went, Lizzy? I cannot express how exhilarating that was! I was simply overcome with the urge to swim out to the horizon! I must practise before I do it again, I was nearly overcome withexhaustion on the way back! Did Mama see how far out I went? Where is my mother?”
Anne’s face turned white as her eyes turned to the heap of burgundy silk at the edge of the water, a small crowd gathered round. “Mama!” she cried, rushing to her mother’s side, heedless of the looks she was receiving due to her exposing herself, drenched, in her flannel bathing costume. “Mama, wake up! Mama, please!”
“We have sent a boy for the mayor, Miss de Bourgh, they say he knows a new resident with skills as a physician near here,” said Mr Woodhouse. The party waited for some fifteen minutes as Anne wept by her mother’s side, and Elizabeth and Priscilla did their best to comfort her. Lady Catherine was moved out of the sun onto a chaise under a white canopy a little farther from the water. Mr Woodhouse arranged for his daughter to return to their rented house in the company of Sir Alfred Fletcher and Miss Fletcher.
“I beg your pardon, I do beg your pardon, please let me pass,” said a handsome voice. “May I see the lady?” A man pushed through the crowd that had gathered, followed by the mayor, Mr MacArthur. Mr MacArthur’s companion was the strangest physician Elizabeth had ever seen. Between forty and forty-five or so years old, with a rather receding hairline, he wore black from head to foot, and was dressed as if he had been in France all of his life. He certainly did not look like any Englishman she had ever seen, though she had detected no accent from his brief speech. His clothes must be very heavy, encrusted with crystals as they were. Elizabeth thought they even looked as though they might be diamonds, though how could a physician be so wealthy? There were even diamond buckles upon his shoes! She had never seen such a sparkly person in all of her life. The man wore rings and jewels on every finger, and was literally tinkling with trinkets.
“Catherine,” he said elegantly, as he looked upon her hostess. “How terribly unwell you look,mon trésor.”
“Do you know my mother?” Anne demanded.
The elegant man turned his eyes to her and uttered, “We’ve met.”
CHAPTER 27
The strange man looked over Lady Catherine, took her hand, and said, “What brought her to this?”
“She had a fright,” Elizabeth rushed to explain. “She collapsed from fear, sir.”
“This is more than fear,” said the man in black. He felt Lady Catherine’s forehead, then felt her pulse in her wrist. “Lady Catherine is being eaten byun loup.”
“The wolf?” translated Mr Woodhouse. “You mean…”
“Cancer,” The man in black confirmed Mr Woodhouse’s understanding of the mediaeval term for the condition.
“Youwillhave a care for my mother’s privacy, sir!” ground out Anne.
“Is it true, Miss de Bourgh?” asked Mr Woodhouse. “Poor Lady Catherine!” Anne gave her mother’s friend no answer.
Elizabeth was shocked. How could this man have known what ailed Lady Catherine without being told, without even a proper examination? “What kind of doctor are you, sir?” she asked.
“Ladies, Mr Woodhouse, allow me to make an introduction. Woodhouse, this is the man I was telling you about. The alchemist. May I present to you all,TheComte St Germain?Comte, may I introduce Lady Priscilla Fitzwilliam, The Honourable Miss Anne de Bourgh, Mr Woodhouse, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Charmant,” said thecomtein greeting. “Lady Catherine should be moved to her bed as quickly as possible. She is exhausted and ill. She must rest. I will examine her, and do what I can for her there.”
As the men prepared to move Lady Catherine she woke for a few seconds. She looked upon thecomteand said, “How can it be you?”
“J'ai promis que nous nous reverrions,” answered the count in the most beautiful and flawless French Elizabeth had ever heard as he caressed Lady Catherine’s face. Her hostess slipped back into unconsciousness.
Lady Catherine was moved to her rooms at Bourne House, and changed into a dressing gown. She did not wake when thecomteexamined her again under Anne’s supervision.
“She is very ill,ma petite,” St Germain told Anne. “She must rest. She needs an elixir. I will go to prepare it. It will not be ready before tomorrow. I will return.”
The following morning,Lady Catherine awoke and followed her usual routine. There was a row in her rooms, where Anne had spent the night in a chair. Anne expected Lady Catherine to remain in bed and rest. Lady Catherine had no intention of resting. She intended to break her fast downstairs with the other ladies. Anne’s harangues followed her down the stairs and into the breakfast room.
When they all took their seats, Elizabeth said to her friend, “Anne, I agree with you that your mother ought to haveremained in her bed, but this discord cannot be good for her either.” Anne looked chastened as Elizabeth continued. “ComteSt Germainis to return today with the elixir he promised. I am certain he will give Lady Catherine an examination, and she will be prepared to hear his advice. Eating breakfast with us is not likely to do her in, my friend. We shall moderate our enthusiasm.”
There was a clatter as Lady Catherine dropped her fork into her dish of kedgeree. “I thought that I’d dreamt him.”
“So youdoknow him then,” said Anne curiously.
“I feel that my thoughts are disordered,” whispered Lady Catherine, putting a hand to her temple. “It could not have been him. Not as he was. It must be his son. What an uncanny resemblance. Or perhaps heisolder, but I saw him as he is in my memory. Perhaps it was delirium? How old was he?”
“I should say no older than fifty,” answered Priscilla, spreading jam on her muffin.
“I would have said younger, even. An exceedingly well-preserved forty-five, perhaps?” added Elizabeth.
