“Careful, Lizzy!” Charlie admonished, the force of Elizabeth’s attack causing him to stumble backwards. “You will hurt us both if you are not.”
“Auntie Amelia says we should not climb fences.” A girl with dark hair and a scowl stood with her hands on her hips. “You will tear your gown, Lizzy.”
“I do not mind! Gowns are annoying, anyway. I would much rather wear breeches!”
The girl gasped. “You would not! That sounds very indecent. And I love pretty gowns.” She sat daintily on the blanket spread near the offending fence and sighed. “I cannot wait until I can wear grown-up gowns like your mama.”
“That is a long way away.” Charlie set Elizabeth down and turned to the other girl. “We ought to enjoy being young. We shall have to be responsible sooner than we would like.”
“Ladies do not have responsibilities,” Elizabeth huffed. “Mama stays home all day with me and Harry.”
“Do not be silly, Lizzy.” The dark-haired girl chuckled. “Your mama manages the house and her children. That is a chore by itself.”
“How difficult could that be?” Elizabeth frowned. “We watch Harry all the time. It is not hard.”
Charlie laughed and shook his head. “You will have that discussion with your mother sometime, little Lizzy. I am certain she will tell you all about how hard it is to care for two rambunctious children.”
The images faded, and another scene replaced them. A woman with dark brown curls held her tenderly in her arms, a book open in front of them. Elizabeth examined the pictures carefully, tracing the outline of a rabbit and a kitten. She could read the words herself, but having Mama tell her the story was one of her favorite things. Papa, too, for he used the funniest voices when he read.
“It is bedtime, Elizabeth.” The woman caressed her hair and kissed the top of her head.
“No! Just one more story, please?” she begged. Snuggled further into the lady’s lap, she pulled an arm tightly around her, hugging it fiercely. “Please, Mama? It is not so late yet.”
“Harry went to bed an hour ago. We have let you remain up long enough.” Elizabeth turned to the doorway. A man stood there; his features obscured by the dim light. “Come, my pearl. It is time for sleep.” He came towards her, tapping her nose with his finger.
She pouted, but allowed him to pick her up and carry her to her bed. He kissed her forehead and patted her cheeks. “Sleep well, my little darling.”
Elizabeth gasped and sat up. Her heart pounded, and she looked around in a daze. The dull light outside signified the coming dawn, and she threw back her covers, ignoring the cold. Climbing out of her bed, she hurried to the window and pushed open the drapes so that she had enough light to see. She must record everything she could remember before the dream faded.
For what felt like the thousandth time, she cursed her inability to draw people.Who is Charlie?She wondered about the girl, too. Dark hair, very pretty… She picked up a pencil and a piece of paper and began to hurriedly write the contents of the dream.Charlie, Harry, Mama, Papa…Names she somehow knew were connected to her past life.Who is the girl? And who is Aunt Amelia?
Her weary mind contemplated the dream after she had it recorded. One name, Charlie, stood out. The idea that Mr. Bingley might have known her in a past life suddenly seemed more plausible. But was her dream the workings of a mind that struggled to understand her neighbor’s character, or was it something more? Could this boy in her dream be Mr. Bingley?
Already, the images had begun to fade, and she could not recall the young boy’s features. Had he possessed the same reddish-brown hair as the gentleman who now courted Jane?
“It is impossible to know,” she murmured aloud. Carefully, she folded the paper and rose from her seat. Kneeling on the frigid floor, cold despite the rug beneath her bed, she drew out her little wooden chest from its hiding place. She opened it and carefully put the folded paper on top of everything else inside. Closing the lid, she slid it back to its hiding place under the bed and then turned, leaning back against the frame and resting her head on the mattress.
I should try to get more sleep,she told herself. But now her mind raced, and she felt too restless to sleep. Instead, she stood and went to her wardrobe. A walk seemed to be in order. Perhaps the cold would banish the last of the night’s hauntings.
Hastily, she donned a serviceable brown gown and her warmest pelisse. Last, she put on woolen stockings and her half boots. With her winter cloak tucked over her arm, Elizabeth left her chamber and ventured downstairs and out the door.
The cold air bit at her cheeks and her nose and, for a moment, she contemplated returning to the warmth of the house. Eager to be rid of the last of her dream, she pressed forward. A half hour would be all it took to be done with the shadows that taunted her whenever she dared close her eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
November 13, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“Mydear,itseemsJane has fallen ill.”
Mr. Bennet’s words froze everyone seated at the table, throwing them into turmoil. Cries for more information created a cacophony, and he raised his hand to settle everyone.
“It is not dire. She seems to have ingested something that disagrees with her. Mr. Bingley writes she is abed, and a maid attends her.” He held up the note and read it aloud.
Your daughter, sir, is very ill, indeed. She cannot keep anything other than tea down, or so her maid reports. Miss Bennet is welcome to stay at Netherfield until she is well enough to travel. May I suggest that one of her sisters comes to aid her in her recovery? Miss Bennet will rest more easily with someone from her family nearby.
