“Oh, what a relief! I feared you would sleep away the day, and Imight never learn who you are!” The young woman sprang from her chair, making a note of the page number of her book before she set it down.
“What is your name?” Jane asked as the young woman leaned over and felt her forehead, then hurried over to the wash stand and poured water from a pitcher into a fine crystal glass.
“You must not remember that I introduced myself when you were found, you were awake for only a moment.” The young lady returned and gave her the glass of water. “My name is Miss Bennet. What isyour name?”
“I remember you,” Jane said slowly, then sipped her water.Itisher! Whatever shall I tell her aboutme?Where on earth am I? Meryton is not even a real place!
“I cannot remember my name,” Jane said weakly, uncertain how she should act next.
“When I found you, you said that your name was Miss Jane.” The young woman gazed at her curiously. “Do you remember that?”
“No,” Jane lied.Is it wrong to lie to a fictional character while in a delusion?“I do not remember that.”
“Does it sound right to you? Doyouthink your name is Jane?” Miss Bennet pressed.
“It might be,” Jane hedged. “My head hurts terribly, I am afraid I cannot think.”
“Amnesia!” Miss Bennet exclaimed. “How curious! I have heard of such things but never thought I should see it for myself. Can you remember anything at all? No? Oh, do forgive me, you are hurt, and here I am interrogating you. No one in the village has any information about visitors or travellers expected, and no carriage has been found for miles. My brother and my father sent out riders to make inquiries. Everyone is quite curious how you came to be on a small mount on my father’s estate all alone, there is no road near it for some distance.”
Jane was thoughtful. “Where am I?” she asked.
“You are at Netherfield Park in Meryton, which is in the county of Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth explained. “Netherfield is the home of my sister, Mrs Bingley, and her husband. You were found on my father’s estate, Longbourn, but it was decided that my sister would host you.Allow me to inform her that you are awake, and we shall send for Mr Jones!”
A quarter hour later, Jane had made a swift decision that it wasnotwicked to lie to fictional characters while in a delusion. It was obvious that shemustbe in a delusion, for Meryton was a made up village. There was no such place in Hertfordshire, nor the kingdom, to her knowledge, and so she surmised that she must either have hit her head very hard, or that–by some trick of magic–the wishing well was giving her a taste ofsomething more?If she were in Meryton, that could only occur in her own mind. One could not lie to oneself, could one?
In any case, she could not very well have her hosts sending to Godmersham Park looking for her family, only to learn there were no such people there. Would there evenbea Godmersham Park in her delusion? She had better not risk it.Miss Janewould have to feign amnesia, until she understood what was happening and how she came to be here. Besides, something was wrong with her story, and she was determined to learn what had gone awry.
After perhaps five minutes, a maid entered the room to assist her to the chamber pot, which was in the dressing room behind a screen. Jane was back in bed and the maid was leaving with the covered pot when Miss Elizabeth Bennet returned, followed by a statuesque blonde and a footman pushing a tea trolley.
Her eyebrows shot up as she took in the blonde’s stunning pulchritude. Hadherimagination created this magnificent beauty? Jane was rather impressed with her own brilliance for a moment as she took in the other woman’s radiance.Never did I believe that anyone could eclipse dearest Cassandra.Could an imagination surpass reality? Jane could not say for certain.
“Good morning, I am Mrs Bingley,” the beautiful woman introduced herself. “Would it be acceptable–until we learn your identity–if we address you as Miss Jane?”
“That would be very acceptable,” Jane answered agreeably. “I haveonly become a little acquainted with your sister, I do thank you for your kindness, Mrs Bingley.”
“How do you feel?” Mrs Bingley asked.
“I feel very sore, like I am injured everywhere,” confessed Jane honestly. “I have a terrible headache, and I feel as if I have been thrown down a cliff.”
“I must assure you, that though you bear the marks and bruises of such a fall, you were found at the top of the cliff at Oakham Mount, not the bottom,” Miss Bennet assured her.
“You are indeed bearing a great number of bruises and small injuries on your back and the back of your head, Miss Jane.” Mrs Bingley looked worried. “The apothecary was here yesterday, and we sent for him again only moments ago. I do hope that your injuries look worse than they are.”
Jane thought back to when she was thrown backwards into the stone wall. She was certain she did carry a number of appalling bruises from the experience, and she was feeling them now. “Could you explain how and where I was found? I fear that I have never heard of a place called Meryton, and I have no notion of how I came to be here.”
“I was walking home with my sisters from Lucas Lodge, which is a neighbouring estate,” explained Miss Bennet. “We returned by way of Oakham Mount, a modest hilltop near our home. We found you there, at the top of the cliff, like I said a moment ago. There was nothing and no one nearby. My sister Kitty ran for Mr Bingley, while my youngest sister Lydia and I watched over you. My father even sent for the gamekeeper, who is very skilled at following tracks and trails of all kinds, and he found nothing. Riders were sent to make inquiries on every road within and leaving the village for many miles. They found no evidence of a carriage, a misplaced servant, or even a scarf by the road, to explain your appearance.”
“How long was I unconscious?” Jane inquired.
“We found you before tea time yesterday, and it is now just after ten o'clock in the morning. Nineteen hours, perhaps more, since we do not know how long you were there?” Miss Bennet counted the hours on her fingers. “Were you travelling, perhaps? Could you have been the victim of a robbery, or kidnapping?”
“I cannot remember,” said Jane, reaching up to touch her temple in sincere discomfort.
“Miss Jane, you must be famished, but let us wait for the apothecary to learn what you should eat. May I pour you a cup of tea?” asked Mrs Bingley.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs Bingley.” Jane smiled, then winced again. It was not a lie that her head and body ached terribly.
Half an hour later, Jane had drunk a cup of very fine tea, and was now being examined by the apothecary, Mr Jones, while Mrs Bingley and Miss Bennet conversed quietly near the window.
