CHAPTERONE
Elizabeth Bennet hovered anxiouslyin the corner of the spacious guest bedchamber at Netherfield Park as the apothecary examined her sister for the second time in as many days. She had never seen Jane in such a state before—feverish, nauseous, and complaining of the most terrible headache of her life.
Mr Jones turned Jane’s face towards the window, into the sunlight streaming between the open curtains, and bade her open her mouth. He looked there with a deepening frown, then pronounced a single word which struck fear into both Bennet sisters, the sick and the well.
“Smallpox.”
“No…” Elizabeth breathed.
The apothecary turned his grim look upon her. “I fear it is so. I have seen several cases at the Blake farm recently. I have required them to stay at home to reduce the spread, and Netherfield must do likewise. I shall arrange for food and medicines to be delivered here, but I must insist that no one but myself enter or leave until a full fortnight has passed without any illness.”
Elizabeth’s mind was racing. “The Blakes, you say? Why, Jane and I took them a basket little more than a week ago, as the children had a fever. But I am entirely well. How could she acquire it from a visit of an hour or so? And how could I not?”
Mr Jones sighed, wiping the lenses of his spectacles with a handkerchief. “Miss Elizabeth, it has long been known in my profession that the disease will generally not appear in the week after exposure, but may begin at any time in the fortnight following. Watch yourself carefully for symptoms. There will be fever, assuredly; pains in the head and troubles of the stomach, often; and within a few days, sores in the mouth and throat. This is the stage Miss Bennet is in now,” he continued with a nod to the patient, upon whom he fixed his sombre gaze. “The lesions of the pox will appear very soon, Miss Bennet. You will be vastly uncomfortable, but do not rub or touch them, lest they take an infection. Take all the nourishment you can—you will need your strength.”
Jane looked very frightened and seemed incapable of speech, and Elizabeth rushed to her side, taking one of Jane’s hands in both of her own and saying, “Do not fret, Jane. I shall stay with you.”
“No, Lizzy, you must go, before you too become ill.”
“I was at the Blakes’ with you, dear sister, and I have been with you in your illness for more than a day. Whether or not I also fall sick is in the hands of fate—it is far too late to avoid exposure. I shall make myself useful to you, since I feel perfectly well at present.” A thought occurred to her, and she turned to the apothecary. “Jane was at Longbourn just before she fell ill—is the rest of our family in danger?”
“Everyone in the area is in danger. Smallpox spreads like scandal in a ballroom. I shall instruct your father to keep your family and servants within the estate until it passes, and we shall hope it may be confined to Netherfield and the Blake farm. I must speak with Mr Bingley immediately, for every moment increases the likelihood that someone will leave the house, perhaps bearing the disease with them. After I have done that, I shall look in upon you, Miss Bennet, and answer any other questions you or your sister may have.” He bowed to them and exited the room.
Jane turned wide eyes on her sister. “Oh, Lizzy, am I going to die?”
* * *
Mr Jones descended the stairs and found Mr Bingley pacing the floor of the parlour as his relations and guests kept him company, looking rather bored.
“Mr Jones!” The young man rushed up to him. “How is Miss Bennet?”
“Oh, Charles, you are being ridiculous,” Miss Bingley drawled from her seat. “It is naught but a trifling cold, I am sure. Shockingly inconvenient, but hardly dangerous.”
Mr Jones ignored the lady. “Sir, I regret to inform you that you must place this house and all within it under quarantine. Miss Bennet has contracted smallpox.”
Mrs Hurst fainted onto the shoulder of her husband, who awoke with a startled grunt. Miss Bingley leapt to her feet, shrieking like a scalded cat.
“We must leave this instant,” she cried. “Bring the carriage round! The servants may follow later with our trunks!”
“Miss Bingley, no one should enter or leave this house for at least a fortnight, longer if others fall ill,” Mr Jones explained patiently, rummaging in his satchel as her brother and his friend—Mr Darcy, he recalled—fixed her with looks of censure. “If you fear exposure, I suggest you keep to your rooms.” He produced a small bottle which he waved under Mrs Hurst’s nose. The lady regained consciousness with a cough.
“That is an excellent idea,” Mr Darcy said sharply before turning away from Miss Bingley to address Mr Jones. “Is Miss Elizabeth in danger of contracting the disease as well, given that she has been tending her sister?”
“Yes, although at present she shows no symptoms. I have asked that she inform me at the first sign of illness, and she has determined to remain with her sister and be of use as long as she may.”
Mr Darcy only nodded in reply, though his expression reflected respect for Miss Elizabeth’s decision.
Miss Bingley was openly appalled. “These country hoydens have brought smallpox to our house!” cried she. Taking no leave of them, she whirled and scurried from the room as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Hurst escorted his pale and trembling wife from the room in her wake.
Bingley’s face was rather red when he turned back to the apothecary, but he spoke with admirable calm. “I was inoculated at university, sir—if there is any way in which I might be of assistance, I beg you will tell me.”
Mr Darcy looked with raised eyebrows at his friend and then, with a small nod, spoke. “As was I, and I would also wish to be of use.”
Mr Jones looked between them and asked, “You are aware that inoculation is not infallible? There have been cases of previously inoculated persons acquiring the disease. According to the medical journals, it is rare, but not impossible.”
Mr Bingley did not hesitate. “If it is to fail, let it fail in the service of my fellow man, not hiding away at Netherfield hoping to be spared.”
After taking what appeared to be a moment of consideration, Mr Darcy replied cautiously, “I will place my trust in the rarity you speak of, Mr Jones.”
