Bingley nodded. “Please assure him that he need not hesitate to request anything for Hurst’s comfort, or his own.”
“I have already taken the liberty of doing so,” Louisa admitted. “And I shall also tend to him, if only to keep him company. I feel it is my duty.”
“I am certain he will like to have you there,” Bingley said. “I shall visit him as well.”
“I expect he would enjoy that.” She sipped her tea, then changed the subject. “Has there been any further word from Caroline?”
“No. After her note that she had arrived in London safely, I did write to chastise her for her selfishness. I expect she hopes to out-wait my anger.” He frowned. “She will find me the more stubborn, for once.”
Louisa sighed. “I wonder what will become of her, if she persists in such selfishness.”
“I hardly know.” He shook his head, then fixed her with an earnest look. “Sister, if ever I am so fortunate as to have children, please remind me—often!—not to be too indulgent with them. Perhaps especially the youngest.”
* * *
As Miss Bennet’s illness progressed, Darcy saw with mounting alarm that Elizabeth’s pallor and the dark circles beneath her eyes did as well. One afternoon as she opened the door to accept the notes he had brought from her family, he was required to catch her by the elbow as she stumbled through the aperture.
“You are ill,” he said, frowning. His eyes roved her pale features, searching for any hint of fever or the tell-tale rash.
“No, not ill, only very weary,” she assured him. “Jane requires a great deal just now. It will pass.”
“But will it pass before you reach the end of your strength?” Truly, she looked very ill, and he could see that she had grown thinner in only a few days.
“It must. Jane cannot be left alone, and I shall not consign her to strangers at such a time. She needs me, and I need every moment with her that I am allowed, in the event…”
She did not complete the thought, and with a small shake of her head, continued in a slightly different vein. “And yet, I do not think only of Jane. I feel as though I were being torn in two, or perhaps three. I wish to never stir from my sister’s side, while I also long to be home, and to visit my friends at Lucas Lodge. I wish…I wish to take Jane home, to hear the voices of my family, to see Charlotte’s smile. And I do not know how many of those things will ever be granted to me again.” Tears were welling in her eyes, and she brought her hands up to her cheeks in sudden embarrassment. “Forgive me. I do not know why I just told you all of that. You cannot have wished to hear it.”
“I think you very much needed to say it to someone, and your sister would hardly be the appropriate receptacle,” he answered gently, his heart clenching at seeing her so fearful and unlike her cheerful self. “I have no objection to being of service in such a way.”
“I thank you, sir.” With what seemed a huff of impatience, she dashed the tears from her eyes. “Have you letters for me?”
“I do. From Miss Lucas and Miss Mary. I hope they contain good news,” Darcy said, producing the documents. She accepted them with a tremulous smile and, having given her thanks, left him to wish once again there were more he could do.
* * *
Mrs Hill was put to bed with her husband after developing a sudden fever, and when the maid Sara refused again to assist with the care of the ill, Mr Bennet at last lost his patience and turned her off. The duties of Mrs Saxby, Longbourn’s cook, therefore expanded to include care of both the Hills, which in turn meant that simple foods suitable for the sick were all that would be available to any in the house for the foreseeable future.
Kitty, however, continued to improve, and when Mr Jones came, he declared, to the joy of all, that her fever and sore throat had been caused by a mild infection of the sinuses rather than the smallpox. She was fit to do as she pleased, so long as she did not over-tire herself. The apothecary, having satisfied himself that Miss Lydia was no worse than she had been the day previous, went to check on Mrs Bennet, trailed by Kitty.
Mr Jones bent over Mrs Bennet, listening to her chest through a short tube of wood. He straightened with a faint frown. “Hm. The fever is reduced and the rash mild, but there may be a bit of congestion in the lungs,” he said to his patient. “We will put a few more pillows behind you. Raising the head and shoulders eases the breath. And I wish that you will drink as much hot lemon-water as you can stand, Mrs Bennet. The heat will soothe the lungs and lemon is strengthening, though I understand that it will sting your throat.”
“Ooh, I do not care for lemon water, Mr Jones,” Mrs Bennet complained.
“You may have as much sugar or honey in it as you like, ma’am, but you must drink it.” Mr Jones replied in a tone which brooked no disagreement.
“Oh, very well,” his patient grumbled. “If it may be sweetened, I suppose I shall be able to bear it.”
Mr Bennet resumed his place in the chair at her side. “You shall have to make the sacrifice, my dear,” he said jovially, “unless you propose to leave me alone with five daughters?”
She looked at him as though he had uttered a blasphemy in the middle of Easter services. “I most certainly shall not!” she shrieked. “Bring me the wretched lemon water!”
* * *
When Mr Jones visited Lucas Lodge the next morning, marking the fifth day of Maria Lucas’s illness, he found Miss Lucas at her wits’ end with worry.
“I am glad you are come, sir,” she said with uncharacteristic agitation, as she came to him in the passage outside her sister’s room. “Maria’s back pains her so, she cannot get rest nor comfort, though I have put her in every position we can think of.”
He had come, in these last few days, to greatly admire Miss Lucas’s steady good sense, in such contrast to her mother’s dithering and her father’s well-intentioned uselessness, that to see her so overset caused him no little alarm.
