“Now, I understand that we might be addressing Miss Jane. I am Mr Jones, the apothecary in Meryton.” A bespectacled man of about sixty with a balding pate smiled at her. “Now, can you tell me the last thing you remember before Miss Bennet found you?”
“I was walking,” Jane wondered what she ought to remember or not to remember. She might often be impertinent, but she was not in the habit of telling falsehoods.
“That is good. Do you have a location in mind? The name of a village perhaps?” he encouraged.
“I fear not. I remember that I was walking near some fields. I think a runaway horse ran me down.” Jane shook her head in helplessness, attempting to be as truthful as possible.
“There were no hoof prints on or near the mount, Mr Bedford searched thoroughly,” Miss Bennet interrupted in bewilderment.
“That is not surprising, Miss Lizzy,” assured the apothecary. “She might be recalling a different memory entirely. Just because she sees this in her mind does not mean it happened yesterday. See this gash on the back of her head?”
When Miss Bennet and Mrs Bingley had duly inspected the large wound on Jane’s head for themselves, the apothecary continued. “This lump was created by a terrible blow to the head, whether by fall or assault, we do not know. She is lucky to be alive. When a person has a head injury such as this, they may lose their memory. It mightreturn in bits and pieces, or all at once – or never. All we can do is wait.”
The apothecary was quiet for a moment as he examined more of the injuries that he had seen the day before, then spoke again. “I am going to ask you a series of questions, Miss Jane, to determine how well your mind is engaging with reality. First, do you know what day it is?”
“I believe today is Thursday, the seventeenth of December, in the year 1812.” Jane looked to Elizabeth for confirmation. “Miss Bennet said she found me yesterday.”
“Not quite,” answered the apothecary. “Today is Wednesday, the second of December, in the year 1812.”
“But yesterday was my birthday,” Jane said, unthinking.
“So your birthday is December sixteenth? Do you remember the year you were born?” he asked. “Now would not be the time for feminine vanity.”
Jane was quiet for a moment, “I fear not.”
“That is only to be expected.” He straightened and addressed Mrs Bingley. “It is very likely that she will regain her memory. It will be muddled, and unimportant bits and pieces that make no sense may visit her first. It could take weeks, or even months. She should stay in bed until she is able to move about without pain, but there seems to be no need to fuss about her diet. She is not ill, and she has no serious injuries, save the one on her head. Feed her something light today, her digestion might be delicate. Coddled eggs and toast would be acceptable. Tomorrow, she may have anything that suits her. I shall visit again tomorrow afternoon, unless you have cause to send for me sooner.”
He turned back to Jane. “You will likely be sore for some days. Many of your wounds were treated with compresses of cold water from the wells through the night. It should help with the swelling, but warm baths and arnica will help with the aches and pains. Mrs Bingley keeps a well stocked stillroom. You may continue to have pains in your head. I will leave some powders with Mrs Bingley’s housekeeper.”
“Thank you, Mr Jones.” Jane was beginning to feel fatigued. Even if she did not have amnesia, she had been run down by a horse and she was injured. Her head pained her terribly, and the aches and pains the man spoke of were oppressively present.
Chapter Two
Wednesday 2 December1812
Netherfield Park
Meryton, Hertfordshire
Jane woke again several hours later, when the light had faded in the sky outside the window. There was a maid sitting by the bed. Jane cleared her throat, and the maid hurried to help her sit up by putting two pillows behind her back.
“How do ye feel, miss?” the maid asked kindly, reaching up behind the bed to ring the bell.
“I am not certain, yet.” Jane allowed the maid to assist her to the chamber pot, though, on the way back, she felt much stronger and less sore than she had that morning. Her head still ached, but she required no assistance as she returned to her bedchamber.
It was a charming room; the walls featured ivory wainscoting and similarly colored paper with a lovely sage, soft pink, and fawn floral pattern. The furniture was light and feminine, and of rich quality. The room looked as if it had been recently refreshed. Jane assumed Mrs Bingley must have married recently, and had already begun her workupon her new home, for the Miss Caroline Bingley of her story would never have designed a lovely room such as this. Jane hoped that she would have an opportunity to meet Miss Bingley. Indeed, she recalled Miss Bennet speaking of an upcoming visit from Mr and Mrs Collins! How amusing it would be to meet Miss Bennet’s cousin!
An older woman entered in a neat black gown suited to senior staff. “Good evening, Miss Jane. I am Mrs Nicholls, the housekeeper at Netherfield. Have you rested well?”
“I have, thank you.” Instead of returning to her bed, Jane had taken a seat on a comfortable chair near the cheerful fire. “You and Mrs Bingley must run an excellent house, Mrs Nicholls. I am exceedingly comfortable in this lovely room. Has Miss Bennet returned to her home? I was never able to thank her.”
“This was the second suite of rooms in the family wing that Mrs Bingley decorated after her wedding. You were placed here for your proximity to Miss Bennet, with whom you share a parlour, so that she might easily look in on you. The guest rooms are all nearly done as well, in record time thanks to Mr Bingley’s generosity with the workers; and a very good thing too, with guests arriving for the festive season and a ball later this month. She is an excellent mistress; the staff has known Mrs Bingley her life. We are all so pleased to see her so well settled, and to have the privilege of working for her and Mr Bingley.” Mrs Nicholls smiled fondly about the room as a footman entered with a trolley. “It was understood that Miss Lizz- I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, was to move to Netherfield permanent to stay with Mrs Bingley after the guests went home in the new year. But seeing as how you are here, and Mrs Bingley is preparing for a house party, Miss Bennet made her move today, so as to be a help to her sister. She is downstairs at dinner with the family now.”
“Miss Bennet and Mrs Bingley sound devoted to one another,” Jane said.
“Oh, they are, Miss Jane, they are.” Mrs Nicholls dismissed the footman, then set about pouring tea for Jane and arranging her tray. “Are you certain you will not return to the bed? No? Very well then, but you must tell someone if you feel the least bit poorly. But back to Mrs Bingley and Miss Bennet, I have never seen a pair of sisters closer. Why,once Mrs Bingley, Miss Bennet as she was then, stayed here after falling ill. Miss Lizzy walked here after such a storm, through three miles of mud to care for her. Hardly left her side for the duration. No, it was only a matter of time afore Mrs Bingley asked her sister to come and reside with her.”
“I hope that I will not be in the way if Mrs Bingley is hosting a house party.” Jane accepted a cup of tea. “I fear that I have met with misfortune somehow, and though I know not where else I should go until I find where I belong, I would not wish to inconvenience my hosts.”
