“Would it not be better to prepare yourself for the worst, and rejoice at better if it comes?”
Bingley turned to him with a serious expression. “Why should I mourn my brother before he is dead? Should I not rejoice in his life every second it continues? There will be time enough for grief when there is no other option.”
Darcy nodded once, slowly. “Perhaps you are correct. I will try to learn a little of your philosophy, my friend.”
“You really ought to, you old curmudgeon,” Bingley said lightly, and they both laughed.
* * *
That evening, Jane urged Elizabeth to join the others for dinner. “You have had so little society other than my own for many days, and now that I am better, I wish to see you enjoying yourself. And,” she added by way of additional inducement, “it will give you an opportunity to convey my very great thanks to Mrs Hurst and the three gentlemen, who have done so much for us and our family.”
Elizabeth rather reluctantly agreed; having so recently come close to losing her beloved sister she did not like to leave her at all. As the choice was between conceding and making Jane unhappy, however, she dressed for dinner and made her way down to the drawing room, where she found only Mr Darcy.
“Oh, I am sorry—I must have mistaken the time,” she said.
He stood and bowed. “Not at all. Dinner was put back half an hour so that Bingley might visit with Mr Hurst. We did not think to inform you. Please, have a seat. Captain Carter is in the study finishing a letter and should be in momentarily. May I pour you a sherry?”
“I thank you, sir, that would be pleasant,” she replied sincerely, treating her aching limbs to the overstuffed armchair Mr Hurst favoured above all others. It was all she could do not to sigh in relief as the softness of it embraced her.
Mr Darcy handed her the little crystal glass of amber liquid. “I believe you usually prefer orgeat. If you will be joining us more often, I shall ask Mrs Hurst to have a bottle decanted.”
“Oh, please, do not create any work on my account. My preference is really quite slight.” Elizabeth smiled and he bowed slightly before returning to his own seat upon the settee.
“I hope that Miss Bennet’s improved health is the reason we have the pleasure of your company tonight?”
“Indeed, sir, she is much improved, and particularly desired that I enjoy some company this evening after having been so long at her side. But tell me, please, how does Mr Hurst fare?”
Mr Darcy looked briefly uncomfortable. “Not well at all, I am afraid,” he answered in a low voice. “He has developed a rare complication of the disease, which does not often end happily. Mr Jones does all he can, of course, but he warned us early to be prepared for the worst.”
Elizabeth’s hand dropped from where it had rested briefly over her mouth. “How dreadful. We must hope that he is the exception. Is there, do you think, anything I might do for Mrs Hurst? She has been so very kind to Jane and me.”
“I can think of nothing offhand, but I shall be sure to inform you if an idea presents itself.” After a moment of silence, he opened his mouth, hesitated, and then spoke. “I hope you will not think me prying, but I confess that I find myself very curious about Mr Jones. He is extraordinarily capable for an apothecary. Recently he mentioned that he had studied at St Bart’s but would not speak further. Given his capabilities and his education, I cannot understand why he is not a physician.”
Elizabeth grimaced in sympathy. “Yes, he does not care to speak of it, as I imagine the recollection gives him a deal of pain.” She glanced up at him. “I have the story from his sister, the younger Mrs Goulding.” When he nodded to indicate that he understood to whom she referred, she continued.
“Their father was a successful tradesman. Of the three children, the eldest son was to inherit the business, the daughter was to marry a gentleman and so begin the process of elevating the family, and Mr Jones, the younger son, was to take up a gentlemanly profession. All was going according to plan until three years ago.
“His sister had married young Mr Goulding, and Mr Jones was in his final year of study when their father died unexpectedly. Some sort of accident on the docks, as he inspected one of his ships. The elder brother, upon attaining his inheritance, chose not to continue to pay our Mr Jones’s fees. With no money of his own, he was forced to leave his studies and make a life for himself as best he could.”
“Was there no provision for him in the will?” Mr Darcy asked in incredulous tones.
“It would seem that there was not. I suppose old Mr Jones expected to live long enough to see his youngest settled in his profession.”
“Outrageous,” the gentleman grumbled. “I should never leave any child of mine so unprotected.”
“I have no doubt that the world would be a better place if everyone shared your notions on that subject,” Elizabeth agreed, “but they do not, to the detriment of Mr Jones and the betterment of Meryton. It is not every small market town which can claim an apothecary who is very nearly a physician.”
“I do not understand why he does not merely call himself a doctor and set up his practice. Many a man with far less education and experience has done so.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You are not the first to suggest it. For your edification, I suggest you ask Mr Jones his views on the licensing of physicians. And for my own entertainment, I beg that you do so when I am present.”
Mr Darcy chuckled. “Strongly in favour, is he?”
“Arrestingly so. He has not the least patience for men such as you describe, who call themselves doctors with little more than a bag of instruments and a calling-card to support it.”
“Having lost my own father to the incompetence of just such a man, I can only admire his principles.”
Elizabeth, struck by his sorrowful expression, gave him a sympathetic look at this declaration, but chose not to request the details of such a personal and profound memory. “He is an excellent fellow, and I wish with all my heart that he might find a way to complete his studies and enter into that higher position to which he is so eminently suited.”
