The apothecary nodded slowly. “I had it in mind to attempt to visit every household in the area every few days, to check for new infection. If you would be willing to do this in my place, to call at houses and determine the health of everyone—family and servant—who dwells within them, I should have more time to spend with those who are ill.”
Both gentlemen readily agreed with the scheme and Jones quickly sketched out several possibilities for routes. Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley decided they would go out every day, beginning early the next morning. All homes known to harbour the disease would be visited daily, and the rest twice weekly. It would make for a gruelling schedule if the infection spread, but with determination, dry weather, and good horses, it could be done. Mr Jones would make his visits to Miss Bennet in the late afternoon, that he might then receive any news they acquired in their travels.
As Jones departed after a final check on his patient, it appeared all three men felt better about the situation: two, from being of use, and one from having his burdens greatly lightened.
* * *
That afternoon, Darcy struggled to compose a letter to his sister which would inform her of the situation in which he found himself without causing her undue concern. This effort was hampered not only by his own jumbled thoughts, but also by Bingley’s agitated pacing. Back and forth across the modest study, muttering to himself, stopping abruptly to stare out the window as though some rescue had been sighted upon the horizon, only to fling himself back into motion again so violently as to startle his friend.
With a sigh and hardly half a page written—and much of that struck through—Darcy set his pen aside. “Bingley, I doubt your landlord will be best pleased if you wear a hole in that new rug. The situation is unsettling, I grant you, but you are acting as though we are surrounded by a barbarian horde and running low on food.”
“Unsettling?” Bingley cried. “It is terrifying. She is ill, Darcy! She mightdie! People do, all the time!” He canted his head back and glared at the ceiling as though he might see through the joists and plaster through sheer force of will.
Ah. This is about Miss Bennet. How like Bingley to be frantic over his latest infatuation and completely insensible to any danger to himself.For his own part, Darcy almost regretted his earlier offer of assistance. The risk was low, it was true, and would arise more from riding about the countryside as autumn became winter than from the disease itself, given his inoculated state. Yet as his sister’s primary guardian and support, did he not owe it to her to keep himself as safe as possible? This was the question which had occupied him and distracted him nearly as much as his friend’s perambulations. He would not go back on his word, of course, and certainly he would not leave the area, possibly carrying the infection with him, as Miss Bingley wished to do. But he wondered all the same if he had not been too hasty in agreeing to participate in the scheme.
“I cannot say that she will not die,” he replied softly, and Bingley’s head whipped around to regard him with wild eyes. “We must hope and pray that it will not be so, but her fate is not in our hands. Mr Jones seems more than competent and Miss Elizabeth will no doubt be diligent in her care also. Comfort yourself that she is well-attended.”
“So long as Miss Elizabeth remains well.”
There was a thought Darcy did not wish to confront. An image flashed through his mind: Miss Elizabeth’s face, cold and pale, her sparkling eyes shut, all her joy and liveliness, her wit and laughter consigned forever to the cold ground. Bile rose in his throat, and only a lifetime of self-command and one or two deep breaths kept him from offering that fine new rug an insult far worse than Bingley’s pacing.
“I will not tell you not to worry,” he said at last. “I have my own fears regarding what is to come, and whatmaycome. We shall, at least, have occupation and purpose through this crisis. And perhaps, if we do our work well and are fortunate, we will one day look back on all of today’s fears and find they were none of them fulfilled.”
In a silence and a stillness that rested unnaturally upon him, Bingley considered these words. “Yes,” he answered, his usual optimism rekindling. “We will work, as will others, and all shall come right in the end. Thank you, Darcy. I was lost in my own fears, but I can always depend upon you to be rational!
“And thank you, also,” Bingley continued, “for agreeing to come to the aid of this community, to which you have no tie beyond our friendship. I know you have not enjoyed my new neighbours, either, and would not have blamed you had you chosen to remain safe behind these walls until you could return to your own home. You are a good man, my friend, to give of your time and efforts, to risk your own safety, for those you do not even like.”
“The risk is not so great,” he demurred, abashed to be so praised for that which he had not been entirely willing to do even after committing himself. “I have faith in the inoculation, and in the abilities of Mr Jones. And I could hardly sit here and watch you ride out alone every day.”
Even less safe than riding about an unfamiliar landscape in bad weather, he reluctantly admitted to himself, would be spending the next weeks entirely confined to the same house as Elizabeth Bennet.
* * *
A few hours later, the two men and the Hursts waited impatiently for Miss Bingley to join them for dinner. A quarter hour after the sounding of the bell, Bingley sent a maid to find his wayward sister and instructed his butler to open the dining room.
They had progressed through the soup and into the first course before they were interrupted by the butler, with one of the house maids trailing behind. Bingley spoke rather more sharply than was his usual wont. “Mr Walsh, what is it? Is my sister unwell?”
Instead of answering, the butler directed a stern look at the girl who came forward hesitantly, wringing her hands. “Mr Bingley, sir, I tried to stop her, but she said if I told anyone I’d be turned off without a character.”
Bingley set his fork down slowly. Darcy watched his friend’s expression change as he apprehended that something, perhaps worse than his initial fears, had transpired. “What is it you were not to say? If you are honest with us, you shall have your character from me, should you need it.”
The maid swallowed visibly. “Miss Bingley packed a valise and left with her abigail for London this morning, sir, not half an hour after the apothecary was here.”
“Of all the stupid, selfish—!” Bingley threw up his hands. “That is the outside of enough—I cannot allow such intransigence.” Though his words were intemperate, his expression was one of righteous anger. He looked, perhaps for the first time in his life, like a man one would not wish to cross.
Darcy, as unsurprised by Miss Bingley’s selfishness as he was by her thoughtlessness, enquired as to her means of transportation. “Surely she did not take the post?”
“She and her maid took Mr Bingley’s carriage, I believe, sir.”
Bingley’s jaw dropped. “She tookmy carriage? And my coachman, I presume?”
Mr Walsh appeared rather uncomfortable. “Yes, sir. And a groom. I have had words with the stablemaster about allowing this. He claims Miss Bingley stated that you had sanctioned her travels.”
“I do not doubt it.” He shook his head, then frowned and turned to his sister. “Louisa, did you know what she planned?”
“Certainly not!” Mrs Hurst seemed somewhat offended. “I understand very well the necessity of quarantine. I would have told you immediately, had I known her intentions, and I am quite sure Caroline anticipated that. I know I tend to coddle her, Charles, but there are lives at risk, including hers.”
Bingley nodded, though his expression darkened. “Certainly, her reckless behaviour must not pass without consequence, nor that of any groomsman who aided her.”
