“I must consult my books, and try to discover what is happening,” said Mr Jones. “I hope to have an answer for you tomorrow. Until then, rest and nourishment are your only tasks, sir, and I expect you to devote yourself to both.”
Mr Hurst offered a faint smile. “If I did not feel so very dreadful, that would be my idea of a perfect night.”
As it would be mine,Mr Jonesthought as he staggered out to his horse.
* * *
At Longbourn, Mary’s world had rapidly narrowed to the confines of Lydia’s room. The fever had gone some days previously but Lydia’s energy had not returned. She drank little and ate less. Though Lydia remained enervated in body, the retreat of the fever revived her mind, and she required distraction from the pain of her sores and the sameness of her surroundings. And so, Mary Bennet read a novel for the first time in her life. She read one aloud to her sister, and then she read another. She was surprised to find that although the plots could be rather silly, and the characters morally suspect, the prose was often compelling and occasionally beautiful, and that in each exaggerated personality there was something to be seen which reminded her of real people known to her.
As the days crept by, the pox made its mark on Lydia in more obvious ways. Her poor mouth and throat were very slow to heal; she was very frightened when the rash erupted on her arms, where she could see it, and when the blisters of the pox appeared, she insisted on having a mirror. Mary brought her one, reluctantly, and Lydia viewed her blistered face in shocked silence for several minutes before handing it back to her sister without a word.
The next day, as Mary was reading, Lydia whispered despairingly, “I am going to be very badly scarred. I am going to be ugly.”
“We cannot know, until the disease has run its course. You may be lucky and have very few scars.” Mary’s words were not without sympathy, but neither did they offer impossible hope. “Do not worry about what may happen, for today has troubles enough. We must get you through this, and restore your health, and then we shall worry about your appearance.”
Lydia smiled weakly. “I will try not to think of it, then. Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“You may always rely upon me for that,” Mary remarked drily, and was rewarded with a raspy giggle.
* * *
That evening at Netherfield was a quiet one. Mrs Hurst sat upstairs with her husband; Captain Carter was in the library writing letters to his family. Bingley took advantage of the intimate company of his friend in the drawing room by loosening his waistcoat and putting his feet on the ottoman. His loud sigh garnered Darcy’s attention.
“The news is mixed from Longbourn. I hope none are suffering as Miss Bennet does.”
Darcy sipped his brandy. “Did you receive further news from Miss Elizabeth in the letters I delivered?” At Bingley’s demurral, he pressed further. “You sent me off because you wished to speak to her privately. Was it in regard to Miss Bennet or do you have other interests in that direction?”
Bingley shot him an uncomprehending look. “My interests are solely for the improvement of Miss Bennet’s health! Until I can speak to her myself, I rely upon her sister to tell me about her progress.”
“And to serve as the deliverer of notes?” Darcy’s voice sharpened. “Love letters are an incautious means of concern for her welfare. I know you admire Miss Bennet, but do be careful of her reputation.”
“Says the man who was holding the hand of her sister, in the corridor, in broad daylight!”
Damn, he did see,Darcy realised with chagrin.He had exerted much energy trying not to dwell on the moments he had held Miss Elizabeth’s soft hand in his.
“She was upset at news about her family. I patted her hand but briefly,” he lied.
“A caring but incautious gesture, it would appear.”
Darcy turned away from Bingley’s irritating smirk. “I believe I shall retire.”
“No, please wait. I have further news,” Bingley said. “Hurst’s housekeeper in town has written to me about Caroline.”
“Is your sister well?”
“Caroline has not fallen ill, but as she has no relation or companion in the house, she cannot go about. Mrs Burley writes to beg funds to hire a companion to serve her until we return. She does not exactly say that my sister is making the servants’ lives miserable, but the implication is there.”
Darcy was too well-mannered to roll his eyes. He shook his head slowly, careful to keep his expression blank. “And how shall you respond?”
“I believe I shall offer those funds instead as an incentive to remain in Hurst’s service. Caroline chose to leave us and return to London when every rational impulse must suggest that she might yet fall ill. That she has not is pure chance. She has done wrong, and she ought to feel it.”
Yes, she ought to feel it in full, he thought.Before expressing his agreement, Darcy enquired as to Mrs Hurst’s thoughts on her sister.
“Louisa agrees. Her concerns centre on Caroline’s welfare and the danger she could face alone if the smallpox spreads to town.” Bingley clenched his jaw. “She chose this.”
CHAPTERTEN
Early the following morning,Mr Jones arrived at Netherfield to examine Hurst. He halted Bingley from his rounds, asking him to wait just a few minutes. Understanding that such a request did not often presage good news, Darcy immediately said he would remain as well. Carter also postponed his own travels. The gentlemen enjoyed the warmth of the parlour, providing Bingley with distraction and support, until Mr Jones—accompanied by Mrs Hurst and her husband’s valet—returned from visiting Hurst.
