Jane
Friday 12th March 1813, Hertfordshire
It was a bright, crisp morning, not quite spring but not winter, either—just cold enough that their conversation billowed white on the air between them.
“Oh, Mary,” Jane said. “Can you forgive me for treating Lizzy so ill?”
The kindly Mrs Annesley had once counselled Mary that not everybody took solace in moralising at moments of high emotion; thus, she refrained from voicing her thoughts on the evils of jealousy and resentment and instead did what she thought Elizabeth would have done. She hooked her arm around Jane’s and gave her a smile of the warmest sisterly consolation. “Yes, and so will she when you explain it as you have done to me.”
“Would that were so, but I have been so awful, I do not see how she ever could.”
“Then you are underestimating her still. She will be as sorry as I am that you have been this ill-used.”
Jane winced, and Mary pressed gently for her to explain why.
“I do not want you to hate Charles,” she whispered. “I may be the biggest fool there ever was, but I believe what he said to me before he went away—that he has tried to love me. And I wish to believe—Idobelieve—he is only going because I have made him feel there is nothing for him here.”
“If that is your wish, then as long as you love him, I shall love him also.”
“Thank you,” she replied, yet in the next moment, let out a soft but unmistakable sob. “It will make no differencewholoves him if he is not here.”
Mary had no comfort to offer that was not pure conjecture. “What did Lady Ashby say?” she enquired instead.
“That she would write to Lizzy and ask her to prevent Bingley from leaving.”
“Well, that is something, is it not?”
Jane shook her head morosely. “I do not wish him to stay because Lizzy asked it of him. I wish him to stay because I did.”
“Well then,” Mary said, giving her arm a little squeeze. “You had better ask it of him.”
“You ain’t serious?”
“I was instructed to arrange transportation,” Peabody said flatly, being careful to reveal no hint of amusement as Amelia flapped about protesting her outrage. “In the absence of further details, I took the liberty of procuring the most expedient means.”
“But I can’t travel on themail coachin my condition! I ain’t baggage!”
He raised an eyebrow. “That is moot.”
“Why can’t I travel in one of Mr Bingley’s carriages?”
He did then allow himself a small chuckle. That a catchpenny housemaid should think getting poisoned by the master of the house entitled her to ride in his carriage was absurd. “Neither was available,” he said. “He has one with him, and the other, by this time tomorrow, will be transporting the mistress to Pemberley.”
Amelia whirled to face him. “Why’s she goin’ there?”
“Oddly enough, she did not see fit to confide the particulars.”
“Don’t play the fool, Mr Peabody, for it don’t suit you. I swear, if she’s goin’ there to try an’ stop me?—”
“Then she will be disappointed. Mr Bingley already awaits you in Liverpool.”
“Oh, well and good, then.” Frowning, she added, “You didn’t tell ’er ’e weren’t there, did you?”
“She expressed a purpose of travelling to Pemberley. I am not in the habit of second-guessing my employer’s wishes.”
“Careful, Mr Peabody,” she said, eyeing him slyly. “You’re in danger o’ makin’ me think you care for me, after all.”
“Heaven forefend, Miss Greening. I do, however, care for my position, and the master was most particular that nothing should prevent you from boarding that boat.”
